I died under the knife of my best friend. She stabbed me 25 times and finally took out the knife to prove that she was crazy and schizophrenic.
The criminal case was withdrawn, and the law had nothing to do with her.
My parents took my serious injury assessment and knelt in front of her house crying, but all they got in exchange was "She's gone crazy, please stop making trouble."
I looked at their despair and the hideous wounds on my body, filled with hatred and unwilling to rest in peace.
But I'm not completely dead.
With the severe pain of 25 knives and endless unwillingness, I was reborn again and again - entering the body of every girl who was framed, betrayed, or even killed by her "best friend".
The top student who was pushed into the river and drowned, the daughter of a rich family who was robbed of everything, the ordinary person who was exposed by the rumor network to the point of committing suicide...
Their "best friends" are all the same as the woman who killed me, wearing the skin of friendship and hiding the most poisonous knife.
This time, I am no longer the fool who was stabbed 25 times and still spoke for the murderer.
I will carry the hatred of all the victims and tear their disguises apart with my own hands in every reincarnation, causing them to lose their reputation and pay the price.
The law can't control the dead? It doesn't matter, I'll take care of it.
