Chapter 1

For three years, I was bullied and ostracized because I refused to do the school bully's homework.

　　Scars layered upon scars on my wrists. The doctor said I had severe self-harm tendencies.

　　My parents were heartbroken, losing sleep, vowing they'd sell everything they owned to get me better.

　　But then, the bully's mom burst into our home with a group of people, pointing her finger in my face and accusing me of seducing her son.

　　My usually timid parents turned pale with fright, not daring to utter a single word in my defense.

　　I hid behind them, trembling, begging Mom to close the door.

　　Instead, Mom suddenly snapped, grabbing a teacup from the table and smashing it against my forehead:

　　"Flies don't buzz around unblemished eggs. Why are you the only one out of thousands of students who always causes problems?"

　　"We can't afford to provoke them, but can't we at least avoid them? Why do you have to stir up trouble with people like that!"

　　"Just die, go die and we'll all be at peace, everyone will be free!"

　　Those words, like a bolt of lightning, shattered the last defense in my heart.

　　I looked at Mom.

　　Her eyes held no tenderness, only the frantic desire to shake off a burden.

　　Then I looked at Dad.

　　He was hiding in the corner, smoking, not even daring to look me in the eye.

　　I suddenly laughed.

　　"Fine,"

　　I whispered.

　　"Since you all want your 'reputation,' then I'll pay with my life."

　　I turned and ran towards the balcony.

　　It was the fastest I had run in seventeen years.

1

　　The moment my body became airborne, I felt no fear.

　　Instead, there was a long-lost sense of lightness.

　　Finally, no more writing Chad's homework.

　　Finally, no more enduring the mocking stares of my classmates.

　　Finally, no more seeing my parents' timid, afraid-to-make-waves expressions.

　　As I plummeted, time seemed to stretch endlessly.

　　On the balcony, Mom still held her hand out, pointing at me, her expression shifting from anger to stunned disbelief.

　　Dad's cigarette fell to the ground, his mouth agape.

　　Mrs. Davidson's cold sneer froze on her face.

　　But I didn't look back.

　　"Thud—"

　　A dull, heavy impact.

　　Followed by the sound of bones shattering.

　　The intense pain lasted only a second, then came boundless darkness and void.

　　I thought that was the end.

　　But when I opened my eyes again, I found myself floating in mid-air.

　　My body lay twisted on the concrete, blood spreading rapidly outwards like a morbidly beautiful bloom.

　　The wound on my forehead was still there, and with the severe trauma from the fall, my face was a bloody, unrecognizable mess.

　　Screams erupted around me.

　　"Ah! Someone's dead!"

　　"The Millers' daughter jumped!"

　　A crowd quickly gathered, some pulling out phones to take pictures, others covering their eyes, unable to watch.

　　I hovered above my body, watching the scene with cold detachment.

　　Rushed footsteps echoed from upstairs.

　　Mrs. Davidson and her people rushed down. Seeing the gruesome sight on the ground, she visibly flinched.

　　But quickly, she covered her nose, recoiling several steps with an expression of disgust, pulling her bodyguards behind her.

　　"How unlucky! If you're going to die, couldn't you do it somewhere else? Why in front of me?"

　　She even kicked one of my shoes that had flown off.

　　"I always said that girl had a weak constitution, such a drama queen. It's truly an eyesore."

　　I wanted to rush over and tear her mouth apart.

　　But my hand passed through her body, only stirring up a chilling gust of wind.

　　Mrs. Davidson shivered, cursed under her breath, and left with her group.

　　"Come on, let's go, quickly, don't get tainted by this bad luck. She jumped herself, it has nothing to do with us. Don't even think about getting money from us!"

　　Just then, Mom and Dad stumbled down the stairs.

　　I thought they would rush to my side, weeping.

　　I thought they would regret the words they had just spoken.

　　But I was wrong.

　　Mom rushed out of the building entrance, saw the shocking red puddle on the ground, and her first reaction wasn't to scream or to run over and embrace me.

　　Instead, she clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes darting around in terror.

　　She was looking at the neighbors.

　　She was looking at the crowds pointing fingers.

　　Dad's legs were so weak he couldn't stand, collapsing to his knees about six feet away from me.

　　His hands trembled as he tried to reach for a cigarette in his pocket, but he couldn't find one.

　　"How... how are we supposed to show our faces after this...?"

　　Dad murmured to himself.

　　Not because he was heartbroken for me, but because he felt "humiliated."

　　"Michael, call an ambulance!" shouted Mr. Henderson, our neighbor.

　　Dad finally reacted, fumbling for his phone, pressing several times before finally dialing 91