Reborn: The School Belle Begs Me to Delete the Post

I took three days of sick leave for a minor surgery.

When I returned, the whole school was spreading rumorsthat I'd gone to get an abortion.

Ava posted my photo from behind on the forum with a caption: If you know, you know.

I tried to explain. No one listened.

I pulled out my medical records. They said it could be forged.

My homeroom teacher only said four words: "The innocent need no defense."

Later, thugs blocked me at the school gate, calling me "cheap."

After that, I swallowed half a bottle of sleeping pills.

My mom held my ice-cold body and wailed all night.

The next day, she hanged herself from the old oak tree.

Then I opened my eyes again.

My phone screen was lit.

Ava's post had been up for just nine minutes.

This time, I didn't type out an explanation.

I pulled up a photo I'd casually taken at the hospital three days ago

Ava herself, standing in front of the OB-GYN registration window.

I clicked reply, attached the photo, and typed a line:

"What a coincidence. Are you here for an abortion too?"

**Chapter One**

A dull ache throbbed in my lower abdomen.

I lay on my side in my rented room, staring at the peeling white paint on the wall, waiting for the pain to pass.

Third day after my ovarian cyst removal surgery. The stitched incision pulled and twinged with every movement.

My phone vibrated under my pillow.

Once. Twice. Then it wouldn't stop.

I fished it out. The screen glared painfully bright.

Notifications from the school forum flooded in. The message count stuck at "99+".

I clicked in.

Pinned post. Bold red title

"Sophomore Class 6 girl takes sick leave? I ran into her at the OB-GYN, if you know what I mean."

The attached image showed someone from behind.

Hospital gown, clutching a blue medical file folder, hair down, walking out of the OB-GYN corridor.

It was me.

Posted byAva.

The comments had exploded.

"Holy shit, that bookworm from Class 6? Her image just collapsed?"

"Three days sick leave, OB-GYN, hahaha I get it."

"Getting an abortion and openly taking leave? That's bold."

"Ava never misses when she calls someone out. Waiting for the original poster to explain."

"Poor thing, even teacher's pets have their day."

I gripped my phone. My knuckles turned white.

The swelling pain spread from my abdomen to my stomach, acid rising to my throat.

Then the memories came crashing down.

I remembered the stares in the hallway when I returned to school. I remembered the two red words spray-painted on my desk.

I remembered showing them my medical records to explain, and someone rolling their eyes and saying "probably forged."

I remembered my homeroom teacher leaning back in his chair, fingers tapping the desk: "The innocent need no defense. Don't make a big deal out of nothing."

I remembered the thugs blocking me at the school gate calling me "cheap." I remembered the note slipped under my dorm door that said "go die."

I remembered my mom standing at the office door with a bag of farm eggs, smiling apologetically and saying "Teacher, please help," then getting pushed out and her knee hitting the threshold.

I remembered counting sleeping pills that night. When I got to the thirty-seventh pill, my hand shook.

I remembered that my final conscious moment was filled only with blurred wailing.

My mom collapsed over my already-cold body, crying until she couldn't breathe.

The next day.

She joined me at the old oak tree by our house.

I gasped sharply, my spine jerking away from the mattress.

The surgical incision in my lower abdomen tore with a line of searing pain.

Real pain.

I looked down and saw the gauze bulging under my hospital gown.

The stitches had been removed today.

I'd returned to my rental this morning.

The post on my phone

I glanced at the posting time.

Nine minutes ago.

I was alive again.

My heartbeat hammered against my ribs. Heavy and dull.

At this moment in my past life, I'd been crying under my covers.

I'd cried all night, drafted over a dozen explanatory messages, deleting and retyping, typing and deleting.

The next day I'd returned to school with swollen red eyes and medical records, beginning the final month countdown of my life.

This time, I didn't cry.

I didn't type.

I opened my photo album and scrolled back.

Three days ago in the hospital waiting area, I'd casually snapped a photo of the lobby to send my mom and let her know I was okay.

In the bottom right corner of the photo, in front of the OB-GYN registration window, stood a person.

High ponytail, white T-shirt, school jacket draped over her forearm.

Her ID card sat on the counter.

Ava.

In my past life, I'd never opened that photo a second time.

Back then I'd been too busy explaining, begging, being afraid.

I couldn't even hold onto my own life. Who had time to wonder why Ava was at the OB-GYN too?

But this life was different.

This life, I knew.

I opened the forum and found Ava's post.

1,200 comments already.

