After They Slut-Shamed Me, I Ruined Their Lives

On the day the university announced the finalists for the Direct Master's Program with a full fellowship, a screenshot suddenly popped up on the university's main Discord server, which had over ten thousand members.

A bright red box was circled around my name.

Chloe Smith. Ranked #1 overall. Candidate ID: 08.

Immediately after, Austin, the school's golden boy, sent a message:

"Ah, candidate 08. She's a masseuse at that sketchy parlor downtown. I've ordered her services before. Pretty good, I must say."

It stayed up for less than ten seconds before he deleted it.

The chat, which had just been flooded with "Congrats, Chloe!" instantly went dead silent.

In my past life, my brain buzzed, and I naively thought no one would believe such a disgusting, low-life rumor.

But within two days, the university's anonymous app, Fizz, was flooded with posts. Scurrilous photos of me allegedly providing "special services" at a massage parlor were everywhere.

Some said I got my master's slot by sleeping with my advisor.

Some even claimed I had an STD.

When my dad heard the rumors, he suffered a massive heart attack on the spot. He never woke up.

Later, my admission was revoked. I was relentlessly cyberbullied.

Within a single month, my depression spiraled.

I swallowed a handful of pills and ended my life.

Before I lost consciousness, my phone was still buzzing with notifications.

"Has No. 08 dropped out yet? Don't let her contaminate academia."

But now, I opened my eyes again. I was reborn.

I stared at the Discord chat on my phone screen.

This time, I immediately took a screenshot of the entire rumor-starting process.

Then, I replied to Austin directly in the server:

"Austin, you claimed you hired me for services."

"Please provide the evidence: the time, the location, the specific services, the transaction history, payment receipts, and security camera footage."

"If you can't, I am calling the police."

After my message was sent, the server fell into a dead silence.

Thirty seconds later, Austin finally popped up.

"Chloe, don't take it so seriously. I was just joking."

I stared at his words and let out a cold laugh.

My fingers didn't stop typing.

"You call slut-shaming a joke?"

"I will submit this 'joke' of yours directly to the Dean's office and the police."

Austin replied quickly, "Is it really that serious?"

"I already deleted it, and you still took screenshots? Are you just feeling guilty?"

Immediately, some of his friends chimed in.

"Honestly, reacting this dramatically is kind of sus."

"Austin was just joking around. If you've got nothing to hide, why not just laugh it off?"

"Isn't she on financial aid? But that dress she wore to the thesis presentation last week wasn't cheap."

"She's pretty. You know how it is. We all know how she gets her money."

Those words were like mosquitoes.

In my previous life, they buzzed around me, sucking every last drop of my blood.

In this life, I kept taking screenshots.

I didn't miss a single one.

The very people who used to beg me for my study notes, leech off my research, and ask me to format their papers had completely changed their faces.

"Chloe, we know your grades are good. But making a scene like this ruins the reputation of the whole department."

"The admission list is still in the public objection period. It's normal for the public to raise questions."

Someone else commented snidely, "We've seen too many 'underdog success stories.' Real life is never that clean."

I exported the chat history, uploaded it to a digital forensics app, and secured certified timestamps for all of it.

Just as I finished, our academic advisor, Mrs. Davis, finally showed up in the chat.

"Everyone, please stop discussing this."

I was about to switch screens to DM her, but her next message popped up.

"Chloe, you need to calm down too."

"The objection period is a sensitive time. Questioning people like this in the main server only escalates the conflict."

I typed, "Mrs. Davis, Austin is the one who started the defamation. I request the department step in now and preserve the evidence."

Mrs. Davis replied almost instantly.

"Austin already said it was a joke. Do not blow this out of proportion."

"As a young woman, you need to be mindful of your boundaries. You spend a lot of time around male professors and senior classmates. It's not entirely baseless that people misunderstand you."

As soon as she said that, the chat was flooded with "Mrs. Davis is right."

I sneered.

I sent Mrs. Davis a private DM with a screenshot of her own words.

"I am formally filing a complaint against Austin for malicious defamation and harassment. Please let me know the official procedures."

She didn't reply.

Three minutes later, she posted in the main server:

"Please stop sharing unverified content."

"Chloe, please stop spamming the chat to avoid causing any further negative impact."

I didn't argue with her anymore.

Instead, I messaged Harper, a law student.

