Chapter 1

Tags: Floating Chat System | Sibling Rivalry | Luck-Stealing System | Academic Comeback | Sweet Revenge

At the college decision hall, my sister shoved a pastel pink gel pen right into my face.

A glowing line of text suddenly floated before my eyes:

*[She’s doomed. The second she uses that pen, her Harvard acceptance letter will switch to her sister’s name.]*

*[She has no clue that by swapping writing tools, all eighteen years of her good luck will be drained and transferred to Natalie.]*

*[Remember the midterms when she lost her top rank after borrowing Natalie’s eraser? Nobody believed her then either.]*

My fingers froze.

It was true. Over the past eighteen years, every single time I touched something of hers, I mysteriously lost something precious.

Natalie smiled, popping the pen cap off. "Use mine to sign your commitment form, Chloe. It’s for good luck."

I stared at the pen.

If I used it, I would end up stuck at some bottom-tier community college.

So… what would happen if I slipped this exact pen into the pencil case of my sworn rival—the dead-last slacker sitting right next to me who was stressing over not having a single college to go to?

My sister, Natalie, pushed the pink pen closer. The cap was off, revealing its fine metal tip.

"Chloe, use mine to fill out the form. It brings good luck."

The floating comments were flashing across my vision at lightning speed.

*[I can’t even watch this. Her sister has been leeching her luck with this system for years. Touching her stuff rips away a whole layer of her life. Hasn’t she learned by now?]*

I stared at the pen and didn't reach for it.

Eighteen years of memories rushed back all at once.

Back in elementary school, I qualified for the district art showcase. Right before the final submission, Natalie handed me her special ink stick, telling me to get a feel for it. The next day, my hand trembled so badly I couldn't even draw a straight line. My spot went to the alternate—and that alternate was Natalie.

In middle school track, I spent three years posting perfect scores in the 800-meter sprint. On race day, Natalie said it was too hot and lent me half a bottle of her sunscreen. That day, I ran the worst time of my life, missing the varsity cutoff by two seconds. Natalie barely scraped past the qualifying line and took my spot.

During the final mock exams before college boards, I ranked second statewide. Natalie handed me a water bottle. I drank it, and when the results dropped the next day, I plummeted past two hundred. At dinner, Mom and Dad sighed, lecturing me about how I was never as stable or reliable as Natalie.

Meanwhile, Natalie had performed beyond her wildest dreams, hitting her highest rank in three years.

At every major turning point, I had touched something of hers.

And every single time, I lost something of mine.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms.

"Chloe, why are you spacing out?" Natalie pressed the pen toward my hand, her fingertips almost brushing the back of mine. "Come on, sign it. The sooner you lock it in, the sooner you can relax."

I took a half-step back and smiled faintly. "I brought my own pen. I’m good. Thanks, Natalie."

Her hand froze in midair.

The floating chat exploded.

*[Wait, she said no? She actually turned it down?!]*

*[Look at Natalie’s face! She’s practically twitching with irritation because her plan just got derailed.]*

*[Don’t celebrate yet, you guys. She definitely has a backup plan.]*

Standing beside us, Mom frowned and lowered her voice: "Chloe, your sister is being nice. Why are you pushing her away? You always do this—throwing her kindness right back in her face."

Dad glanced over as well, his eyes filled with that familiar, reflexive disappointment.

Natalie pulled her hand back. Her smile was stiff, but she quickly smoothed it over with her usual gentle facade. "It’s fine, Mom. Chloe’s probably just used to her own pen. I don’t want to force her."

Not forcing me.

Sure. But as she spoke, she quietly placed the pink pen on the table, pointing the tip directly toward me.

I didn't spare the pen another glance. Lowering my head, I used my own pen to neatly fill out my first-choice commitment form.

Harvard University.

Sitting beside me, Natalie sneaked a peek at my paper, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly.

She pulled her own sheet over and began writing. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her first choice: a third-tier private vocational school charging twenty-eight grand a year.

A line drifted across my sight:

*[She spent three whole years siphoning Chloe’s luck, and she still only qualifies for a garbage diploma mill. The system can steal luck, but it can’t steal a brain.]*

A chilling calm washed over me.

Once everyone finished submitting their forms, the crowd began filtering out. As I packed up my bag, I casually flicked my hand, knocking Natalie’s pink pen off the desk.

"Oops." I bent down to pick it up, smoothly sliding it straight into the side pouch of my backpack.

Natalie looked back at me, opening her mouth as if to say something, but stayed silent.

Stepping out of the registration hall, the midday sun was blinding.

Mom wrapped her arm around Natalie’s shoulders, saying we should go home and cook a lavish meal to celebrate Natalie finally wrapping up her college submission.

Nobody mentioned me.

I trailed behind them, slipping my hand into my backpack and running my fingers over the plastic barrel of that pink pen.

There was a tiny sticker on the cap—the initials of Natalie's name.

My gaze swept past the bustling crowd and landed on a slouching figure sitting on the concrete steps by the exit.

Cole.

The guy from the next class over. A perennial troublemaker who ranked dead last, smoked behind the bleachers, and got into fights, but never bullied anyone weaker than him.

Once, when someone knocked my lunch tray over in the cafeteria, he was the one who handed me a napkin before walking away without a word.

Right now, he was hunkered on the steps, clutching a crumpled, completely blank college application form.

A comment floated by:

*[He can barely even get into community college. He’s sweating bullets over having nowhere to go.]*

I quickened my pace and walked straight toward him.