At Riverdale University, in the popular Humanities Education elective course, students sat glued to the large screen replaying the fragments of Sophia's childhood.
Professor Grace sighed softly. Her sharp eyes shifted from the pale, coughing Victor, bent over his desk writing a letter, to the dazzling Sophia on the show stage, who now seemed like she carried the entire world's attention.
It was impossible to imagine the two as father and daughter.
In class, the students whispered in disbelief.
"Victor claimed he could raise her without the help of an entertainment company. But how? By the time she was five, Sophia was already writing songs on her own."
"Yeah! And at six and seven she was performing, creating films, even composing for her school. That was all her talent. Her father had nothing to do with it."
"Exactly. A girl like her would have risen in any environment. A father like that? Irrelevant."
Nods spread across the classroom. The judgment was unanimous—Sophia's brilliance belonged to her alone.
Meanwhile, outside the university walls, the internet raged with the same conclusion.
On Slag Wave, Douyin, and Toutiao, the top ten trending searches all screamed the same message:
[Sophia's rise has nothing to do with her father]
[Her talent was unstoppable—no matter where she was born, she would have risen sooner or later]
[She inherited her mother's gifts; her future achievements could be even greater]
[Any family in the Happy Family program could have raised her, and she would have become a star anyway]
[This is what true genius looks like—you don't need an environment, you're simply born this way.]
The comments spread like wildfire, convincing more and more people that Sophia's real rise began at age four.
Victor, in their eyes, seemed to have withered away after that. They claimed that after her fourth year, her father "degenerate," while Sophia's creativity burst open.
Girls on social media added their own sharp voices:
"Having a father like that is fine for ordinary kids, but for someone like Sophia? Useless. Too short-sighted."
"Pedantic and stubborn. He gave up the first opportunity just because he was afraid he wouldn't control her wealth once she succeeded."
"So many girls have endless potential, and fathers like him delay it. Especially ignorant fathers!"
"Just wait until the program reveals everything. Everyone will know what kind of legendary life Sophia really lived!"
Back in the stadium, under the bright lights, Sophia said nothing. She simply stared at the screen, watching the replay of herself at four years and five months old.
In the scene, Victor handed her an envelope.
"This is from your mother," he said with a faint smile.
Her little hands gripped the envelope tightly, eyes wide. "But… I want to see my mother!"
Victor crouched to her level, his tone patient but firm.
"Not yet. Think, Sophia. How long can one song stay popular? People forget quickly. If you want your mother remembered, if you want her to appear again, you need to be more. You must have many abilities. Songs, films, research, inventions—things that will keep the world remembering you."
His words, though spoken softly, were like a breeze sweeping through the stinking slum alleys in May—strange, refreshing, and unshakable.
Sophia nodded earnestly. "Then I'll learn to act! I'll learn to do everything on stage!"
"No," Victor interrupted with calm determination. "Tomorrow, you're going to school. Straight into the advanced class."
"I want to learn to act!" she cried again, stamping her foot.
"You can follow what your mother wrote in the letter," he replied steadily.
Little Sophia lowered her head, reluctant but resigned. She clutched the envelope and agreed to prepare for school.
That day marked a shift. From then on, she never called him "Father" again.
The first emotional break.
On stage, watching the replay, Sophia herself nodded bitterly.
"From that moment," she told the stadium crowd, "I never called him father again. That was also the moment my life truly began to rise."
The audience roared.
One hundred thousand people stood and applauded together, their voices thundering in the air, celebrating the birth of a rising star.
The atmosphere was electric—this was the legend they came to witness, the miracle of a girl born to shine.
The host, Hai Tao, seized the moment, microphone in hand.
"From today forward," he announced, "the program team and Sophia's studio have agreed on a special format. Other contestants will showcase warm corners of their family life—daily conversations, education, little moments of love."
"Then, after each family's showcase, Sophia's childhood experiences will be broadcast for comparison. Judges will score, and the audience will see the stark differences."
His voice carried weight as he continued:
"And later, we will invite Sophia's biological mother, who is thousands of miles away. Yes—Lily will appear! The program team will also produce simulated footage: what if Lily herself had educated Sophia? What would it have been like?"
The stadium erupted again.
Three paths unfolded before everyone's eyes:
Victor's harsh, unconventional education in the slums.
The middle- and upper-class parents' warm, resource-filled education.
The imagined brilliance of Sophia's genius mother, Lily.
And without hesitation, the crowd made its choice.
"No matter what, Sophia would rise."
"Her father had the worst education!"
"Yeah, if her mother raised her, she'd be even more terrifyingly talented."
"Middle-class families with resources could have made her a once-in-a-millennium superstar!"
The stadium buzzed with excitement, convinced that Victor was irrelevant.
Meanwhile, far away, in a quiet room backstage, Victor sat slumped.
His body trembled, his lips were pale. Years of experimental drug treatments had left him frail and barely able to sit upright. His head swam with dizziness; his strength was nearly gone.
Yet he forced himself to hold on. His mind hummed with the echo of the system's reminder:
[Sophia's four-year-old education playback is about to begin. The footage will be drawn from the past and projected into the immersive display.]
[The audience will step into the scene.]
[Contrast effects will appear.]
He exhaled slowly. "So… it's finally starting."
A young staffer beside him noticed his condition, worry etched across his face. "Sir, are you okay?"
Victor smiled faintly, shaking his head. With a trembling effort, he sat straighter, eyes fixed on the screen ahead, as if piercing thousands of miles.
He didn't care about the debates between families. He didn't care about the return of his cold ex-wife.
What mattered was the truth—the fourteen years he had poured every scrap of strength, knowledge, and love into this child.
A question whispered inside him like a demon: Do you regret it?
And Victor laughed quietly to himself.
"Ask me again when I'm in hell," he whispered.
Because soon, the world would finally see.
The greatest education is not warm, not easy, not even kind. It is harsh, consuming, and unforgettable. It forges a child into steel.
Because of that education, a girl from the dirtiest corners of a slum would rise into eternal light, becoming the brilliance of an entire era.
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