From a different angle, the protagonist’s behavior in 'The Valedictorian of Being Dead' feels like a rebellion against the societal pressure to 'perform' wellness. She’s tired of pretending she’s okay, and the extreme measures she takes are almost a form of protest. The experimental treatment she undergoes isn’t just about escaping her pain—it’s a metaphor for how far people are pushed to go just to feel 'normal.' I love how the book challenges the idea that suffering should be hidden or solved quietly. Her actions are messy, uncomfortable, and deeply human, which is why the story stays with you long after you finish it.
The protagonist in 'The Valedictorian of Being Dead' is such a fascinating character because her actions are deeply rooted in her struggle with mental health. The book doesn’t shy away from portraying the raw, messy reality of depression, and her behavior reflects that. She’s not just 'acting out'—she’s trapped in a cycle of numbness and desperation, trying to find some semblance of control in a world that feels overwhelmingly bleak. Her decisions, like volunteering for the experimental procedure, might seem extreme, but they make perfect sense when you consider how exhausting it is to live with that kind of pain.
What really struck me was how the author captures the duality of her personality. On the surface, she’s the 'valedictorian'—high-achieving, composed, the kind of person who seems to have it all together. But underneath, she’s barely holding on. That contrast is what makes her so relatable. I’ve seen friends wrestle with similar feelings, where they’re functioning perfectly fine externally but crumbling inside. The book does an incredible job of showing how mental illness doesn’t always look the way people expect, and that’s why her actions resonate so deeply.
2026-03-18 02:57:13
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I died the day my husband forced the doctors to take our baby from my womb.
I thought I’d never love again after losing my ex-boyfriend to a heart attack. But fate gave me a second chance. I married the man I adored, a billionaire named Maxwell.
Just when I was about to share the joyful news of my pregnancy, I caught him getting cozy with my best friend, Morgana. Worse, he believed her lies: I was a drug addict.
The truth? I was battling a severe mental illness triggered by my ex’s death. I needed medication to cope, but Maxwell never cared to understand. He refused to believe a word I said.
They locked me away in a private rehab clinic. But that place wasn’t for healing, it was a trap. Morgana used it to cut me off from Maxwell and torment me without consequence. And just when I thought things couldn’t get worse… Maxwell signed off on a surgery to take my baby.
I lay on that cold operating table, tears streaming down my face, and died in the fire that followed—broken, betrayed, and alone.
But I never expected to wake up again.
This time, I have a new life. A new family. And even one of my children survived.
Maxwell, Morgana—this time, I’m coming back. And you’re both going to pay.
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The heart that I had waited two years for was given to the fake heiress, Diane Bishop, by my husband.
The doctor said that I only had a week left to live. So, I decided to undergo cryonics.
I donated my body to Diane’s workshop.
The day I signed the donation papers, my son threw himself into my arms and exclaimed that I had finally made up with Diane.
My parents praised me for finally being a good sister to help out Diane.
My husband was pleased when he said that I had finally let go of the grudge and had become more understanding.
I chuckled. They were right, I had finally learned my lesson.
I would give Diane my identity as the heir of Bishop Corporation and fulfill everyone’s wishes.
On the day of the SATs, all the students in the exam hall were asleep.
The teachers did not just let them be, but they also told everyone not to write any answers.
For the past ten years, every valedictorian in the city had mysteriously died on the very day their scores were released.
The police conducted thorough investigations but found that all of them had died by suicide.
Students across the city were gripped by fear. Some transferred to other schools, others dropped out. Some even deliberately underperformed on the exam. They were all equally terrified of becoming the top scorer and valedictorian.
I was the only one who did not care. I was already at the bottom of my class. I would barely even qualify for a community college, let alone the SATs, which I had left completely blank.
But to my surprise, when the results came out, I turned out to be the top scorer!
When the half-mile sprint test is about to begin, Quiana Sullivan, the class president, and I have applied to be exempted from it.
My own mother, who's the homeroom teacher of my class, approves Quiana's application with a smile. But she then throws mine to the floor.
"You're having a chest pain, you say? I can't believe you're able to come up with such lies just to avoid the half-mile sprint! I'd have known if you had a heart condition!
"Quiana is weak by nature, not to mention she's on her period right now, so she can't handle the agony. What about you, hmm? You've always been perfectly healthy, yet now you're telling me that you're suffering from heart pain?
