Blair’s legs felt like lead, and her lungs burned from the frantic sprint, standing in her door’s apartment. She struggled to grasp for air, calming her ragged breathing, but the sobs continued to shake her to the core. It took several attempts to insert the key into the lock. As the door creaked open, she staggered inside, slamming it shut behind her.

Her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she dropped against the door. And suddenly, a soft meow broke the eerie silence. The kitten who demanded her attention brushed its fur against her jeans.

“Chuchu,” she called its name with a trembling voice as she cradled him in her arms. The warmth of his soft fur pressed against her face. For a moment, the world around her quieted, but the storm within her continued to rage.

“I’m not sure if I can survive in this harsh world,” she murmured. “I’ve tried… I’ve tried so hard.”

The tiny white and grey kitten cuddled against her neck, oblivious to the burden she was carrying. Blair closed her eyes, allowing her words to flow as if the kitten were the only one who would understand.

“It feels as though no matter what I do, no matter how hard I fight, I will always fail,” she whispered, her throat tight with the pain she had been suppressing. “What’s the point of trying so hard when all people seem to care about is watching me fall? Why should I continue to push myself when it feels like the world simply enjoys seeing me crumble?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, holding Chuchu closer, as if the tiny creature could somehow absorb all her sorrow. “It’s exhausting—everything. People are waiting for me to mess up.”

“What if this is it? What if I’ve already lost everything that matters, and I’m just too stubborn to acknowledge it?”

The International Medical Conference represented more than just an academic achievement for Blair; it was her remaining hope to continue her medical studies because being selected for the conference came with full-time scholarships that covered tuition fees, along with a monthly living allowance that would provide her with the financial security she desperately needed. With this allowance, at least she would be free from worry about rent, groceries, or the other expenses that constantly loomed over her like a shadow.

“Sometimes… sometimes I think it would be better if I didn’t have to wake up anymore. If I could just… disappear. No more pretending that I’m strong enough to handle all of this.”

Chuchu purred more loudly, his tiny heart beating steadily against her chest.

“I’m so tired, Chuchu,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I’m so, so tired.”

For a long moment, she sat there, and when her despair deepened, the lights flickered briefly. It wasn’t the eerie, unsettling flicker she had experienced before; this time, it felt almost… playful.

A few moments later…

The lights flickered once more, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Blair froze, her breath catching as the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. A chill ran down her spine; she knew for certain that she was the only tenant on the third floor of the old, creaking building.

Blair wiped her eyes as she scrambled onto her bed. Pulling the blanket over her head like a shield, she hugged Chuchu closer and whispered, “You know what, Chuchu? Maybe I’m not ready to disappear just yet.”

As the first rays of morning light filtered through the curtains, Blair stirred beneath her blanket, her eyes fluttering open. With a proud, exaggerated expression, she sat up and smirked like a villain unveiling a master plan. “I’m brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!”

She could almost envision herself donning a cape, swirling it dramatically as she laughed like a mastermind devising an ingenious plan.

She collapsed back onto the bed, laughing uncontrollably.

“Hahaha…”

Chuchu stirred at the commotion, blinking at her as if confused by her sudden burst of enthusiasm. Blair wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. “You don’t even know, Chuchu,” she said between giggles, “but I’m going to show the world just how unstoppable I am!”

The kitten let out a sleepy meow.

“Today’s the day I give them a legitimate reason to hate me,” Blair muttered, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “They don’t truly know how fierce I can be. What they’ve witnessed so far? That was merely the polite tip of my stubbornness.”

…

The door swung open quietly, revealing Blair’s grandfather, Kennedy Wilson, who sat in his office, engrossed in the documents spread across his expansive desk. His sharp amber eyes scanned the pages with a calculating intensity, making it obvious that he was preoccupied with his work.

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Just then, his secretary entered the room unannounced. He cleared his throat nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other under Kennedy’s piercing gaze.

“Sir, there’s a call from the University of Uriel this morning,” he said hesitantly.

Kennedy remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s about Miss Blair,” the secretary continued. “Apparently, they said, she’s been making a scene almost every day at the Faculty of Medicine, specifically with the department head, Dr. Benson.”

Kennedy narrowed his eyes, remaining silent for a moment as he interlocked his fingers and leaned back in his chair.

“Making a scene,” he repeated slowly, his deep voice as cold and precise as ever. “At Dr. Benson’s office, you say?”

The secretary nodded quickly. “Yes, sir. She has been causing quite a disruption. The Chancellor of the University of Uriel is concerned, and, sir, they will conduct a meeting today.”

Kennedy leaned back in his chair, his expression hardening further as he absorbed the information. His jaw tightened slightly, revealing his growing annoyance. As one of the University of Uriel’s long-time research partners, he couldn’t simply ignore the matter.

