Campus food deliveries vanished so often that no one even commented anymore. Then it happened to me again and again. I never identified the thief, but by New Year's Eve I was finished with being an easy mark. I set out a bowl of soup as bait and soaked it with water wrung from an old bathroom mop. I meant to make whoever stole it regret touching my food.

A week later, the police did not come for the thief. They came for me.

The counselor slid a penalty notice across his desk—600 dollars for food costs and medical fees, due next week. The person who ate my food had been hospitalized for "poisoning."

The school was already discussing a major demerit, the cancellation of my first-class scholarship, and the loss of my needs-based stipend. That stipend was the money keeping my sick mother alive.

They planned to pin everything on me, shield the real culprit, and bury me under paperwork. Unfortunately for them, they chose the wrong target. I was the law department's resident argument addict, and I intended to turn their dirty little mediation into a public collapse.

They were not just fining me. They were canceling the yearly subsidy too, worth 4,000 dollars.

We had already sold our only apartment to pay for my mom's treatment. I was a junior, and that scholarship was my only plan for next semester.

I forced my voice to stay steady. "Officer, can you tell me who filed the report?"

The older police officer shook his head. "Regulations. We can't disclose that."

I clenched my fist under the desk until my knuckles burned.

My deliveries had gone missing seven or eight times. Each time I filed a complaint, the school responded with the same boilerplate policy statement. The footage was unclear, they said. They could not confirm who was responsible.

But the one time I put a little "extra" in my food, the thief ended up in the hospital. Suddenly, responsibility was crystal clear, and it was mine.

Nice.

"The person stole my food and got sick. Why am I the one paying?" I said.

Edwin Wilson, whom everyone called Mr. Wilson, let out a tired sigh. "No matter who stole first, the moment you put something like that in the meal, the nature of it changes. They were hospitalized. Their stomach was pumped. That is a fact."

"And them stealing from me isn't a fact?" I shot back.

The younger officer flipped through the statement in his hands and cut in, his voice bland but pointed, "I suggest you cooperate. They are only asking for medical fees. They are not pursuing criminal charges. That is already generous."

"Then let me see their medical records," I said. "If their stomach was pumped, what did they pump out?"

The older police officer frowned.

Edwin leaned forward, his tone smoothing out. "Finn, why are you pushing this? The school has already mediated. Just follow the process. Don't go looking for trouble."

I had learned something in my first year. If you were poor and still wanted to live with dignity, you should either rely on your fists or your brain. My fists were nothing special, so I sharpened my mind.

I had worked through legal codes for three years. Not because I loved statutes, but because I refused to be the easy target people squeezed when it suited them.

Edwin seemed to take my silence as surrender. His shoulders relaxed, and his voice softened. "Look, the school is under pressure. That's why they're canceling the 4,000. How about this? Pay the medical fees first. Once things settle down, I'll help you apply for hardship aid. I can probably get some of it back for you."

I nodded. I even looked obedient as I pulled out my phone and opened the transfer screen.

"Okay," I said. "Mr. Wilson, which QR code should I use?"

Relief flickered across his face. Money always had that effect on people.

I typed in 640 and tapped confirm. My screen flashed a green Transfer Successful banner.

Edwin checked his phone. His brow creased. "I didn't get anything."

"That's strange. Mine says it went through." I tilted my screen toward him. "Probably a network delay. Give it a second."

He refreshed twice. Still nothing.

I stepped in, helpful and concerned. "Do you want me to check whether your account has some kind of restriction?"

The moment someone believed money was about to land, their guard dropped. Edwin actually handed me his phone.

I took it and scanned fast, not greedy, just precise. The top chat was with the dean of student affairs.

[The other side offered too much. We cannot afford to offend whoever is backing them.]

So that was it—backroom pressure. It was someone with connections, and the school had chosen who to protect.

Excitement sparked in my chest, sharp and clean. I had always loved a fight, especially the kind you won with words.

I handed the phone back as if nothing had happened.

"Maybe I entered something wrong," I said. "I'm out of money right now. I'll go back and redo it."

The transfer record was fake anyway. I had sent it to my own alternate account.

I had barely cleared the administrative building when my phone vibrated.

It was Edwin.

I answered. His voice dropped, tight and controlled. "Finn, I'll be honest with you. This case was mediated jointly by the school and the security office. All I can do is coordinate."

