Chapter 1

It was the first week of school when our homeroom teacher burst in, excitement bubbling in her voice. "Our class has been chosen for a groundbreaking 'Self-Identity Transformation Experiment' in partnership with the school counseling center!"

The whole class crowdfunded plastic surgery for the poor class beauty, $100 per person.

I refused.

The next day, my desk was doused with soy milk, and the school network was filled with posts exposing my cold-blooded selfishness.

They called me ugly, poor, and mean-spirited.

They even dug up my mom's workplace and posted notes at her office door, cursing her for raising a heartless daughter.

But no one knew that the class beauty who claimed her family couldn't afford plastic surgery.

Her dad was the director of the plastic surgery hospital that ruined my face.

It was the first week of school.

The homeroom teacher burst in, excitedly announcing: "The school and psychological center are jointly launching a 'Self-Identity Transformation Experiment,' and our class is the first pilot group!"

The class erupted in applause. I didn't join in, just chewed on my pen tip silently.

She continued, "As you all know, our classmate Olivia Shaw has been struggling with severe appearance anxiety. The counselors have suggested she undergo cosmetic surgery to boost her self-esteem. We'll be starting a class fundraiser to help make her dream come true!"

I looked up at Olivia. She stood at the front, wearing our school uniform with perfectly applied makeup, her head bowed demurely. "I... I don't want to trouble anyone... it's just..."

"Don't say another word!" A boy slammed his hand on his desk. "You're the prettiest girl in our class. If you get this surgery, our school's enrollment will double!"

Someone else chimed in, "He's right! Donating to Olivia is an investment in our school's future!"

Olivia shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes. "I just hope that even if I leave this place one day, I can be remembered by the world in my best form."

Her words sent a wave of emotion through the classroom.

Our teacher pulled up a PowerPoint slide. "For this 'Beauty Boost' campaign, we suggest a donation of $100 per person. It's voluntary, but we hope everyone will do their best to support Olivia."

I glanced at my phone: $4.25 in my account.

So, I spoke up quietly, "I won't be donating."

The air in the room seemed to freeze.

Then someone let out a cold laugh. "Tch, figures."

"Seriously? Not donating is one thing, but that attitude? Didn't you hear how gently Olivia phrased it?"

"Didn't she just buy that $150 skincare set? With her skin, a $5 moisturizer would do the job."

"Look at her eyes, always staring at Olivia. Jealous of her small face and high nose, perhaps?"

"Does she think we're all idiots, falling for Olivia's act? Is she the only 'smart' one here?"

Olivia spoke up softly, "She's... not a bad person. I understand... maybe her family situation..."

"Her family situation is way better than yours!" Someone stood up, slamming their desk. "Doesn't her mom drop her off in a car every day? What about you? Two bus transfers!"

I opened my mouth, but my throat felt blocked. Not a word came out.

The entire class was staring at me.

Olivia looked at me and suddenly said, "It's... okay if she doesn't want to donate. I don't mind."

In that moment, I was utterly defeated.

Because not only was she the class's protected "angel," now she was playing the "magnanimous goddess" role too.

I was about to speak when someone at the front stuck a QR code on the blackboard. "Let's vote on whether Rachel should donate or not."

I had barely scanned the code when my screen displayed:

Current voting results:

Support Rachel Chen donating: 94 votes

Support Rachel Chen's free choice: 1 vote

My hands were shaking.

"The votes are in. Still not going to chip in?" Someone tossed an A4 paper at me. It read:

"Help Olivia's Dream Come True, $100 per person, SnapPay only."

"Don't talk about it being voluntary. This isn't about morals, it's about class unity!"

"If you really don't want to, you can get out of this class!"

Gritting my teeth, I said coldly, "Her dad owns a plastic surgery clinic. If she really wants surgery, doesn't she have the equipment at home?"

The room fell silent for two seconds before erupting into even louder laughter.

"Haha, are you crazy? If Olivia's family really owned a hospital, would I be killing myself trying to get into an Ivy League?"

"You think just because her family can afford a house in this small town, they own a hospital? Why not say her dad's the chief surgeon and her mom's the head nurse?"

"Give it up. Don't go around spreading lies and smearing others just because you're insecure about your looks!"

Olivia didn't say a word, just looked at me. I remembered that look.

A year ago, her father had me sign a contract for "double eyelid surgery only, no other procedures." I signed, but on the day of the surgery, while I was unconscious, they altered my nose, my chin, my whole face.

When I woke up, I cried and tore at the bandages. The doctor said, "It's just a bit of technical instability. Go home, apply the medicine, it'll get better slowly."

It took me a whole year of being disfigured before I dared to go out without makeup. And she used my ruined face for marketing, made promotional videos, and even claimed she was "born with poor facial structure, became beautiful through hard work."

Now she was turning the whole class into her second experimental ground.

I stared at her, my voice low and trembling: "I won't donate. Dream on."

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