The laboratory fell completely silent.

Sonia stood frozen beside my desk.

Álvaro, who had arrived only seconds behind the disciplinary committee, looked as though someone had drained every drop of blood from his face.

My tutor, Professor Herrera, placed the red folder on the table.

“Sit down.”

Neither of them moved.

One of the committee members opened the folder.

“Yesterday at 11:57 p.m., an account belonging to Álvaro Campos accessed the postgraduate recommendation system using student-association administrative privileges.”

Álvaro swallowed.

“I was helping Clara.”

I almost laughed.

The professor continued.

“At 11:58, Clara Vega’s application file was removed and replaced with documents belonging to Sonia Ruiz.”

Whispers spread through the laboratory.

Sonia immediately pointed at Álvaro.

“I didn’t know!”

He turned toward her sharply.

“What?”

“I only asked you whether there was any way to improve my chances!”

Her voice trembled.

“You never told me you were replacing Clara’s application.”

Álvaro stared at her in disbelief.

Less than twenty-four hours earlier, they had been thanking each other.

Now they were already deciding who would drown first.

I quietly unlocked my phone.

“Professor, perhaps this will help.”

I forwarded the screenshot Álvaro had accidentally sent me.

The committee member read it.

His expression hardened.

Then he read Sonia’s response.

Thank you.

When we both enter Peking University, I will no longer have to put up with your superiority.

Sonia’s face collapsed.

“That was taken out of context.”

“What context,” I asked, “makes stealing another student’s application acceptable?”

She had no answer.

Álvaro suddenly stepped toward me.

“Clara, we can solve this privately.”

I looked at him.

Three years.

For three years, I had believed that face.

I had stayed awake helping him prepare presentations.

I had shared research materials with him.

When he became student-association president, I had been the first person to congratulate him.

And he had used that position to erase my name.

“There is nothing private about academic fraud.”

His jaw tightened.

“You already got the Beijing place.”

“So?”

“Then what else do you want?”

The question almost impressed me.

He genuinely believed that because his plan had failed, his betrayal should disappear with it.

“I want absolutely nothing from you.”

I turned toward the committee.

“But the university may.”

Professor Herrera opened another document.

“This investigation is not limited to yesterday.”

Sonia blinked.

“What does that mean?”

My professor looked at me first.

Then at her.

“We compared the research materials submitted by Sonia Ruiz during the last academic year with Clara Vega’s laboratory records.”

My heartbeat slowed.

I already knew what was coming.

For months, I had noticed strange similarities.

Paragraph structures.

Data arrangements.

Even mistakes that appeared first in my drafts and somehow appeared later in Sonia’s assignments.

I had ignored them because she always had an explanation.

Coincidence.

Shared sources.

Similar methodology.

And because Álvaro always defended her.

“She’s struggling, Clara.”

“Don’t be so suspicious.”

“You have everything. Why compete with her?”

Professor Herrera placed two printed pages side by side.

“The overlap is extensive.”

Sonia shook her head desperately.

“We worked on similar topics!”

“No,” he replied.

“One dataset submitted under your name was generated three weeks before you officially joined that project.”

Her lips parted.

No sound came out.

Then Álvaro spoke.

“I gave it to her.”

Everyone looked at him.

Sonia spun around.

“Álvaro!”

He ignored her.

“I had access to Clara’s files because she trusted me. Sonia didn’t know where they came from.”

For one second, Sonia looked relieved.

Then the professor asked:

“Are you admitting that you repeatedly transferred another student’s unpublished research?”

Álvaro realized his mistake too late.

“I…”

The committee member began writing.

I watched him quietly.

He had tried to save Sonia again.

And in doing so, he had confessed.

The meeting lasted nearly two hours.

When they finally left, neither Álvaro nor Sonia was allowed to return to the laboratory.

Their system permissions were suspended pending investigation.

By afternoon, the entire department knew.

By evening, Sonia had deleted her triumphant post about Beijing.

Álvaro called me seventeen times.

I answered none of them.

Then he appeared outside my dormitory.

“Clara.”

I continued walking.

He blocked my path.

“Please.”

“Move.”

“I made a mistake.”

“No. You made a decision.”

His eyes reddened.

“I thought Sonia needed the opportunity more.”

“And you thought you were entitled to decide what I deserved.”

He lowered his voice.

“I was going to explain after everything settled.”

I smiled faintly.

“You mean after the system closed and I could no longer fix it.”

Silence.

That was the truth he couldn’t decorate.

Finally he whispered:

“I love you.”

Three years earlier, those words could have destroyed every defense I had.

Now they sounded embarrassingly empty.

“If this is how you love someone,” I said, “I’m fortunate you chose her.”

His expression changed.

“Sonia and I aren’t together.”

“Not my problem.”

I walked around him.

Then he grabbed my wrist.

I pulled away immediately.

“Don’t touch me again.”

Several students nearby turned toward us.

He released me.

For the first time, Álvaro looked afraid.

Not of losing me.

Of losing everything that had come with me.

My notes.

My research connections.

My tutor’s recommendation.

My help.

My silence.

The following week, the official admission notice arrived.

Peking University.

Full recommendation.

Research placement included.

I stared at the email for a long time before finally allowing myself to smile.

Professor Herrera knocked lightly on my desk.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

But he didn’t leave.

Instead, he placed another envelope in front of me.

“There is something else.”

I opened it.

Inside was an invitation from a Beijing research group I had dreamed of joining since my second year.

My hands trembled.

“How?”

“They reviewed your thesis.”

He smiled.

“Apparently someone there has been following your work for months.”

For the first time since the scandal began, I felt something stronger than anger.

Excitement.

A future.

Mine.

Three days later, the disciplinary decision was announced.

Sonia lost her eligibility for direct postgraduate recommendation and faced a formal investigation into academic misconduct.

Álvaro was removed from his student-association position, his administrative access was permanently revoked, and his role in the document substitution was referred for further disciplinary review.

Neither outcome had required revenge from me.

They had created the evidence themselves.

I packed my books that evening.

Beijing suddenly felt very close.

Then my phone vibrated.

Unknown number.

I almost ignored it.

But the message contained only one sentence.

“Clara, you still don’t know why Álvaro was so desperate to send Sonia to Beijing.”

I frowned.

Another message appeared.

It was a photograph.

Álvaro and Sonia were standing outside a hotel.

The timestamp was from eight months earlier.

My stomach tightened.

Then came a second photograph.

This one wasn’t of them.

It was a document bearing Sonia’s name.

A document from Peking University.

Dated almost a year before the application scandal.

At the bottom was the signature of a professor from the exact research group that had just invited me.

Then the final message arrived.

“Your application was never the beginning of their plan.”

“It was the last step.”

And suddenly I understood.

They hadn’t tried to steal my place because Sonia desperately needed Beijing.

They had needed my identity, my research record, and my recommendation to cover something that had already happened months earlier.

I looked again at the professor’s signature.

Then at the invitation lying on my desk.

The same name appeared on both.

My phone rang.

Beijing area code.

I answered slowly.

A man’s voice spoke.

“Miss Vega?”

“Yes.”

There was a brief silence.

“I believe we need to discuss Sonia Ruiz.”

He paused.

“And the research paper published under your name six months ago.”

My blood went cold.

I had never published any paper six months ago.