The program studio was filled with quiet tension. The audience and the players sitting together all shared the same thought—this girl was different from everyone else.
Different in talent.
Different in growth.
Different in destiny.
At just five years old, Sophia had already shaken the entire industry city. That year, a song titled Under the Sea swept across the country. Unlike other popular tunes that faded quickly, this one became extraordinary because some of the most famous composers in the industry personally arranged it, refining every note until it was perfect. The moment it was officially released, Sophia's voice soared through radios, televisions, and the internet.
The little girl who sang it became a phenomenon overnight.
From that moment, Sophia wasn't just a child anymore—she was a name on everyone's lips.
"Now our praise feels too small for her," said the male host, Hai Tao, his voice carrying admiration. "So today, the program team invited someone special. Please welcome Grace's old principal from Iron City's Hope Primary School—Principal Zhao Guochang!"
The spotlight moved.
From backstage, a gray-haired man in his sixties walked slowly onto the stage, leaning heavily on a cane. His face was aged, lined with hardship. He had been through much—a serious car accident years ago had left him frail, forcing him into early retirement. Time had bent his back, but not his spirit.
And yet, as soon as he saw Sophia standing there—so graceful, so radiant—his tired eyes brightened. A smile trembled on his lips, and he shook his head with both pride and disbelief.
"Fifteen years," he murmured aloud, voice heavy with memory. "Fifteen years ago, I saw you sitting in a small classroom, your eyes shining brighter than anyone's. Back then, I wondered—how will this child grow up?"
He paused, his eyes glistening as he looked at her again.
"Now, fifteen years later, I see you like this, and I can only ask—how did you grow into someone so remarkable?"
The audience held their breath.
"I never believed in the so-called theory of rising beyond your class," Principal Zhao continued softly. "But… you broke that belief. You proved me wrong."
Across from him, Sophia stood tall. She didn't argue, didn't explain. She only smiled gently and bowed in respect. Her silence was more powerful than any words. Too many awards, too many honors, too many achievements already testified to everything she was. She had no need to prove herself further.
---
On the show's stage now stood three people who had each witnessed her rise with their own eyes.
Charles, who had seen her brilliance at the age of four.
Clara White, who had watched her shine at the age of five.
And now, Principal Zhao, who remembered her from the same year.
Each of them stood as living witnesses to her journey.
And every single one of them looked at her with awe.
---
The screen shifted again.
The audience gasped as a new scene appeared—Sophia walking home from school. Reporters swarmed her like vultures, their microphones and cameras pressing forward, their voices blending into a chaotic storm of questions.
But before they could overwhelm her, Victor appeared. He arrived on his old electric bike, his clothes dirty from work, his brow furrowed with frustration. Without hesitation, he placed himself between Sophia and the cameras, waving his arm harshly to push the reporters away.
"What are you interviewing for?!" he snapped, his voice cold. "What are you asking about?"
The reporters, realizing this man was her father, only pressed harder. They began shouting questions about how he had raised such a talented child, about his methods, about his home.
But Victor only grew more annoyed.
"There's no use in all this nonsense!" he barked. "Can any of this be eaten as food? Step aside!"
His rough, impatient words stunned the crowd. The cameras kept rolling, and every moment of his dismissive tone was recorded.
When Principal Zhao saw that old footage now, his face darkened with anger.
And beside him on the screen, young Sophia walked silently, her expression blank. But deep within her eyes, hatred burned.
She clenched that pain deep in her heart, whispering silently to herself:
Defeat this. Defeat him. Defeat the enemy of my life.
The more Victor dismissed something, the more she wanted to master it. The more he mocked her dreams, the more she wanted to prove him wrong.
---
Now the perspective shifted again.
Inside a quiet gymnasium, Victor sat alone, haunted by the echoes of those reporters' voices from years ago. Their sharp questions still rang in his ears:
"How did your child grow up like this?"
"Are you truly capable of raising her?"
"Don't you think your daughter deserves a better education?"
The barrage of doubt had stung him deeply back then.
At that time, many wealthy families—and even childless couples living in comfort—had approached him, offering to adopt Sophia. After all, she was extraordinary, far too extraordinary to belong to such an ordinary household.
But Victor had refused. People called him stubborn, foolish, selfish. They claimed he was holding Sophia back, that his pride was ruining her future.
Yet in his heart, Victor held fast to a belief that only he understood. To him, those people were kind perhaps, but hollow. To them, children were ornaments, roses to admire for their beauty. They would never give their lives for those roses.
But for Victor—Sophia was his rose.
He had covered her with blankets at night, shielded her from the cold wind, taught her right from wrong, guided her through silence, and shaped her early worldview with his clumsy but earnest love. Every small step she took, he had been there in the shadows, unseen, unnoticed, but present.
That was why he refused.
That was why he believed only he could raise her.
Now, in the present, sitting broken and weak, Victor's heart was filled with regret.
He realized he had never reconciled with his daughter. He had never once seen her smile at him again. He had waited fourteen long years… and not once had she called him Father.
His chest tightened.
And then, in his mind, the mechanical system's cold voice chimed again:
[Detection: Sophia's mother will appear soon]
[Detection: Sophia's learning journey is about to unfold, and the broadcast will replay her famous scenes]
[The audience will experience: Immersive emotional substitution]
The sound stunned Victor.
Her mother? She was coming?
His hands clenched into fists. He didn't care about what would be shown next on the screen. He didn't care about what stories others might see.
Because to him, those memories—those imperfect, raw, painful memories—were his last source of pride.
They were the last fragments of proof that, for better or worse, he had raised his daughter with his own hands.
They were his last picture as an educator, as a father.
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