The Plagiarism Scandal That Destroyed My Life

I requested leave from my supervisor, using the excuse of family matters. As he signed the note, he inquired about the progress of my thesis. I muttered a few vague responses to evade his questions.

In my previous life, he had accused me of plagiarism without even conducting an investigation. It made me wonder if he was as straightforward as he appeared. Despite how kind he seemed—giving me red envelopes on holidays and occasionally introducing me to important contacts—there was always something unsettling, as if he wore a mask, hiding a completely different person underneath.

When he suggested that I compete fairly with Felicity, it seemed reasonable at first. He even involved the dean in overseeing our theses. But in hindsight, it was all part of a calculated plan, giving him the perfect opportunity to frame me.

The lab key was solely in his possession, and any access to the lab required a strict registration process. Something had gone terribly wrong somewhere along the line, but I couldn't pinpoint exactly how. Adjusting my heavy glasses once more, I resolved that this time, things would be different. I would conduct my experiments off-campus, ensuring that Felicity had no chance to steal my work again.

This qualification to stay in school had been rightfully mine all along, and this time, I was determined to secure it.

Once I got home, I unpacked everything I had brought from school, ensuring nothing was left behind. Fearing that my phone could be monitored, I went to a phone store and purchased a new one, along with anti-surveillance software. I also invested in a brand-new electronic scanner.

Before entering the lab, I would lock my phone in a safe and scan every single item I brought with me, ensuring no room for any suspicious activity. This time, I would leave no trace of my work vulnerable to sabotage.

I focused intensely on the experiment, not allowing myself even a moment’s break. After obtaining the first key data, I decided to step outside the lab for a quick breather. As soon as I was outside, I pulled out my phone and checked Felicity’s social media.

She had just posted an update from her graduation trip, casually sharing photos of her scenic route. Someone had commented, asking if she wasn’t worried about finishing her thesis.

Her reply struck me like a lightning bolt: “I completed my experiment last night and got the first key data.”

My heart skipped a beat. How could that be? I had just obtained the same data moments ago. Could her abilities truly be that extraordinary? Was she so far ahead of me?

I refreshed her feed, and there it was—she had posted the exact steps of her experiment, and to my horror, they were identical to the steps I had just completed.

Panic surged through me. What went wrong this time? I read through her post again and again, comparing it with my own experiment. There wasn’t a single difference.

Determined to avoid this happening again, I quickly made a decision: I would change the research topic entirely. Surely, this time, our paths wouldn’t overlap.

Without wasting a moment, I got back to work. Using the lab computer, I meticulously outlined a new experiment. I finalized the steps, laying out 11 pages of detailed instructions.

As I stepped out of the lab, the night sky was adorned with stars. It was late—too late—but I had no choice.

Just then, my phone rang. It was Nancy. “Felicity changed her topic,” she said. “You might want to check her Facebook.”

Despite my exhaustion, I hurriedly opened Facebook and saw the familiar page layout. Felicity's mouse cursor hovered over page 11 of her document. She had written, "I felt that the topic I chose this morning wasn't innovative enough. I thought of a new direction while in the car and finalized it just now."

Though I couldn’t see the full details of her post, the number of pages, font size, and even the word count matched my document perfectly. Panic crept over me—how was this happening again?

In my previous life, I had received a message from the editorial department stating that my paper was under investigation for plagiarism. Before I could even explain, the rumors spread like wildfire through the college. Felicity took to the forums, accusing me of stealing her work, and it quickly became the talk of the school.

My instructor had called me into his office, telling me to admit to the plagiarism. He said, “Even if you lose your chance to stay in school, I’ll help you get a counselor position here.”

I refused. I had done nothing wrong.

But Felicity wasn’t done. She cornered me in the lab, her face hard with accusation. “Why did you plagiarize my work? We agreed to a fair competition!” she shouted, as if she were the victim.

A group of classmates accompanied her, their anger palpable. They taunted and insulted me.

“Is it that hard to admit you’re not good enough? You had to steal someone else’s work!”

“She’s a disgrace to the PhD program. The school needs to investigate this.”

“She should lose her degree. A plagiarist shouldn’t be allowed to stay in academia.”

Their words cut deep, and the worst part was that I had no way to defend myself. I made my experimental process and data public, trying to clear my name. But somehow, Felicity’s results were identical to mine—every step, every detail. And the timestamp on her experimental equipment was two hours ahead of mine, making it look like I had copied her.