After my thesis advisor rejected my paper for the ninety-ninth time, I tearfully messaged my online boyfriend. “Babe, my advisor said if it’s not perfect by tomorrow, he’s going to make me defer my graduation.” He replied instantly. “Your advisor is a f*cking moron. What does that old fossil know anyway!” “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll write it for you. You just get your beauty sleep tonight.” The next day, after I handed in the paper my online boyfriend had revised, my advisor went silent for a long time. His eyes grew strange. When he finally spoke, he stammered. “Are you… are you sure this is your work?” 1. In the final year of my Master’s program, my life was an endless cycle of revising my thesis. This latest draft had cost me three all-nighters. The next morning in class, my advisor, Professor Croft, picked up my paper with two disdainful fingers and tossed it aside as if it were contaminated. “Who wrote this garbage? Don’t you dare put my name down as your advisor. That’s pure slander.” Professor Croft was a big deal—a visiting scholar from Cambridge and the scion of some powerful East Coast family. He was brilliant, and to make matters worse, he had the face of a movie star. My best friend was green with envy that I got to stare at that handsome face every day. But only I knew just how venomous his tongue was. One lick and you’d probably drop dead from the poison. I shakily stood up. Instantly, his gaze locked onto me, the kind of look you’d give a particularly slow-witted insect. “How did you even get into this university? Or did you suffer a recent and severe head injury?” Laughter rippled through the classroom. My face burned with humiliation. I wished the floor would swallow me whole. After class, he called my name. “Lily.” “Do you have some alternative timeline in mind for your graduation?” I stood before him like a cornered mouse, too terrified to speak. The next second, he flicked his wrist, and my thesis fluttered to the floor. “This is your last chance. If you hand me this kind of dogsh*t again tomorrow, you can plan on spending another year here.” Biting back tears, I snatched the papers off the floor and fled. 2. I ducked into an empty classroom, and the dam finally broke. I sobbed, fumbling to open the chat with my online boyfriend. “Babe, my advisor said if my paper isn’t perfect by tomorrow, he’s going to make me defer graduation.” I come from a single-parent home. During my first year of grad school, my mom, who worked as a street vendor, was hit by a car while trying to avoid code enforcement. It was a hit-and-run; they never caught the driver. She ended up in the ICU. To pay for her medical bills and stay in school, I started working as a voice-acting streamer. I’d chat with people in a live stream room, my face hidden. I didn’t expect much to come of it. Until he showed up. In a single night, he gifted me three hundred virtual “Galaxies,” the platform’s most expensive gift, becoming my top supporter. That money paid for my mom’s treatment. It saved her life. Overwhelmed with gratitude, I added him on a private messenger. We started talking, and soon, feelings developed. He was incredibly gentle, the complete opposite of my advisor. Every time Professor Croft tore me down, I’d run to my online boyfriend for comfort. And every time, he’d get just as angry as I was, joining me in cursing out my advisor. This time was no different. A string of furious messages appeared. “Your advisor is a f*cking moron. What does that old fossil know anyway!” “My girl is a genius. There’s no way you could have done it wrong.” His comfort was like a shield, making me feel bold. I sent him the latest draft of my thesis. “He said he’s read his share of bad history, but this was the first time he’d ever read dogsht history. He called my thesis a pile of dogsht!” The document status switched to “Read.” The “typing…” bubble appeared and disappeared several times, but no message came through. I nudged him impatiently. “Babe? Say something! Babe!” This time, a series of cute, head-patting emojis popped up. “...It’s okay. My papers used to get ripped apart too.” “Stop crying, you’re breaking my heart.” “I’ll write it for you. You just get your beauty sleep tonight, sweetheart.” His kindness was a warm blanket. Just as I managed to stop my tears, an icy voice cut through the silence. “Does crying provide you with research data? Or perhaps it lowers your plagiarism score?” I hiccupped in shock. Professor Croft pushed open the slightly ajar door, his face as dark as thunder. “If you can’t handle the pressure, then withdraw from my research group. I have no room for useless people on my team.” As he spoke, a few younger students, all vying for a spot under his supervision, filed in behind him. “I expect to see your revised thesis on my desk at eight a.m. sharp tomorrow.” He gave me a pointed look. “I suggest you get to work.” 3. Fleeing the classroom, I walked back to my dorm, tears streaming down my face again. How could a human being say such cold-hearted things? But besides his terrible temper, Professor Croft was top-tier in every other way—industry reputation, academic expertise, everything. He was the best at the university. And I needed to graduate with honors to get a good job and give my mom a better life. I gritted my teeth, wiped my eyes, and tried to rally. Of course, the moment I entered my dorm, I ran into my roommate, who loved to get under my skin. “Well, well. I hear someone might be enjoying an extra year of school. Guess the standards for getting into this university are really slipping if they’re letting just anyone in.” I didn’t have the energy to deal with her. I ignored her and climbed into my bunk. Even though my boyfriend offered to rewrite the paper, I couldn’t just take it for granted. To thank him, I offered to buy him a coffee. The second I sent the message, a transfer notification popped up on my screen. Fifteen thousand dollars. “No, sweetheart. Let me treat you.” Holy crap. What kind of coffee costs fifteen grand? I stared at the string of zeros, completely floored. I’d only ever seen that many zeros on a price tag in a high-end boutique in Beverly Hills. The day ended as it usually did, with my boyfriend trashing my advisor. “He’s an idiot. He wouldn’t recognize a genius like my baby if she slapped him in the face.” “I bet his home life is a wreck. Wife probably left him for another man, his kids aren't his. That’s why he’s a bitter bastard who takes it out on everyone else.” Reading his messages was a balm to my soul. I sent back a couple of kissy-face emojis and went to sleep, feeling much better. 