Chapter 3

A few students at nearby tables turned to look at us.

Julian's face flushed red. He lowered his voice, hissed, "Can you keep it down? Can we not talk about this in public?"

"There's nothing to discuss in private," I grabbed my tray. "I'm going to see Higgins."

I turned and walked away.

Behind me, I heard his chair scrape against the floor, but he didn't chase after me.

At 2:00 PM, I knocked on Arthur Higgins's office door.

"Come in."

Higgins was sitting behind his desk, a stack of papers spread out in front of him.

He was in his late fifties, with graying hair and reading glasses. He always tried to project the image of a warm, academic father figure.

"Higgins, I want to talk to you about the authorship on the new paper."

He took off his glasses and looked at me.

"Are you talking about the interdisciplinary materials paper?"

"Yes."

"Julian mentioned your concerns to me," he leaned back in his chair. "What's on your mind, Sera?"

"Higgins, I did eighty percent of the work on this project, from the research design to the data analysis. I believe my contribution should be fairly represented on the author list."

The office went silent for a moment.

"Sera, I am well aware of your hard work," he said slowly. "But you have to understand that academia isn't just about who did the physical work. It's also about strategic resource allocation. Chloe needs this paper to get into the PhD program. You're already in your final year of your Master's; you have your thesis. You don't need to fight over this."

I froze.

"Higgins, are you saying that even though I did the work, I shouldn't be credited for it?"

"That's not what I said," he waved his hand dismissively. "You are credited, but having Chloe as the first author is strategically better for the lab. Whether you are second or third author doesn't affect your graduation."

"But that is my work."

"Sera."

His tone turned cold and stern. "You need to learn to be a team player. You need to align with the lab's goals."

The team.

It was always "the team."

I squeezed my lab notebook tightly.

"Higgins, I understand teamwork. But authorship is a matter of academic integrity. I did eighty percent of the work. I will not accept being demoted to 'assistance.'"

Higgins's expression darkened.

"Sera, are you questioning my judgment?"

"I am stating facts."

He stared at me for a few tense seconds, then picked up his mug and took a slow sip of coffee.

"The author list stays as it is," he said, his voice calm but absolutely non-negotiable. "If you're unhappy with it, you are welcome to file an appeal with the university's academic board. But let me remind you—the outcome of an appeal might not be what you want."

I understood his implication loud and clear.

He was threatening me.

If I made a scene, he would make sure my graduation was living hell.

"I understand," I said, turning toward the door.

"Sera," he called out behind me.

I stopped but didn't turn around.

"You're a smart girl. Don't ruin your future over something so trivial."

I didn't say a word. I opened the door and walked out.