1 I’ve been exceptionally capable since I was a kid, but I love playing weak. I love watching people call me a useless loser, only to slap them hard in the face with reality later. Growing up, I was always the teacher's pet, the "perfect child" in the eyes of all the neighbors. Being invincible was honestly quite lonely. That is, until I got to college and met our academic counselor, a total "pick-me" who worshipped men. During freshman orientation, she pointed at the guys lounging in the shade, praising their "perseverance," while claiming us girls only knew how to act coy and dodge training. Without a word, I stood at attention under the blazing sun for ten hours straight. Even the drill instructor couldn't help but call me an eagle among women. During her lectures, she would only ask the guys basic, surface-level questions. But when it came to the girls, she practically threw Olympic-level math at us. When we couldn't answer, she'd call us useless and say we had zero potential. That comment flipped a switch in me. I stayed up day and night watching advanced competition videos. By the second class, I left her completely speechless. A visiting expert sitting in on the lecture even wanted to offer me a direct spot in a graduate program and take me to his lab right then and there. When it came time for scholarship applications, I filled out the forms exactly to spec, but she rejected them over and over again. She saved all the quotas for the guys and rolled her eyes at me. "You're so competitive, you'll never find a husband! You need to take a good look at yourself!" I laughed out of pure anger. "Professor, were you a horse in your past life? Why are you so obsessed with being ridden?" ...... "Go write a ten-thousand-word apology essay, and read it in front of the whole class at our meeting next Sunday!" Our counselor, Susan, turned beet red, slamming her pen violently onto my chest. "Professor, I don't think I did anything wrong, did I?" Was it the list of awards on my application that stung her eyes? But considering how blatantly she favored the guys, what's wrong with me showing off a little? "Emma, how did your parents raise you? You're always grandstanding. You don't act like a college student at all!" Susan tore up my application—which I had already revised fifteen times—right in front of my face. "If you really want this scholarship, get on your knees and apologize to me! I'll teach you the manners your parents clearly failed to!" My expression instantly turned ice cold. It was one thing to insult me, but she had to drag my parents into it. I was about to fire back, but Susan beat me to it. She probably assumed I was applying for the scholarship because I was poor. She looked at me with pure disdain and provocation. "I see you listed your parents' occupations as 'Confidential.' Are their jobs too shameful to mention?" "Makes sense. Maybe your mom raised you by selling her body to please men. That would explain why you dress up like a peacock every day!" "If you want to lessen your mother's 'burden,' beg me properly, and I might just give you the lowest-tier scholarship." Me? Short on money? What a joke. I only applied because the requirement was being in the top ten percent of the major. Your name gets posted on the honor roll at the campus entrance. It was just for bragging rights. It's not like I needed it! "Professor Susan, I won't be writing an apology, I won't be at the class meeting next week, and I certainly won't be kneeling for you." "I'm not approving your weekend leave! I'll mark you absent, and you won't be able to graduate!" Seeing that I dared to challenge her directly, Susan began abusing her authority. She looked at me with smug triumph. But I just let out a cold laugh. "Then please take it up with the Dean. I'm hosting the Arts Gala next Sunday. He specifically requested me." The moment those words left my mouth, she exploded. "You? Host the Gala?!" She swung her hand to slap me hard across the face. Luckily, I’ve taken mixed martial arts since I was a kid, so I dodged it easily. Otherwise, my face would have swelled up instantly. Seeing that she missed, Susan gritted her teeth in fury. She grabbed a fistful of my hair and snatched a pair of scissors from her desk. "Who are you trying to seduce, always leaving your hair down? Do you think college is a joke? Are you going to cut it yourself, or should I?!" With a quick block, I made her cry out in pain and let go. I smoothed out my pulled hair, my heart aching for the damage. "What are you doing?! Do you have any idea what this costs? I've been maintaining my hair with caviar treatments since I was little!" "I've spent at least three hundred thousand dollars on it! Can you afford to pay for that with your measly salary?" Crash. Susan smashed her water cup onto the floor. Shards of glass scraped my ankle, and a malicious smirk curled on her lips. "You have the nerve to tell such lies while applying for a scholarship! I'm reporting you to the university to strip you of your honors student status!" Saying that, she dialed my parents' number several times in a row. "I'm going to have you expelled!" I waved her off, entirely unbothered. "My parents won't answer your calls. You're way below their pay grade!" She got even angrier. "I don't know what kind of parents would raise such a shameless daughter!" I smiled faintly. "I'm afraid if I tell you who they are, you'll be the one kneeling." 