4. The next morning, I woke up refreshed. The revised thesis from my boyfriend was waiting in my inbox. Sent at 5 a.m. Attached was a note: “You’re the best, sweetheart!” My heart melted. Professor Croft exploited me, and I exploited my boyfriend. It was the circle of academic life. I spammed him with grateful kissy-face emojis, then scrambled to get ready and head to class. As soon as I walked in, I heard my roommate’s shrill voice. “Tsk, look who dared to show up. She went to bed super early last night, didn’t even touch her paper. She must know it’s dogsh*t no matter how many times she polishes it.” “Look at our poor advisor, though. The dark circles under his eyes are huge. Her paper probably gave him insomnia!” “Let’s just sit back and watch the show.” I ignored her, choosing a seat near the door. But that just egged her on. “Smart move, sitting by the door. Makes for a quicker exit when you’re kicked out.” “Look at her, so arrogant. She’s about to get chewed out and cry again.” The words were barely out of her mouth when Professor Croft walked in. He was yawning, looking like he genuinely hadn’t slept. He strode to the lectern, took a huge gulp of coffee, and scanned the room with a cold gaze that finally landed on me. “Lily Yao. Your paper?” My heart hammered against my ribs as I handed him the printed copy. He took it with the same indifferent expression, flipping it open casually. Suddenly, he froze. His eyes widened slightly as he began flipping through the pages rapidly, his gaze darting up to look at me with a strange expression several times. My roommate’s gleeful whisper cut through the silence. “Look, he’s about to explode.” A knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. I had read the paper. My boyfriend’s work was brilliant. Why was he reacting like this? Finally, he finished his rapid scan. He slapped the paper down on the lectern and stood there in silence for a very long moment. When he looked up again, he stammered. “Is this… are you sure this is your work?” 5. His stare made my skin crawl, but I forced myself to answer. “Y-yes, Professor.” “I spent a lot of time rethinking my approach last night…” His expression grew even more peculiar, a mix of disbelief and the look one might give a newly discovered, unclassifiable species. He tapped a finger on the cover of the paper. “Come to my office.” In his office, Professor Croft paced back and forth, a restless energy radiating from him. I stood meekly, staring at my own shoes. Suddenly, he stopped. “Lily Yao.” His voice wasn't cold like it usually was. The way he said my full name had a strange, almost gentle quality to it that sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. I shook my head, trying to clear it of such a ridiculous thought. “Be honest with me. Who wrote this paper for you?” My breath caught in my throat. He knew? How could he know? My online boyfriend lived in a different state; there was no connection between them. “Professor, I really did write it myself.” I had to stick to my story. “Yourself?” A short, derisive laugh escaped him. The smirk on his handsome face was particularly cutting. “The first draft you submitted was a logical mess, and your data was completely fabricated. And you’re telling me that overnight, you transformed it into this perfectly structured, rigorously argued paper?” “Lily, do you think I’m a fool, or do you see yourself as some kind of academic prodigy?” His words left me speechless, my cheeks burning. “I…” “Just get out,” he said, his face suddenly hardening as he pointed to the door. “Since you have so much ‘potential,’ I want a complete literature review and feasibility analysis on the ‘Urban Kitchen Wastewater Treatment’ model you mentioned in the paper. Have it on my desk by three p.m.” His eyes were cold as ice. “If you can’t deliver, you know the consequences.” 6. My mind went completely blank. “Urban Kitchen Wastewater Treatment” was the core theory of the revised paper. The academic principles involved were so complex they gave me a headache just thinking about them. It was impossibly difficult. And three p.m. was less than four hours away. This was an impossible task. He was deliberately trying to make me fail. I clutched the “perfect thesis” like a hot potato and trudged out of his office, my head hanging in defeat. The second I got back to the classroom, my delightful roommate was on me. “Ooh, get another scolding? Told you so. If you don’t have the skills, you just don’t have them. No point in pretending.” I didn’t have the mental space to deal with her. My brain was consumed by one phrase: “Urban Kitchen Wastewater Treatment.” What was I going to do? There was only one person I could turn to. My all-powerful boyfriend. I pulled out my phone and frantically typed out the situation. “Babe, HELP! I think my advisor knows I didn’t write the paper. He’s making me write a full analysis of the ‘Urban Kitchen Wastewater Treatment’ model in less than four hours!” “I’m so screwed!” The message was marked as “Read” instantly. “Don’t panic, sweetheart.” “Your advisor is just trying to screw with you. I bet he doesn’t even understand that model himself.” “The key is wastewater pipe centralization and the purification process. Focus on those two aspects.” “I just emailed you the research data. Organize data sets A, B, and F and plug them into the template I sent you.” “For the conclusion, make sure you emphasize ‘high risk, high reward,’ and add a line recommending a ‘small-scale pilot program.’ Your rigid-minded advisor will think you’re being incredibly thorough.” I stared at his detailed instructions, completely stunned. How… how did he know all of this? How did he predict exactly what my advisor would think?
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