“You are merely indulging in a self-satisfying sense of justice. That so-called justice is nothing more than a pathological vanity, a way for you to vent the pressure you have nowhere else to release. And this pathology, as rumors spread and subconscious biases deepen, spreads from individuals to the group, influencing each other, and eventually even becomes your ridiculous faith.”

“You think your boycotts and bullying have become justice. You believe your so-called nonconformity is filling the social voids that the law cannot.”

“You people, in truth, are just relying on the comfort of numbers to avoid responsibility, enjoying the status of judges who get to criticize the fate of others from a position of superiority. So you desperately hide your own inner baseness, unwilling to admit your mistakes. Unwilling to face the consequences of your actions. In the end, it’s just ignorance and irresponsibility. Maybe, many years from now, you’ll realize your mistakes, but by then, you’ll just find a new excuse for yourself: ‘I was young back then,’ or ‘Everyone was doing it, I just said a couple of things.’ Is it really that simple?”

“Let me tell you, the more foolish and incompetent a person is, the more they need the suffering of others to prove their own strength.”

“You are, in fact, just such people. Under the guidance of others, you so easily became degenerates. I hope you’ll always be so lucky, never having to experience the same humiliation as they did. Remember this lesson well, idiots.”

Chapter 11: Evidence

After delivering her earth-shattering declaration, The Vault put down the microphone and set it directly on the ground.

She ignored the surrounding commotion and chaos, walking down the steps with calm composure.

The students on the field were in an uproar, and the teachers in charge of each class were desperately trying to keep things under control. The noise nearby was so loud it was impossible to make out what anyone was shouting.

The school leader responsible for presiding over today’s meeting was drenched in cold sweat, straining his voice to shout at the crowd below, directing the staff to help disperse the crowd and lead all the students back to their classrooms.

Julian Grant looked down with a grim face, sighing inwardly at the emotionally unstable students before him.

At this age, to put it nicely, students are full of youthful vigor, as if any little thing could set them off like gunpowder with a lit fuse, ready to explode at any moment.

They need protection, because they are still fragile.

But they also need to be guarded against, because they can be very dangerous.

Julian Grant withdrew his gaze and quickly caught up with The Vault, asking, “What’s going on with you today? Why did you come up here? I couldn’t reach you—I thought something had happened to you.”

The Vault said, “Last night I got into a fight with Hugo Spencer.”

Julian Grant inhaled sharply in surprise and asked seriously, “Did you win?”

The Vault sighed regretfully, “It was a draw—both sides lost.”

Julian Grant clicked his tongue. “That’s not good enough.”

The Vault replied dryly, “I’m not exactly a fighter. I’ll try to do better next time.”

There was a trace of fatigue in both her tone and expression, perhaps from long hours of gaming. Most of the time, Julian Grant couldn’t guess what she was really thinking.

Julian Grant asked, “How’s your suicide progress?”

The Vault glanced at her character info, her mood wavering slightly at the ever-increasing number. “Ninety-six percent.”

Julian Grant was silent for a moment, then asked, “Do you want to go up to the rooftop and pick a good spot first?”

“No need. Even if I were to commit suicide, I wouldn’t choose jumping off a building,” The Vault said seriously. “Jumping is an extremely painful way to die. Not to mention, during the fall, your heart, eyes, eardrums, muscles—all of them experience severe discomfort from the high-speed drop. And even after hitting the ground, you might not lose consciousness right away. Your bones would—”

Julian Grant was completely sidetracked by her, and not wanting to hear any more gruesome science facts, quickly interrupted, “Then what painless method would you choose?”

The Vault enunciated clearly, “If I had the choice of whether to die or not, of course I’d choose to live!”

Julian Grant: “……” That makes sense. I can’t argue with that.

The two hadn’t walked far when the school leader, having finally finished organizing the evacuation, managed to catch his breath.

A middle-aged man hurried after them, shouting furiously, “Wendy Ward—stop right there! Where do you think you’re going!!”

·

Half an hour later, in the meeting room of the Political Education Building at No. 1 High School.

The principal and several other key leaders had all been alerted and gathered in this spacious room to deal with the unexpected incident that had occurred today.

