When school started in September, Lydia Xavier transferred to our class.

"Sis Yari, can I sit with you?"

"No."

She seemed surprised. Perhaps she didn’t expect me to refuse.

I knew I should have been polite with her, just like she was in my past life. But I wasn’t about to become someone like her.

Lydia was composed. After I turned her down, she gracefully picked another seat.

A curious classmate next to her asked, "New student, are you and Yara Chavez close?"

Lydia glanced at me and saw that I didn’t react. She bit her lip and replied, "We’ve only met once."

The classmate raised an eyebrow and lost interest. What kind of relationship is ‘only meeting once’?

Most of the students in our class had some sort of background—either wealthy or influential. They all had their own small circles, and not everyone could fit in.

This time, without me introducing her as my "good sister," Lydia’s start didn’t seem so smooth.

It’s hard for any transfer student to fit in, and it was even worse for her since her grades were poor.

In the first monthly test of the senior year, she ended up at the bottom of the grade, dragging the class average down with her.

I held the report card in my hand.

Looking at the rankings, with Lydia and me so far apart, I couldn’t help but smile.

See, I didn’t even need to do much.

I just needed to stop being nice to her.

In my past life, I treated her warmly. When I found out her grades were slipping, I privately gave her notes and explained the lessons.

At least I helped her improve, bringing her into the middle ranks of the grade.

With her delicate appearance, decent grades, and my backing, Lydia had managed to fit in smoothly in the class.

But this time, it was different.

Lydia’s arrival stirred some ripples in the class, but they quickly dissipated.

She became invisible, a nonentity in the class.