Chapter 2

"Is that the same shirt from yesterday?"

The professor frowned at me, then looked down and typed on her laptop.

"Yes."

I answered quietly.

I'd washed that white shirt, but the look in her eyes made it seem like I'd worn it deliberately to provoke someone.

"Do you know how widely that video has spread?" she said.

"Several professors in the department have seen it. They say it reflects poorly on us."

I pressed my lips together and didn't respond.

"Plus, you need to consider the setting. That was during an open lecture. When the professor called on you to speak, you got emotional and hit someone. Do you think that behavior is appropriate?"

I froze and looked up:

"I didn't just hit her—I was—"

"You got emotional."

She cut me off.

"No matter what the other person did, hitting someone in public is wrong."

I tried to calm myself:

"Then what about her pulling my clothes off in public? The whole class was there. It wasn't the first time she did this. She keeps saying it's a joke, but if I were a guy doing this, would the school still say 'it's just a joke'?"

Her eyebrow twitched, as if I'd hit a nerve, but she quickly recovered:

"We certainly don't support any form of physical violation, but... she didn't mean any harm."

"Whether she meant harm isn't for her to decide."

I kept my voice low. "It's for me to decide."

She was silent for a few seconds, then said calmly:

"The school is looking into the situation. But I suggest you don't escalate this conflict. You know, once these things get bigger, it won't be good for you either."

I understood what she was implying.

Exactly like my previous life.

"Don't let this become harder to resolve."

"Minor friction between girls doesn't need to escalate to disciplinary action."

"You need to be more tolerant. Don't throw away your own future over a little misunderstanding."

Every sentence cut like a knife.

She stood by the office window, flipping through that "Incident Handling Record."

Under "Cause of Incident," it just said:

"Claire's inappropriate attire led to classroom disruption."

I almost laughed.

She pulled my clothes, the video went viral, and it got written as "my inappropriate attire."

"So what you're saying, Professor, is that I'm at fault for wearing this shirt?"

She glanced up at me but didn't answer directly. She just said gently:

"You're an excellent student. We all have high hopes for you. It's your junior year now—honors selection is coming up. Don't leave a stain on your record over an emotional impulse."

I finally understood.

This wasn't a "misunderstanding"—it was "willful ignorance."

She wasn't blind to right and wrong. She just didn't want to deal with someone troublesome.

I walked out of the office. The sunlight was beautiful, but my back felt cold.

On the campus path, people stared at me secretly, whispering.

I looked down and opened my phone, clicking on that video. The system had auto-collapsed the comments section, but the comment count had soared to over 800.

The top-liked comment read:

【If you dressed more appropriately, nobody would pull at you.】

I stared at those words, my fingertips ice-cold.

In that moment, I realized—

Not all "sexual harassment" gets recognized as such.

Especially when you're a girl, and your abuser is also a girl.