Chapter 1

There are certain things one should never mess with.

Like someone else's final exam revision notes, for example. Or a life-saving online calculus course.

And a chicken curry meal ordered by a college student who has been starving for eight whole hours.

Chapter 1

My name was Declan Cordery, and I was a junior in the Department of Computer Science at Greyfriars University.

At this moment, I was standing in front of the delivery rack outside my dorm building. It was only Wednesday, but this was already the fourth delivery of mine that had been stolen this week.

"Empty-handed again, Dec?" my roommate, Carlson Hart, asked sympathetically as he patted my shoulder. "Take my advice, man. Stop looking. It's a waste of time. Just stick to frozen mac and cheese."

I didn't say anything and simply stared at the empty spot on the delivery rack. It was fried chicken yesterday. And the day before, a box of chilli cheese nachos. And before that, a 60-dollar order of garlic butter seafood.

Whoever was stealing the food was clearly a repeat offender with very picky taste. They were only targeting orders that were more expensive.

"No," I said, drawing in a deep breath. "I'm not sleeping tonight, Carl."

"Whoa, what are you planning? Are you really going to go all out over a 30-dollar chicken curry?" Carlson asked, shocked.

"This isn't about the money anymore."

At 8:00 pm, I opened my drawer and took out the miniature GPS tracker left over from my Internet of Things course. I also grabbed a small bottle of powerful laxatives I'd gotten from a buddy in medical school.

Carlson watched with wide eyes and swallowed hard. "Hey, Dec, this is entrapment… And isn't it a little too ruthless?"

"Ruthless?" I repeated as I used a syringe to evenly inject the laxative into the freshly delivered chicken. "You don't tame a wild beast with words and good intentions. I believe in retribution. Since they like stealing other people's food, they should be prepared to shit their guts out."

I used waterproof tape to firmly attach the tracker to the bottom of the takeout box. Then, I put the food back into the delivery bag and sealed it properly.

At 8:15 pm, I placed this special delivery back on the rack downstairs and retreated into the shadows nearby with my phone in hand. The screen showed the real-time location of the tracker.

Time ticked by. By 8:40 pm, the crowd around the pick-up area had thinned out.

Suddenly, someone approached the delivery rack. It was a young woman wearing a cream-colored coat with an LV bag slung over her shoulder. Judging by her appearance, she didn't look like someone who would steal someone else's deliveries.

She scanned the orders as she stood in front of the rack. Eventually, her eyes landed on my chicken curry. Without any hesitation, she picked it up and walked away.

I watched the red dot on my phone screen start moving and smirked. "Gotcha."

I followed her.

However, when the red dot on the tracker finally stopped in front of a luxurious single-person dorm, I realized this thief's identity might be more high-profile than I'd imagined.

I went up the stairs all the way to the fourth floor, where the tracker's signal locked onto room 402. Standing in front of the security door, I could even smell the rich aroma of the chicken curry.

I pulled out my phone, turned on the camera to start recording, and knocked firmly on the door.

"Who is it? It's so late at night! Are you trying to wake the dead?" An extremely impatient female voice came from inside, accompanied by the sound of slippers shuffling across the floor.

The door then opened, revealing the same young woman I had seen earlier. She had already changed into silk pajamas and had my takeout box in her hand, chewing on a piece of chicken.

When she saw me, her brow furrowed, and she looked at me with disgust. "Who are you? Wrong door?"

"No, I'm not at the wrong door," I said, pointing at the takeout box she was holding. "That's my delivery. The receipt has my phone number and name on it—Declan Cordery. Do you want to hear the tracker buzzing from the bottom of the box?"

The young woman paused for a moment, and her gaze fell on the bottom of the box, where she saw the circle of black waterproof tape. But there was no shame or panic on her face after being caught red-handed. Instead, she gave me a dismissive glance and let out a contemptuous snort.

"Oh, it's yours."

Then, she casually tossed the half-eaten box of chicken curry onto the shoe rack by the entrance. Crossing her arms, she looked me up and down.

