Chloe was the most obsessive copycat at St. Jude’s Prep. Whatever tablet brand I bought, she’d get the exact same one, even if she had to finance it in installments. I signed up for a niche Latin course, and she registered too, even though she barely knew the alphabet. Everyone thought she was just desperate to fit into our high-society circle. Until late one night, I heard a cold, mechanical voice in my head: [Ding! Learning trajectory alignment has reached 80%. Actively stripping Vivian of her Ivy League early admission spot and her IQ.] Hidden behind my canopy bed curtains, I smiled silently. So, she was using a sci-fi system to steal the Ivy League offers I had pulled countless all-nighters for? The next night, I sat on my dorm balcony, chugging a glass of thick, crimson liquid. I even drew a few creepy, mystical runes on my face. I purposely complained to a friend on FaceTime, my voice loud enough to carry: "Ever since I started drinking this raw deer blood from a European Wiccan, my brain feels as sharp as a quantum computer." In reality, it was just organic beet juice mixed with thick tomato paste. That very night, I watched Chloe climb over the school fence, heading straight toward the wild deer woods behind the campus.
I sat at the kitchen island in our dorm, slicing an avocado with a silver fork. The door swung open. Emma pinched her nose, her face twisting in pure disgust. "What the... what is that smell? It smells a hundred times worse than a dead rat in a Brooklyn sewer!" Just as she spoke, Chloe dragged herself into the room. Her tweed Chanel-style jacket—the one she had saved up for months to buy two days ago—was covered in brown mud. Dark, suspicious animal droppings clung to her hem. Her carefully styled hair looked like a bird's nest. A nasty scratch from a thorn bush cut across her left cheek, and she reeked of rotting copper and wild animal sweat. Emma gasped, taking two large steps back. "Chloe, did you pick a fight with a wild boar in the woods?" Chloe grit her teeth, forcing herself to stand straight, but her eyes kept darting toward me. "What do you guys know?" she sneered. "I was performing an ancient European aristocratic cognitive ritual. Once I pass this phase, my IQ will experience a massive leap." I raised my bone china cup and took a slow, elegant sip of my black coffee. "Oh? Good luck with your awakening then." Right at that moment, a mechanical voice rang sharply in the air, heard only by me. [Warning! Host has ingested unfiltered wild animal blood and contracted an unknown intestinal parasite.] [Host has developed acute gastroenteritis. Physical functions compromised. IQ rating decreased by 2 points.] [The stripping progress has dropped back to 75%. Host, please cease self-destructive behavior immediately!] Chloe froze. Her face turned from pale to a sickly, moldy green. "Gurgle—" A loud, violent rumble erupted from her stomach. Clutching her abdomen, Chloe threw all her "aristocratic grace" out the window. She shoved Emma aside and sprinted frantically into the bathroom. Soon, the unmistakable, stomach-churning sounds of violent diarrhea echoed through the door. Emma waved her hand in front of her nose, her face full of disgust. "Is she insane? Going out in the middle of the night to eat wild animals? Does she think she’s in a vampire movie?" I set down my coffee cup and gracefully dabbed my mouth with a napkin. So, only Chloe and I could hear that mechanical voice. Perfect.
Chloe was bedridden for three whole days. She was so dehydrated from diarrhea that she missed two major pop quizzes in our core classes. When she finally dragged herself back to class, sporting two massive dark circles under her eyes, it happened to be Mr. Wilson's Latin class. Mr. Wilson was notoriously strict at St. Jude’s. He tapped the blackboard, pointing at a classical Roman poem, and locked his eyes right on Chloe in the back row. "Chloe, since you chose to take this advanced classical literature course, please translate this passage from Julius Caesar for the class." Chloe stood up slowly, staring at the letters. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead. She hadn't even memorized basic Latin conjugations, let alone a complex classical translation. The lecture hall fell dead silent. Chloe stuttered for a long time before muttering, "Caesar said... he was going for a walk in Rome today." The entire class burst into roaring laughter. Mr. Wilson's face darkened instantly. "If your mind isn't on academics, do not take this class just to boost your social vanity! This place is not a playground for your resume. Twenty participation points deducted. Sit down!" Chloe bit her lower lip in humiliation. She glared at me with pure hatred before taking her seat. Ever since she transferred to this school, she had hated my guts. Another roommate of mine had privately told me that Chloe constantly called me a fraud behind my back. She claimed I was just a dumb rich girl and swore she would get me expelled. It was around that time that I realized I could hear her "System." Right on cue, the mechanical voice buzzed in my mind. [Warning! Host’s Latin grade has plummeted. The gap between you and the target, Vivian, has widened!] [Current copycat progress has dropped to 60%. If it falls below 50%, the system will initiate a forced unbinding penalty!] After class, I returned to the dorm’s common area, pulled a futuristic silver metal band from my bag, and clipped it around my neck. It was actually just a ten-dollar neck massager I bought on Amazon. I had paid a guy at the local hardware store to plate it in cool silver and engrave a fake high-tech logo on it. Emma leaned in, curiously tapping the metal ring. "Vivian, what is this new toy?" I pressed the power button, and the ring emitted a soft, high-tech hum. I raised my voice, making sure Chloe, who had just walked through the door, could hear every word. "My dad got it for me from a Silicon Valley neuro-lab. It’s a neural brainwave stimulator. Apparently, it stimulates the hippocampus with micro-currents. You can memorize an entire textbook just by flipping through it once." "But it's so hard to get," I sighed. "It costs a hundred and twenty thousand dollars, and there’s a massive waiting list." Emma gasped, playing along perfectly. "A hundred and twenty grand?! For a little metal ring? Well, I guess for an Ivy League admission, that investment is nothing." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chloe staring at my neck. The greed and jealousy in her eyes were practically dripping.
