Watching Mia step into that spotlight-drenched exam hall, I knew the show was about to begin. This competition was broadcast nationwide. The stakes couldn't have been higher.

I was assigned a seat in the far corner, where the light above me flickered on and off.

Once I received the paper, I skimmed the questions. More than 80% overlapped with the problem sets I had drilled day and night.

I closed my eyes. In my mind, I began to construct, piece by piece, the solution paths I had prepared for Mia. Every step and formula was carefully wrong in ways that felt ingenious, almost elegant in their absurdity.

At the same time, I picked up my pen and started writing the correct answers on my own paper. She could steal my thoughts, but she couldn't steal the motion of my hand on paper.

She would assume instinctively that whatever I was thinking was what I was writing. She would then replicate everything in my mind to a T, including fatal mistakes, the kind that could shatter her genius image in an instant.

Half the exam time had passed. I had already finished all the questions and was slowly going through them again, checking each step.

On the other side, through the large live broadcast screen hanging in the corridor outside the exam hall, I could see Mia's progress. The camera lingered on her for several minutes.

Her pen moved as if guided by instinct. There was almost no pause, no visible hesitation. Her paper looked so clean and precise that it could've been printed.

Outside, the panel of expert commentators broke into waves of admiration.

"Truly a once-in-a-century prodigy! At this level of difficulty, she's solving everything with such ease!"

"Look at her approach. It's so unconventional, so imaginative. Brilliant—even we wouldn't have thought of that!"

My parents were in the crowd as well, surrounded by reporters, their faces glowing with pride.

Mom spoke to the cameras, her voice trembling with excitement. "My daughter has always been smart. We never had to worry about her studies. It's all her own hard work and natural talent!"

Dad stood a little straighter, speaking with confidence. "Mia's goal is to become a world-class mathematician and bring honor to the country!"

People around them cast envious looks. No one noticed that in a corner, there was another daughter of theirs, taking the same exam.

I watched Mia's paper on the screen, the corners of my mouth lifting uncontrollably. Just as I expected, she had accepted every bit of the gift I prepared for her, without missing a single piece.

The final problem was an extremely complex geometry proof.

The correct construction was to draw an auxiliary line connecting two of the most easily overlooked critical vertices, collapsing the complexity into something manageable.

In my mind, however, the line I constructed was something else entirely—a completely different auxiliary line, one that led straight into the abyss.

I saw Mia's pen hesitate over the diagram for half a second. That was the last flicker of her own awareness, struggling against the warped structure I had planted in her subconscious.

In the end, my thinking took her mind over like a rising tide.

Without hesitation, she drew the wrong auxiliary line. From there, she wrote out a long chain of reasoning. It looked rigorous, but in reality, it was simply absurd.

When she finished the last stroke, she lifted her head with confidence and gave the camera a sweet, triumphant smile. In her mind, the championship was already hers.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the exam.

I handed in my paper and walked out of the hall, ignored or pitied by the crowd around me.

Mom, Dad, and Mia were instantly surrounded by reporters. "Mia, do you feel confident about winning this time?"

"Of course," she answered, grinning with composure. "The questions weren't particularly difficult for me."

One sharp-eyed reporter spotted me and quickly thrust a microphone in Mia's direction. "We heard your older sister is also competing this time. How do you think she did?"

At the mention of me, Mia's smile faded ever so slightly. She replaced it with a look of gentle, almost saintly pity.

"My sister… Well, just having the courage to show up and sit in this exam hall is already impressive in itself. After all, not everyone is born academically gifted."

With just a sentence, she had labeled me as stupid, incompetent, and overestimating myself.

My parents chimed in right away.

Dad sighed. "Yeah. Our eldest daughter is just… not very bright. She's been like that since she was little. Everyone, please don't make things hard for her."

Mom's expression was openly disdainful. "We only brought her here so she could understand how the real world works. As long as she doesn't affect Mia's condition, that's enough."

A muffled wave of laughter spread through the crowd. I walked through them without looking back.

The moment of judgment was coming soon.