"So what? It's just a lousy 30-dollar meal. You really had to follow me all the way to my door? Makes you look like a beggar."

Chapter 2

I looked at the expensive silk pajamas the thief was wearing and the collection of limited-edition designer sneakers neatly arranged in the shoe rack by the entrance. My anger curdled into a cold, absurd calmness.

I laughed from sheer rage. "A beggar? Excuse me, miss, but it seems your family and education never taught you about theft. Well, stealing someone else's property is called theft under the law. And under morality, it is called shamelessness.

"Are all those designer brands you wear bought with whatever scraps of decency you have left?"

"Hey! Watch your mouth!" she snapped, her expression darkening instantly. "Theft? When did you ever see me stealing? I just picked up the wrong delivery. People mix up deliveries every day. You're the one being dramatic, installing trackers and everything. How disgusting can you be?"

"You picked up the wrong delivery?" I held up my phone, opened my order history, and questioned, "I've had four deliveries stolen this week alone! And every single time, you conveniently avoid the cheap stuff and go straight for mine?

"Besides, you live in this private dorm, while my deliveries are dropped off at the delivery rack outside the regular men's dorm building. You crossed half the campus late at night to 'accidentally pick up' a guy's delivery? Do you take me for an idiot?"

Stumped by my barrage of questions, she struggled for words, and her expression turned extremely ugly. "My name is Francine Merrick. My father is Bill Merrick, the chairman of Merrick Corporation."

She stepped forward, jabbing her finger hard into my chest. "You want to talk to me about law? About morality? Well, I'll have you know that there is nothing in this school that I can't handle!

"So what if I ate a few of your meals? I'll pay you 1,000 dollars, alright? That's enough chicken curry to feed a broke college student like you for a year! Take the money and get the hell out of my sight!"

With that, she pulled a wad of cash from her bag and flung it right at my face. Hundred-dollar bills scattered through the air as she looked down at me arrogantly, her eyes full of malice.

I looked at the money on the floor, then back at her arrogant face. I crouched down and said, "Francine Merrick, was it?"

The corner of her lips was about to curl into a mocking smile, but all I did was simply tie my shoelace and straighten back up.

"The money is clean," I said, looking her straight in the eye. "But you're filthy. Keep it for yourself. I don't want a single cent in compensation. All I want is a public apology."

Francine's smile froze on her face. "Declan Cordery, don't push your luck! Trust me, I can see to it that you don't last a day at Greyfriars!"

"It doesn't matter whether I trust you. But what's certain is that you're about to pay the price for your actions," I said, looking at her and pointing at her stomach. "You ate most of that chicken curry, didn't you?"

She froze. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I laced it with medical-grade emodin and croton oil. By my calculations, the effects should be kicking in right about now."

As if to prove my words, Francine's face instantly flushed before it quickly paled, and then it turned a sickly shade of green. She clutched her stomach with both hands, and her body began to shake.

Under her horrified gaze, I calmly dialed 911. "Hello, police? I've caught a serial thief red-handed. But she seems to be having some kind of attack right now. Yes, probably from eating something that's gone bad…"

Francine's eyes widened. She pointed at me, unable to speak for a long moment. Then she let out a pained groan and bolted toward the bathroom.

From behind the door came her hysterical roar. "Declan Cordery! I'm going to kill you! I swear I'll kill you!"

I stood at the doorway, listening to the commotion inside.

This was only the beginning.

Chapter 3

That night, Francine left campus under the dual escort of an ambulance and a police car. She was suffering from acute gastroenteritis and dehydration, and was suspected of theft.

The next morning, I was summoned to the local police station.

"Mr. Declan Cordery? Please have a seat."

The officer in charge, Harry Hughes, rubbed his temples, looking somewhat exhausted. On his desk sat the now-empty chicken curry takeaway box and the remains of the tracker.

"Officer Hughes, I'm here to give my statement," I said, taking my seat politely.

"Declan Cordery, you psycho! How dare you poison my daughter!"

Before Harry could even speak, the door to the interview room flew open. A middle-aged woman named Deborah Wray stormed in, surrounded by several bodyguards. She pointed at me and began spewing profanities.

