I have a superpower. After killing someone, I can obtain their memories from the past three years. Before the SAT, I killed my boyfriend, the top student, and successfully got into college. When did I first discover this ability? When I was nine, my parents divorced. I was given to my mom. I liked my mom, but I actually preferred my dad more. I often snuck out to see my dad and play with him. But one day, when I went to find my dad, I caught him kissing a lady. My parents had always been discreet around me, so this was the first time I’d seen a man and woman kissing. The lady’s lips were bright red, red like they could devour someone. I felt very angry. Even at my young age, I understood that dad had done something wrong, which was why they divorced. Dad was the bad guy. I angrily ran to my dad’s car and threw a bunch of marbles inside. I wanted them to hurt dad’s butt and make the lady trip. But the marbles got stuck in the brake pads, causing the brakes to fail. The lady was knocked unconscious, and my dad died on the spot. The police checked the security footage and found that I had put marbles in the car. But a nine-year-old child doesn’t understand anything and isn’t criminally responsible. Plus, I had lost my father and was crying hysterically, completely distraught. No one blamed me; everyone thought I was pitiful. But as I cried, my mind was suddenly filled with new memories. In these memories, I saw the lady’s face. It turned out that dad had been doing bad things for a long time. I saw mom and dad arguing, saw dad secretly taking money from home. I saw the lady and dad’s intimacy, saw them disgustingly entangled together. I threw up. Mom and the police thought I was crying too hard and my body couldn’t take it. Only I knew that I felt sick. At my young age, I had seen two intertwined beasts.
Unexpectedly, my sadness dissipated quickly. What lingered was disgust. At the same time, I realized something unique about myself. As a child, I didn’t dare say it; as I grew up, I didn’t want to say it. As I slowly grew older, I realized what this ability truly meant. In middle school, I was in the same class as Emma, the neighbor’s daughter, and we were very close. We went to and from school together, inseparable to the point where we even went to the bathroom together. The teacher jokingly called us conjoined twins. Emma’s personality wasn’t great, but she was very pretty, much prettier than me. I would sometimes hear people say, “That’s the princess and her little sidekick.” I didn’t mind much, but Emma always seemed pleased. I thought this was one of the reasons she was so close to me. People are most unwilling to be outdone by those close to them. Emma liked feeling superior to me, which in a way also showed that she truly considered me a close friend. I was very good to Emma, so good that she became somewhat dependent on me. Emma’s grades were always better than mine, except for English. So I always helped Emma with her English homework, writing it neatly for her. For regular quizzes, as the English class representative, I would help the teacher grade papers in the office. During these times, I would secretly correct a few of Emma’s answers and add some points to her score. Until the teacher discovered this. The English teacher didn’t blame me for changing the grades but instead scolded Emma. The English teacher had always disliked pretty girls who loved to dress up, and with Emma’s poor English grades, the teacher disliked her even more. “All day long, your mind isn’t on studying, but on these sneaky tricks!” “Girls like you will never amount to anything in the future.” Emma’s eyes immediately turned red. She pushed her desk away with a bang and ran out of the classroom. The English teacher initially snorted dismissively, but seeing that Emma didn’t return for a while, she became worried about something happening. She continued teaching for a bit, but still couldn’t help asking me to go check on Emma. I knew where Emma was. She was in the storage room next to the tea room on the third floor. Whenever Emma encountered something upsetting, she would curl up there. I gently opened the door of the storage room, squeezed in, and crouched next to Emma. Emma didn’t look at me, and I didn’t look at Emma either. I understood her; she didn’t want me to see her in such a disheveled state right now. After sitting for a while, Emma spoke. “I don’t like Ms. Thompson.” Ms. Thompson was our English teacher’s name. “I don’t like Ms. Thompson either.” I said, sharing her resentment. Hearing my childish response, she couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Let’s go back.” “Okay.” Emma and I grew