Chapter 2

Early the next morning, when I walked downstairs, Ethan's car was already waiting.

The rear window rolled down. Chloe was sitting inside, her eyes red and puffy, clutching a crumpled tissue.

Ethan leaned over from the driver’s seat.

"Nina, I heard someone reported you. Did you sleep okay last night?"

I pulled open the passenger door. "Fine."

In the back, Chloe sniffled softly, her voice raspy:

"Nina, don't be nervous. The re-test will be fine."

I fastened my seatbelt without looking back. "Yeah."

After driving two blocks, Ethan glanced sideways at me several times, hesitating.

His fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel, his breathing heavier than usual.

Behind us, Chloe buried her face in the tissue, her shoulders trembling slightly.

Ethan stole a look at Chloe in the rearview mirror, his throat bobbing.

The memory of Chloe breaking down in front of him last night churned in his mind.

She had cried intermittently about how important this physical was, about her father’s illness, about her mother working odd jobs, and how this was the only ticket she had in this life.

Then she had bitten her lip, wiped her tears, and repeatedly insisted she didn't mean anything by it—she was just terrified.

He had stood there, paralyzed.

After a long, agonizing silence, he finally nodded.

After Chloe left, he sat in front of his computer screen for hours before opening the official complaint portal and typing out Nina Vance's name, letter by letter.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he pulled a bottle of mineral water from the door compartment and held it out to me.

It was identical to the one he had tried to give me yesterday—same brand, same packaging.

"Nina, drink some water. You have to fast for the re-test, so moisten your throat."

I looked down at the bottle.

In my last life, he had handed it to me just like this, gently urging me to finish it. And I had drunk the entire bottle.

After that came the failed exam, the rejected admission, the steady decline of my health, and finally dying alone in that miserable apartment.

I raised my eyes and met his gaze.

"Ethan."

His shoulders twitched slightly.

"Do you really want me to drink this?" I looked right into his eyes.

The cabin went dead silent. Even Chloe’s quiet sniffling in the back cut off instantly.

Ethan's grip tightened around the bottle, the plastic wrapper letting out a faint crinkle.

His mouth parted, his eyes flickering with panic for a second as his peripheral vision caught Chloe in the back.

In the mirror, Chloe was staring at him with red, tear-filled eyes—wet, pathetic, and filled with silent, desperate pleading.

Then, he pushed the bottle a fraction closer to me.

"Drink it, Nina. I would never hurt you."

I heard something shatter inside my chest.

It wasn't heartbreak; it was absolute finality.

Like a guitar string stretched tight for a lifetime that finally snapped, leaving behind nothing but an empty, hollow silence.

I took the bottle, unscrewed the cap, tilted my head back, and hovered the opening just above my lips.

Tipping my wrist slightly, the water trickled down my chin, sliding right inside the collar of my jacket. The thick fabric absorbed it completely; nothing showed from the outside.

The water was ice-cold. As it ran down my neck and seeped toward my chest, the chill felt shockingly like the day I was buried in my past life.

I lowered the bottle and wiped the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand.

"Done."

From this moment on, we are complete strangers.

Ethan's shoulders visibly slumped with relief, only to tense up again.

In the back, Chloe lowered the tissue from her face, her eyes glued to the half-empty bottle in my hand.

We arrived at the medical center.

This time, it was a private examination room. Three examiners sat in a row behind a desk, a full set of test plates laid out before them.

"Candidate Nina Vance, please take a seat. The re-test protocol is identical to yesterday. State the numbers as you see the images."

The first plate flipped. I called out the number.

The second, the third, the fourth... The entire set was run through from start to finish, with the highest difficulty plates pulled out repeatedly.

"A butterfly. 12."

"A bull. The silhouette is an ox."

"The number 8 against a red speckled background."

The three examiners exchanged looks. The senior examiner in the center wrote extensively on the evaluation sheet.

"Candidate Vance, your color vision is completely normal. The re-test results match yesterday's perfectly. There are no issues whatsoever."

I set the remaining water bottle onto the desk.

"Thank you, examiners. I have one more question."

The senior examiner looked up at me.

"Someone filed an official complaint claiming I cheated on my color vision test, forcing me to undergo this re-examination. The results prove I have no deficiencies."

My voice was rock-steady, every syllable deliberate:

"I want to know who filed that complaint against me."