Forcing his tone to remain steady, he said, “Tell them I will attend the meeting.”

The secretary nodded before quickly retreating from the office.

As Kennedy entered the conference room, the atmosphere shifted. Key figures from the University of Uriel surrounded the long table. He saw Blair, who sat quietly, while across from her stood Dr. Benson, exuding confidence with a mocking smirk playing on his lips.

The tension was palpable, and the air seemed to crackle with unresolved conflict. Kennedy’s presence intensified the gravity of the situation, and all eyes turned to him as he took his seat.

“I’m here as a member of the board of directors and nothing else,” Kennedy stated firmly. He felt compelled to clarify his position, sensing the undercurrents of tension in the room. His goal was to cultivate an environment where both sides could express their viewpoints openly, free from the influence of his status.

As Kennedy settled into his seat, the atmosphere thickened with anticipation. Dr. Benson cleared his throat, his expression reflecting a blend of pride and determination.

“Thank you for joining us, Mr. Wilson,” he began, his voice steady yet strained. “I believe we need to address Miss Blair’s recent behavior. Her actions have disrupted the department, and I must insist on her expulsion because of her misconduct and the outrageous slander she has directed at me.”

A murmur rippled through the room as Kennedy glanced at Blair. Her brow slightly furrowed and her lips curling into an amused smirk, as if she were concealing an inside joke. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and there was a defiance in her posture that suggested she had something planned.

Dr. Benson’s voice grew increasingly heated as he continued. “Her public accusations have tarnished my reputation and undermined the integrity of the department. If this continues, it will set a dangerous precedent for all students and faculty in medicine.”

Blair leaned back in her chair, her smirk widening as Dr. Benson’s tirade continued.

The chancellor finally broke his silence, his gaze darting sharply toward Blair.

“I believe it’s crucial that we hear all sides before making any judgments,” he said, his tone steady; however, the glint in his eyes betrayed a ruthless scrutiny. He was already forming opinions as he assessed Blair’s demeanor.

When he finally paused, Blair seized the opportunity. “Dr. Benson,” she began, her voice dripping with mockery, “I’m curious. Did you not receive my formal complaint? It’s strange that you didn’t mention it.” Her tone was teasing, intended to provoke him.

“Mr. Chancellor,” she continued, her voice steady, “when a professor misrepresents medical facts, it affects students’ education and future careers. I did not violate any university rules by bringing this to light; in fact, I believe it is my duty as a student to ensure we are learning accurate information.”

Kennedy’s amber eyes, typically keen and calculating, flickered as he assessed the situation. His sharp, angular features hinted at his meticulous nature. He shook his head slightly while observing Dr. Benson’s increasingly flustered demeanor.

She spoke firmly as she recounted her efforts. “I didn’t stop sending letters of formal complaint because they intentionally ignored them. You can read the letter; I highlighted the potential consequences of teaching incorrect information. I pointed out how this could harm not only our education but also future patients. This wasn’t about me; it was about the integrity of our university.”

As Blair’s words echoed through the room, a flashback ignited in her mind, transporting her back to a night when despair had nearly overpowered her.

Curled up on her bed, the feeling of hopelessness pressing down on her chest. Just when she thought of giving up, she heard a faint, eerie sound that sent a shiver down her spine. At that moment, as Blair fell asleep, she dreamt of a ghost—a figure cloaked in sorrow. As the weeping white lady ghost appeared, she could see the anguish etched into the ghost’s translucent face, her eyes brimming with the pain of unfulfilled dreams and lost opportunities.

“Why can’t you do anything?” the ghost whispered, her voice a haunting melody of despair. The words wrapped around Blair’s heart, squeezing it tightly. It served as a poignant reminder of the fragility of life and the burden of regret.

In that eerie moment, Blair experienced a pang of fear, but for the reflection of her own fears and insecurities. As she awoke, her resolve solidified. Rather than succumbing to tears, she could transform into something more formidable. She could confront those who sought to stifle her voice and dismiss her efforts, for living was far scarier than any ghost.

When the faculty of medicine selected students not based on exam results but on ambiguous criteria, she held her tongue, not wanting to draw attention to herself. However, she couldn’t shake the feeling of injustice. That’s when she began compiling lecture notes, textbook references, and peer-reviewed articles. Each day, she meticulously documented instances where Dr. Benson’s and other professors’ teachings contradicted modern medical knowledge.

“You think this is some game, don’t you?” Dr. Benson snapped, attempting to reassert dominance. “You’re just a student, Blair. Your role is to learn, not to critique the faculty.”

A soft chuckle escaped her lips. “Learning involves questioning, Dr. Benson, especially in our field of study. If you can’t handle that, perhaps you are the one who shouldn’t be in this position.”

The room fell silent as she savored the moment.