closer and closer. But sometimes we have to admit that when it comes to studying, there’s a difference in natural talent. I tried hard too, but I just didn’t have a knack for academics. Emma and I spent almost the same amount of time studying together every day. But Emma’s grades kept improving, steadily rising in all subjects, and even her English was about to surpass mine. Sometimes she would offer to tutor me, but I couldn’t understand at all. Mom would often compare me to Emma, and I didn’t want to disappoint her. I only had Mom left. Seeing my grades not improving, I started to get anxious. A vague, dark thought appeared in my mind. What if I killed Emma? If I killed Emma, then I would have her memories from these three years of middle school. There are many things you shouldn’t think about; once the thought appears in your head, it never goes away. I had an idea. Just last year, the school had installed new air conditioners with very good cooling effects. Many seniors joked that the school only installed air conditioning after they graduated. Emma was quite short and always sat in the first or second row. I, on the other hand, sat in the fifth or sixth row. As summer approached, the school gradually turned on the air conditioning. I would often complain about how hot it was, and then during breaks, I’d walk to Emma’s desk. While chatting with Emma, I would casually turn the air conditioning to 16 degrees Celsius (61°F) on high fan speed. I’d leave when the bell rang for class; sometimes Emma would remember to adjust it back, sometimes she wouldn’t. So Emma often sat through entire classes in the cold air. A few days ago, I had gone shopping with Emma. I told her my mom asked me to stock up on some cold medicine and asked if she needed any. “Why buy cold medicine in the middle of summer?” she asked. “My mom said I’m always in air conditioning at home and school, and then I’m all sweaty outside. The big temperature difference makes it easy to catch a cold, so she told me to buy some medicine just in case.” Emma hesitated, thought it made sense, and bought the same medicine as me. Seeing Emma blowing her nose and complaining of a headache, I knew my chance had come. After school in the afternoon, Emma and I walked home together as usual. “Let’s sit on the grass by the river embankment for a while,” I suggested. We often relaxed and chatted there after school, so it wasn’t unusual. I pulled Emma along, deliberately choosing a spot visible to the nearby convenience store’s security cameras. I told Emma to open her backpack. Emma opened it and saw two bottles of alcohol inside, seemingly high-proof ones. She took the bottles out of her bag. “Ta-da! A surprise for you!” I exclaimed. “We’re about to become high school students. Don’t you want to try it?” I turned slightly, using my hair to cover my mouth. I understood Emma. She was a girl with a rebellious streak deep down. Emma’s parents had always been quite strict with her. She just never had the opportunity to do anything out of line, but she had always yearned for it. Emma held the bottles in her hands, then passed one to me. I turned around, pretending to suddenly have second thoughts and look a bit scared. I waved my hand. “Maybe we shouldn’t? Emma, won’t your aunt and uncle be angry?” Hearing this, Emma became even more determined. “It’s fine, let’s just try it!” she insisted. I put on a hesitant expression until Emma firmly pushed one of the bottles into my hand. We talked about many things. We discussed recent exams, the future, our disliked English teacher, and the evening sunset. She apologized to me. She said sometimes she couldn’t help but treat me like a sidekick. She said I was her best friend, for life. I said yes, that’s right. Seeing that it was about time, I patted Emma’s shoulder and said we should head home. I hadn’t drunk much alcohol, just pretending to sip a few times when I brought the bottle to my lips. Emma, on the other hand, seemed quite drunk, stumbling as she tried to stand up. I had found out beforehand that Emma’s mom had to work overtime recently, and her dad was on the night shift. Emma would be alone at home. I looked at Emma. “Emma, bye-bye.” “See you tomorrow.” “Oh, right,” I said, smiling at her. “You have a bit of a cold today. Remember to take the cold medicine when you get home.” Emma nodded with a smile. In the glow of the setting sun, her eyes seemed to hold a gentle flame. I calmly returned home, ate dinner with Mom as usual, and finished my homework as always. Then I peacefully fell asleep. The next morning, I woke up with a splitting headache. I found some new memories in my mind. I knew I had succeeded.
