"I object!" Riley Walker stood up, her voice filled with certainty. "This choreography is my original creation. There's no plagiarism here."
The judge nodded to the bailiff, signaling for the memory recall to begin. "Please focus your recollection on the events related to this accusation."
The large screen flickered to life, showing a familiar scene.
Despite the late hour, the dance studio was brightly lit. Riley practiced her routine in front of the mirror, counting softly, "Five, six, seven, eight, turn…"
Her worn ballet shoes were proof of the countless hours she'd put in. So lost in her rehearsal, she didn't notice the two figures reflected in the mirror.
Emily Smith stood at the entrance, arms crossed, a smug expression on her face. "Riley," she said, her voice sharp, "this slot is mine."
Startled, Riley stopped the music, standing there awkwardly, not sure what to say. After a pause, she managed, "But according to the schedule, this time is mine."
The moment the words left her mouth, Riley pressed her lips together. Even though she'd stood her ground, a feeling of unease crept in.
"It was changed," Emily replied casually.
"What do you mean?"
Emily's smirk widened, an eyebrow raised. "Hasn't Cleo told you? I talked to the headmaster earlier, and he agreed to convert this studio into my private rehearsal space."
She waved her phone, showing a selfie of her and Cleo with the headmaster in his office.
Viewers watching the livestream started voicing their doubts.
"Isn't this a major misuse of power?"
"So what if she's buddies with the headmaster's daughter? It's just a dance studio."
"Exactly! If you're so privileged, go get your own studio!"
With no other option, Riley started packing her tote bag, forgetting the digital camera in the corner of the room.
Fast forward to the dance competition two weeks later.
Backstage, Riley adjusted her headpiece in front of the makeup mirror.
Emily's "Rising Phoenix" opened the show, and as the music played, Riley froze. That was the music she'd composed over two long months—how could it be in Emily's performance?
Riley barely remembered sitting through the whole competition.
When the host announced, "Next up is Riley Walker's 'The Butterfly Effect,'" whispers spread through the crowd.
As soon as the music started, the judges exchanged glances.
"Isn't this music identical to Emily's routine?"
"Maybe the music is similar, but the choreography could be different."
But as Riley danced, it became clear—her performance was about 80% the same as Emily's!
Outside the memory projection, Emily slammed the table. "This video is fake! It's been doctored!"
Meanwhile, the judge pulled up the school's system records. "According to the studio booking records, the slot from 8 to 10 p.m. belongs to Riley Walker."
"So what?!" Emily's sharp voice echoed through the courtroom.
The screen shifted to another scene.
It was the school's surveillance footage.
In the empty studio, a figure took the memory card out of the camera.
Cleo's voice came from off-screen, "Hurry up, quit messing around!"
Emily's usually perfect hair was now disheveled, her composure completely unraveling.
She shouted, "This is AI-generated! I never did that!"
That kind of suspicion was expected when gathering evidence.
As Emily made her claim, two spectrograms appeared on the screen.
An expert explained through a microphone, "The voice analysis shows a 99.8% match with Emily Smith's voice."
"This confirms that Emily Smith was directly involved."
"No, that's impossible!"
As Emily struggled to keep it together, the bailiff quickly restrained her.
The judge struck his gavel.
"Order in the courtroom; disruptions will not be tolerated."
"Failure to comply will result in contempt of court!"
The livestream viewers went wild.
"So much for Emily's big act on national TV. Turns out her so-called talent was stolen."
"Quit the industry! Quit the industry!"
"Apologize! Emily, you've been lying to us for so long!"
"I was too quick to judge Riley so harshly."
The gavel's resounding echo silenced the courtroom.
Most thought the live trial was about to wrap up.
But then the prosecution's attorney stood up, waving a set of documents.
He addressed the judge calmly, "Your Honor, the prosecution moves to file an additional charge."
"Riley Walker is accused of repeatedly stealing private property from Cleo Walker, including a blue diamond necklace valued in the millions!"
The comment section on the stream exploded.
"They're stirring up drama again? When's this gonna end?"
"Now they're trying to trash her name?"
"They're hell-bent on ruining Riley Walker!"
"I've had enough of this family—they just won't stop."
A flash of shock crossed Riley Walker's eyes.
"I didn't..."
Sean Walker looked at her pale face and let out a scornful chuckle. "Still pretending? You were caught red-handed with Cleo's necklace. I remember you begging us not to call the police. Did you forget that already?"
"Objection!"
The defense lawyer shot to his feet.
His gaze locked onto Sean Walker, and he said firmly, "Mr. Walker, this courtroom is not a place for personal vendettas!"
The judge raised his hand for silence, then turned to Riley Walker.
"If you undergo another memory trial, it might be too much for your body…"
He paused, looking at her with concern.
"Do you consent to another memory trial?"
She closed her eyes, a single tear rolling down her cheek, and took a deep breath. "...I consent."
The screen lit up again.
The memory scene was at a celebration party.
The Walker mansion was ablaze with lights, Cleo Walker in a Victorian-style gown, a blue diamond necklace sparkling around her neck.
Holding a champagne glass, she glided over to where Riley stood, clearly not interested in the festivities.
"Why's my little sister hiding back here?" Cleo showed off the necklace, placing a hand on her neck.
Riley gripped her dress, head down, silent.
Cleo raised her voice, "Oh, I heard you topped the class again? Such a waste…"
Leaning closer, she whispered, "I only ranked tenth, yet Mom and Dad gifted me this entire blue diamond set. And you? No matter how well you do…"
She paused, a cruel smile forming, "You still end up with nothing but longing!"