The Vault sat at one end of the conference table, with Julian Grant standing behind her. Both looked ahead at the dozen or so stern-faced people not far away, their expressions calm as ever.

Several empty rows of seats in the middle of the long, dark table divided them into two clearly opposing sides.

The director of the Academic Affairs Office was a middle-aged, balding man.

He wore a wig, but it was so thick and obviously fake that it looked like a dense black pot lid on his head.

At this moment, he was highly agitated, his face flushed, and from his expression, he looked as if he wanted to stomp The Vault underfoot and grind her into the ground.

His fingers kept tapping rhythmically on the wooden table, producing crisp sounds as he reprimanded, “Wendy Ward, what exactly are you trying to do? Why turn something that could be discussed calmly into this mess? The school considered the fact that you’re a high school student and wanted to give you a chance to repent, which is why you were allowed to go on stage and make a self-criticism. What were you trying to express with your actions this morning? Huh? Do you realize that now all the students in the school are talking about this? You’re causing public panic!”

The Vault was scolded right off the bat, but showed no reaction, head lowered, idly flipping her phone with one hand.

The director grew more impassioned as he spoke, his voice turning hoarse. “The consequences of this incident are very serious! The impact is extremely negative! In all my years working at this school, I’ve never seen anyone dare to do something so outrageous! Making mistakes again and again, not only refusing to repent, but getting worse each time! Do you think the school will let you get away with this? Don’t think that just because you’re young you don’t have to take responsibility. Let me tell you, you’re not that young—you’re a senior! You’re already an adult! By tarnishing the school’s reputation like this, we could sue you for defamation!”

The Vault listened carefully until he finished, and seeing he had nothing more to add, replied calmly, “The difference between defamation and reporting is the difference between fabrication and truth. Everything I said this morning was based on facts—there was nothing false. In comparison, what Hugo Spencer said was baseless slander. You don’t criticize him, but instead try to intimidate me. I’m willing to reason with you, but I’m afraid you can’t hold your ground.”

“You say I’m intimidating you?!”

The director slammed both hands down, his watch banging against the table with an eardrum-rattling crash.

“Clearly, you’re incapable of recognizing your own mistakes. This is utterly absurd!”

The Vault nodded. “Sorry. I’ve been trying hard to follow your logic, to recognize my own mistakes. But honestly, I think you’re the one being absurd.”

Julian Grant burst out laughing.

His laughter immediately redirected the director’s anger toward him.

“And you! Where’s your ID? Which department are you from? Did your superiors approve you sharing investigation materials with an ordinary student, and letting her make public statements before the facts are clear, fabricating and slandering others? You can ask us to cooperate with your investigation, but you shouldn’t be handling things this way!”

Julian Grant rested his hand on the back of The Vault’s chair, standing at ease. “Of course, that wouldn’t be allowed by procedure. I’m a police officer who strictly follows the rules, so I never disclosed my investigation progress to student Wendy Ward. She’s just too smart—she figured out the process herself while I was taking her statement. If you want to file a complaint, you can call directly. We’ll conduct an internal review.”

Director: “Then what about the text message she received at the morning assembly? Wasn’t that from you?”

As he spoke, he strode over, trying to grab the phone The Vault had placed on the table.

Julian Grant was faster. His large hand pressed down first, pinning not only the phone but also The Vault’s hand before she could pull it back.

His palm was burning hot, but his tone was icy cold.

“Sir, let me remind you: you have no right to search a student’s phone, especially private chat records. Even the police can’t check someone’s communications at will. Doing something so inappropriate in front of a police officer—don’t you think you’re underestimating me a bit?”

Everyone present was a successful member of society. When dealing with an ordinary student and a grassroots police officer, they were undoubtedly condescending. Once their limited patience ran out, their arrogance began to show.

“Wendy Ward, what’s the meaning of this? You brought a police officer here to challenge the school? Was yesterday’s fight somehow the school’s fault?”

“We can’t handle students like you at No. 1 High. Considering you’re a high schooler, we’ve already been very lenient. But if you insist on this, we’ll have to talk to your parents!”