“It seems like she was trying to scare her,” the boy said. “Pretending to be haunted or something, scared her so badly she developed a nervous breakdown. That senior already had depression, and after an episode, she committed suicide.”

Reporter: “Did her roommates and her teachers know about this?”

“They probably did, right? I heard it was her roommates who exposed it, thought she went way too far.”

“Everyone’s saying she deserved it. The seniors are even happy about it, they’ve been shouting about it all day.”

“No one expected her to be so disgusting, and then she even went to blackmail the school leadership, like she’d gone crazy.”

Reporter: “What do you all think about this?”

“We just hope she takes responsibility for herself.”

“She totally deserved it!”

“It’s just... the cost of crime is way too low.”

After this news report, online public opinion became completely one-sided. The rational netizens who had previously criticized doxxing immediately fell silent, unable to make a sound.

“This time she doesn’t need to prove her innocence, right?”

“Even people from her own school are saying this, what’s left to argue?”

“Disgusting! Go die! She deserves it even if she dies!”

“You said you’d commit suicide, so you better do it. Don’t back out again. We’re waiting for you, Wendy Ward little sister~”

“Why don’t the bleeding hearts go experience being bullied to death at school before speaking up?”

Meanwhile, the netizens on SanTiao were almost bent over backwards by this wave of chaos.

“I can’t even get the words ‘damn idiot’ out.”

“This scene is just beautiful.”

“Watching them say the cost of crime is too low, I actually felt the same way inside.”

“Sigh, sometimes I wish social opinion could punish those who maliciously escape legal consequences, but it really is a double-edged sword. The backlash is too strong, and if it hits the wrong person, it’s tragic.”

“Can we redirect the damage straight to the school leadership? All you netizens who can’t aim your firepower are useless!”

“I can finally look at my parents with that ‘hate iron for not becoming steel’ expression. This must be their dark history.”

Not long after, Wendy Ward’s account updated again.

“It’s all lies! Why are you all lying! Stirring up trouble for attention, can you take responsibility for what you’ve said?”

It was very much the tone of a straightforward high schooler.

Netizens burst out laughing in the comments, showing her all their ugliest sides.

It was destined to be a sleepless night.

·

Quinn Sinclair called Julian Grant several times, saying they couldn’t reach Wendy Ward, and that she and Melanie Spencer were about to cry from worry.

They even asked if they should come forward to clear up the rumors for Wendy Ward, afraid she’d be pushed too far by netizens and really choose to end her life.

Julian Grant comforted them while also sensing that something was wrong. After hanging up, he kept replaying the look on The Vault’s face before she left.

The calm, indifferent look in her eyes when she looked up made Julian Grant uneasy, like a movie scene playing on repeat.

Julian Grant swallowed hard and kept calling and texting The Vault.

Julian Grant: Hey, where are you?

Julian Grant: Call me back, I’m really worried about you. Didn’t we agree? We’d get through this together?

Julian Grant: I’ve already tracked your phone location.

Julian Grant: Still not answering? Wendy Ward!

Julian Grant: The Vault! The Vault!!

Julian Grant was getting frustrated, yanking at his own hair.

The tech department had already pinpointed the phone’s location and sent someone to check, only to find that The Vault had left her phone in an internet café, and she herself was nowhere to be found.

Even if Julian Grant was slow, he understood what The Vault intended. Her suicide plan must be complete by now, which is why she took these measures.

He couldn’t help but grit his teeth in anger: That shameless liar, not bad!

Julian Grant immediately expanded the search, requested backup, and started searching the whole city.

However, with The Vault’s intelligence, if she wanted to hide, no one would be able to find her.

At dawn, the first rays of sunlight pierced the sky, and early risers began jogging along the street.

A police officer rushed in and said to Julian Grant, “Boss! We got a report from the substation—someone called in saying they just saw a girl jump off the bridge on the west side of the city!”

Julian Grant’s mind buzzed, his nerves, taut all night, stretched to a new limit. He stared hard at the officer, his voice cold: “What did you say?”