I pressed "reply."

Uploaded the photo.

Typed word by word

"What a coincidence. Are you here for an abortion too?"

Send.

I set down my phone and lay on my back, staring at the ceiling.

The incision still hurt.

But something in my chest had ignited, rising from my stomach, burning until my eyes stung.

It wasn't grief.

It was hate.

In my past life, I'd begged everyone on my knees.

This life, no more kneeling.

Half an hour later, I picked up my phone.

Comment count: 1,487.

The top comments had completely changed.

"Wait wait wait, Ava was at the OB-GYN too??"

"I zoomed inthat really is Ava!"

"The timestamps match! Same day!"

"So when Ava was photographing someone else, she was registering herself??"

"The bookworm just counterattacked hahaha!"

"Ava babe, who really got the abortion?"

"Waiting for the school belle to respond."

My inbox had exploded too.

First message from a classmate: "Sophia, are you crazy?! Do you know what Ava's like when you provoke her?"

Second, third messages from strangers, all "666" and spectator emojis.

And one more.

From Ava.

Two words

"Delete it."

I stared at those two words.

**Didn't you say in my past life that the innocent need no defense? Panicking now?**

I didn't reply.

I shoved my phone under my pillow.

Closed my eyes.

Tomorrow I'd return to school.

The real show was just beginning.

**Chapter Two**

Ava's messages kept coming.

"Sophia, are you insane?"

"Where did you get that photo?"

"I'm warning you, delete it right now, or don't blame me for what happens."

I didn't reply.

The forum had already gone wild.

Ava's fans and bystanders were fighting like mad.

"Ava was at the OB-GYN? What's going on?"

"Reminder: OB-GYN doesn't just treat pregnancy, they treat other gynecological issues too. Ava might have just been getting a regular checkup."

"Then Sophia might have been getting a regular checkup too! Why didn't Ava say that about her?"

"Shot herself in the foot lol."

"Don't pick sides yet, wait for the school belle's response."

Ava's fourth message came through.

Her tone had changed.

"Sophie, is there some misunderstanding between us? That post was really just a joke. I'll delete it tomorrow. Can you delete the photo too? Let's both stop this, okay?"

Sophie.

She called me Sophie.

She'd called me that in my past life too.

On the third day after the whole school mocked me, she "ran into" me in the cafeteria, smiled and put her arm around my shoulder: "Sophie, don't take it to heart. Everyone's just joking."

Then she turned around and sent a voice message in her group chat: "This is too funny, she actually believed it."

I typed.

"Ava, I'm not going to argue with you on the forum. Just answer me one thing."

"That day at the OB-GYN, were you seeing the doctor for your aunt or your uncle?"

Send.

The "typing" indicator in the chat box flashed once, then disappeared.

One minute.

Three minutes.

Five minutes.

I stared at that silent conversation.

In my past life, after Ava's situation was completely exposedwhich happened after I diedmany things came to light.

I didn't know what happened to her after.

But I knew why she went to the OB-GYN.

I knew who that "uncle" was who picked her up every Saturday.

I knew what she feared most.

At the six-minute mark, Ava's messages exploded.

"What do you mean?!"

"Are you stalking me??"

"Sophia, are you sick? Do you even know what you're saying!"

"My aunt is in that hospital! What's wrong with visiting her??"

"If you dare spread lies I'll make sure you can't stay at this school!!!"

Five messages in less than a minute.

Every word dripped with cracks.

I replied with one word.

"Oh."

Then closed the chat.

Twenty minutes later, Ava's original post on the forum was edited.

A new paragraph appeared

"Let me clarify for everyone! That day I was visiting my aunt who was hospitalized~ I happened to pass by the OB-GYN corridor and saw a certain classmate. I just thought it was a coincidence so I mentioned it casually, no malicious intent! As for the photo that certain classmate postedI was at the registration window helping my aunt register~ Hope everyone views this rationally and doesn't over-interpret?"

Seconds later, supporting comments popped up in perfect formation.

Uniform rhythm, similar wording, obviously pre-arranged.

"Sis said she was visiting her aunt, stop stirring things up!"

"Sophia's photo only shows Ava standing at the window, doesn't show what she was registering for. Taking things out of context."

"The bookworm got called out so she's viciously biting back, classic."

Public opinion began to sway.

Some people swung back to Ava's side.

Others were still watching.

But it was so much better than my past life.

In my past life at this point, the comments were completely one-sided.

Because I'd done nothing.

