If The Vault really were a high school student, she might be intimidated by such threats. After all, for an ordinary senior, the college entrance exam is the most important hurdle. It represents the greatest effort and highest pursuit a student has made since birth. Just mentioning it is enough to make people lose their resistance.

Unfortunately, she is The Vault, and this is game. Such threats are even less significant than an embroidery needle.

Seeing the situation deadlocked, the person sitting at the head seat, who had been silent all along—the Principal—finally spoke up.

"Enough! Stop arguing!"

The moment his voice sounded, the noisy conference room instantly fell silent.

The Vault fixed her gaze on him, showing an intrigued smile.

He was a fairly handsome middle-aged man. In his fifties, his hair was dyed jet black, making him look much younger.

His features were very kind, and his demeanor was approachable. There was no trace of oppressive authority in his words, making them much more pleasant than those of the Dean.

Principal said, "Director Walters, your words just now crossed the line a bit. Calm down. There's no need to use such harsh language with a newly adult student. The stricter you are, the less they'll listen."

Dean took a breath, looking rather unwilling, but still held back.

Principal then turned to The Vault and said, "Wendy Ward, I hope you can calm down as well. There's no benefit in everyone arguing; it only escalates emotions on both sides."

The Vault nodded. "Of course."

Principal continued in a soothing tone, "I understand how you feel. Director Walters is an experienced educator, but his style has always been rather forceful. He believes that rewards and punishments for students should be strict and appropriate, so they can recognize their mistakes. I believe his intentions are kind and positive; he isn't trying to provoke conflict among students, and he certainly doesn't want to see you become a target of campus bullying because of this. It's just that, in the process, some unexpected things happened that he didn't foresee, which led to your misunderstanding. For the harm you've suffered, I apologize on his behalf."

The Vault smiled and said, "An apology should at least be sincere."

Principal: "What kind of apology do you think is sincere?"

The Vault: "At the very least, it shouldn't just be for the sake of smoothing things over, with you apologizing for me and me for you. Who can really substitute for whom? We're not each other's spokespersons, right?"

Her casual attitude made the few people who had just calmed down angry again.

Principal raised his hand to quiet them, then continued with a smile, "I've already heard what you said at the morning assembly. Let's not talk about the surveillance issue for now; I will thoroughly investigate that matter and give everyone an explanation. What I think is more serious is your misunderstanding of the school."

"In the more than ten years I've managed Central High, I've always followed the school's motto: humility, diligence, and kindness. I've tried to pass these values on to you. I've done a lot for Central High, including giving students like Yvonne Thornton, who come from poor backgrounds, a fair chance at education. I don't know why you have such a big misunderstanding. You should trust in our goodwill."

His eyes and tone were utterly sincere.

The Vault stared at him for a long time, then leaned forward, half-lying on the table, and said, "Philanthropists and capitalists are not the same. Philanthropists certainly deserve respect, but capitalists can also disguise themselves. They use so-called charity to cover up their glamorous exterior, but in reality, do things behind the scenes that are despicable."

The Vault leaned back, crossed one leg, and her words turned sharp: "So Mr. Marx was right: 'Capital comes into the world soiled with blood and dirt from every pore.' Only now, they've gotten smarter. They can be good to the majority, but harsh and cruel to a minority. By controlling the discourse, they make that small group lose the ability to seek help. They complete the whole process from conquest and enslavement to plunder and slaughter. As long as they haven't squeezed out all the surplus value, they won't put down their butcher's knife."

The leaders had never been scolded to their faces by a student like this before, and their emotions were far from calm.

"Wendy Ward—"

But Principal actually laughed, as if looking at a disobedient child, and patiently said, "What do you think I can gain from poor students?"

"I'll just answer the question of what can be gained from poor students; I'm not specifically referring to you." The Vault tapped her fingers, drawing circles on the table. "What can be gained is exactly what you're enjoying now. Social status, the respect of the majority, opportunities for career advancement, and a kind of spiritual satisfaction that money can't buy. There may even be some perverse and disgusting psychological needs that can't be tolerated in normal society, so they have to be satisfied through dirty and covert means. Such people only realize their mistakes when they're punished. To be precise, it's not realizing their mistakes, but realizing their losses. Because they have no compassion."

Principal: "Am I such a person?"

The Vault nodded. "You are."

Principal was puzzled. "How can you tell?"

The Vault raised her head, paused for a moment, then said, "Evidence."

Principal: "What evidence?"

"Yvonne Thornton's evidence." As The Vault spoke, her gaze swept from Principal's face to those around him, her tone utterly firm, without a hint of wavering. "You don't really think she just died quietly, do you? She was a poor student, and although she didn't know much about society, she had seen its malice. She was very cautious, and sometimes, very bold."

Sitting in the center, Principal showed no unusual expression, only a slight twitch of his interlaced fingers, but he covered it up well.

His colleagues beside him, however, couldn't control their emotions as well. When they heard The Vault say this, several of them made guilty little gestures, which they quickly suppressed.

A dead silence fell over the conference room. In that moment of silence, they immediately realized their reactions were off.

Just as someone was about to speak, The Vault's voice sounded first: "My relationship with Nathan Sanders has never been good. Do you really think I would turn around and suspect the school just because of a few words from someone else? I'm a practical person. What do you think Yvonne Thornton left for Nathan Sanders, and what did Nathan Sanders show me?"

The Vault stood up. "Nathan Sanders said... she couldn't go on, because she didn't want to hurt other innocent people. But she also said she hoped someone could avenge her. Why? If there was no evidence, how could she expect someone to avenge her?"

Someone shouted angrily, "I don't even know what you're talking about! Where's the evidence? If you really have it, show it!"

"Evidence of sexual crimes is exactly what makes students afraid to speak out. What else could it be?" The Vault walked toward him slowly. "I've met a few psychopaths before. They all liked to record their crimes and find like-minded people to appreciate them together. That gives them a special sense of satisfaction... Especially when it comes to humiliating the dignity of their victims, it's a kind of secondary enjoyment. Just think, with a bit of power and a little money, they can enslave and violate many beautiful, young, smart, and well-mannered girls, completely control their futures, and at the same time enjoy the respect of the world. How satisfying is that? Over time, as their pleasure diminishes, they're driven to do even crazier, more reckless things. And when they commit crimes as a group, they become even bolder..."

The Vault stared deeply at the man who had spoken earlier, finally stopping right in front of him. As soon as she finished speaking, she suddenly raised her hand and patted his arm.

The man gasped sharply and instinctively clutched his pocket.

"You—"

Principal turned his head, his eyes cold and murderous as he glared at the man.

The middle-aged man, caught in Principal's gaze, instantly sobered up, then felt as if he had fallen into an ice cellar, his face turning deathly pale. He looked helplessly at those around him, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, then insisted again, "I don't know what you're talking about!"

Julian Grant: "...Oh ho."

The Vault turned and walked toward the door, smiling as she said, "I'm done. Thanks for your cooperation."

Chapter 12: V-Entry Announcement

The two of them left the conference room one after the other. Julian Grant looked back.

A quiet corridor, a heavy door. This narrow path seemed to represent the arrogance of those adults who looked down on everything, opening up the gap between them and the students, making them forget their original mission and responsibility.

Julian Grant turned back, composed himself, and asked, "How can you be sure those people would be so bold as to leave obvious evidence?"

The Vault said, "Aren't you the one who said, 'Make bold guesses, verify carefully'? Wendy Ward's suicide progress is already at 96%. If we don't take some unusual paths, how can we break through?"

"You're really bold." Julian Grant swung his jacket over his shoulder, then put his other hand on The Vault, grinning mischievously, "But well done!"