Reborn Before Finals I Let the Golden Students Destroy Themselves

The day before finals. The class heartthrob's birthday.

Samantha Gilbert—class president and said heartthrob's girlfriend—proposed that everyone hit a bar to celebrate, a pre-exam send-off for the Elite Track.

The top students voted unanimously in favor.

In my last life, I was the academic chair. I'd blocked that absurd idea, argued that the night before the most important exam of our lives was no time for alcohol and parties—that it would wreck everyone's performance.

Samantha's face went cold. "You're jealous again."

Our classmates sneered. "Always acting so above it all. You're just bitter that Samantha treats Roger so well."

I ignored their mockery. I begged them not to go.

I even stayed up calling each of them, one by one, confirming they were home and resting. The next morning, I waited at the exam site in the sweltering heat, phoning everyone to make sure they left on time.

They crushed the exam.

But when scores came out, so did the news—Roger James had gone to that bar alone to celebrate. A wealthy woman had taken interest. He'd been found beaten nearly to death, bones shattered, bleeding out. Rushed to the hospital.

When Samantha heard, she lost her mind.

She rallied the entire class. They pushed me off the roof.

I died on impact.

When police questioned them, they lied in perfect unison:

"He threatened us. Said if anyone tried to help Roger, they could forget about taking the exam."

"He got scared when it backfired. Jumped."

Those calls I'd made that night? The security footage of me counting heads at the exam site? All twisted into "evidence" of my guilt.

The internet tore me apart. Some psycho doused my family's home in motor oil and set it ablaze.

My parents burned alive.

Samantha lived next door. She stood on her balcony, arms crossed, watching my mother and father scream themselves hoarse—and only called the fire department after they stopped.

I didn't learn the truth until after I died.

Roger James had orchestrated everything.

Now I'm back.

When Samantha laced her fingers through Roger's and announced, all smiles, "See everyone at the bar tonight—"

I grabbed my bag and walked out.

This time, let them make their own mess.

I'm done trying to save people who'd sooner see me dead.

1.

"Even though he bullied me over family stuff and threatened our classmates not to rescue me... he's gone now. I forgive him."

He sighed, perfectly rehearsed. "But I have trauma around the exam now. I can't bring myself to retake it. I've decided to study abroad instead. I know I promised everyone I'd get into Stonebridge University—I'm sorry to let you down."

He'd built his whole persona on being the "genius heartthrob," the guy destined for the nation's top school.

His followers ate it up. Called him an inspiration, a survivor who rose above tragedy. He gained a million new fans overnight.

The second the stream ended, he was tangled up with his sugar mama, smirking ear to ear:

"I cheated on every single test. If I'd actually sat for finals, I'd have been exposed in a heartbeat. Lucky I came up with this scheme—and bonus, it covered up your husband finding out about us and landing me in the hospital."

He stretched lazily. "Originally, I was gonna lure Samantha to the bar that night. Get her pregnant. Marry into money. But that dog Daryl Shepherd ruined it."

A shrug. "Whatever. Samantha's so broken up about what happened, she swore she'd marry me the second I recover."

His laughter cut through me like shattered glass.

I wanted to claw his throat out.

Then—

A voice. Familiar. Dripping with contempt.

"Daryl Shepherd, what's with that face?"

"Roger's birthday wish was to celebrate with the whole class. He invited you. The least you could do is act grateful instead of standing there looking disgusted."

"Then again, Roger streams every day and still outranks Daryl. Meanwhile, Daryl grinds himself to death just to place third. Jealousy's an ugly look."