Francine followed behind her, pale-faced.

"Mom, it was him! He deliberately poisoned my food! I want him in jail! I want him expelled!" Francine screamed, drawing stares from the officers nearby.

"Ma'am, this is a police station. Please watch your language and behavior!" Harry slammed his hand on the table and stood up to reprimand her.

"Officer, you have to do right by us!" Francine's father, Bill Merrick, walked in. Compared to Deborah and Francine, he looked much calmer.

He handed Harry a business card. "I'm Bill Merrick, chairman of Merrick Corp. While my daughter may have been careless and picked up the wrong takeout, Mr. Cordery poisoned the food. That's attempted murder! We reserve the right to press charges!"

"Attempted murder?" I widened my eyes. It seemed like no one in the family had any sense of reason. "Mr. Merrick, your daughter took my delivery and ate it without my permission.

"I've been having stomach issues lately, so I added some laxatives to my own food to deal with my constipation. What law did I break by doing that? Do I have to predict the digestive health of whoever might steal my food when I place an order for delivery?"

"You—" Bill's expression darkened.

"Stop twisting words, Declan!" Francine lunged at me and roared hysterically. "I suffered severe dehydration from diarrhea last night because of you! I was utterly embarrassed in the hospital!

"Now the whole campus is saying I steal people's deliveries! I'm telling you, if you don't drop the case and apologize to me publicly, admitting that you framed me, I'll jump out that window right now! I'll die, and it'll be on you!"

She made a show of moving toward the nearby window, and Deborah pretended to wail dramatically. "Oh, Francine, don't do anything stupid! Officers! You're all seeing this, right? My daughter is being forced to her death by this broke student!"

The interview room descended into chaos.

Harry frowned, clearly exasperated by this spoiled princess throwing a tantrum and resorting to suicide threats.

He looked at me meaningfully, seeming to hope I would back down first to calm the situation. After all, in their experience, when someone started threatening their own life, the victims usually had no choice but to settle.

But I wasn't going to step down. Instead, I stood up and moved away from Francine. Then, I pointed at the half-open window. "Francine, there's no security screen on that window. Go ahead and jump."

"What did you say?" Francine froze.

"I said, if you're going to jump, do it quickly. Don't waste the police's time."

I stared at her coldly and continued, "Aren't you a little too old to be pulling a stunt like this? Do you really think that crying, throwing a tantrum, and threatening suicide will get things to go your way? Do you think the whole world will indulge your rotten temper like you dad does?

"Sorry, but I'm not one of those people who will simply put up with this kind of nonsense."

"You're a monster, Declan Cordery! This is attempted murder and incitement to suicide!" Bill lost his composure and shouted at me with a finger in my face.

"Mr. Merrick, don't throw around accusations as you wish. This is all recorded," I said, pointing at the camera in the corner of the interview room.

"She was the one who threatened me with suicide. I simply expressed my stance that I will not accept any form of moral coercion. Also, Officer Hughes…"

I turned to Harry and handed him the USB drive I had prepared. "This contains surveillance footage of my three previous stolen orders. It clearly shows Francine taking them. There's also the tracker route from last night and my payment receipts for the orders.

"Although the total amount involved is only a little over 200 dollars, according to Article 49 of the state's public order law, theft of public or private property is punishable by up to ten days in jail, with a minimum sentence of five days, and may also result in a fine of up to 500 dollars.

"For repeated theft offenses, punishment may still be imposed even if the amount does not meet the threshold for criminal charges. I refuse any private settlement and demand that the police handle this matter according to the law."

Harry looked at the USB drive in his hand, then back at me. Seeing my calm expression, a hint of approval flashed in his eyes.

Chapter 4

"Declan Cordery, you lunatic! Are you really so hell-bent on ruining me?" Francine screamed, tears finally spilling down her face.

"I didn't ruin you," I said, looking at her and letting out a cold laugh. "You ruined yourself with your cheap sense of superiority and your ignorance of the law."

I turned and walked out of the police station.

