1982. HDB Block 43 in Bukit Merah still smells

of damp concrete and curry leaves. Tan Jia Wei,

16, fails his midyear maths paper for the third

time. His mother sells kueh lapis at the Pasar

Minggu stall, her fingers cracked from steam. He

knows: no university, no NS deferment, no escape

from the factory floor.

The OLevel papers are locked in sealed vaults

under the old Raffles Institution building — now

a Ministry of Education storage unit. But Jia

Wei heard the kampong elders whisper: during the

Occupation, a Chinese scribe hanged himself

after copying answers for 37 boys. His ghost

still walks the corridors, inkstained, clutching

a slate that answers any question if you feed it

your sweat.

Jia Wei steals his uncle’s NS uniform, slips

past the night guard who naps with a bottle of

Tiger Beer, and sneaks into the basement. He

peels off his shirt, presses his bare back

against the cold slate wall. The air turns sour

like rotting bak kut teh. A voiceless breath

curls around his neck. The slate glows. He

writes: “Question 3b — prove Pythagoras.” Ink

bleeds from the wall. The answer appears.

Next day, he scores 97%. His name flashes on the

school noticeboard. Teachers stare. The

Principal calls him in. “How?” Jia Wei says

nothing.

Then the Ministry rolls out Rule 17B: any

student scoring above 90% without prior academic

record must submit a blood sample for

“psychometric integrity verification.” No

exceptions.

He bleeds into the vial.

That night, the slate cracks. The ghost doesn’t

just answer anymore — it takes. Jia Wei wakes

with ink crawling up his arms, words forming

under his skin: “You stole my shame. Now I steal

your name.”

His OLevel results are voided. His name scrubbed

from all rolls. He is reclassified: “Candidate

Disqualified — Unnatural Performance.” No appeal.

No resit.

They find him two weeks later, squatting in the

void space between HDB blocks 43 and 44,

whispering quadratic equations to the rats. His

fingers are black with ink. His eyes, empty.

The Ministry posts a notice: “Academic integrity

upheld.”

No one mentions the ghost.

But every year, when OLevel papers are printed,

the printer jams — and a single sheet always

comes out covered in oldfashioned cursive,

solving problems no one has taught.

The kiasu kids know: don’t cheat. The dead are

still grading.