I'd only hidden under my covers refreshing the page over and over, watching those comments drown me alive.

This life, at least half the people were asking"So why exactly was Ava at the registration window?"

That was enough.

The first cut didn't need to go too deep.

Making her panic was enough.

I rolled over and put my phone on silent.

**You think you can get away with making up "visiting my aunt"? Ava, your aunt wasn't at that hospital that day. I checked in my past life. This life, I'll make sure everyone can check too.**

Tomorrow back to school.

The real show hadn't even started yet.

**Chapter Three**

When I walked into the school building, people in the hallway parted to make way.

Not out of respect.

Out of spectacle.

Whispered buzzing, elbows nudging elbows, some people holding up phones to film me.

A laugh came from behind: "That's her."

I pushed open the back door to Class 6.

The buzzing chatter in the classroom cut off.

Forty pairs of eyes turned toward me in unison. Too uniform to be natural.

A few boys whistled.

"Yo, the bookworm's back"

"All recovered now?"

I didn't look at them.

Because I saw my desk.

Two words spray-painted on the surface.

Red paint.

Large.

"SLUT."

The paint hadn't fully dried. The edges bled into rough tendrils.

The pungent chemical smell rushed in, stinging my eyes until they watered.

My chair lay overturned on the floor.

Books from my desk drawer scattered everywhere, textbook pages torn to shreds.

The classroom went silent for a second, then erupted in laughter.

Someone applauded.

Someone filmed with their phone.

I stood there, hands at my sides.

The incision in my lower abdomen started aching from walking too much.

I scanned the classroom.

In the back row by the window, Rachel sat with her head down playing on her phone, fingers tucked in her sleeves.

But I saw a bit of red at the edge of her sleeve.

Third row, class president Ethan sat ramrod straight.

His gaze met mine for a moment.

Then he looked away. Lowered his head, staring at the open textbook in front of him.

In my past life, I'd gone crying to him.

He'd said: "Sophia, stop making trouble. The more you make a fuss, the worse it gets for you."

Then closed his pen cap and turned his head toward the window.

I remembered that sentence for a whole lifetime.

That lifetime was very short.

**You saw. You always saw.**

**But you chose to pretend you didn't.**

The laughter continued.

Someone shouted: "Sophia, that paint cost a lot of money. Consider it a welcome gift."

I didn't wipe the desk.

Didn't cry.

Didn't explain.

I pulled out my phone from my pocket.

Opened the camera, aimed it at my desk, pressed the shutter three times.

Different angles, capturing the red words, the overturned chair, the shredded textbooks.

Then switched to my contacts.

The classroom laughter gradually faded.

Because they saw the three digits on my phone screen.

9-1-

I pressed the call button and raised the phone to my ear.

The entire classroom went dead silent.

"Hello, High-Tech District Experimental High School, Grade 11 Class 6. My name is Sophia. My desk has been spray-painted with offensive language and my personal property has been deliberately destroyed. I have photos of the scene. Please dispatch officers."

My voice wasn't loud, but every word drove into the silence.

Rachel's phone dropped to the floor in the back row.

No one picked it up.

Thirty seconds later, the classroom door flew open.

Homeroom teacher Mr. Walker rushed in, his expression caught between panic and anger.

"Sophia! What are you doing?"

He grabbed my wrist holding the phone: "Hang up! Do you know what you're doing!"

I looked up at him.

"Mr. Walker, please let go. I'm filing a police report. Interfering with a police call is illegal."

His fingers froze.

The entire classroomforty students plus students from the next class peeking in the doorwayeveryone watched as

The homeroom teacher gripped the wrist of the most invisible scholarship student in class, while the scholarship student calmly continued her police report.

He let go.

Stepped back.

The voice on the phone said something.

I said: "Okay. I'll wait in the classroom."

Hung up.

Put the phone back in my pocket.

Bent down to pick up my chair and sat down beside the spray-painted desk.

Took out my notebook, turned to the first page, and started copying the formula on the blackboard.

No one around me spoke.

No one laughed anymore.

Mr. Walker stood by the podium, his lips moving several times, but in the end said nothing and left.

His phone call echoed from the hallway, voice kept low, but I caught one word"dispatch."

I continued copying formulas.

The scratching of pen on paper was the only sound in the entire classroom.

**Ava, in my past life you killed with words. This life I'll use the law. Let's see who falls first.**

**Chapter Four**

The police arrived quickly.