She was my roommate's older sister and was currently interning at a top law firm. In my past life, I hadn't thought of reaching out to her until it was too late.

"Harper, someone is spreading sexual rumors about me. I've already secured some of the evidence."

She replied within seconds.

"Do not try to explain your personal morality. Do not try to prove your innocence."

"Track down the source of the rumors, the chain of distribution, and the resulting damages."

"From now on, treat every single word you say as evidence for a courtroom."

Staring at her message, my hands finally stopped shaking.

Okay.

Let's start with the first knife they threw at me, and trace it back.

When I returned to my dorm that evening, a sticky note was pasted on my door handle.

"Hey, No. 08, you taking clients tonight?"

I didn't touch the paper. I took out my phone and recorded a video first.

In my past life, I had torn it off in a rage. Later, Mrs. Davis had said, "Without proof, who's to say you didn't paste it there yourself?"

This time, I recorded everything clearly.

Once inside, I opened my laptop.

The campus anonymous app, Fizz, had gone completely wild.

"Anonymous post: Heard the girl who ranked first for the master's program used to work at a sketchy massage parlor. Her ID is literally 08."

"Anonymous post: Why does her advisor always put her on his research projects? There's got to be something going on between them."

"Anonymous post: Where does a financial aid student get the money for high-end makeup? We need to audit her bank accounts."

The comments below were even more sickening.

Someone used AI to paste my face onto explicit escort cards.

Someone else spammed the words "academic whore" across the entire screen.

My roommate, Mia, bit her lip, looking worried. "I can testify for you."

"You didn't even go out last night. You were grinding in the lab until 2 AM. I walked back with you."

I looked at her.

"Don't do anything rash yet," I said. "Send me the log of the lab's keycard access from last night, and the screenshot of our Uber receipt."

"The original files. Don't edit them."

She nodded and immediately started searching her phone.

At 10:30 PM, my dad called.

"Chloe, is the final list out yet? Your aunt said you're going to grad school. Is it true?"

His voice was bursting with joy.

My throat tightened.

In my past life, he had asked me the exact same thing.

Back then, I had sobbed and said, "Dad, I might not be able to go anymore."

There was a long silence on the other end, and finally, he said, "It's okay, sweetheart. I'll drive the truck for a few more years. We don't owe anyone anything."

But he never got to see me go to grad school.

In this life, I forced my voice to remain steady.

"Yes, Dad, it's true. Hey, don't answer any calls from strange numbers for the next few days, and don't click on any random links."

"I booked a health checkup for you. Aunt Clara will go with you tomorrow."

He was stunned. "I feel perfectly fine. Why do I need a checkup?"

"The school covers family checkups. It's a waste if we don't use it."

I lied with absolute calm.

After hanging up, I immediately called my Aunt Clara.

"Aunt Clara, no matter what, take Dad to the clinic for a checkup tomorrow."

"Keep his heart medication on him. Block all unknown numbers on his phone."

"Also, call the local post office. Tell them to hold any anonymous packages addressed to Dad. Do not deliver them."

Aunt Clara sensed something was wrong. "Chloe, did something happen?"

I fell silent for two seconds.

"Someone is trying to ruin me."

There was silence on the other end.

Then, Aunt Clara said, "Got it. I'll handle things at home."

The next morning, I went to the department office.

Mrs. Davis made me wait outside her office for forty minutes.

In the end, it wasn't her who walked out, but Dean Harrison, the head of graduate admissions.

He closed the door and spoke in a cold, bureaucratic tone.

"Chloe, the department is aware of your situation."

"There is a lot of public outcry online right now. To be safe, the department suggests you submit a request to temporarily suspend your admission process."

I asked, "Why should I suspend it?"

Dean Harrison frowned.

"A major controversy has arisen during the objection period. The university has to investigate."

"The controversy is because others are defaming me, not because I committed academic fraud."

Mrs. Davis chimed in from the side, "Don't be so defensive, Chloe. There is no smoke without fire. Why aren't they saying these things about other students?"

I looked directly at her.

"Mrs. Davis, I am recording this conversation."

Her face went pale instantly.

Dean Harrison tapped his fingers on the desk.

"Chloe, you need to consider the consequences."

"The fellowship is not just about you. If this gets out, it looks bad for the university, the department, and your advisor."

