On the live television program, the room had gone silent. Only Charles was speaking firmly, his words carrying weight.
"I saw it with my own eyes," he said. "When Sophia was only five years old, Victor beat up those children."
The scene that appeared on the big screen behind them shocked the entire audience.
---
The memory played:
Sophia was four going on five. The image on screen showed a corner of the North Forest in the slum area of Iron City. It was dirty, crowded, and dangerous.
Victor was riding a battered electric bike, a wooden stick gripped tightly in his hand. He confronted three little boys.
"Who is David?" he asked coldly, his face expressionless.
A trembling, chubby boy stepped forward. "M-my name is David."
Whack!
Victor swung the stick without hesitation, slamming it into the boy's stomach. David bent over in pain, his face twisting, tears welling up instantly.
Then Victor turned on the other two. They too were beaten harshly, collapsing onto the ground clutching their stomachs.
From another corner, Charles, then a young man with a camera, had been filming the slum streets. He happened to witness the entire scene.
He froze. For the first time, he recognized the man who had refused to let his daughter become a child star.
"What a scumbag," Charles muttered under his breath. "Beating children like that."
Disgusted, he turned away and left, never bothering to check on Sophia. He thought at the time, With a father like this, no child can possibly grow into anything good.
---
But the memory didn't end there.
The screen shifted to show the three beaten boys, lying in the dirt, clutching their aching stomachs. Despite the pain, their eyes were sharp and cunning.
"What should we do now? We can't keep lying to Sophia anymore. Those old ladies told us to lure her out. They promised fifty dollars if we tricked her," said David bitterly.
Another boy with a shaved head, named Mark, spat out his cigarette and groaned, "Let's just smash some cars tonight and steal money. We need the cash fast."
"Forget about Sophia," the third boy, Ryan, muttered. "Her father's crazy. Even Daqing never dared provoke him. We'll get killed if we try."
"But damn it, my stomach hurts so bad. If I'd known, I would've tricked her right away and let the old lady kidnap her. Victor is insane!"
They were only kids, yet they smoked, cursed, and plotted like hardened criminals. Born in the slums, their parents constantly fought, their grandparents spoiled them rotten, and so they grew up twisted, reckless, and violent.
---
Back in the studio, the camera panned to Sophia.
Her eyes widened, her breath caught. She remembered everything with chilling clarity. Her memory was razor-sharp; even after more than ten years, she could recall every detail.
She recognized those boys. They were the ones who had often invited her to play. One of them had even been her classmate.
Her lips trembled. "This… isn't real, right?" she whispered.
But the earpiece in her ear crackled. The staff relayed information from the police database. Of the three boys, two had been sentenced to death with reprieve, while the third had already been executed years ago.
The audience gasped. Sophia's hands shook.
For the first time, she realized what might have happened if she had gone out with those boys that day. She could have been kidnapped, abused, or worse.
Living in that slum, one wrong step meant a child was no longer a child. That was what Victor had once told her. At the time, she hadn't believed him.
But now, she understood.
---
Charles, standing on stage, looked troubled.
He felt as if a hand had slapped him hard across the face. Back then, he had judged Victor without knowing the truth. He hadn't realized that Victor had beaten those boys to protect his daughter.
Even while sick, Victor had remained vigilant, always watching carefully for signs of danger. When he saw a threat, he acted as a man, not with words or reason, but with violence—because in a lawless slum, words and morality meant nothing.
And Charles, with his camera, had simply walked away, growing more disappointed in Victor. He had never known the full story.
"Y-you…" Charles began, but his voice faltered.
How could such a father exist? How could a man who was poor, sick, and suffering still think so deeply, notice every detail, and fight so fiercely for his child's safety?
Charles felt overwhelmed. He turned to the audience, searching their faces, wondering if anyone else could truly believe it.
---
But nobody cared for Charles's doubts.
All eyes were on Sophia.
Her eyes had turned red, tears threatening to spill, as she stared at the screen.
Her voice trembled. "But after that… when I was five, I asked my father why he had even given birth to me if he hated me so much. He told me… that he hadn't had enough money for an abortion. Otherwise, he would have gotten rid of me, because he believed I would be useless."
The crowd froze.
The gymnasium, packed with people, fell silent. The words were like daggers, cruel and cold.
Sophia stood shaking, whispering, "Why did you say such harsh words? Did you despise me that much? Did you despise your own daughter so much?"
Her voice cracked, filled with sorrow. It sounded like she was both questioning her father and answering herself.
The pain in that sentence was unbearable, cold enough to pierce bone.
---
At Riverdale University, Professor Grace—who had always believed Victor unfit to be a father—shook her head in disgust as she watched the broadcast.
"Anyone who can say such a thing," she declared, "is absolutely unworthy of being a father!"
---
The memory on the screen shifted again.
Victor came home from a long day of odd jobs. Sophia, still a little girl, sat at the table. He told her she couldn't eat until she finished her homework.
Angrily, she snapped, "Do you hate me that much? If you hate me so much, why did you give birth to me? Why didn't you let me see my mother?"
Victor's face darkened. "I didn't have the money to let your mother have an abortion," he said coldly. "Otherwise, I would have. Because I knew—you'd never amount to anything."
He wasn't drunk. He wasn't confused. He said it calmly, with a terrifying seriousness.
Sophia sat frozen, her little face pale. She didn't cry. But tears rolled silently down her cheeks as her small body trembled. In that moment, she felt a coldness she would never forget.
---
Victor left again to find temporary work. Alone in the dim room, Sophia clenched her fists.
She whispered fiercely to herself:
"I will make something of myself. I will get out of here. I will prove you wrong. I am the best."
At just five years old, she set her first life goal.
She turned her father into her enemy—at least in her heart—and vowed to rise above him. She would study, work hard, and escape the slum. One day, she would stand tall and make him admit she was not useless.
From that moment, Sophia carried light within her.
---
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