Mind Thief: Pay for What You Stole
Daisy Swift · Completed · 7.1k Words
Introduction
When I confronted her about the blatant plagiarism, she burst into tears on the spot.
"You say I stole from you, but do you have even a single sketch to prove it?"
My boyfriend, Richard, sitting right there on the judges' panel, publicly condemned me.
He called me a sore loser and sneered that my vicious slander was absolutely disgusting.
Because the construct existed entirely within my mental sea, I had no physical proof.
I was crucified as a jealous bully, and ultimately, the violent magical backlash tore through me.
Right up until my last breath, I couldn't figure it out: how did she perfectly steal a top-secret construct I had only ever simulated in my mind, without leaving a single trace behind?
When I opened my eyes again, I had been reborn—right back at the start of that very tournament.
Watching my roommate step forward, ready to rush the holographic projector, I clamped a hand around her wrist.
"This time, I'm going first."
Chapter 1
At the Ultimate Construct Tournament, my roommate beat me to the stage, unveiling the very runic matrix I had just designed in my mind.
When I confronted her about the blatant plagiarism, she burst into tears on the spot.
"You say I stole from you, but do you have even a single sketch to prove it?"
My boyfriend, Richard, sitting right there on the judges' panel, publicly condemned me.
He called me a sore loser and sneered that my vicious slander was absolutely disgusting.
Because the construct existed entirely within my mental sea, I had no physical proof.
I was crucified as a jealous bully, and ultimately, the violent magical backlash tore through me.
Right up until my last breath, I couldn't figure it out: how did she perfectly steal a top-secret construct I had only ever simulated in my mind, without leaving a single trace behind?
When I opened my eyes again, I had been reborn—right back at the start of that very tournament.
Watching my roommate step forward, ready to rush the holographic projector, I clamped a hand around her wrist.
"This time, I'm going first."
......
The spotlights crashed down, the blinding white light forcing my eyes shut.
In that same split second, roof-shattering cheers shattered the lingering dead ring in my ears.
I was reborn. Back in the exact opening moment of the Ultimate Construct Tournament.
Seeing me frozen in place, the commoner students in the audience gripped their banners anxiously, screaming at the top of their lungs:
"Evelyn, snap out of it! Show them what you're made of and crush them! You're the pride of the commoners! You're going to be the champion today!"
Over the deafening roars, Cecilia, standing right next to me in the opponent's spot, turned my way. She slipped seamlessly into that admiring yet pitifully vulnerable smile she always wore:
"Evelyn, it's just the two of us again, isn't it?"
"I've been stuck in second place behind you for four whole years. But for today's final showdown... even if I'm only destined to be your foil, I'm going to give it my all."
Staring at her feigned, innocent face, I felt no warmth whatsoever. Instead, my fingernails dug deep into my palms.
The phantom agony of my past life—the magical backlash tearing me apart as I bled out—shot straight through my nerves.
For the past four years, Cecilia and I had shared a dorm room, and we had always swept the top two spots in the academy.
She was a billionaire heiress, drenched in an unmissable halo since enrollment, with access to countless top-tier magical resources.
I, on the other hand, crawled out of the slums, too poor to afford a single extra spellbook.
Yet, my mental capacity and talent for spell constructs had forever eclipsed hers.
Big tests, small exams—it didn't matter. I was always first. She had to settle for second.
I never backed down. Facing the blatant hostility of every aristocrat in the academy, I fought my way into the finals of this tournament, landing squarely in a duel against her.
I never understood it. In my past life, the second the impromptu topic was announced, how did she beat me to the stage and flawlessly cast the exact matrix that had just formed in my head?
In my last life, watching Cecilia bask in the audience's worship after her display filled me with a blinding, incredulous rage.
Tossing the rules out, I charged at her with bloodshot eyes, publicly demanding to know why she stole my work.
Cecilia simply dropped her tears right on cue. Shrinking back in fake terror, she asked:
"You say I stole your hard work... but Evelyn, where did you ever build this matrix? Do you have any proof, or are you just slandering me in front of everyone?"
Her tear-soaked, victimized act made me look like an unhinged, hysterical lunatic.
At that moment, not only did the aristocratic crowd explode in outrage, but even some of the students who had previously supported me defected, assuming I was a sore loser driven mad by jealousy.
Cecilia then graciously declared to every campus broadcast camera that if anyone could find even a shred of proof that I had built this matrix before, she would instantly forfeit and willingly suffer the ultimate penalty for using dark magic.
What a beautiful, airtight script.
She said it because she knew exactly that my concepts existed only in my brain. There were no blueprints, no physical drafts—meaning there could be absolutely no proof!
I died never understanding how someone could bypass an absolute mental defense and hijack the thoughts hidden inside someone else's head!
Perhaps thrown off by my intense glare, Cecilia guiltily averted her eyes.
She leaned into her microphone, her tone angelically soft. "Evelyn, the prompt has been announced. Honestly, even if I have to give up first place to you, it's okay. I just want to see you push yourself to your true potential."
Those words played the audience like a fiddle.
The noble students favoring Cecilia erupted in applause. "See that? That's what you call true class! Who cares if Cecilia isn't first today? Look at her grace. She's the perfect model of a highborn lady!"
Even the commoner faction began to waver. "Yeah... Evelyn is always giving everyone the cold shoulder. Compared to her, Cecilia is just so gentle and kind."
Word for word.
Hearing the exact same lines from my previous life made my stomach violently churn. She didn't put on this unbothered, peace-loving facade in broad daylight out of the goodness of her heart.
She was absolutely certain she was going to win today.
I remained frozen in place, refusing to entertain her with a response.
The host briefly surveyed my pale, bloodless face and raised his microphone to intervene:
"Now, competitors, please proceed to your soundproof construct chambers to begin your mental structuring! Mind you, you only have five minutes for mental prep before stepping back out to project."
The grand hall plunged into a brief, dim transition phase.
Taking full advantage, Cecilia smoothly closed the distance, generously wrapping both her hands around my arm to support me.
Just as I went to aggressively yank my arm away, it was as if she had anticipated my exact move.
"Evelyn, I am nervous," she whispered.
Her palms clamped down on my arm like a vice. At the exact same second, she leaned in until her face was inches from mine.
Her pupils trembled slightly before rapidly dilating, bearing down on me with an eerie, predatory pressure.
She forced me into an unbroken, locked gaze.
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