Part 15
"I hope the next part of the story is: the fools' confession."
·
Actually, it hasn't been long since The Vault took the stage. A male voice from the audience was already shouting loudly, "Are you crazy? If you're insane, get off the stage!"
Someone else quickly chimed in, "Yeah! Get down! Who wants to see you!"
"Apologize!"
"Get lost!"
The Vault raised the microphone and slowly began to speak to the crowd.
"I really dislike studying psychology."
Her first sentence was rather odd.
"Because I really dislike trying to figure out other people's minds. It's something that makes people unhappy. But, many times, human instinct still forces me to sense the emotions others unintentionally reveal."
The Vault paused as she spoke, her gaze sweeping toward several middle-aged men standing in the corner.
"For example, these people standing behind me. Even though they wear serious expressions, deep down, they're secretly delighted. Delighted that they've recruited such a group of foolish students who can't think independently."
The students, already restless, became even more agitated after her mockery.
The Vault turned her head toward a small room on the other side and said, "To the students at the broadcasting station, I suggest you don't cut the sound. Two students at No. 1 High School have already committed suicide in succession. Just now, you allowed a student to accuse me of crimes in front of the entire school. If you don't give me a chance to clarify, I think the public and the police have every reason to suspect that you are deliberately stirring up student conflict, condoning or even guiding campus violence. In that case, I'll call the police directly and contact the media as well. I think the school leaders should be very afraid of those two getting involved."
The commotion grew louder, the noise almost drowning out The Vault's speech.
The Vault smiled slightly. "Thank you. What I have to say is actually very brief. I may not be able to convince you, or even if I do, you may not admit it."
"Hugo Spencer accuses me of driving Nathan Sanders to death. Of course I don't accept such an accusation. The reason is simple: there has never been any concrete evidence to prove that Nathan Sanders died because she couldn't stand my bullying. It's all just baseless speculation."
Her voice was clear, and her unhurried pace quieted most of the previously noisy students, who began to listen to her speech.
"Up to now, everyone—including my classmates, my roommates, and possibly even my teachers—none of them have actually seen me do anything excessive. Otherwise, those with a sense of justice would have already stepped in to stop me. But after Nathan Sanders's death, they instinctively believed that I must have done something even worse to her in private. Why?"
"'In private' is a very interesting phrase. It's as if I could always defy the laws of nature, find a place where no one is around, and inflict psychological violence on Nathan Sanders without physical contact, while also forcing her not to tell anyone about it. Even though this is highly unreasonable, they still believe it. On what basis do they make this judgment?"
The Vault paced a couple of steps on the podium, head lowered, looking at the tips of her shoes.
"Let me tell you all.
"Everyone here who has ever cursed, fought, insulted someone, had a conflict, made an inappropriate joke, had out-of-control or extreme thoughts, disliked someone out of selfishness, or isolated and excluded someone—those of you who have done these things, you have all made the same mistakes as I have. You should all stand on this stage, accept public criticism, and confess your own faults. Let thousands of people curse at you to 'get off the stage' right to your face."
The Vault stopped walking, stretched out her hand, and asked, "So? Which side really looks more like the crazy ones?"
Some people still looked indignant and scornful, some were indifferent, and others were wavering.
The Vault: "You love to use collective morality to coerce others. You want justice, kindness, fearlessness, and courage. But while selfishness isn't something to be encouraged, it's also just human nature.
"Not daring to move forward because of fear.
"Not wanting to give up because you cherish something.
"Unable to yield because you care too much.
"Unable to let go because you long for something.
"Are these really unforgivable things? Do you need to raise your weapons and insist on cutting her down? Do you have to gather together like madmen and launch a crusade against her?"
The Vault lifted her chin slightly, looking down at everyone with a mocking gaze.
"What is your ultimate goal? A life for a life? Do you want to see Wendy Ward, or me, die under your pursuit of justice, offering up our lives as a sacrifice for this revolution? Is that it?"
Her last sentence suddenly turned cold and sharp: "Isn't that just murder? Is that really something to make you so happy?"
There was a moment of silence among the students, then someone shouted angrily:
"Bullshit! I would never do something so cruel to someone with depression!"
"Don't twist the facts! You're the one who killed your roommate first!"
"How shameless can you be! Are you trying to say what you did doesn't matter, or that the victim was just too fragile? How can you say something like that!"
A burst of harsh noise came from the speakers, drowning out those students' voices.
The Vault took out her phone from her pocket and saw that Julian Grant had sent her more than ten messages earlier, but she hadn't noticed. The latest one had just arrived.
She turned around and looked into the distance.
A tall figure was running quickly across the steps and the playground, sprinting toward her.
Julian Grant had taken off his jacket and was holding it in his hand. He was drenched in sweat from running for who knows how long. His bangs were wet and stuck to his face, making him look a mess. He had always looked like an ordinary middle-aged policeman, and now he was even more unremarkable.
He walked to where The Vault could see him, pointed at his phone, then at the students, and gave her an encouraging gesture.
The Vault carefully read the message, then curled her lips into a smile with an unreadable meaning.
She straightened her back, and her voice grew louder.
"It seems some people still don't understand what I'm saying. Then let me make it clear for you, like a reading comprehension exercise."
"In Nathan Sanders's final words, there was no mention of me at all. The subject of her words was the school. Her descriptions were, 'I never thought the school would become a place like this,' and 'I can't hold on any longer.' This shows she felt powerless, that she had tried all sorts of ways but couldn't break through. But according to you, no one at school except me ever did anything violent to her, so why did she expand it to the whole school? If she wanted to fight back against me, it would have been simple—just tell a teacher."
"That idiot Hugo Spencer says it's because Nathan Sanders had depression. I've never had depression, so I won't presume to judge its effects on people. But I think, compared to someone who always hated herself and still hated herself, it must have been even harder for her to accept the death of her best friend, right?"
The Vault raised her phone and said to everyone, "On the day Yvonne Thornton died, the police asked the school for surveillance footage. There is now clear evidence that the footage was tampered with. The school altered the time and images to create the illusion that Yvonne Thornton returned to the dorm and immediately jumped to her death."
"And Nathan Sanders probably knew about this."
"I think only this could match the serious accusation mentioned in Nathan Sanders's final words."
The crowd erupted at her words. Even the school leaders nearby looked panicked and at a loss.
The Vault calmly questioned, "Who changed the time on the surveillance footage? And who, pretending to be neutral, punished me, eager to tell you all that Nathan Sanders committed suicide because she couldn't stand campus bullying? And what role did you all play in this?"
The students started buzzing like headless flies, looking around in confusion, trying to confirm what they'd just heard. The scene was chaotic and out of control.
A teacher rushed forward, trying to snatch the microphone from The Vault's hand.
"I suggest you don't make any sudden moves. The police are right down there." The Vault stepped back, putting distance between herself and the person in front of her.
Meanwhile, Julian Grant, holding his jacket, bounded up the steps two at a time, blocking the way in front of her.
"I'm not finished yet."
The Vault walked around to the edge of the podium, facing the students who were stunned and frantically seeking confirmation from each other.
To Wendy Ward, these people were truly despicable.
"Actually, I was indeed wrong."
"I was too naive. At first, I really thought you were just a flock of lost lambs. Turns out, you weren't."
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