The top scorers on the SAT always die mysteriously
Every year, on the day college entrance exam results were released, the top scorer in our city would mysteriously commit suicide. The higher their score, the more horrific their death.
In that case, the police formed a special task force to investigate, but no matter what they did, they couldn’t figure out why it kept happening.
As fear spread among students, some even deliberately scored lower just to avoid becoming the top scorer.
But not me.
I studied harder than anyone else and ended up with a perfect score, the highest in our city’s history.
Because three years ago, my sister was the top scorer, and I watched her die with my own eyes.
So, I was going to make them pay for her.
——
My dad died the year I was born. Since then, Mom raised me and my sister all on her own. She took on every kind of dirty, exhausting job just to keep us fed and in school.
A lot of men offered to marry her, saying if she agreed, they’d help raise us. But Mom always turned them down. She was afraid we’d suffer if she remarried.
Because of her, my sister and I studied hard as we wanted to give her a better life.
Three years ago was my sister’s turn to take the college entrance exam. By then, the suicides of past top scorers had already become a terrifying pattern, and everyone knew about it.
All the top students were anxious, afraid they’d score too high and meet the same fate.
I remember warning my sister, begging her to aim lower, so she wouldn't be the top scorer.
But she just smiled at me and said, “I’ve worked this hard for years so you and Mom could have a better life. I’m not going to throw that away. Don't worry, I won't follow their leads.”
“And besides,” she added, “I think all those suicides were just coincidences. I want to break the curse. I’m going to be the top scorer this year.”
And she did it. She only made a few mistakes, making her the top of the city.
But on the very day her score came out, my sister, who swore she would never take her own life, jumped off the rooftop without hesitation.
She didn’t say a word before she died. Just looked at Mom with this strange, heavy stare, then stepped off the edge.
She landed headfirst.
The scene was brutal.
Clutched in her hand was a bloodstained note with one sentence on it.
[Setlla, whatever you do, don’t become the top scorer.]
I held her broken body in my arms, screaming in agony.
But Mom, who loved my sister very much, just stood there, watching with not a single tear in her eyes.
I asked her why she didn’t cry.
Her voice was cold and flat as she replied, “She wanted to be the top scorer. She had no one to point fingers at.”
I didn’t understand.
Mom used to fall apart if my sister got sick. But now, seeing her own daughter die like that, she barely reacted.
I couldn’t forget the way my sister looked at Mom right before she jumped. Something about that look haunted me.
It made me wonder if Mom had something to do with her death.
But why would she?
And how could my sister, who loved her life so much, suddenly decide to die?
So, for the past three years, I studied harder than anyone else just to take this college entrance exam.
This time, I was stepping into the same trap to uncover the truth behind the mystery.
On the day the results were released, I walked into the kitchen where Mom was rinsing rice for dinner.
“Mom, if I die… would you cry?” I asked.
She paused, just for a second. Then turned to look at me, confused. “What kind of question is that?”
I waited a beat, then said seriously, “I’ve already estimated my score. If I’m right, I’ll be this year’s top scorer.”
I watched the light in her eyes fade visibly as if something inside her shut down.
With barely a flicker of emotion, she looked at me and said, “Oh. Congratulations.”
Setlla's POV
Two words.
Short and calm.
Like she was talking about the weather, completely emotionless.
I stared at her hard, trying to find even the slightest crack in her expression. But she just went back to rinsing the rice like nothing had happened.
Right then, the early morning light reflected off her cold, distant eyes. Seeing that, a sharp pain shot through my heart.
I still remember that winter when I was five. It was Christmas, and I suddenly came down with a high fever. My whole body was shaking, the fever wouldn’t break.
It was ten below zero that day, and snow was everywhere, so Mom couldn’t get a taxi.
Left with no choice, she carried me in her arms, running ten kilometers through thick snow all by herself.
By the time we reached the hospital, her lips were purple from the cold, and her feet were bloody from being sliced open by sharp ice.
But she didn’t seem to feel any of it. She only cared about getting me help.
The doctors told her there was nothing they could do. But she dropped to her knees right there in the ER hallway, begging them, over and over, crying and bowing until they agreed to try again.
That was the mom I knew.
The woman who always put mine and my sister’s lives before her own.
So why now? Why was she so cold and indifferent?
I didn’t say another word. I just waited.
When the results came out, it was exactly what I expected.
A perfect score.
The highest in our city’s history.
News spread fast. First, the city, then the whole internet.
Everyone was talking about me.
