Chapter 3 — When He Believes the Outsiders

"Let this be clear to everyone here: once I prove she is faking it, no one on this training ground will ever dare use a falsified medical report to deceive me again!"

He strode toward the pillar, drew the military-grade knife from his belt, and slashed violently at the thick, spiked rope binding me to the post.

*Rip.*

It was not the sound of hempen fiber snapping, but the sickening, wet tear of human skin. Something that had fused to my back remained behind on the pillar. The moment the rope gave way, my body—bereft of life and already deep into the process of stiffening—lost its final anchor. There was no instinctual struggle for survival, no reflex to raise my arms to shield my head. I simply fell forward, like a heavy, sodden mass of mud dropped from a great height.

*Thud.*

My face struck the rough concrete with a sickening impact. Blood splattered instantly, speckling the pristine, dust-free military boots of To Lam. A massive patch of necrotic, ulcerated skin from my back remained slickly adhered to the metal pillar, a sight so gruesome that a wave of pure terror washed over the spectators. The entire training ground plunged into a deathly, suffocating silence. A male student, standing closest to me, tremblingly reached out to check under my nose. His face drained of all color in an instant; he collapsed backward onto the ground, his lips quivering uncontrollably before a raw, raspy scream finally tore from his throat.

"She... she isn't breathing!"

"She's dead! She's actually dead!"

The scream swept across the parade ground like a tsunami. Yet my brother, To Lam, remained standing perfectly still. He gazed coldly down at my contorted form, the mocking sneer on his lips deepening if anything.

"To Van, you've been playing this game since we were children. Aren't you tired of it yet?"

He stepped down from the platform, marched over to where I lay, and delivered two heavy, calculated kicks to my waist—a part of me that had long since lost the ability to feel pain.

"Get up! Stop pretending to be dead! Do you really think that in front of the cameras, I’m going to coddle you like Mom and Dad did?"

His roar echoed through the loudspeakers, vibrating into every corner of the yard and broadcasting clearly to the thousands watching the live feed. I floated high above, watching with detached indifference as he kicked my ravaged corpse. My skin, scorched by the relentless sun, had ulcerated severely; his strikes caused the fabric of my military uniform to meld hideously with the raw flesh and weeping fluids.

"Don't touch her!"

The school doctor finally broke free from the teaching assistant’s grasp. Clutching his medical kit, he scrambled toward me, half-crawling in his desperation. His trembling hands turned my body over. In that moment, my face was revealed fully to the high-definition lens. The skin had fused together in places, covered in weeping, blistered burns from the UV exposure. Only my hollow, sightless eyes remained, staring up at the blinding sun. The doctor pressed his fingers to my carotid artery. Within two seconds, he jerked back as if electrocuted, collapsing into the dirt with a face the color of ash.

"Her heart stopped a long time ago! She is dead!"

"Lies!"

To Lam lunged, grabbing the doctor by the collar and throwing him to the ground.

"How much did she pay you to play along with this little performance? Even exaggerations have their limits!"

He released the doctor and crouched down, grabbing me by the collar, intent on dragging me from the pool of blood by force.

"You like to play-act, right? To Van, today I’ll make sure you play your part until the very end!"

Before the cameras, before the eyes of teachers, students, and my parents, he hauled on my arm. But I had been left in the sun for too long. After my vital signs vanished, *rigor mortis* had silently claimed every fiber of my being. To Lam pulled with all his might. A sickening, jarring "crack" echoed—the sound of bone snapping—that made everyone wince. My stiff arm was wrenched out of its socket. Yet, my body maintained the exact contorted posture it had adopted upon impact, devoid of any of the flexibility of the living.

"Get up! Isn't this what you wanted? Keep acting for me!"

To Lam’s eyes were bloodshot. He gripped my shoulders, shaking me with frantic, violent energy. I watched him with glacial calm. Shake all you want. No matter how hard you pull, you cannot wake someone you hounded to death with your own hands. As he descended into a frenzy, tearing at me, his hot, clammy hand suddenly slid across my neck, where the skin had already sloughed away. To Lam’s movements froze. It seemed he finally realized that something was fundamentally wrong. He stared, rigid, at his own hands. They were coated in the cold, fetid fluids and thick blood leaking from my cadaver. Suddenly, the frantic wail of sirens shattered the frozen atmosphere. Several police cruisers, lights flashing, tore through the iron gates of the training ground.

The ambulances followed, screeching to a halt beside the pool of blood. Medical staff in white coats leaped out with defibrillators, but upon catching sight of my ruined, mangled state, they all came to a dead stop. The lead emergency doctor merely flipped back my eyelids, checked my pulse, and stood up, his face a ghostly white.

"Severe UV allergy leading to acute multi-organ failure. The external skin damage has reached third-degree burns."

The doctor looked coldly at To Lam, who was still slumped on the ground.

"She has been beyond medical help for a long time."

A stark, blinding white sheet was pulled over my charred and ulcerated face.