Prejudice Can't Win

The sun over the physical training sports field blazed like a burning fireball, scorching the ground beneath it. I clenched the crumpled leave request in my hand, the sweat in my palm nearly soaking the paper through. The instructor at the front of the formation was sharply scolding students whose movements were incorrect; every word cracked through the air like a whip. My heart pounded like a drum; seizing the moment during the formation adjustment, I quietly slipped to the edge of the line. "Report: I have an urgent matter and need to request leave." I whispered to Mason Chow, the department chair, who had just passed by on inspection. Mason gave me a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth curling into a contemptuous sneer: "During physical training, even the biggest issues have to be endured." "That's not true," I hurriedly handed over the leave request. "I won the National Science Innovation Award. The ceremony is today in City S. I have to go." He took the leave note, glanced at it, and suddenly sneered, "What award? Don't tell me you made that up to dodge physical training." Several classmates nearby overheard this and shot me strange looks. My cheeks instantly burned crimson, as if scalded with boiling water. "It's true. You can check the official website—it's publicly announced there." "Check what?" Mason Chow crumpled the leave note into a ball, threw it on the ground, and ground it underfoot. "I think you just lack any sense of collective spirit, no discipline at all." I bent down to pick up the crumpled paper, my fingers trembling slightly from the effort. "My mother is in the late stages of cancer and hospitalized. She's always wanted to see me receive my award. We promised to video call." His words seemed to ignite Mason's fury; he suddenly raised his voice: "Stop using your mother as an excuse! For some lousy award, you curse your own mother? How can you be so cruel-hearted?" The murmurs around me suddenly sharpened; those whispers pricked me like tiny needles, stabbing me all over. "Director Chow, you can't say that." I bit my lip, struggling to hold back tears. "Did I say something wrong?" He stepped closer, spittle nearly spraying on my face. "I think you've been spoiled at home, can't handle even a little setback. Let me tell you, want to take leave? Not a chance!" Just then, a familiar voice cut in: "Director Chow, please calm down. Victoria Chandler is just too young and inexperienced. Don't be so hard on her." I turned and saw my ex-boyfriend Kyle Zamora standing beside Mason Chow with a sycophantic smile, holding out a bottle of ice-cold mineral water. Mason took the water, twisted the cap, and took a sip. His expression softened a little: "Kyle really understands—he knows what collective honor means." Kyle shot me a smug glance: "Victoria, I'm not trying to criticize you, but physical training is such a valuable way to build character. Don't always try to get special treatment." "Besides, that kind of award no one's even heard of—missing it isn't really a loss." "Shut up." I said coldly. It was precisely because he always thought my scientific research was a waste of time that we broke up. I never thought that now, just to please the department chair, he would say something like this. Kyle seemed provoked by my attitude and raised his voice, "I'm doing this for your own good! Director Chow is also looking out for everyone—why can't you understand that?" Mason patted Kyle on the shoulder and said to me in a condescending tone, "Did you hear that? Get back in line quickly, don't disrupt the others." I clenched the crumpled leave note tightly, my nails digging deep into my palm. The sunlight stung my eyes painfully, but I knew I couldn't just give up. I turned and ran toward the administrative building, with Mason's angry shout and my classmates' laughter echoing behind me. The door to the counselor's office was slightly open, but no one was inside. I pushed the door open and locked it behind me, then leaned against it, gasping heavily. On the desk, the counselor's cup still sat, steam curling gently from it. I walked over, saw there were a few free outlets on the power strip, and quickly plugged in my phone charger. The phone screen lit up, showing only three percent battery remaining. I opened the contacts, my fingers stiff with nerves, pressing wrong numbers several times. Finally, I managed to dial the number saved as "Academician Pearson". "Hello, is this Victoria?" Academician Pearson's warm voice came through the phone.