My Jealous Sister Sabotaged Me, but Rebirth Made Me Unstoppable
♡ fo
In my past life, my sister, Ivy Bright, urged me to skip class, play online games all night,
and sleep through lessons.
Whenever I tried to study, she mocked me for pretending to be “so serious.”
But at night, she was burning the midnight oil, studying in secret during holidays and
meeting with star scholars like Mia Goldstein at the library.
When the SATs came around, she got into Ivy Tech University, graduated to work at Stellar Innovations Inc., and married a programmer making hundreds of thousands a year.
I, on the other hand, scored just 200 points, earning the disdain of my parents, who sent me to Midland Assembly Plant to screw bolts. Later, I married a guy like Trey Walters, who abused me even while I was pregnant, leading to my tragic death during childbirth.
At my funeral, Ivy wore her mask of sorrow and said, “Hazel was so smart but refused to apply herself. Everything she faced was her own doing. Unlike me, who always worked hard and changed my fate through education.”
Then, I opened my eyes. I was back at the Cyber Zone Lounge, locked in an intense gaming session with my team.
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I shook my drowsy head, grabbed my grimy backpack, and sprinted home.
At home, Ivy was furiously scribbling notes under her desk lamp. Seeing me, she quic
stashed her study sheets.
“Hazel, why are you back? Now your team is one short. How will they win without you?”
It was always Ivy who dragged me to the lounge. Then, she’d yawn, fake being tired, and
sneak off to study at home.
I grabbed my untouched SAT prep books and taped my target school, “Harvard–MIT Alliance,” on the wall.
Ivy’s face darkened with rage “You? Harvard MIT? Who do you think you are?”
21:27 Mon, Nov 25
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♡ to
fo
Not only would I aim for Harvard–MIT, but I’d show her that natural talent could never be surpassed by hard work.
The smoky, sweat–filled air of the Cyber Zone Lounge lingered in my memory as my
teammates shouted obscenities after a loss.
It hit me–I’d been reborn. I was back at seventeen, just one month before the first major
SAT mock exam.
I didn’t care about the commotion I left behind. Grabbing my filthy bag, I bolted.
“Hazel, you promised to carry us to gold rank!” they yelled after me, but I didn’t turn back. My future mattered more than their fleeting victories.
When I got home, it was 1 a.m. Ivy’s light was still on, her silhouette reflected in the window. Her pen raced across the paper.
I barged into her room. Ivy jumped, hastily shoving her study guide under her arm.
Smirking, I recorded her with my phone.
“You said you were too tired to study. So why are you still up?” I yawned.
Feigning nonchalance, she replied, “Oh, I woke up to use the bathroom and realized my backpack wasn’t packed. I’m just fixing it before going to bed.”
Ivy turned off her lamp. I returned to my room, flicked on a desk light I hadn’t used in
ages, and opened my blank prep books.
In my past life, I barely scraped into high school by cramming during my final weeks of
middle school.
Ivy, meanwhile, convinced me that being friends with the “cool kids” mattered more than
grades.
The school’s “pay–to–play” Honors Track was filled with rich kids who slacked off but
bought their way in. I believed Ivy and started skipping classes to hang out with them at
Cyber Zone Lounge.
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♡
fo
We measured status by gaming prowess, and I became the best of them.
But I hadn’t realized they were all wealthy. By senior year, they transferred to private international programs or left for prestigious overseas schools, ready to inherit family
businesses.
My parents, though, were just regular workers. Without good grades, I had no future except assembly lines.
At Midland Assembly Plant, Trey Walters–a worker with bleached blond hair–took an interest in me. I mentioned it to Ivy, who cheered me on.
“True love is priceless,” she said. “If Trey loves you, that’s all that matters. Love conquers
all.”
I believed her. Trey and I moved in together, had a baby without a wedding, and barely signed the marriage certificate.
Once married, Trey started beating me. Drunk, he’d mock me. “You and Ivy came from the same parents. Why is she so brilliant while you’re as dumb as a pig?”
I cried bitterly, wondering where I had gone wrong. I used to be the smartest one–the gir who could solve problems at a glance, memorize pages instantly. My middle school teachers couldn’t believe I had failed my SATS.