He paused, then pressed harder, "If the money doesn't arrive within 30 minutes, I'll have to submit the materials up the chain to the dean. And once it reaches that level, there's no room to turn this around."

I gripped my phone until my fingers went white.

When I returned to the counselor's office, I opened by playing pitiful.

"Mr. Wilson, this really feels unfair," I said. "Why am I the only one being punished? What about the person who actually stole the food?"

Edwin sighed and spread his hands, helpless on the surface.

"Someone higher up will want to talk to you eventually. At least between us, there's still some teacher-student goodwill." The threat underneath was obvious.

He leaned back in his chair. "I advise you to accept the penalty now. If this goes up to school leadership, they will not be nearly as easy to deal with."

It was a good thing I had a habit of collecting gossip. It looked like time to increase the dosage.

"If you don't want to help me, then the thing between you and Maisie… We might accidentally let that slip," I said quietly. "And her comprehensive evaluation score clearly failed. You still gave her an A."

Edwin's eyelid twitched.

Maisie Quinn was the business school's campus belle. Last semester, her evaluation score ranked three points below mine, yet she still walked away with the national scholarship.

I had found that strange at the time. Last week, I learned why. I had wandered into an office by accident and caught Edwin with his hand on her thigh. They had been kissing.

Edwin had a family. I had heard his wife was vicious. He also had two sons built like calves.

"Enough!" He slammed his palm on the desk and shot to his feet, his face flushing red. "Don't mess around! Finn, listen to me. Things aren't what you think…"

He drew in a breath, forced himself to calm down, then softened his tone. "What do you want? I already spoke up for you with the dean. A major demerit was reduced to a warning. Expulsion became scholarship cancellation."

I met his gaze. "Who stole my food? And why is the school only punishing me?"

Silence stretched for several seconds.

Finally, Edwin spoke. "The Griffith family made a call. Canceling your scholarship was a condition set by Luther Griffith's father."

He added bitterly, "The school still needs approval from the Griffith side for the new campus land. What choice does the dean have? He can only accept it. The school will consider compensating your losses later."

When I left the office, my heart pounded like a drum.

So it was him. Luther was the only son of the Griffith family, the wealthiest household in Jouleston. He was a third-year business major and a notorious campus trust-fund brat.

The irony was that Luther's petty habits were no secret to me, of all people.

During freshman year, someone had posted on the forum that they had seen him swipe a public power bank from the library.

Others claimed his dorm locker was packed with "found" items: a roommate's lighter, game cartridges from the neighboring room, and even a janitor's mop abandoned in the hallway.

Every post vanished without a trace. That made sense. No one would believe it anyway. The Griffith family was obscenely rich. Why would their son steal?

I never understood it myself. But my recorder had captured every word of the conversation between Edwin and me.

I pulled up the legal provisions saved on my phone, and the corner of my mouth lifted despite myself. "Luther, buying my dream home again might just depend on you."

Later, I went to the cafeteria, tray in hand, and stood at the back of the line.

"Well, if it isn't the poisoner."

Before I could turn around, a hand shot out. Five fingers hooked the edge of my tray. With a loud clang, the tray hit the floor. Gravy splashed everywhere.

I looked up. Luther stood over me with three well-dressed guys behind him.

"Eating the cheapest set every day," he sneered. "And you still try to order delivery like everyone else?"

He went on, "If you're going to order, fine. But poisoning it? Now the whole school knows you."

Students gathered around us, whispering.

Luther's smile widened. "Finnick Lynch, do yourself a favor and drop out. Getting expelled later will look worse."

I crouched, picked up the tray, and laughed at him. "No matter how bad it gets, it will never look worse than someone who eats shit."

His smile froze.

I kept going, my voice light. "That bowl of soup? I had mixed the broth with water squeezed out of an old bathroom mop."

Luther's face drained of color.

"Soaked overnight," I added. "Still foamy when I wrung it out. I even added a little, fresh contribution from the last person who used the toilet. The smell? Completely covered by the vegetables. Did you taste it?"

"Shut up!" Luther roared, clapping a hand over his mouth.

He doubled over. "Ugh…"

The guys beside him gagged and threw up as well. It seemed they had eaten my delivery too.

The crowd erupted.