2 Susan was practically radiating heat, completely enraged. "With an attitude like yours, don't even dream of finishing college! I'm going to the Dean tomorrow to have him contact your parents!" "What exactly is wrong with my attitude?" She was the one constantly picking on me, and now she was trying to force me out of school. I've been like this since I was a kid. Was I supposed to suppress my true nature just because I was in college? When I was three, my parents took me overseas to visit my uncle. He kept a prairie lion as a pet. The other kids were so terrified they didn't even dare to breathe. I was scared too. But I bit the bullet, stood in front of everyone, and yelled at the lion that could swallow me whole: "Stop roaring!" Even with my legs trembling, I climbed onto the lion's back, soaking in the awe-filled gazes of the other children. Since that day, I realized I could do anything to save face. On my tenth birthday, my parents wanted to gift me a subsidiary company. My chauvinistic older brother scoffed. "What does a girl need a company for? Her destiny is to be a pretty vase and get married off for a corporate alliance!" I didn't waste a single word arguing. The very next day, I went to the company and charmed all the employees. Everyone praised me endlessly to my parents. They called me meticulous, capable, and a management prodigy. When my brother came back from a business trip, the receptionist politely told him: "Our little boss is still at school today. Would you like me to schedule an appointment for you?" To prove I was worthy of their trust, I started taking college-level business administration courses while I was still in elementary school. My brother just thought I was putting on a show, badmouthing me to our parents every day. But my parents saw my hard work, and even planned to hand over the reins of the family business to me. As an eighteenth birthday present. But my grandfather, who heavily favored boys, wasn't happy about it. My brother provoked me like a victorious rooster. In just one summer vacation... I took the messy, failing company he left behind and took it public. My grandfather, with tears in his eyes, patted my brother's hand. "My foolish grandson... maybe wait for your next life to take over the family." From then on, he washed his hands of the matter, and my brother never saw him again. So when it came to flexing, my parents supported me 100%. "There's nothing wrong with a girl showing off! Mom just wants to see you shine!" "Why keep a low profile? As the wealthiest family in the city, we didn't work this hard for nothing!" I didn't reveal my parents' identities because I found it much more satisfying to earn people's attention through my own abilities. I never expected that in Susan's mouth, it would turn into: "Your parents probably have shameful jobs anyway, probably picking up trash! Maybe they'll come crying and begging me to let you go!" I was just about to snap back when the door opened from the outside. Our class president, Kevin, walked in. Even though I had won the popular vote by a landslide, Susan had forcefully appointed him instead. And yet, he pushed all the actual work onto me, the vice-president. He spent his days entirely focused on sucking up to Susan. Seeing me there, Kevin immediately curled his lip in annoyance. "Looks like someone's got a great relationship with the Dean, becoming the Gala host without even auditioning." "Susan, you don't know how long I prepared for this, only to get screwed over in silence!" Susan instantly understood what he meant. She looked at him with a heart full of pity. "Don't worry, I'll go fight for it for you tomorrow." "After all, someone is about to be expelled from our school!" 3 I didn't want to deal with them, so I grabbed the door handle to leave the office. Kevin stepped right in front of me, grabbing my hand, his finger disgustingly tracing my palm. He mouthed to me: "If you agree to be my girlfriend, I won't let Susan report you!" Susan was still yapping away in the background. "My boyfriend is a major donor to this school! Emma, you're finished!" What a joke. My family is the biggest donor to this university. Snap. I twisted Kevin's hand backward into an unnatural angle. Amidst their curses, I left the office. Back in my dorm, before I could even rest, the class group chat started blowing up. It was about some group project. Kevin sent a voice memo: "If you don't turn it in today, you automatically fail the class!" What assignment? Confused, I asked my roommate next to me. Chloe covered her mouth, her eyes wide. "You didn't know? The counselor assigned it. We're supposed to pair up, one guy, one girl, and shoot a campus video." "She assigned the groups herself. I think she DM'd everyone individually." I couldn't help but scoff. She was trying to set me up to fail. Without a second thought, I tagged her in the group chat. "Professor Susan, are you getting forgetful in your old age? You didn't notify me about the group project." When I looked at my phone again, I had been kicked out of the group chat. Susan sent me a private message. Her tone was arrogant. "You're too stuck-up. None of the guys in the class wanted to be in a group with you." Is that so? I opened WeChat, took screenshots of the friend requests from almost every guy in the class, and sent them to her. The next second, she lost her mind, sending a long string of abusive voice memos. "Dressing up like a peacock every day, looking like a streetwalker! Anyone can tell you and your mother are both trash!" But it was true that she seemed to have some connections at the school. I forwarded the voice recordings to the disciplinary office to report her. They rejected it, claiming it was AI-generated. The next day, Susan doubled down. Using my "failure to submit assignments" and "poor conduct" as excuses, she formally petitioned the Dean to replace me as the Gala host. She even claimed I was insubordinate and demanded I be expelled. But the Dean just looked at her like she was an idiot. "Your class is just an elective. Emma already has enough credits to graduate. Why would I expel her?" I stood in front of Susan, a provocative smile on my face. What a joke. A few credits? Did she really think I cared? I finished my four-year credit requirement during my freshman year. If you log into the system, you can see I have almost double the credits of the person in second place. Susan was humiliated and stomped away in a rage. But I knew she wouldn't let it go. Sure enough, when I got back to my dorm... I found all my hair accessories and custom skincare products gone from my desk. The clothes in my closet were missing too. My roommate Chloe called me in a panic. "Emma! All your clothes are in the dumpsters downstairs!" 