I burst straight into the livestream, cutting Tina off mid-bite as I raised the twenty takeout boxes in my hands.

"Tina, you can't keep eating like this. It's bad for your health. Let me take over. You should rest a while."

She lifted her head from the bowl, baffled. "Shirley, I'm streaming right now. Could you please not interfere?"

I edged my way into the camera's frame, deliberately exposing my face. Before coming, I had carefully applied makeup. Combined with my naturally slimmer figure, I appeared far more striking than Tina.

At this point she was still a nobody, a small-time streamer with no loyal fanbase. The moment viewers saw me, the chat lit up, demanding to watch me eat instead.

Tina, unwilling to scold me in front of the camera, had no choice but to stand aside and let me take her place.

I started with a box of cut fruit, mostly mango—something Tina was severely allergic to.

I'd bought it on purpose. I needed to know: was this transfer system mutual? If I ate something she couldn't, would she suffer the reaction instead?

I polished off the mango slices while the comments poured in, praising my graceful eating, saying I made the food look appetizing. A few wealthy fans even sent me expensive gifts through the livestream channel.

I turned to Tina with a faint smile. "Looks like everyone prefers watching me eat. But don't worry, I'm only experimenting today. All the gifts belong to you. I won't take a cent."

Her expression darkened at having the spotlight stolen, though she kept her anger in check. I studied her face closely, searching for hives or swelling.

Nothing. No rash, no reaction—only suppressed fury.

Maybe one box of fruit wasn't enough. I brought out a cup of mango sago and a towering mango mille crêpe cake.

Tina tried to salvage her ground. "Shirley, I'm just starting my career as a streamer. If you want to stream, use your own account. Why steal mine? Please, step aside and let me continue. If you insist, then let's eat together. We'll see who can eat more."

She reached for her snail noodles, ready to dive in.

I snatched the bowl from her hands and held it up to the camera. "I'm doing this for your health. Look at all this chili—paired with ice-cold cola, it'll wreck your stomach. Do you know how many cases of stomach cancer come from habits like this? If you really want to eat, have some porridge. It's much gentler."

I opened one of the deliveries: a box of chicken porridge.

The viewers were delighted by my thoughtfulness. The comments praised me as both beautiful and kindhearted, showering the stream with more gifts and urging Tina to rest—they wanted to keep watching me instead.

Tina turned to Nick for help, but he was grinning ear to ear at the backend revenue. As far as he was concerned, it didn't matter who sat in front of the camera—money was money. And I was earning more than Tina ever had.

Ignoring the discomfort building in my stomach, I forced down the mango sago and the mille crêpe cake. Still, Tina showed no signs of an allergic reaction.

In the past, even a single bite of mango would leave her covered in hives, her face swollen beyond recognition.

Damn it. So the transfer was one-sided after all. Everything she ate was dumped into me, but nothing I ate ever transferred back.

By now, I was so stuffed I couldn't take another bite. I lifted my phone toward the camera and forced a cheerful tone.

"It's getting late, darlings. Time to sleep. Staying up too late isn't healthy. Let's meet again another day."

After saying goodbye, I ended the stream with a single tap.

Back in my car, I grabbed a plastic bag and retched until I was dizzy, vomiting out everything I had just swallowed.

By the time I drove home, it was already past midnight, but sleep was impossible.

Until I could figure out how to outmaneuver Tina, I knew my life was in constant danger.

Tossing and turning on the bed, I suddenly felt a wave of nausea surge through my stomach. I gagged desperately, but nothing came out.

It was the same sickening sensation I used to feel when my parents forced me to eat greasy slabs of pork fat. Panicked, I rushed to the fridge, grabbed an ice cream, and swallowed it down in hopes of easing the discomfort.

But it did nothing.

Then, a realization struck me. I fumbled for my phone, opened it, and sure enough—Tina had started another livestream.

"Hey fam, let me treat you all to something special today… pure fatty pork! Keep those gifts coming!"

On screen, she held up a glistening hunk of pork fat and bit into it with relish. Even through the phone, the sight made my stomach churn.

Furious, I typed a comment in the chat: [Stop eating! It's disgusting just watching you!]

She spotted my message and smirked triumphantly.

"Who do you think you are? You say stop, and I should stop? Show me some real power if you want me to listen."

The nausea clawed at me, unbearable. In desperation, I sent her several extravagant gifts, hoping she would quit.

Instead, she accepted my money with glee and pulled out a massive bowl of mayonnaise.

"Since you don't like fatty pork, I'll switch to something sweet."

Mayonnaise was pure oil and no different from the pork. She shoveled it into her mouth by the spoonful. I felt so sick I nearly coughed up blood.

[What the hell did you do to me? Why is it that you're the one eating, but I'm the one suffering?]

[Stop! Stop eating anything!]

My desperate comments only fueled her cruelty. The more I begged, the harder she laughed.

