Three Years Dead, His Regret

A torrential storm destroyed the university athletic track, exposing the body that had been buried beneath the field for three long years.

The remains—rotting flesh and bones—were ghastly and terrifying.

Back then, the daughter of the university president plagiarized my thesis.

When I tried to report her, I was brutally murdered in the President’s Office.

They secretly buried me under the athletic field and lied to the world, claiming I had shamelessly tried to seduce the president for tenure promotion.

When I was “rejected,” I supposedly left in humiliation, never to be heard from again.

They masked my death with the word “disappearance.”

Because of this lie, I carried the infamy of a disgraceful woman, spat on by everyone.

My fiancé even married the president’s daughter, embracing the killer day and night.

Whenever he thought of me, he would only curse bitterly:

“Shameless whore!”

Now, with my remains unearthed, the sins buried by time could no longer be hidden.

“Ah! A body!”

A terrified scream shattered the silence of campus.

In an instant, nearly a thousand people crowded around the shattered track.

Hovering above, I quietly stared at my own corpse.

The body was curled up in a narrow pit, the clothing long decayed and fused with the soil into dark, tattered scraps.

My limbs were twisted at grotesque angles, teeth flashing white in the dirt.

In my mouth, I still clamped down on a piece of rotten fabric—proof of the agony I endured in my final moment.

The dead no longer feel pain.

Yet whenever I remembered the moment three years ago when I was brutally slaughtered, my soul trembled in the air.

“Who is it?”

“So terrifying!”

“Oh my God, we’ve been running on this track every day—and a corpse was buried underneath us? I’ll have nightmares tonight!”

Police officers, forensic pathologists, and crime scene investigators quickly arrived.

They set up a cordon, keeping away the curious crowd.

Wearing gloves, they searched carefully for evidence around the remains.

The Dean of Academic Affairs and the Head of Campus Security also rushed over, questioned by the officers.

The coroner’s initial judgment: the body belonged to a young woman, deceased for about three years.

“Has anyone gone missing at your university in the past few years?”

“Including female faculty or students?”

The two administrators exchanged nervous glances.

“N-no… not that I know of…”

“Shouldn’t… shouldn’t be anyone…”

Their evasive expressions made it clear they weren’t telling the truth.

“This is a homicide! A human life is at stake!” The officer’s tone turned stern.

Finally, the dean hesitantly admitted:

“Three years ago, a young lecturer named Emily Carter disappeared… she was twenty-seven at the time…”

“Why didn’t you report it back then?” the officer barked.

“Because Ms. Carter was already an adult, and we thought she had left on her own out of shame. This was humiliating for the school, so President Richard Miller ordered us not to publicize it… He said school scandals should not be exposed.”

The Head of Security was drenched in sweat, fumbling for excuses.

Still clinging to a shred of hope, he glanced at the remains.

“This… this might not be Emily, right?”

Just then, the forensic team picked up a damaged badge with tweezers.

“A faculty ID was found next to the body. The victim is indeed Lecturer Emily Carter.”

The Head of Security’s face turned ashen, too terrified to speak again.

Floating in the air, I sighed bitterly.

After three years, the truth of my death was finally exposed.

It was pitiful, really. My mother, Margaret, had died early.

My father, Thomas, remarried and ignored me completely.

For three whole years, he never noticed my absence, never wondered if something had happened to me.