"So, instead of dealing with the bullies, the department wants to deal with me?"

No one answered.

I stood up and placed my official complaint dossier on the desk.

"I will not request a suspension."

"If you dare to unlawfully halt my admission process, I will report this directly to the University Board of Trustees and the State Department of Education simultaneously."

Leaving the office, I messaged Harper.

"They're trying to push me out."

She replied, "Excellent. The administration's failure to act will now be added to our evidence chain."

At noon, Mia handed me her phone, her hands trembling.

"Someone started a poll on Fizz."

The headline was incredibly offensive.

Should candidate No. 08's admission be revoked?

There was only one option: Absolutely, yes.

In the comment section, someone posted a picture of what they claimed was a "receipt from an escort service."

Client Memo: No. 08 Chloe.

Amount: $500.

Timestamp: The exact night of my thesis presentation.

I zoomed in on the image and stared at it for three seconds.

It was a horribly sloppy Photoshop job.

The business name didn't exist. The Venmo QR code was pixelated. The font in the memo line didn't even match the rest of the receipt.

But the online mob didn't care about the truth.

At 2 PM, the post office manager from my dad's small town called me.

"Chloe, an anonymous letter arrived for your dad. I held it back like you asked. How do you want to handle this?"

My fingers clenched tightly around my phone.

Here it came.

The very weapon that had killed my dad in my past life had arrived early.

I asked Aunt Clara to go to the post office with her phone and record the entire process of opening it.

A few AI-generated explicit photos fell out of the envelope.

Along with them was a fake medical report.

The diagnosis read: Syphilis Positive.

The stamp on the report read "City Central Hospital."

But the city our university was in didn't even have a hospital by that name.

The last piece of paper contained a single sentence:

Your daughter is selling her body. Isn't she disgusting?

On the other end of the video call, Aunt Clara was shaking with rage.

"These absolute monsters!"

I stared at the screen, my eyes burning.

In my past life, my dad had seen these very things, suffered a sudden heart attack, and died.

I forced myself to stay calm.

"Aunt Clara, do not let Dad see this. Take the original documents to the local police station and file a report. Make sure they take clear photos of the shipping label."

"I will file a report here as well, and ask the police to link our cases."

Aunt Clara choked back her tears. "Okay, sweetie."

I immediately forwarded the new evidence to Harper.

She replied:

"This is enough to send them to federal prison for a while."

In the evening, I went to the science building to retrieve my external hard drive.

Just as I walked into the basement parking lot, I heard footsteps behind me.

A guy blocked the exit, holding his phone up, pointing the camera right at my face.

It was Tyler, one of Austin's frat brothers from the student council.

"Hey, Chloe, can I get a quick interview? How much do you charge per night, anyway?"

I took a step back.

"Get out of my way."

He laughed. "Stop acting innocent. The whole school knows what kind of girl you are."

"Tell us, how did you really get that fellowship?"

I turned on the voice recorder on my phone.

"Your current behavior constitutes harassment. This is my first and only warning."

He reached out, trying to grab my arm.

"Oh, come on, don't run away. Everyone wants to know your price."

I didn't hesitate.

I pulled the pin on my personal safety alarm. The deafening siren filled the garage as I aimed my pepper spray and unleashed it right into his face.

Tyler screamed in agony, stumbling backward and smashing his nose against a concrete pillar.

Blood instantly gushed down his face.

He collapsed to the ground, clutching his face, screaming, "Chloe is assaulting me! Help! Help!"

The campus security guards and passing students quickly rushed over.

Phones were whipped out, lenses pointing at me.

I stood there calmly, holding the pepper spray in my hand.

"Check the security cameras," I said clearly. "Right now."

In the campus security office, Tyler was holding a bloody tissue to his nose, wailing loudly enough to wake the dead.

Austin arrived shortly after.

When he saw me, a smug look of satisfaction flashed in his eyes.

"Chloe, even if you're desperate because your secrets got exposed, you can't just brutally assault a classmate like this."

I ignored him.

After the police arrived, they separated us to take our statements.

Tyler insisted he only wanted to say hi to me, and that I had suddenly attacked him without provocation.

That was, until the security office pulled up the full, unedited surveillance footage.

On the screen, it was clear. He had followed me all the way from the elevator, blocked my exit, pressed his phone against my face, and physically lunged to grab me.

I had retreated three times.