When two uniformed officers walked into the classroom, the substitute math teacher stopped mid-chalk stroke.

The whole class's attention shifted from the blackboard to the door, then to me.

I stood up, took my phone and backpack, and followed them out.

Many people in the hallway craned their necks to look.

Passing the neighboring class's door, a girl held up her phone filming me.

Taking the statement took forty minutes.

In the small room in the dean's office, I showed the police the photos on my phone and explained everything step by step.

The post. The photo from behind. The forum attacks. The spray-painted desk.

The older officer finished recording and looked up: "Do you have any suspects?"

"Rachel, my classmate. She has red paint residue under her fingernails."

After finishing the statement, I came out to an empty hallway.

Lunch break.

I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes for a moment.

The incision in my lower abdomen throbbed dully. After being stuck to my clothes all day it was getting itchy. Time to change the gauze.

No time for that.

I rummaged through my backpack for painkillers and dry-swallowed one.

The pill stuck in my throat, bitter and astringent.

No classes in the afternoon.

I sat in the library until five.

Quiet. No one came looking for me.

Not even Mr. Walker showed up.

But the calm shattered at nine that evening.

I'd just finished changing my gauze in my rental when my phone vibrated.

Not the class group chatI'd been kicked out long ago.

The grade-level group, the kind where people rarely spoke.

Today it exploded.

Someone threw a video into it.

The thumbnail was blurry, but you could make out a dim room, a girl and a man.

The title: four words: "Sophia's hookup."

My hand stopped.

Then I clicked in.

The face in the video was mine.

Features, contours, hair lengthall matched.

But it wasn't me.

AI face-swap.

In my past life, this video spread throughout the entire school two weeks before I died.

After watching it, I locked myself in my rental for three days without eating or drinking.

Three days later, I opened that bottle of sleeping pills.

Now, it was back.

Stomach acid surged up violently, my throat turning sour.

My fingers gripped the phone's edge, nails digging into the plastic case.

Tinnitus buzzed, my heartbeat pounding against my temples.

I closed my eyes.

Counted to five.

Opened them.

The grade group had exploded.

"Holy shit is this real??"

"That face is so clear..."

"Photoshopped right? Something feels off."

"What's off? The face is right there!"

"Isn't she supposed to be a bookworm? Why's she always doing this stuff..."

Messages scrolled too fast. Before I could screenshot, the group admin deleted the video.

But it was too late.

It had already been saved, forwarded, sent to countless other groups.

**In my past life, this video was the final straw that broke me.**

**This lifeit's the first steel beam that will break Ava.**

I swallowed my emotions.

Didn't cry.

Didn't type a defense.

Opened the screen recording tool, scrolled up through the grade group chat history, and screenshot every forwarding, comment, and distribution path one by one.

Captured thirty-seven images.

Then opened the dialer.

911.

Second time.

"Hello, my name is Sophia, Grade 11 Class 6 student at High-Tech District Experimental High School. Someone has created an AI deepfake pornographic video using my facial features and is distributing it widely in the grade group and multiple social groups. I am a minor. I'm requesting to file a case."

The other end went silent for two seconds.

"You're certain it's AI-generated?"

"Certain. The body in the video is not me. I'm requesting a technical forensic analysis."

"Alright, we'll forward this to the cybersecurity department. Preserve all relevant screenshots and links."

Hung up.

My phone lit up again.

Message from Ava.

"Sophia, things have escalated to this point. You delete the photo from the forum, and I'll have people take down the video. We both save face."

Save face.

You destroyed my reputation with lies, nailed me to a pillar of shame with an AI face-swap.

Now you want to talk about saving face.

I replied with one line.

"The police will find out who made the video. Ava, pray they don't trace it back to you."

No reply from her.

I closed my phone and pulled up the covers.

The incision jumped beneath my waistband.

I put a pillow under my lower abdomen and curled up.

The bitter taste of that half-bottle of sleeping pills rose again.

It still clung to the back of my throat, impossible to swallow no matter how I tried.

Some things you can't forget even after dying once.

But that's okay.

This life, I won't take them.

**Chapter Five**

The next day at 6:40 AM.

My mom called.

I looked at the word "Mom" on my screen. My heart clenched.

The ringtone went four times before I answered.

"Sophie honey, does your surgical incision still hurt?"

Her voice was a bit hoarse, but she was trying to sound cheerful.

"Not anymore, it's almost healed."

"Is the school food good? Does the cafeteria have pork ribs?"

"Yes."

