The Day I Quit, My Girlfriend's Junior Panicked

After I resigned from my position, I took my parents on a long-awaited trip around the world.

Back at the lab, my girlfriend’s junior classmate—Luther Grant—who had always been hailed as a prodigious talent in intelligent robotics, panicked. He began calling me relentlessly—up to a hundred times a day. During a celebration banquet, he even publicly declared, “The rapid advancements in the intelligent robot project are all thanks to Team Leader Cole. Without his support, I wouldn’t have had so many breakthroughs. I sincerely hope Team Leader Cole can take the bigger picture into account and return to help us.”

Even my girlfriend scolded me, accusing me of being petty, letting jealousy cloud my judgment, and ignoring the collective mission.

But I simply hung up, unmoved. I continued my journey across countries and continents with my parents, appreciating every peaceful moment away from that toxic environment.

In my past life, Luther had shamelessly claimed the title of an intelligent robotics genius. Each time I spent days poring over research and compiling experimental data, he would somehow publish my findings ahead of me.

After it happened several times, my colleagues began mocking me. They said I was desperate for recognition, using family ties to secure the role of R&D team leader, only to steal credit for others’ work. The pressure mounted. To silence the accusations, I pushed myself beyond exhaustion, working around the clock for a week straight. Eventually, I created a new dataset for intelligent robot development.

But when I emerged from the lab to share the results, I was told that my junior had already announced identical data—an hour earlier.

Worse still, he had started a livestream, where he made veiled accusations against me, implying that I had tried to coerce him into ghostwriting the research. The internet exploded. Outraged netizens began boycotting my family’s products, claiming that my parents’ company was fraudulent. In just days, they were forced into bankruptcy.

Meanwhile, Luther secured the R&D patent, gained fame as a pioneering genius in artificial intelligence, and was approached by major corporations eager to buy the rights to his “work.”

Our family was ruined—socially, professionally, and financially. And then, as if fate hadn’t dealt enough damage, the three of us were struck and killed by an out-of-control truck on our way to expose him.

But I woke up again.

This time, I was back on the very day Luther first claimed credit as the genius behind intelligent robot breakthroughs.

——

“Team Leader Cole? Are you okay? You fainted just now!”

A familiar voice echoed in my ears. My vision cleared. I was seated in a chair, surrounded by concerned colleagues.

“Team Leader, what phase are you working on now?”

Before I could respond, Luther approached and proudly handed me a stack of documents. “Here’s the data I just finished. The chip algorithm allows the robot to autonomously recognize different objects.”

I froze. Flipping through the pages with trembling fingers, I recognized every line, every graph. This was my work—the data I had painstakingly developed over ten grueling days.

I had been reborn to the day when he first stole my results and claimed that he had only spent half a day on them.

My colleagues chatted casually nearby. “Team Leader Cole, you look exhausted. Did you finish compiling the research data?”

I didn’t answer. I rushed to the experimental table and turned on my computer. The screen was still displaying the detailed logs of my calculations and testing. All the data was there—recorded with timestamps.

My face turned pale, and my heart pounded like a drum.

Luther followed me and said in an almost casual tone, “Team Leader Cole, you asked me earlier to organize the data. I’ve done it now. Take a look.”

Then he leaned in closer, smirking, “I know kids from rich families like you usually aren’t very capable. But I’m the real talent in R&D. Just leave robot development to me from now on. You just make sure our team has enough funding and meals.”

At that moment, my throat tightened. A wave of dizziness hit me as stars danced before my eyes.

I remembered clearly—this was the exact day he first presented my data on his own. He had framed it as if he’d completed all the work in just a few hours, while eating and relaxing.

My colleagues believed him. They showered him with praise, calling him a rare genius and the shining hope of the robotics industry.

“He’s doing the work of five people by himself,” they said. “What do we need a team leader for, if all he does is lock us in the lab day and night?”

“He just wanted the spotlight,” someone had whispered. “Otherwise, why monopolize the credit?”