I had warned him twice.

Only then did I use the pepper spray.

The police officer's expression turned cold after watching the video.

"This isn't 'saying hi.' This is stalking, intimidation, and sexual harassment."

Tyler's face drained of color. "I... I was just joking..."

Hearing that word again made my stomach churn.

Their weapons were always called "jokes."

By the time I walked out of the station after finishing my statement, my phone was blowing up.

Austin had moved faster than the police.

He had edited the video, cutting out the first two minutes, leaving only the footage of Tyler bleeding on the ground and me holding the pepper spray.

His caption read: The "Scholarship Whore" gets mad after being exposed, violently assaults classmate and sends him to the hospital.

The anonymous app Fizz, the campus forums, and TikTok were instantly flooded with the video.

The comments were brutal.

"She's clearly guilty."

"Revoke her admission immediately!"

"She's on financial aid but can afford premium pepper spray? Where'd that money come from?"

They even dragged up my past financial aid records.

Some accused me of defrauding the school.

Some sent spam emails to my advisor, demanding a thorough investigation into "academic sexual favors."

That night, Mrs. Davis summoned me to the department office.

In her office, Dean Harrison looked even angrier than he did in the morning.

"Chloe, this situation has escalated beyond the university campus now."

"The department has decided that until the investigation is complete, you are suspended from the lab, and you are barred from attending the upcoming fellowship confirmation ceremony."

I looked up at him.

"This is just a passive-way of revoking my admission."

He replied, "Watch your tone. The department is doing this to protect you, and to protect the other students."

"Protect me?"

I laughed.

"When I was defamed, you told me to shut up."

"When I was harassed, you banned me from the lab."

"And now, when I defend myself, you suspend my admission."

"Dean Harrison, who exactly are you protecting?"

Mrs. Davis lowered her voice. "Chloe, don't be ungrateful. If this gets completely out of hand, no one will be able to save you."

I recorded every single word they said.

"I don't need you to save me," I said.

"I will handle this myself."

On my way back to the dorm, I walked back into the police station and formally submitted a Request to Subpoena Digital Evidence.

Once a criminal case for defamation is officially opened, the police have the authority to demand the backend user data from the anonymous app, Fizz.

Right before night fell, the detective called me.

"The IP address of the user who made those anonymous posts is traced to the university library. The MAC address points to a personal laptop."

"We cross-referenced the hardware serial number. The owner is Austin."

At the same time, the cyber police division recovered the deleted chat history from Austin's Snapchat cache.

I clicked on the screenshot sent by the detective.

Austin's and my other roommate Isabella's usernames, profile pictures, and timestamps were clear as day.

Isabella: "Austin, I've hated that bitch for a long time. Why does she get the fellowship?"

Austin: "Don't worry. I have a plan."

Austin: "Isn't her candidate ID 08? We'll call her 'Escort No. 08.'"

Austin: "Once a girl is branded with that kind of trash, she can never wash it off."

Austin: "I'll post it in the main server first, then delete it. The mob will do the rest. I won't even get my hands dirty."

Isabella was ecstatic: "Yes! If the drama blows up during the objection period, the department won't dare let her pass! Once her spot is vacated, the runner-up slot will go straight to me!"

The next morning, a livestream started on Fizz.

The title was: Public Town Hall on the Fellowship Fairness Controversy.

Austin didn't show his face; he used a voice changer to host.

But Isabella sat in front of the camera.

Her eyes were red, and she looked like a victim who had suffered a great injustice.

"I'm not targeting anyone personally," she sobbed.

"I just think academic integrity belongs to everyone who worked hard."

"If a candidate has this much controversy surrounding her, shouldn't the university be more cautious?"

The live chat was scrolling at lightning speed.

"Support Isabella!"

"Fairness first!"

"No. 08, come out and explain yourself!"

"Does she even dare?"

I clicked "Request to Join Livestream."

Austin probably didn't expect me to join. He hesitated for a dozen seconds before finally accepting the request.

The screen split in two.

I was wearing a simple white shirt, sitting in the university's official hearing room.

I was not alone.

The university disciplinary board members, campus security directors, the graduate admissions officers, faculty representatives from the law school, and student body representatives were all sitting behind me.

This was the public hearing I had secured after submitting an emergency application late last night.

The number of viewers in the livestream instantly multiplied.