"Sophie..."

She stopped.

A long breath on the other end.

Inhale, hold it, then slowly exhale.

"Sophie, is someone at school bullying you?"

My fingers tightened.

"Mom, no."

"Some people in town... showed me some things on their phones." She paused, her voice starting to shake. "Sophie, none of that's true, right? Mom knows it's not true. Mom believes you."

I bit my lower lip.

There was still a cut inside my lip from dry-swallowing painkillers yesterday. When I bit down, the metallic taste of blood spread along my tongue.

Past life.

In my past life she'd made this same call.

I'd cried and said "Mom, I didn't do those things."

She'd said "Mom knows. Mom will come to school tomorrow."

The next day she came.

Wearing her most presentable piecean old gray jacket, carrying a bag of farm eggs, standing at the homeroom teacher's office door, bent over with a forced smile: "Teacher, please help. My Sophie isn't that kind of child."

Mr. Walker didn't even look up.

"Parent, your daughter has caused quite a stir at school. I suggest she do some self-reflection. The innocent need no defenseif she hasn't done anything, what's there to fear?"

My mom stood in the doorway holding the eggs, not knowing what to do with her hands.

When she left, her knee hit the threshold.

No one helped her up.

Seven months later, she joined me at the old oak tree.

"Mom, listen to me." I kept my voice very steady, saying each word carefully. "Those things are all fake. Someone is trying to hurt me. But I'm handling it. I filed a police report. You don't need to come to school."

"But"

"Mom, don't come."

Silence on the other end.

Then I heard an extremely soft sob.

She was desperately holding it in.

"Okay."

"Sophie, you... you have to be okay."

"Yeah. I'll be okay. I'll come home to see you this weekend."

Hung up.

I crouched in the corner of the hallway, back against the cold wall.

Hands covering my face.

Didn't cry.

My eyes were dry and stinging.

The incision twinged once.

I stood up.

**This life you don't have to come. Don't have to beg anyone with a bag of eggs. Don't have to kneel. Don't have to die.**

At noon, the forum exploded again.

Ava posted an audio recording.

Post title: "Sophia admitted it herselfeveryone listen for yourselves."

Thirty-six second audio clip.

A female voice insidemy voicecrying and saying: "I know I was wrong. I shouldn't have falsely accused Ava. I made it all up, the medical records are fake. I was just jealous of her..."

I listened to it.

Replayed it twice.

The tone was very close.

The intonation mimicked my speech patterns.

But there was one problemthe breath intervals in the four words "I made it all up" were too uniform.

Normal people don't speak like that.

AI-synthesized audio has mechanical breathing rhythms.

In my past life, I didn't know these things.

This life, on the first day after my rebirth, I'd researched everything online about AI voice detection.

The comments went crazy.

"Confirmed! She admitted it herself!"

"LMAO where's her face? Fake-righteous bookworm."

"Ava is finally cleared!"

"So what was that police report earlier about? What performance was that?"

I took screenshots and saved the original audio file link.

Then made my third police call.

"Hello, this is Sophia from the previous report. Someone has published an AI-forged audio recording using my voice pattern and is spreading it on the forum. I've saved the original link and screenshots. Please submit it for technical forensic analysis as well."

Three police calls.

Within three days.

Hung up.

Walked into the dean's office.

Mr. Walker was inside.

When he saw me, irritation flashed across his face.

"Sophia, what now."

"Mr. Walker, Ava has published a forged AI voice recording impersonating me. I've filed a police report. This will have legal consequences."

"Legal consequences?" He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Sophia, can you just settle down? The way you're making a fuss affects your own future. Do you still want that recommendation spot?"

I looked at him.

Behind his lenses, his eyes shifted away.

"Mr. Walker. I'm sitting in front of you right now with three police report receipts in hand."

My voice wasn't loud.

"I'm the victim. You're asking the victim to shut up."

His fingers froze on the temple of his glasses.

"I'll remember your exact words. If the follow-up investigation involves the school's handling responsibility, the Board of Education will see them."

I stood up and walked out.

Didn't look back.

The hallway was empty. Lunch break sunlight poured through the windows, bleaching the floor tiles white.

I leaned against the railing and took three deep breaths.

My hands were shaking.

Not from fear.

From anger.

In my past life, I knelt and begged him for help. He gave me four words.

This life I spoke to him standing up, and his first reaction was still to tell me to shut up.

That's fine.

If you won't help, I don't need your help.

But don't block my way.