Netizens flooded Roger's social media, calling him a "life-ruiner," a "parasite," worse.

Then Roger—who'd been radio silent all day—suddenly went live.

Samantha sat beside him, her face pale and drawn.

His expression was mournful, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea things would turn out like this. We just wanted to have some cake. It was my classmate Daryl who insisted on ordering drinks. He said they were non-alcoholic, that we could drink as much as we wanted."

He paused, swallowing hard. "Yes, people had a bit too much last night—but they got to the hospital in time. They should have been fine. It was Daryl. He wanted revenge, so he had his father—he's a department chief at that hospital—deliberately botch the treatment. That's why everyone ended up with alcohol poisoning."

He nudged Samantha. "You're his childhood friend, aren't you? You can back me up, right?"

Samantha's body went rigid. Under his insistent gaze, she slowly lifted her head. Something flickered in her eyes—a battle—before she finally clenched her jaw and spoke.

"Yes. I can confirm it. Daryl was the one who insisted on ordering alcohol. He's always been jealous of Roger, jealous of everyone in our class who's more talented than him." She paused. "And his father really is a doctor at that hospital."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

Were they insane?

And yet people believed it.

The same parents who'd been screaming for Samantha and Roger's heads moments ago now wheeled on me and Dad, demanding answers.

CRASH.

The car window shattered. A U-lock came through and connected with Dad's forehead. Blood poured down his face instantly.

The car lurched to a stop. My body slammed into the windshield, and everything went black for a moment.

Through the ringing in my ears, I heard screaming:

"Beat these animals to death! They put my son in the ICU just to bully their classmates! I want them dead!"

Another parent joined in immediately:

"They deserve it! A doctor who'd commit malpractice to help his son hurt others? Break his hands! See if he can practice medicine then!"

I screamed back with everything I had: "We didn't do anything! Check the surveillance footage! I wasn't even at that bar! And my dad wasn't on shift last night!"

Dad, blood streaming down his face, dragged himself in front of me and covered my body with his own. "Don't be scared. Dad's here."