---- Chapter 4 The audience sat in stunned silence, their collective bewilderment etched into the murmurs that followed. "Why?" someone finally asked. "Did she really not even make it to the college entrance exams? Not even to university?" The system displayed Subject One's dismal physics and chemistry scores, answering their questions. Truthfully, junior high physics and chemistry- though challenging-were not insurmountable. With enough grit, relentless memorization, and a dash of determination, most students could manage to scrape by. But not Subject One. How could she? A mother so adept at feigning pity to milk sympathy and resources had never cultivated habits of perseverance, effort, or discipline in herself -let alone her child. Reliance on others was her default, her creed. When Subject One reached an impasse in her studies, ---- she didn't push through or seek solutions. She simply gave up. It was what her mother's instincts, projected onto her, dictated. And where were the encouraging teachers or friends to pull her back from the brink? There were none. Subject One had no friends. The system began rolling footage from my own junior high years, drawing a stark contrast. I was not like Subject One. Pride was my armor. When the wealthier parent who gave me a monthly allowance of a hundred dollars for food approached, I didn't just accept their charity for nothing-I scrubbed their child's classroom in return. I was poor, painfully so. Yet I understood the kindness of teachers and classmates, and I did my best to repay their generosity. Cleaning toilets they avoided? That was me. Gratitude shaped my relationships, and slowly, friends emerged from the cracks of my struggle. When physics and chemistry stumped me, I didn't ---- give up. My friends lent their support, helping me navigate the labyrinth of formulas and theories. By the time of the high school entrance exams, my scores in those dreaded subjects far outpaced Subject One's. On the judgment platform, my mother stirred, breaking free from her stunned trance. "Impossible! This has to be a mistake!" she blurted out, her voice trembling. But the system continued to roll my memories, indifferent to her protests. In high school, my grades hovered around the lower middle range. I won't deny it-I wasn't mentally strong enough to focus solely on academics. Poverty seeps into every corner of your life, poisoning even the simplest moments. Imagine this: Before gym class had even begun, I was already dreading the scorn of a teacher mocking my threadbare, broken shoes. Winter hadn't yet arrived, but I was preoccupied with the thought of freezing ---- through the season without a proper coat. Every day began and ended with the gnawing anxiety of how to scrape together enough money for food. That's the reality of poverty. And yet, while I wrestled with these daily humiliations, my mother was busy turning my plight into a lucrative enterprise. She siphoned sympathy from every available source, painting herself as a sacrificial parent. Faced with the system's unflinching playback, my mother stammered, trying to justify herself. "It's just away to make money! At least I didn't send her to work in a factory as child labor! I let her go to school. Isn't that good enough?" The audience wasn't buying it. Their boos rained down, drowning her out. The footage rolled on, relentless. When it came time for university, I got into an average school with an average program. Nothing prestigious, but I had earned my place there. Discover our latest featured short drama reel. Watch now and enjoy the story!