They Framed Me as a Fraud, So I Exposed Them Live - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Wendy's face twisted in rage, her teeth grinding so hard I could almost hear them cracking. She opened her mouth to retaliate, but the crowd turned on her first, their angry shouts drowning out whatever pathetic excuse she had prepared.
I reached for the judge's coffee cup and—splash!—drenched her perfectly made-up face in lukewarm liquid.
"Mrs. Jones," I said sweetly, "consider this an eye-opener. Literally. Maybe now you'll see this stage belongs to actual talent, not frauds like you who leech off others' success. You're nothing but corporate trash."
"Now get the hell off my stage!"
This wasn't like my previous humiliating exit. This time, I—the job seeker—was kicking out the so-called "superiors" who had neither qualifications nor morals. The audience roared their approval, their chants shaking the studio.
"Off the stage!" someone yelled. "You clueless suits don't belong here! You fire people? Well guess what—we can fire you too!"
A plastic water bottle came flying from the crowd, smashing into the red judge's light with a satisfying crash. The bulb exploded in a shower of sparks as Wendy stood there, dripping coffee, her designer blouse ruined.
I flashed her my best pageant smile. "See that, boss? When you're unfit for your position... karma comes knocking."
Wendy trembled with impotent rage before finally bolting from the stage, her heels clicking pathetically against the floor. I turned my attention to the remaining eleven CEOs.
Several were already shrinking in their seats.
A producer rushed forward, eyeing my empty coffee cup nervously. "Miss Warner, we strongly advise against any further—"
"Further what?" I flipped the cup upside down. "Relax, I already served Mrs. Jones her last drink."
The crew exhaled—until my voice turned to ice. "I just want to ask these executives some questions. Are you really going to silence me?" I stepped closer. "What happened to your show's 'fairness'? Or is this just another platform for the powerful to bully the little guy?"
My words hit like a sledgehammer. The production team froze—they'd already face public backlash for enabling Wendy's lies. Now their dirty laundry was airing live nationwide.
The director was sweating through his shirt. "Cut the feed—" he began, then choked on his words as he noticed the stone-faced embassy officials in the wings. The realization hit him: This wasn't just about ratings anymore. The country's academic reputation was at stake.
Meanwhile, I addressed the cowering CEOs: "Wendy's ignorant, fine. But you? You're supposed to be leaders. Yet you condemned someone without verifying facts—almost destroyed a life on a whim."
I let that sink in before delivering the killing blow: "If this is how you make decisions, none of you deserve to run a lemonade stand. Birds of a feather... and you're all flightless."
The studio erupted. More projectiles rained down—water bottles, soda cans, someone's half-eaten sandwich.
"Fake bosses!" "You treat people like garbage!" "Get the hell out!"
The executives ducked like frightened rats, their expensive suits splattered with drinks, their carefully crafted images crumbling under the crowd's wrath.