The police struggled to restore order. After several agonizing minutes, they finally pulled the attackers off me. My clothes were torn, my hair disheveled and my face stung with cuts and bruises.
One officer stepped forward. "Whatever your motive was, you've already caused serious public disturbance. You need to apologize to the families involved and help calm things down."
My heart dropped. So that was it? No further investigation, no justice? Just bow my head and take the fall?
But if I apologized now, it would be no different from throwing myself off a cliff.
I pushed my hair behind my ears, straightened my torn blouse and looked the officer dead in the eye. "That person in the video isn't me. I will not apologize."
He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.
"Officer, this isn't just online bullying anymore—it's real-world assault. If you write this off as some stunt I pulled, then the true culprit walks away scot-free."
"Do you have any idea what an apology would cost me? Even if it kills me, I won't tolerate this kind of injustice."
He studied me, his expression unreadable. Then his voice dropped into something heavier, colder.