Less than a week later, Chloe actually showed up with an identical silver metal ring wrapped around her neck. On Friday afternoon, she walked into the campus library with her chin held high, purposefully taking the seat right across from Emma and me. Emma rolled her eyes and whispered, "Unbelievable. Did this copycat rob a bank? How did she afford a hundred and twenty thousand dollar device?" I kept my head down, flipping through my Microeconomics textbook. "Who knows. I heard there are plenty of shady online payday loan apps catering to desperate students outside campus lately." Across from us, Chloe straightened her back, clicked her neckband on, and sneered. "It's just a learning device. Don't project your narrow views on me. If some people can afford it, so can I." She opened her book, putting on a show of intense concentration. The mechanical voice echoed. [Detecting host wearing the same external device. Attempting to sync and analyze data...] [Analysis failed. Warning: This device does not emit any cognitive enhancement waves. It only possesses basic physical vibration functions.] Chloe’s hand froze on her page. Her face paled. She screamed at the system in her mind, "How is that possible? Vivian read three thick books yesterday while wearing it! Your scanner must be broken! I borrowed a hundred and thirty thousand dollars from those online lenders to get this imported!" To prove to her system that the "god-tier device" worked, she grit her teeth and pushed the massager’s vibration setting to level nine—the absolute maximum. A loud, piercing hum vibrated through the dead-silent library. Nearby students frowned, glaring at her. But Chloe ignored them, keeping her eyes glued to her book. Exactly twenty minutes later. Due to her neck muscles being forced into violent, high-frequency spasms, Chloe suddenly let out a blood-curdling shriek. "Ahhh!" Her book slammed onto the table. Her neck was completely locked at a bizarre, unnatural angle, tilted sharply to the left. She reached up to tear the band off, but the acute muscle spasm made even the slightest movement excruciating. Her face contorted in agony. The librarian rushed over and immediately called 911. By the time the paramedics arrived to wheel her out on a stretcher, her head was still pinned to her shoulder like a broken puppet. She was groaning in pain the entire way. [Warning! Host has suffered acute muscle spasms. Learning efficiency for this week has reset to zero.] [Copycat progress has dropped to 55%.] [Warning: Host must obtain a core recommendation letter from the Academic Club within three days, or the mission will fail!]
The severe neck injury threw Chloe into a complete panic. She probably couldn't understand why her omnipotent system was suddenly failing her. A day later, Chloe returned to school wearing a thick, ridiculous neck brace. Every student at St. Jude’s knew that Arthur, the president of the Academic Club, held a highly coveted Ivy League recommendation letter. This was Chloe’s last saving grace. On Thursday afternoon, I stood by the lockers, talking loudly to Emma as Chloe approached. "Are you ready for Arthur's Ivy League prep gala tomorrow night? Have you picked out your perfume?" Emma looked confused. "Perfume? Isn't a light, clean scent fine?" I shook my head, lowering my voice mysteriously. "Arthur comes from an ultra-traditional, Old Money family. He has severe allergies and OCD. He privately told me he despises modern synthetic perfumes." "What he truly appreciates is raw, earthy scents, like dried mugwort and aged cedarwood. He says it smells like old libraries and academic heritage. I had a private perfumer mix a bottle of pure herbal oils just for tomorrow." In the shadow of the hallway corridor, a piece of fabric flicked. I smiled slightly. She had swallowed the bait. Friday night, the St. Jude's grand ballroom was bathed in golden light. Arthur, dressed in a flawless tuxedo, stood by the champagne tower, chatting with some boarding members. Suddenly, the heavy doors opened. Chloe walked in wearing a poorly fitted, clearly rented gown, with her thick neck brace still on. She marched straight toward Arthur. As she drew near, a suffocating, pungent odor of cheap insect repellent mixed with burnt weeds blasted through the air. The surrounding socialites and heirs immediately gagged, covering their noses and backing away. Arthur, who suffered from chronic sinusitis, took the blast of odor right to his face. His stomach churned violently, and he dropped his champagne glass, splashing it all over the floor. He clutched his nose and mouth, his face turning red with rage. "Did you douse yourself in industrial pesticide? Get away from me!" The ballroom erupted into uncontrollable snickers. Chloe froze, the color draining from her face. She whipped her head around, her eyes locking onto me. I was standing in the crowd, sipping sparkling water and enjoying the show. [Ding—System Warning! Core social relationship has collapsed. Progress has fallen below the 50% safety line!] Chloe’s eyes turned bloodshot. She looked like a rabid dog pushed into a corner. Suddenly, she spun around and sprinted toward the main stage in the center of the ballroom. She snatched the microphone from the host and violently plugged her phone into the massive projection screen behind her. "Don't let Vivian fool you!" she shrieked, her voice echoing through the speakers. The giant screen flashed, revealing a detailed transaction log from an online academic ghostwriting agency. Highlighted in bright red was "Vivian Sinclair" along with wire transfers totaling tens of thousands of dollars. Chloe pointed a trembling finger at me, screaming righteously, "Vivian bought her Ivy League admission!" "All her papers, all her honors, were written by paid ghosts! She is nothing but an academic fraud! How can our school tolerate a criminal like her?" The room fell dead silent. Every eye in the room turned to me. Emma gasped, nearly dropping her glass. But I stood calmly in the spotlight, looking at the transaction log on the screen, and gently swirled my water.
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