Part 3Beating My Catfisher At His Game

Tyler stood up, his chin tilted back defiantly. “Oh, come on, Emmett. Just admit it. Why be so stubborn? That suit costs more than a semester’s tuition. How could a scholarship student afford it? You’ve always been a poser, but this is a new low.”

In my last life, those words would have made me want to vanish into the floorboards. In this life, they were just pathetic.

Tyler thought he knew me. He thought because I lived simply, I was poor. He didn’t know that my family was actually quite well-off—I just preferred to earn my own way.

The moment that "designer" package had arrived, I’d called my mother in London. The suit I was currently wearing was the real deal, overnighted and tailored.

I stepped closer to the edge of the stage, pointing to the discreet, authentic stitching. “I think anyone who actually knows this brand can see the craftsmanship. It’s limited edition.”

A girl in the second row gasped. “He’s right! That’s the seasonal runway piece! I saw it in Vogue!”

“Wait, what kind of family does he come from?”

I smiled graciously into the camera. “My mother knew how important this night was to me, so she had this sent over. I wanted to represent Northwood with the respect it deserves.”

The applause was thunderous. The university deans were nodding in approval. Tyler’s friends looked at each other, their faces turning a shade of sour crimson. Our faculty advisor, Professor Higgins, shot a look of pure disgust at Tyler.

“Mr. Vance, accusing a fellow student of fraud without proof is a serious violation. You’ll be writing a formal apology and losing two credit points for conduct!”

Tyler’s eyes welled with crocodile tears. “Professor, I didn't know! I was just repeating what I heard!”

Back at the dorm, I messaged "her."

“Babe, the suit you gave me was a fake. My roommates were right.”

There was a long pause before the reply came.

“Really? I had no idea! I’m just a girl, I don’t understand these things! I just wanted to do something nice for you. You don’t blame me, do you?”

I smiled and typed: “Of course not. But I think I should call the police. You were scammed out of a lot of money. We can’t let them get away with this.”

He replied instantly: “No! No need! Forget about it!”

I pushed harder. “No, we have to. Someone stole your savings. I’ll go to the station tomorrow.”

He snapped. “I said forget it! Why are you being so pushy? If you’re mad at me, just say it!”

A barrage of angry texts followed, and then—silence. The silent treatment.

A few days later, realizing I wasn't chasing after him, he "crawled" back with an apology, some overpriced coffee, and pastries. He acted as if nothing had happened.

“Babe, could you help me with my final credits? There are only a few modules left and I’m falling behind.”

I agreed. But halfway through the online testing, I "lost" my connection.

“Why did it stop?” he messaged.

“Wi-Fi’s down.”

“What? The deadline is in ten minutes!”

“Guess you’ll have to finish it yourself.”

The next day, he was livid, claiming I’d caused him to fail.

I replied: “So sorry, Babe. My phone died.”

A week later, he asked for help with his thesis paper. I opened an AI bot, fed it the prompt, and told it to write a logically incoherent, data-skewed mess. He didn't even read it before submitting.

The result was predictable. His advisor tore him to shreds.

He messaged me, shaking with rage: “I thought you were a straight-A student! How could you mess up something so simple? You did this on purpose!”

I typed slowly: “Babe, it hurts my heart that you’d think that of me.”

He didn't reply. But through the gap in the bed curtains, I could see him kicking his desk chair in a silent tantrum.

That afternoon, I saw three different people delivering flowers to the dorm for him. He strutted downstairs to collect them, noticing me standing by the entrance.

“See this?” he sneered, clutching the bouquets. “This is what it looks like to be loved. Has anyone ever sent you flowers, you lonely loser?”

He marched upstairs. I did a little digging. It turned out Tyler wasn't just catfishing me. He was "dating" three other girls online simultaneously, milking them for gifts and attention.

This was getting interesting.

The day the fellowship results were finalized was also the day the final grades came out. In my last life, because I’d tutored him and done his work, our grades were neck-and-neck. In this life, I had obliterated him. I was ranked first. He was at the bottom of the list.

The Dean announced my fellowship. In my last life, Tyler had stood up immediately to protest, claiming our grades were too similar and causing a delay that nearly cost me everything. And then, he’d leaked the chats.

This time, his grades were so low he shouldn't have had a leg to stand on. But he still stood up. He pointed a trembling finger at me.

“Why him?!” he screamed. “How can someone with such a disgusting moral character be given this fellowship!”

The Dean frowned. “Mr. Vance, do you have evidence? This is a grave accusation.”

Tyler smirked. “Oh, I have plenty.”

He hit 'send' on a file he’d prepared for the campus-wide group chat.

The room erupted.