Behind me, the interview room was filled with Deborah's sharp cries and the sound of Bill making phone calls, trying to pull whatever strings he could.

But it was all too late. I believed the law would uphold my legitimate rights. And sometimes, the iron fist of the law struck faster than anyone would expect.

Bill was certainly wealthy and had plenty of connections. He tried to prove that Francine had merely picked up the wrong delivery, but he missed two things.

The first was that I had blurred out the faces and uploaded the video of me tracking down the thief last night to social media. The caption was simple. "Luxury cars, mansions, LV bags—but this heiress steals my 30-dollar chicken curry."

The video went viral in just 12 hours, racking up over a million views. Although I had blurred her face, students from Greyfriars recognized Francine immediately. Public pressure hit hard and fast.

The second thing Bill overlooked was that the local police station was currently carrying out a special campaign targeting minor crimes in the community. Francine had walked right into the line of fire at the worst possible time.

On the afternoon of the third day, the official decision was announced. Francine was sentenced to five days in jail and fined 500 dollars for multiple counts of theft. And because she was currently a student at Greyfriars University, the police decision was sent directly to the school.

As a century-old prestigious institution, Greyfriars valued its reputation above all else. Under mounting public pressure and the official disciplinary notice, the school acted swiftly.

"Given that Francine Merrick has repeatedly stolen other students' deliveries, causing significant disruption to the university community, and has shown a dismissive attitude toward university regulations, the university has decided to impose disciplinary action.

"After careful deliberation, the university has decided to issue Francine a demerit, revoke all eligibility for awards and honors for the current academic year, and require her to make a public apology before the entire student body."

When the notice was posted on the school's official website, all of Greyfriars buzzed with discussion.

"Holy crap, that's amazing! I had my deliveries stolen before too! Turns out it was this rich heiress all along!"

"How shameless! She wears outfits worth thousands, but she steals meals worth a few dozen bucks. What kind of sick thrill is that?"

"Declan Cordery is a legend! He actually stood up to the rich heiress! He's the role model we all needed!"

Many students who knew me gave me looks of admiration as I made my way around campus. Carlson even popped open a can of soda in the dorm and insisted on celebrating with me.

"Dec, that move you pulled was a textbook counterattack! Seeing her hauled off in a police car and hit with a disciplinary penalty was so satisfying!"

"She deserved it." I took a sip of my soda and looked at the disciplinary notice on my phone.

For someone like Francine, who was used to using privilege and money to get her way, disciplinary punishment and a demerit probably hurt more than death itself.

However, what I didn't expect was that things were far from over.

On the day Francine was released from jail and went home, I received a text from an unknown number. "Declan Cordery, you've ruined my life. I'll let you know the price you have to pay for driving someone to their death."

I stared at the threatening message. It had to be from Francine. "Drive someone to their death?"

I didn't take the threat too seriously. But I soon saw that I had underestimated just how crazy and shameless she could be.

At 6:30 am, a piercing scream shattered the morning calm of Greyfriars' campus. "Someone died! Someone jumped off a building!"

I practically shot out of bed. Chaotic running footsteps, shouts, and soon the sharp wail of ambulance sirens came from downstairs.

"What the hell? What's going on? Why does the dorm sound like it's haunted this early in the morning?" Carlson asked, rubbing his eyes as he sat up, looking completely lost.

I didn't answer him. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. The text from last night immediately came to mind, and a chill ran down my spine.

Francine wouldn't have actually jumped, would she?

Throwing on a jacket, I headed out of the dorm.

There was a large courtyard garden between the male and female dorm buildings, and at present, there was a crowd quickly forming around the flowerbed.

Police tape went up quickly.

I stood at the edge of the crowd and, through the gaps, saw a twisted figure lying in the flowerbed. She was wearing a thin white dress, her body contorted in a grotesque position. Dark red blood spread across the green leaves, making it an appalling sight.

It really was Francine.

By then, officers had already finished gathering evidence from the rooftop on the seventh floor and were coming down with evidence bags.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Someone said those were Francine's shoes.