"Don't go around embarrassing me just because you want to slack off! I don't want others claiming that I'm being biased toward my own child! As long as you're still alive and kicking, you must finish the half-mile course no matter what!"
Left without a choice, I can only return to the field.
The cold wind makes me feel even dizzier now. My heart keeps contracting uncontrollably against my will. Suddenly, it just stops pumping.
The next thing I know, I collapse onto the grassy field heavily.
When my consciousness is about to flicker to darkness, my mom finally walks over to me. But she merely kicks my arm with a frown on her face, and her tone remains glacial.
"Stop playing dead. Get up right now."
She doesn't realize that I can never open my eyes ever again.
Isn't this great, Mom? No one will ever claim that you're biased toward your own child.
I've used my life to prove how fair and just you are. You must be happy now, right?
After I transmigrate into a Gary Stu novel as the evil male supporting lead, a system appears in my mind.
It tells me that as long as I can conquer one of the female leads, I will be able to return to my original world with a healthy body.
But I've failed in my conquest.
There are a few female leads in this novel. There's the fake heiress, Leslie Jackman, who I have grown up with and have viewed as my older sister. The true heiress, Miranda Suller, is a boxer who happens to be seatmates with me during our high school times. My childhood sweetheart, Catherine Langdon, who's also a genius surgeon, happens to be one of the female leads too.
Heck, even my own daughter, Natalie Jackman… my own flesh and blood…
All of them are quick to fall for Gabriel Linner, the poor yet strong-willed young man who's also known as the Gary Stu of this novel. Because of that, they hate me deeply.
The system sighs before telling me that as long as I can die in the hands of any of the female leads, it will let me return to my original world.
Later on, I use all of the tricks up my sleeve and succeed in getting killed by the female leads.
But why is it that they've lost their minds after I die?
I was the greediest stand-in in high society, and my motto was simple. As long as cash kept coming, my dignity could take a back seat.
For Frederick Jameson, I played the role of his obedient pet, so when his true love accused me of stealing her necklace, I just bowed and apologized.
With Samuel York, I served as his lab rat, testing drugs meant for his sweetheart's condition until they left me with a bleeding ulcer.
And for Theodore Xander, I acted as a scapegoat, getting pushed out to take the blame of extortion for his crush.
They all assumed I was hopelessly in love with them, even forcing me to sign a confession at their joint engagement party.
That was when the system's voice chimed in, "Host, the portal home is now open."
I wiped the blood from my lips, splashed my wine into their faces, and grinned brightly. "Game over, losers!"
Right in front of everyone, I leaped straight into the sea.
Later, word spread that the three big shots scoured the entire ocean just to find my body.
You know, I've spent way too many nights thinking about this exact question while lying awake. The protagonist in 'Make You Wish I Was Dead' isn't your typical hero—they're messy, impulsive, and sometimes downright infuriating. But that's what makes them feel so real. Their actions stem from this deep, gnawing loneliness and a desperate need to be seen, even if it means pushing everyone away. It's like they're screaming, 'Notice me!' but in the worst possible ways because they don't know how to ask for help properly.
What really gets me is how the story doesn't excuse their behavior but forces you to understand it. They've built this fortress around themselves, convinced that if they hurt others first, it won't matter when they inevitably get hurt. It's tragic, but also weirdly relatable? We've all had moments where we self-sabotage because we're scared, and this character takes that to the extreme. The author doesn't give easy answers, which is why it sticks with you long after you finish reading.
The protagonist in 'I'm Not a Mourning Person' is such a fascinating mess of contradictions—on the surface, they seem cold and detached, but there’s this undercurrent of raw vulnerability that makes their behavior so compelling. I think a lot of it stems from their fear of emotional entanglement. They’ve probably been hurt before, maybe even traumatized, and their way of coping is to shut down emotionally. It’s like they’re wearing armor, but the cracks show in tiny moments—like when they snap at someone for no reason or zone out during a conversation. The story does a great job of slowly peeling back those layers, revealing why they’re so resistant to grief. It’s not that they don’t feel; it’s that feeling too much is terrifying.
What really got me was how the narrative contrasts their behavior with other characters who wear their emotions openly. It creates this tension where you’re simultaneously frustrated by the protagonist’s aloofness and aching for them to just let someone in. The way they deflect with humor or sarcasm feels so real—like a defense mechanism gone haywire. By the end, you start to see glimpses of change, tiny shifts in how they interact with others, and that’s where the hope lies. It’s a slow burn, but that’s what makes it satisfying.