Emma was dead. When Emma’s mom returned home that night, she found Emma collapsed in the living room. It was too late by the time they got to the hospital. After investigation, the police concluded it was poisoning caused by taking cephalosporin antibiotics and alcohol at the same time. At an age when the internet wasn’t widespread, we middle school students weren’t aware of this common knowledge. Except for me, who possessed my father’s three years of memories. That’s right. The cold medicine Emma and I bought that day included cephalosporin antibiotics. Everything went too smoothly, even beyond my expectations. I had considered many possibilities. Emma might not have taken the medicine as I suggested. Emma might have taken medicine, but not the cephalosporin. Emma might have felt unwell and successfully called for help in time. Her aunt might have come home early and stopped Emma. And so on. Could it be said that even fate was on my side, for things to go so smoothly? As Emma’s best friend, and the last person to see her alive, I was called to the police station to give a statement. I was a minor, so a parent had to accompany me. Looking at the police officer, I appeared very scared. Mom comforted me. “It’s okay, the police officer just wants to ask you a few questions.” “That’s right, little girl, don’t be afraid. Uncle just wants to ask you a few questions,” the officer reassured me as well. They didn’t really think a little girl like me could do anything. “According to the deceased’s mother, the deceased didn’t usually drink alcohol, but you two were drinking outside that day,” he said. “Why was that?” I looked a bit scared and glanced at Mom. Mom encouragingly patted me, indicating it was okay and I should just speak honestly. “Emma said she wanted to drink that day, to feel excited. She suddenly took out two bottles of alcohol from her bag,” I said. “I originally didn’t want to drink, and I even tried to persuade Emma not to, but who knew…” As I spoke, tears started streaming down my face uncontrollably. The police officer nodded. The security footage indeed showed Emma forcefully pushing the alcohol into my hands. The officer asked a few more trivial questions, then let me leave. This case was ultimately classified as a rebellious teenager’s occasional defiance, combined with a lack of common knowledge, costing her own life. Emma’s death was even used as a cautionary tale within the school. I sorted out the thoughts in my mind, feeling like I had discovered a new world. It turned out Emma’s brain contained so much knowledge. My grades improved dramatically, making Mom very happy. I was happy too. On the day of the high school entrance exam, I performed normally and was admitted to the best high school in the city as I had hoped. Mom sold our house and bought a new one near the high school. My new bedroom was very big, with a large window. I even had my own study room. During the summer vacation, Mom enrolled me in a high school preparatory class. So when high school started, I wouldn’t fall behind right away. But I knew this wasn’t a long-term solution. I didn’t have a talent for studying; I wasn’t smart. Even with Emma’s solid knowledge foundation, I would fall behind later. Last time, luck played too big a role. This time, I needed to re-plan my high school life.
I set my sights on Liam. He was the top student in our grade and also my classmate. Liam was as dazzling as his name suggested. With his handsome, clean-cut looks and academic halo, There was never a shortage of girls who liked him. While I was so ordinary. We seemed destined to never cross paths. Through observation and online searches, I discovered Liam’s most frequently used chat app. It was a very niche app. The app used anonymous chatting and didn’t have message notifications. I combed through almost all of Liam’s posts for analysis. He was a sunny, lively boy from a well-off family. He had low blood sugar and often carried sweets with him. He seemed to really enjoy reading classical literature and mystery novels. I changed my profile picture on that app to a beautiful jasmine flower. Jasmine was Liam’s favorite flower. I didn’t directly add Liam as a friend, which would have alerted him. Instead, I cultivated my account. I started regularly sharing daily posts, shaping myself into someone with interests similar to his. After some time, my account had a few scattered followers and no longer looked like a bot. “What do you think Makoto was thinking when she killed Yukio?” I posted one day. It was an out-of-context line referencing the plot of “The Goddess” by Akiyoshi Rikako. Liam hadn’t mentioned reading this book in any of his posts. But I had seen him reading it in the classroom. After sending the message, there was no response. I waited patiently. A day later, I received Liam’s reply. “Protection and fear, I guess.” “Hello, how did you know I was reading this?” “Fear? Do you think Makoto was afraid of Yukio?” I ignored his second question. “I think Makoto was afraid of past memories.” Realizing I had no intention of revealing my identity, Liam didn’t pursue it further. We continued chatting about our interests. At first, it was just one or two exchanges a day, and I would quickly withdraw after getting a response. As time went on, Liam found that I was a book enthusiast with interests extremely similar to his. Our chat times gradually lengthened, moving from books to movies. Until one day, Liam asked me: “You’re really interesting. I’d like to know how old you are? Which city are you in?” I didn’t respond anymore. For several days, I didn’t reply to any of Liam’s messages. He sent many messages, apologizing for his intrusive questions. About a week later, I finally responded to his message. “If you want to know me, come to the rooftop of the school building tonight.” I was such an ordinary girl that if I didn’t use some special methods, I could never get close to Liam. He was surprised to see me. I asked him what was there to be surprised about. He sheepishly scratched his head. “Your knowledge is broader than mine, and you have your own insights.” “I always thought you’d be older than me.” I smiled ambiguously. In a sense, I was indeed older than him. Liam wanted to interact with me at school too, but I refused. I said there were too many people around him, and I didn’t like being in the spotlight. So we agreed to meet on this rooftop every Friday evening. Week after