The screen shifted again.
This time, the image showed Sophia at four years and ten months old, standing at the threshold of her first school experience.
Before she left, her father, Victor, leaned close and spoke quietly.
"You have to shine. Shine as soon as possible, and let those who illuminate you know their light was not wasted…"
The little girl frowned in confusion. She didn't understand the meaning of such words. But she caught one thing—that there were people who loved her, who gave light to her life, and she must prove that she was worthy of it.
At that moment, Victor was thirty-one years old. Though tall at over 1.8 meters, his body weighed barely eighty pounds, reduced by illness and hardship. But when he walked his daughter to school and said those words, he stood straighter than anyone else in the crowd.
---
Inside the kindergarten classroom, chaos ruled. Children wailed, clung to their parents, and threw tantrums, smashing toys in protest at being left behind. Years of over-pampering had left them unable to cope with the smallest separation.
But Sophia was different.
She sat quietly at her desk, following the teacher's instructions with steady seriousness. When the teacher asked for help, Sophia picked up the chalk without hesitation. She even raised her hand to answer questions, showing she already knew the basics of numbers. Then, astonishingly, she began asking questions about first-grade coursework.
The female teacher was stunned. In this sea of unruly children, one girl stood out—a light in the darkness. She bent down, smiling warmly at Sophia, touched by her eagerness to learn.
It was like two lamps had been lit at once:
One was the teacher's lamp of responsibility, moved by such a child.
The other was the small lamp within Sophia herself, glowing for the first time.
---
At Riverdale University's Humanities Education course, Professor Grace could no longer stay silent. She picked up a piece of chalk and wrote Victor's words on the blackboard:
"You have to shine. Shine as soon as possible, so that those who gave you light will know it was worthwhile."
Then she added her own reflection:
"You may never have the time to repay all the kindness in this world. That is why you must shine as soon as possible. Before those who love you are gone, let them see your light. Do not hesitate. Do not linger. Do not be afraid. Shine."
Her hand trembled as she finished the sentence.
The classroom fell into a hush.
Grace turned back to the screen, her heart struck by the weight of it. For the first time, she realized what kind of mind Victor had—a sickly man at the bottom of society, and yet he spoke words that could open a child's life like the turning of a key.
---
The audience watching the livestream was split.
One well-known commentator, Teacher Luo, leaned toward the microphone.
"Many may think these words don't matter. To most people, education means drilling letters and numbers into a child. But Victor was different. He wasn't just telling Sophia to study. He was awakening her spirit. He was telling her: Don't waste your time comparing to others. Be the light yourself. Illuminate those who love you, and face the sun without fear.
"Of course…" Luo hesitated, "…I don't know if Victor even realized how profound this was. Coming from a slum, could he really have had such awareness?"
The comments section flooded with mixed opinions:
"He probably didn't mean it that deeply."
"Come on, that's just chance. Sophia created her own character."
"Still, those words are powerful…"
The world was skeptical. Most credited Sophia alone. Yet some began to sense there was something deeper behind her rise.
---
The video rolled on.
After her first lesson, Sophia walked out of the school gates. Because their slum had no kindergarten, Victor had enrolled her in the city.
While other children were picked up in sleek luxury cars, Victor arrived on a battered electric scooter. His presence was out of place, almost jarring. Yet Sophia climbed on without complaint.
As they drove through the dusty roads, Victor spoke again.
"Your mother misses you. Let's go see her."
Sophia's eyes widened. She nodded silently.
The scooter rattled all the way to a lonely grave in the outskirts. There was no name carved into the stone—only the single word: "Mother."
The little girl crouched, folding a paper boat with careful fingers and placing it before the grave.
Victor stood beside her, voice soft and steady:
"Your mother says she sees a faint light in you. But it's too faint. You must burn brighter—different from everyone else."
"She also says you must find the great one who will show you what kind of person you should become."
Sophia didn't understand. But she believed. If it came from her mother, it had to be true. She carried the words like a secret treasure in her heart, always searching for this mysterious "great one."
When she couldn't find them, she decided to become that person herself.
---
From that day on, at less than five years old, Sophia changed. She was no longer just the quiet little girl in a dark hut. She carried light in her chest.
She sang, she studied, she tried harder than anyone else—not only to illuminate herself, but to illuminate others too.
Her kindergarten teachers adored her. She was like no child they had ever seen.
No one knew the truth. No one saw Victor, who often stood quietly at the edge of the playground, or at the cemetery, or in the dim rooms of their slum. No one saw how he gently guided her, repeating the same words:
"You must shine as soon as possible."
But Sophia forgot. She erased him from the picture in her mind. She told herself these lessons came from her mother, from her own heart, from her own belief.
And in the shadows, a father's arms silently held up the sky so that his daughter's flame could burn brighter.
---
In the Riverdale classroom, Professor Grace slowly removed her glasses.
At the beginning of this course, she had prepared to criticize Victor mercilessly, to argue that his role was overstated, that Sophia was entirely self-made.
But now, watching the footage, she froze.
This was just a slum. Just a basic kindergarten. A handful of children thrown into the same environment, starting from the same line.
And yet—why was Sophia different?
Grace whispered the answer on the board:
"No. Only the father is different."
The chalk squeaked against the blackboard as the words settled like thunder in the classroom.
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