"No way! Was it really him who stole it?"

"What the hell, that twist was fast…"

Luther wiped his mouth, his eyes bloodshot.

"Finnick, you bastard!" He lunged for my collar. "You think Hazel would ever like trash like you? Keep dreaming!"

I froze. Information raced through my mind. Hazel was the top protégé of a senior academician in the chemistry department and a rumored future Nobel contender. The school treated her like fragile glass. Even the chancellor showed her open courtesy.

More absurdly, she came from serious money. She was beautiful to an unfair degree, the campus' famous ice queen, and had never dated anyone.

Luther liking her made perfect sense.

But what did he mean just now? Hazel liking me?

Luther finished retching and stepped closer. His lips twisted with malice. "At the mediation meeting, I won't let you off. I'll make sure you're thrown out of this school."

The school stepped in to mediate. Each side was allowed to bring only one companion into the room.

Luther sat beside his mother, Ivy Reed. Her hair was curled into careful waves, and her eyes swept over me from head to toe with sharp scrutiny.

I scanned the conference room and spotted a familiar figure by the window.

It was Jackson Shaw. With him there, I did not feel completely alone.

A man in a suit stood. "I am Mrs. Griffith's legal counsel. Based on the evidence we have, you placed unidentified substances into a food delivery. As a result, my client's son suffered acute gastroenteritis and required hospitalization. This satisfies the elements of the crime of placing dangerous substances."

He paused and looked at me as though granting a concession. "Given that you are still a student, Mrs. Griffith is only requesting the following."

He raised three fingers. "First, compensation for emotional distress in the amount of 100,000 dollars. Second, a public apology. A recorded video, pinned to the campus forum for one week. Third, voluntary withdrawal from the school."

The director of academic affairs cleared his throat. "Given that Finnick's usual academic performance is acceptable, the withdrawal clause can be set aside for now."

Luther suddenly covered his face. His shoulders shook violently.

"I didn't steal it!" he cried. "That day, I saw a delivery on the table. I thought my roommate brought it for me… How was I supposed to know it was yours? I didn't do it on purpose!"

Ivy wrapped an arm around him and glared at me as if she wanted to carve me open. "Exactly. Who hasn't eaten the wrong thing before?"

Luther pointed at me, his finger trembling. "If something serious had happened to me, this would have been attempted murder!"

I rolled my eyes.

"Article 232 of the Criminal Law," I said calmly. "The crime of intentional homicide requires subjective intent to deprive another person of life."

I met his gaze. "Now tell me, how was I supposed to predict that you would steal my food?"

His sobbing cut off mid-breath. He clearly had not expected me to know the statute so well.

The lawyer raised a hand. "Even if this does not rise to the level of homicide, it still constitutes intentional poisoning. According to the hospital test results—"

"E. coli levels exceeded the standard?" I cut in. "Since when is that classified as poison? And may I ask, what category does mop water fall under?"

Luther clamped a hand over his mouth and started gagging again. His face drained of color. This time, the nausea looked real.

Ivy's expression darkened.

I reached into my backpack and took out my recorder. "I'd like everyone to listen to a short recording."

As soon as the device appeared, the male assistant behind the lawyer stood and moved toward me.

"Hold on," he said with forced cheer. "We've been talking for quite a while. That must be tiring. Have some water."

He handed me a cup, then tipped it. The water spilled out in a rush, soaking straight into the seams of the recorder.

I snatched it back and pressed the power button. The screen lit up. It still worked. I had just started to relax when someone slammed into my arm.

It was Jackson.

The recorder flew from my hand, sailed through the open window, and shattered on the ground below.

"My bad, my bad!" Jackson said in a panic. "I saw the assistant trying to grab your things. I was trying to block him… I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."

Something clicked in my mind, then snapped.

When the assistant spilled the water, Jackson had been sitting to my right. If he truly meant to help, he could have spoken up then. Why wait?

Panic, guilt, and avoidance flickered in his eyes.

Across the table, Luther and his mother wore satisfied smiles.

The lawyer gathered his documents with calm precision. "Three days. If the 100,000 dollars and the apology video are not delivered, we will proceed through formal legal channels."

He added, "At that point, you should prepare to leave the school."

A strange excitement spread through me. I was known for arguing people into corners, and I never backed down when it mattered.