week, season after season. Liam and I grew closer, though no one knew we knew each other. On a winter evening in our second year of high school, Liam confessed to me. I put on Emma’s smile that boys found most appealing. His eyes were bright as he cupped my face, wanting to kiss me. I didn’t refuse. Liam and I started a secret relationship. There were two reasons for not going public. First, I didn’t want others to know I was involved with Liam, which would make it easier for me to act later. Second, isn’t there an exciting, forbidden thrill to meeting in secret? Just like in middle school, my grades kept getting worse, steadily declining. Although Liam often tutored me on weekends, it didn’t seem to help much. I don’t know if it was because I was naturally slow-witted, Or if my mind had become completely dependent on others’ knowledge. By senior year, I had become the bottom student in the class. The teacher had even called my mother in to discuss my declining grades. Not yet. It wasn’t time to act. Every year in early summer, around May or June, there would be a big fireworks show in the suburbs of our city. High school kids all loved watching fireworks. That would be my best opportunity to act. Our school had both day students and boarding students. My friend Jessica, who I often hung out with at school, was a boarding student. I frequently visited Jessica’s dorm room and got along well with her roommates too. Our school strictly prohibited the use of unauthorized electrical appliances in the dorms. “Why is that?” I curiously asked Jessica. “It trips the circuit breaker. A girl secretly used a curling iron in the dorm before and it caused a power outage for nearly an hour before the electricity came back on,” Jessica explained. Jessica made an exasperated expression, seeming to express dissatisfaction with the school’s power supply. I nodded thoughtfully. One hour. That’s enough, a long time. When is a classroom most chaotic during school? When there’s a power outage. And when there are fireworks outside. So what if the power went out while fireworks were going off? Everyone would rush to the windows, watching the fireworks outside and exclaiming in wonder. Youth is so boring, everyone knows that. I continued to meet and be intimate with Liam as usual, going to the library together on weekends to study. I would secretly glance up at him from below. Watching him pretend not to notice, but his ears turning red. He had a nice jawline, and his Adam’s apple was sexy too. If I stared too intensely, he might even swallow nervously. At times like that, I couldn’t help but laugh, trying not to make a sound. “Winter break is almost here,” Liam said softly, leaning close to me on the subway ride home. “Yeah.” “Then we won’t see each other for a long time.” I saw Liam looking a bit dejected. I patted his head. “We might still see each other.” My grandfather passed away last year, and grandmother soon after. This New Year, it would just be me and Mom. “We can meet before New Year’s Eve.” His eyes sparkled brightly as he stared at me without blinking. “Let’s go to the lantern festival together. Don’t they have one every year?” I smiled and said to him. “It’s a promise.” “Mm, it’s a promise.” After the final exams ended, everyone started packing up their things to go home. I told my friends to go ahead and walked to the drama club’s prop room. This was the burial place I had prepared for Liam. The room’s window faced the central square. The small room was filled with equipment and props, lots of costumes for performances, and a mannequin with yellow hair. As soon as I opened the door, the mannequin startled me. I silently turned the mannequin around to avoid being scared by that face again. After observing for a bit, I left the room. On the day of the lantern festival, I put on my new red cotton jacket. Mom said this color made me look fair-skinned. I looked in the mirror and indeed, it did make me look quite fair. After waiting at the street corner for a while, I saw Liam arrive, running late. He was breathing heavily from running. “Sorry, my mom held me up for a bit, so I’m late.” He looked down at me and grabbed my hand. Liam’s hand was very large, and quite warm, probably from just running over. I was stunned for a moment, then held his hand back. The lantern festival was very crowded. He protected me, not even letting my hair get messed up. The warm yellow lights shone on his face, making his smile look so radiant. I gently rubbed the calluses on his hand from writing, and felt his walking pace falter for a moment. “Do you want this?” Liam pointed at a pair of rabbit lanterns at a stall across the way. “They’re cute, but I don’t need them.” I shook my head honestly. But Liam still pulled me over there. “Take me home with you, look how cute I am~” Liam picked up a rabbit and spoke in a high-pitched voice, imitating it. I laughed, and we actually bought that pair of lanterns. Liam and I each held one as we walked through the lantern festival. Just like every other couple here. “You look beautiful today.” Liam didn’t look at me, but his face was a bit red. “Really? Mom said red makes me look fair-skinned.” “It’s not the clothes that are beautiful, it’s you.” “I like you.” We had walked to a less crowded area. Liam stopped and looked at me seriously. He seemed to be waiting for my response. “Mm, I like you too.” I put on what I thought was Emma’s most beautiful smile and looked at him. On the way home from the lantern festival, I fell into a drainage ditch. I claimed I had broken a bone. So when school started again, I walked into the classroom with a leg in a cast. Friends asked with concern, and I just said I had accidentally fallen into a ditch. I often hobbled along the hallway on two crutches, moving extremely slowly. Sometimes to get water, sometimes to use the bathroom. After a while, all the students on our floor knew me as the girl with the broken leg who walked very slowly. About two months later, I had the cast removed, but I still walked very slowly. When people saw me, their first impression was — that girl with the broken leg. That was exactly the impression I wanted. The fireworks show was approaching. My plan was about to be implemented. I went to the girls’ dorm and turned a hair dryer on full blast, loosely plugging it into a power strip. I placed a brick on top that was just about to fall, along with a vibrating alarm clock set for a specific time.
