Chapter 309
Chapter 309
[Conclusion: This work is a copy, not an original.]
Sophia closed the file and returned to the review interface.
In the evaluation comments section, she didn't assign a score or write any remarks.
She simply uploaded the analysis report Stanley had sent her, exactly as it was.
After finishing, she shut down the livestream.
The outcome no longer mattered.
...
The Russell Group, President's Office.
James sat in his chair, his expression dark as a storm cloud. The entire office felt suffocating.
Owen stumbled in, his face white as a sheet.
"Mr. Russell..."
"Did he get the award?" James asked coldly.
Owen's lips trembled. He couldn't get the words out.
"Speak!"
"David's... entry has been... disqualified." Owen's voice came out in a near sob.
James shot to his feet. "What did you say?"
"The committee's final ruling came down... They're saying David's piece... it's... it's plagiarized."
"Plagiarized?" James sounded like he'd just heard the world's biggest joke. "Who the hell could he have copied?"
"He copied... a piece from nine years ago. It was mentioned in evidence submitted by a special guest judge named River." Owen held out his tablet, his voice shaking uncontrollably. "Mr. Russell, look... this is the side-by-side comparison the committee released."
James snatched the tablet.
On the screen, two paintings sat side by side.
On the left: David's 'My Mom.'
On the right: a slightly blurry old photograph showing a painting of a woman's silhouette standing in a flower garden.
The two paintings were nearly identical.
James's breathing stopped.
He stared at the old painting on the right.
That silhouette. That distinctive brushwork. That approach to light and shadow...
He couldn't be wrong.
Even if that painting were burned to ash, he'd recognize it.
That was Sophia's style.
"Plagiarism..." James repeated the word, his voice low, like he was chewing on a red-hot iron. "He copied Sophia?"
Owen didn't dare speak. He just lowered his head further.
Everyone in this city knew Sophia's style. It had a bone-deep delicacy and natural energy. Even her early practice pieces carried that intense personal signature.
James knew that style so well it disgusted him. He'd mocked that craftsmanship countless times. But now, seeing it connected to his "genius son," that familiarity turned into a sharp blade.
"Mr. Russell..." Owen gathered his courage, his voice trembling. "The public... it's already exploding online. Everyone's talking about David... and Ms. Grey's painting..."
James spun around and slammed his fist on the desk. The papers jumped.
"Make her shut up!" he snarled. "Make them all shut up!"
He couldn't accept it.
He couldn't accept that his son—the child who'd inherited Ray's gift—was a thief.
And he especially couldn't accept that what he'd stolen belonged to Sophia.
This was worse than being slapped in public. This struck at the root of everything—negating him, negating Ray, negating every belief he'd built over the years.
"Where's PR? Where's legal? Are they all dead?" James's gaze swept over Owen. "I want this River person erased from existence. I want that so-called evidence turned into worthless paper. I want the Rising Stars Youth Art Awards trophy in David's hands. Now. Immediately. This instant."
Owen's legs nearly gave out.
How was that even possible? The evidence was ironclad. The comparison images were everywhere. The committee's ruling was public. Money couldn't fix this—the truth was staring everyone in the face.
Looking at James's bloodshot eyes, Owen suddenly understood. His boss didn't want a reasonable solution.
He wanted a miracle. A miracle that would use power and money to forcibly bend reality.
"Yes... yes! I'll handle it right away!" Owen scrambled out of the office.
He knew that if he failed, he wouldn't need to come back.
...
One hour later.
The Rising Stars Youth Art Awards committee's official website quietly deleted the announcement about the plagiarism ruling.
In its place appeared a statement with extremely aggressive wording.
The statement claimed that after "emergency review," the judges discovered that the anonymous work 'Warm Sun' submitted as evidence showed "signs of digital manipulation" in the electronic photo, rendering it invalid as evidence. Furthermore, the anonymous judge River's actions constituted malicious manipulation of public opinion and defamation of a minor contestant. The committee reserved the right to pursue legal action.
At the end of the statement, David's eligibility was reinstated. After a "final vote" by all judges, David's piece 'My Mom' was praised for its masterful technique and genuine emotion, earning this year's Rising Stars Youth Art Awards gold medal.
Below the statement was a high-resolution photo.
In it, David held an enormous golden trophy, his face showing a shy yet proud smile. James stood behind him, one hand on David's shoulder, his expression steady as he faced the camera.
This photo, pushed by the Russell Group's powerful PR machine, instantly spread across the internet.
#Child Prodigy David Wins Gold
#Russell Group Father-Son Bond
#Rumors End With Wisdom
One trending topic after another quickly dominated every major social platform.
In the healing classroom.
Preston held his phone, shaking with rage.
"This is rigged! Absolutely rigged! How can they do this? They're twisting the truth!" He looked at Sophia, outraged. "Ms. Grey, the Russell family is bullying people! That River judge was seeking justice, and now they're making him out to be a slanderer!"
Sophia sat at the table, using a small knife to sharpen a new charcoal pencil.
She wasn't reading the news or looking at Preston. She just kept her eyes down, watching the blade peel away wood shavings that curled and fell, revealing the black core.
Her movements were slow and steady.
"Soph." Stanley's call came through.
"I saw it," Sophia said, her voice betraying no emotion.
"Nice PR work. Cost at least eight figures." Stanley's tone carried professional amusement. "The trolls are deployed too. The whole internet's attacking that River judge now, saying an adult forged evidence to attack an eight-year-old for attention. Despicable."
Sophia finished sharpening the pencil and tested the tip's sharpness with her fingertip.
"Run a trace on those accounts."
"No need." Stanley laughed on the other end. "Regular client. Russell Group PR department's usual vendors. IP addresses, behavior patterns, posting schedules—I've got it all archived."
He paused, seemingly working on something.
"What's interesting is that this time, to look 'authentic,' they mixed in a lot of high-level personal accounts, disguised as 'ordinary people' to drive the narrative."
Sophia picked up a sheet of sketch paper and casually drew a line.
"Can you handle it?"
"Soph, are you seriously asking a top-tier hacker if I can handle some troll accounts?" Stanley's voice carried a hint of wounded pride. "Give me ten minutes."
...
Online.
The public condemnation of River was escalating.
[This River person is so vicious. Going after a child?]
[Exactly. That so-called evidence photo is obviously photoshopped. Even the color tone is off.]
[Feel so bad for baby David, getting framed just for winning an award.]
[Mr. Russell is so handsome and manly, standing firmly behind his son when he's being bullied!]
[Am I the only one who thinks David's painting is way too good for an eight-year-old? (whispers)]
[Get lost! You're just jealous! Is it that hard to admit someone's a genius?]
Just as the Russell Group PR department was admiring their damage control work with satisfaction, everything changed.
Hundreds of "righteous bystanders" who'd been passionately attacking River suddenly, at the exact same moment, posted identical content.
[I'm sorry. I'm a paid troll. I posted for money. I'm confessing.]
Immediately after, all these accounts' profile pictures changed in unison to several large black characters:
[I am an idiot.]
Before users could process what kind of performance art this was, all these accounts were permanently banned by the platform.
One minute later.
The social media platform's official account posted a pinned announcement.