Agonizing pain ripped through my gut. With my last shred of strength, I dialed 911.

Thankfully, the ambulance arrived in time, dragging me back from death's door.

Just like in my previous life, the diagnosis was the same: acute pancreatitis caused by overeating.

The doctor studied my chart in astonishment. "You're so thin. How could you possibly eat this much?"

I said nothing. I signed for discharge immediately and headed straight for Tina's place.

The moment the door opened, I pressed a kitchen knife to her throat.

"Shirley, what are you doing? Calm down!" she stammered.

I glared at her, my patience gone. "I'm not here to waste words. Tell me the truth. Why is it that you eat, but I'm the one who suffers?"

Her eyes widened in feigned innocence. "Shirley, I don't understand what you're saying."

My grip on the knife tightened. "Don't play dumb. Talk!"

Her face drained of color. "O-okay, I'll talk, I'll talk—"

But instead of confessing, she screamed, "Nick, help me!"

I hadn't noticed Nick slip in behind me. He kicked me hard, knocking me to the floor. The knife was ripped from my hands.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he snapped.

Then, to my horror, he pulled out his phone and set up a livestream. One by one, he placed thirty hamburgers on the table.

"You claim that whenever Tina eats, the food transfers into your stomach? Fine. Let the livestream family be the judge. If you keep this up, I'll break up with you right here and now."

Viewers had no idea what was happening. The comments scrolled by in a frenzy.

Nick turned to the camera, explaining, "Hey fam, my girlfriend here is insane. She says everything Tina eats ends up in her stomach. Tonight, you'll be our witnesses. If she keeps acting out, I'll leave her."

Tina picked up a hamburger and shoved it into her mouth without hesitation.

Instantly, the crushing fullness struck me again. My stomach twisted in unbearable pain, far beyond its limits. My body collapsed, writhing in violent spasms on the floor.

The chat exploded.

[Is that girl for real?]

[Looks like she's faking it.]

[Slap her a couple times, she'll straighten up.]

Nick's gaze turned icy. He looked down at me and said coldly, "If you keep pretending, don't blame me for what happens next."

I clenched my fists and braced against the wall, forcing a smile.

"I'm not faking. It's just cramps. Am I not allowed to have period pain?"

With Nick standing there and the livestream still running, I couldn't do a thing. All I could do was swallow my rage and walk away.

But Nick refused to let me leave. Instead, he urged Tina to finish off the rest of the hamburgers.

"Don't pull stunts like this again. Consider this your lesson."

Back at the hospital, the doctor scolded me with barely contained frustration.

"Why are you binge-eating again? Do you have an eating disorder? I'm referring you to a psychiatrist."

I gave a bitter laugh. The truth was, I hadn't eaten properly in days. My stomach never felt empty. It was always full to the brim.

This time, the doctor refused to discharge me. I had to stay under observation and treatment.

For once, I listened. I remained obediently in the ward.

But a few days later, the familiar sensation returned. Tina was feasting again.

I opened her livestream and saw Nick by her side, taking her on a food tour. They had ordered every single dish the restaurant offered.

At the same time, a message popped up on my phone. It was from Tina.

[Shirley, Nick took me out of town this time. There's so much good food. I don't want to waste a bite.]

My chest burned with fury. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to fly to her side and tear her into pieces.

Then my eyes fell on the bottle of medicine the doctor had prescribed.

And suddenly, everything made sense.

The truth hit me so hard I nearly leapt from the bed in joy. At last, I understood why all this was happening.

Over the next few days, Tina continued streaming her food tours. Her name was spreading fast online.

People were astonished that she could eat endlessly, never purged, and yet her figure remained slim.

Other competitive eaters grew suspicious. Several challenged her, unwilling to believe it.

She accepted. In a few days, she would face off against a top-tier streamer with over a million followers.

In my past life, it was after that very competition that I died at home.

But this time, I lay back on my hospital bed, calm and content, focusing on my recovery.

The day of the match arrived. More than ten thousand viewers flooded into the livestream.

Before Tina sat ten massive rice cookers, each brimming with freshly steamed rice.

She lifted her bowl, ready to eat, but her face twisted in discomfort. She set her spoon down, unable to continue.

Across from her, the rival had already begun.

"Sweetie, hurry up!" Nick urged, panicked. "He's already eating!"

Tina forced a smile, nodded, and tried again. But halfway through, she clutched her stomach and doubled over.

"Sweetie, what's wrong?" Nick asked anxiously.

Before she could answer—before the eyes of ten thousand live viewers—Tina let out an explosive fart.

The next moment, a foul stench filled the air, and she collapsed on the floor, unconscious.

Watching the chaos unfold, I laughed until my cheeks ached.

Soon after, Nick's call came through, his voice trembling with rage. "What did you do?!"

I smiled. "Why don't you take a guess?"