4 3 2 1 The moment the fireworks show began, the teaching building connected to the dorms lost power. I moved at the fastest speed of my life, put on gloves, and grabbed the fruit knife I had bought in advance from the school store, which almost every student and teacher had. I quickly ran to the drama club’s prop room on the second floor. The door wasn’t closed. Liam had his back to me, watching the fireworks outside the window. I stabbed the knife into the back of his head, then ran away as fast as I could. The fireworks were too loud, and the powerless classroom was too dark. I ran at top speed, feeling like my heart was about to burst out of my chest. I quickly tore off and discarded the disposable gloves on my hands, then picked up the crutches I had left by the back door of the classroom earlier, silently walking into the classroom. Squeezing into the crowd watching the fireworks, I deliberately tripped and fell, causing several classmates to turn and look at me. “It was stuffy in the classroom, so I thought I’d go out for a walk, but I fell before even getting out the door,” I explained. The classmates standing nearby chuckled lightly, and two girls came over to help me up. Jessica was standing in front, and when she saw me, she pulled me to the very front. “Look! Isn’t it beautiful?” she exclaimed. It really was beautiful. The fireworks bloomed in clusters in the sky, dazzling and brilliant. “Yes, it’s really beautiful.” After watching for just a few more minutes, our homeroom teacher rushed over. We were all hurried back to our seats to be quiet. Only Liam was missing from the classroom. “Where’s Liam? Where did he go?” My heart started pounding rapidly. It’s okay, the power was out, the security cameras couldn’t have recorded anything. And with my broken leg, I couldn’t have quickly killed someone and run back. Many people thought I had been in the classroom the whole time; I had an alibi. The knife I used was the most common one in the school, many people had the same kind. I moved very quickly, and it was dark outside, no one could have seen… While I was still going over everything in my mind, “Teacher, I’m here,” I saw Liam walk in from the doorway. 5 My brain short-circuited, going completely blank. Why didn’t he die? Why didn’t Liam die? Yes, I was too nervous and overlooked the most important point. After stabbing, I didn’t gain any new memories in my mind. So why didn’t Liam die? Was it because I didn’t stab hard enough, not causing a fatal wound? But there wasn’t even a small injury on his head, let alone any bleeding. Then who did I stab? I felt Liam’s gaze on me and instinctively avoided it. I kept replaying the scene that had just happened in my mind, along with the countless rehearsals before. Where exactly did things go wrong? What step wasn’t right? After school, I returned home in a daze. I opened my phone to see messages from Liam. “Why didn’t you come today?” “I waited for you for a long time.” I suddenly realized something. I abruptly stood up and rushed out of the house, ignoring Mom’s calls behind me. I arrived at school and walked into that prop room. Sure enough. That fruit knife was stuck right in the head of the mannequin I had turned around earlier because it scared me. I felt like laughing a bit from anger. I had meticulously planned for so long, only to end up with such an absurd outcome. It was hard for me to accept. I returned home somewhat dejectedly, seeing Mom waiting for me at the door. I just said I forgot to grab something and went back to get it, brushing it off. Thinking about the upcoming SAT and having to start planning how to kill someone again tomorrow, I felt physically and mentally exhausted. I didn’t even have the energy to reply to Liam’s messages. “Why aren’t you responding? Did I do something wrong?” I received another message from Liam. I decided to just give up entirely. “Stop bothering me,” I sent this message, then turned over to sleep. Unexpectedly, the next morning, Liam’s memories flooded into my mind. Liam was dead. He had fallen into the river near my home and drowned.
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