[She must be insane! Everyone else was scared enough to hold back their scores, and she went and got a perfect one? Doesn’t she know all the previous top scorers ended up dead?]
[I go to school with her. Her sister was the top scorer three years ago, and she died horribly! There’s no way she doesn’t know about it!]
[Then what is she thinking? Is she trying to die? Seriously?]
[I heard their mom raised both girls by herself, worked multiple jobs a day. The older sister died three years ago, and now the younger one scores full marks? How’s the mom supposed to survive losing both kids?]
Some people were shocked by my score. Some felt sorry for my mom, thinking she’d have to bury another daughter. Others called me selfish, saying I was courting death and dragging my mom through more pain.
While the world debated, I quietly started a livestream from my bedroom.
I locked the door, adjusted the camera so the whole room was visible, and hit "go live."
Within minutes, the stream exploded. Hundreds of thousands of people tuned in, comments flying so fast they filled the screen.
[Is this really the girl who scored full marks? Why does she look so calm?]
[She’s livestreaming? Seriously? She must be fearless!]
[Do you even care about your mom, who raised you alone?]
[Your sister’s already gone. What if something happens to you too? How’s your mom supposed to go on?]
[You’re so ungrateful! Is your test score really worth more than your life or your mother’s?]
Criticism came hard and fast.
People called me unfilial and selfish. They pitied my mom, saying she sacrificed everything for us, only to be left alone in grief again.
But through it all, I sat still and spoke slowly, like I was telling a story.
“Like everyone’s saying, yes, my mom raised me and my sister all by herself. It wasn’t easy. We’ve been through hard times—hunger, cold, loneliness. Every day was a struggle. But my sister was always so strong. So full of life. She used to tell me all the time to cherish my life and live it well.”
Setlla's POV
“She always said, ‘As long as you're alive, life will get better.’ She also promised that, through her own hard work, she’d give Mom and me a better life. But three years ago, she took her own life.”
As I spoke, I held up a folded piece of paper.
“This,” I said slowly, facing the camera, “is the note she was clutching in her hand when she died. It has just one sentence written on it, read, ‘Setlla, whatever you do, don’t become the top scorer.’”
Heaving a deep breath, I continued, “I’ve kept this letter safe for three years and studied it over and over. Sure, the handwriting matches hers exactly, and the police confirmed that the only fingerprints on it were hers. But I’m certain she didn’t write it. Someone forged her handwriting and left this fake suicide note to cover up the truth. My sister didn’t take her own life. She was murdered.”
As soon as those words escaped my mouth, all of the viewers were astonished.
The chat was instantly flooded with questions and disbelief.
[No way! I thought all the top scorers died by suicide?]
[If the handwriting and fingerprints match, how can you say it’s fake?]
[I was there when your sister jumped! I saw it with my own eyes!]
[Are you sure you're not just confused?]
The comment feed scrolled so fast it was impossible to keep up—shock, denial, suspicion, all mixed together.
But I didn’t stop. My voice stayed steady and my words clear as I added, “My sister never called me by my whole name. Not in real life, not in letters. She always used my nickname. Yes, she jumped. But it wasn’t her choice. She was forced. For the past three years, I’ve been digging into every case of past top scorers who supposedly ‘killed themselves.’ And I can say this with confidence: none of their deaths makes sense. This whole thing is a lie. All of them were murdered.”
Again, the chat went wild.
[This is insane. I’ve got chills all over!]
[Who the hell would do this? And why? What kind of monster targets kids who ace their exams?!]
As their shock bombarded the stream, I looked directly into the camera, voice firm and unwavering. “I know none of them actually killed themselves. But I could never find proof. Whoever’s behind this is a master at hiding the truth. So this time, I gave it everything I had. I became the top scorer just to get close to the truth.”
With bravery, I announced, “They say the higher your score, the more brutal your death, right? Well, today, I’m livestreaming this moment because I want everyone to witness it with me. To see whether I’ll die or not.”
There was no fear in my voice, only purpose. My face also said it all that I was ready to risk everything.
At this moment, my words shook people to the core.
Everything they thought they knew was unraveling.
Viewership exploded, and more and more people joined the stream every second.
The whole country was watching.
Even the police were watching. And once they realized what was happening, they jumped into action.
Sirens began to echo down the street, growing louder as they neared my building.
And then something changed.
The chat, which had been filled with debate and speculation, suddenly shifted to a single frantic message flooding the screen.
[Look behind you!]
[Behind you!]
[There's someone behind you!]
Reading that, I quickly turned around.
And what I saw would haunt me for the rest of my life.
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