4 I called the police. The surveillance footage showed Susan leading a group of guys into the girls' dorm under the guise of "moving things." They swept my desk clean and threw everything into the trash. The clothes from my closet, my silk duvet—Susan had aggressively stomped all over them. When Susan arrived, she was holding two hundred dollars, showing zero remorse. "You had a lot of contraband items. I was just doing a routine inspection." "This money is compensation. It should be enough. After all, that's the amount of the scholarship you wanted." I sneered. "This little amount? Who are you trying to buy off, a beggar?" I backhanded the list of missing items right into Susan's face. "The hair clips were Chanel, the clothes were haute couture, and the skincare was custom-formulated for my exact skin type." "The purchase receipts are all right there. That cash isn't even enough to buy one of my hair clips!" Susan's eyes widened in shock. "Impossible! If you're that rich, why would you apply for a scholarship?!" She insisted I was lying, but the police verified the receipts. I thought being on the hook for hundreds of thousands of dollars would make her pack her bags and leave. Surprisingly, she didn't panic at all. "You think you're the only one with money? My boyfriend is way richer than a nouveau riche brat like you!" She cooed and acted helpless in front of the police. "Officer, my boyfriend will compensate her for the losses." Her boyfriend did have means; the money was quickly transferred to my account. The university also claimed that as a counselor, she had the right to inspect for contraband, and she didn't even get a reprimand. I originally wanted to call my parents right then and there to have them use their influence to squash this nuisance. But on second thought, slapping her down like that was too boring. It would be much more fun to deliver the slap to both Susan and her boyfriend personally. So I held back and applied to the Dean to move off-campus. For three days, I was basically living at the Arts Gala rehearsals, and Susan stopped picking on me. I thought she had turned over a new leaf. But on the day of the Gala, I found my evening gown shredded in the dressing room. I didn't even have to guess who did it. I instinctively tried to open the door to confront her, but it was locked from the outside. Then, the lights suddenly went completely dark. Someone had pulled the breaker. This situation... I almost wanted to consider Susan a soulmate. How did she know that I absolutely thrive on flexing my skills in desperate situations like this? I've never been afraid of the dark. And as an heiress, knowing how to pick a lock is a perfectly normal skill to have, right? So, I grabbed a bobby pin, picked the lock, and casually texted my family's butler, Uncle Wang. In the broadcast room, the Dean was pacing anxiously. "Why isn't Emma here yet? The Gala is about to start!" Susan spared no effort in putting me down. "Girls like her have no concept of time. Why don't we let Kevin do it? He's definitely better than her." But the next second, Susan's eyes went wide. Because I stepped onto the stage wearing an even more magnificent, breathtaking gown. The Arts Gala was a massive success, but Susan just couldn't stop acting up. Over the next few days, rumors spread like wildfire across campus that I was a sugar baby for an elderly billionaire. The "proof" was a photo of Uncle Wang delivering my gown. Whether I was in the library or the cafeteria, students would cast weird looks my way. There was even a campus forum thread with thousands of replies. They claimed I was a fake socialite whose entire lifestyle was funded by a sugar daddy. They even posted my leave of absence record from last semester. [She claimed she had stomach pains and took a week off. Now it looks like she went to get an abortion!] This was right during a critical period when I was participating in a national-level academic competition. The academic affairs office politely approached me, suggesting I withdraw voluntarily. I ignored them and showed up on the day of the competition. To my surprise, that half-wit Susan was actually sitting on the judging panel. She was constantly whispering to the other judges. Before I could even step onto the stage, they stopped me. "Student, this is a national-level competition. Someone with your moral conduct is not permitted to participate." Susan walked over to me with a cold smirk. "I told you, my boyfriend is way more powerful than your sugar daddy! If you get on your knees and apologize to me right now, I might let you keep a degree!" I was just about to slap her when her eyes suddenly lit up. She waved at someone behind me. "My boyfriend is here! You might be permanently reduced to a high school graduate today!" I turned around and saw her boyfriend. When he saw me, a flash of surprise crossed his eyes. And the slap that was meant for Susan landed squarely, and viciously, on her boyfriend's face, right in front of everyone's shocked eyes.
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