“The fire department is already there helping with the rescue. Bystanders are also giving first aid. We’re not sure if the person who jumped is Wendy Ward, the team over there is confirming her identity.”

Julian Grant charged toward the door, but another officer shouted, “Boss, boss! Come look at this video! Seriously, boss! Watch this first!”

Julian Grant froze mid-step, took a deep breath, and turned to look.

The video was posted by The Vault.

Chapter 18: Midnight

The Vault’s video was apparently shot at night, the background pitch black, with a dim yellow light illuminating her face.

Yesterday, The Vault had been hit by Quinn Sinclair with a stick, and her forehead had been banged on a metal shovel. The wound had already been treated at the hospital. But in the video, the bandage on her head was removed, a ring of red bloodstains spreading around, making the wound look especially gruesome. Besides that, her face had many more bruises, as if she’d been badly beaten.

Her gaze at the camera was unfocused, her mental state clearly unstable.

Julian Grant leaned in to watch the screen for a long time. The lighting was so dim and the angle so off that even he couldn’t tell if the wounds were real or makeup—either way, they looked extremely realistic.

The officer beside him, not knowing the truth, cursed under his breath, “Animal.”

At that moment, The Vault in the video began to speak, and everyone held their breath to listen.

“Today, a lot of people online have cursed me in all sorts of ways. I do not accept any of their accusations. Since the leaders at No. 1 High School are twisting the truth and turning black into white, it shows they’re unwilling to admit to beating me. So today, I’ll tell everything.”

She pressed her lips together and brushed the stray hair from her forehead with her fingers.

“This year, in January, a classmate named Yvonne Thornton in our class jumped to her death. The reason she committed suicide was that a school leader sexually harassed her. She was from a poor family, in a very difficult situation. Her parents favored boys over girls, and she had a younger brother. Her refusal angered that leader, so the school withheld her poverty allowance and pressured her in every way. Her parents, egged on by the leader, wanted her to drop out early to help support the family. Yvonne Thornton could only get by with help from Nathan Sanders. She was under a lot of pressure, and when she was desperate, she pretended to ask the school leader out, got him drunk, and took evidence from his phone.”

She seemed to be struggling to speak, having to rephrase after every sentence. After finishing this part, she quickly changed the subject.

“The second person who jumped was Nathan Sanders, my roommate—the one the school accused me of bullying. I didn’t. She was Yvonne Thornton’s good friend, she knew everything, and she got the evidence and told me about it.”

She swallowed hard, looking unwell, and after saying this, she fell silent, raising her hand to clutch her hair.

Her anxiety was obvious—anyone could see her mental state was far from normal.

She looked at the camera, her eyes red, tears welling up but not falling.

This kind of reaction greatly increased the credibility of her words. She looked completely like an innocent, wronged victim, impossible to reconcile with the “vicious girl” the school described.

The Vault gathered herself for a moment, then spoke again in a hoarse voice.

“They edited the recording, thinking I wasn’t prepared. But actually, I bought a new phone before going in to talk to him, because I didn’t trust them. Everything that needs to be said is in there, judge for yourselves.”

Next came a shaky video clip, the camera aimed at a middle-aged man. His expression was arrogant, hard to like.

A young woman’s voice, clearly agitated, said, “You’re forcing me, you’re doing this on purpose. You know perfectly well that Nathan Sanders killed herself because of Yvonne Thornton, but you told everyone it was my fault! You deliberately let other students bully me, you want to drive me to death!”

The middle-aged man replied casually, “The school didn’t do that, it’s just what the students think.”

His expression, combined with his words, would make anyone want to punch him.

“In Nathan Sanders’s notebook, she wrote it all down. This is how you make students compromise, keep them silent, enslave them, harass them endlessly! Then you use little benefits to buy them off and calm them down. If they don’t obey, you threaten them with the college entrance exam!” the girl shouted. “Nathan Sanders’s notebook is still here! I can give it to the police!”