Born in 1983, Millia Kaufman was about to turn twenty-three that coming July.
For the past twenty-two years, she had lived in her hotown, Tennessee.
Her family wasn't well off. Both her parents were blue-collar workers in mphis, which ant no cushy upbringing and no glamorous childhood. The farthest place she had ever gone was the state capital, Nashville.
And even that trip only happened because she did well in school and was accepted into Vanderbilt Universityin Nashville.
Yes. That Vanderbilt. The one founded by the railroad tycoon.
She even got a full scholarship.
To be honest, when Millia received Vanderbilt's offer back then, she was thrilled. She hated mphis. In her eyes, it was chaotic and run-down.
She wanted New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Miami. The shiny "beautiful new world" people always talked about.
So when Vanderbilt sent her an offer letter, she saw it as her first step out of poverty.
As for the second step?
Late last year, she received another offer. This one from University of California, Los Angeles.
They welcod her to continue her studies in California.
Getting into UCLA for grad school was massive for Millia.
But—
UCLA wasn't Vanderbilt.
Vanderbilt was private, swimming in old-money family funds. If they thought you were worth cultivating, they handed out full scholarships without blinking. Even international students got that treatnt.
UCLA, though, was public. Limited budget. She didn't get a full scholarship. Only a half.
So—
"Sorry, Millia. Your mom and I talked for a long ti, and we ca to a decision."
"We probably can't help you cover the rest of your tuition."
January 1st, 2006. Afternoon.
Millia's father, a white man in his fifties, called her into the living room.
They sat facing each other.
Regret was carved all over his weathered face. He pressed his lips together, looking at his daughter who had just co ho for winter break and was about to head back to school.
"Your two brothers, Jack and Horn, are going to college too. And since their grades aren't as good as yours, your mother and I have to pay their full tuition."
"That puts us under a lot of pressure."
"So if you really want to study in California, the tuition you're missing and your living expenses will have to be handled by you. We can cover your plane ticket, at least."
"And your mom also wanted to tell you—if you're willing to stay in mphis, the FedExbranch she works at is hiring. And not frontline labor."
"She knows you don't like our kind of work."
"It's an office job. White-collar. If you're interested, you can try."
"They accept internal referrals."
Millia wasn't an only child.
She had twin brothers, four years younger than her.
Big families are common in the West, sure. But let's be real. Ordinary working-class families can't actually afford multiple kids. Or rather, even those sci-fi-level Arican TV shows don't dare write stories like that.
And by "afford," we an providing food, housing, education, and healthcare at the parents' own social level.
If soone insists that "feeding them is enough," then honestly, they'd be better off raising pigs.
A regular white pig is ready for market in six months.
Kids can't exactly go clock in at six months old.
Because Millia had two brothers, if she hadn't been genuinely excellent at school, she would've spent the last four years at a local mphis community college, then marched straight into the workforce to be ground down by capitalism.
And even though her parents were decent people—supportive when she got into Vanderbilt, never cutting her living expenses just because she had a full scholarship—now that her brothers were also heading to college and couldn't pay for themselves—
"Okay, Dad. I understand. I'll figure sothing out."
Millia smiled at him.
"Sorry," her father said, sighing.
Maybe he felt ashad he couldn't pay his kids' tuition. Or maybe it was just the helplessness of being broke but still responsible.
Either way, once he said what needed to be said, he found an excuse and stood up to leave.
Bang.
The sound of the door closing signaled her father leaving the house.
It also signaled Millia retreating to her room.
As soon as she shut the door behind her, the smile vanished. She collapsed like a deflated balloon.
She lay on her bed, staring at the yellowing ceiling, unfocused.
Honestly, she felt regret.
She wanted to go to UCLA. Her parents couldn't support her.
And once that reality settled in, her dream of studying—or really, of living in a big city—suddenly looked like it might shatter on the spot.
What, apply for student loans?
Please.
Anyone who knows how Arican student loans work wouldn't say that with a straight face.
Federal student loans are legalized loan-sharking. Annual interest rates range from 6.5% to 9.1%. No early repaynt allowed. Even if you want to pay a penalty. Nope.
Private bank student loans are worse. Interest rates can hit 18%.
And anything above 12% is usually compound interest.
aning you might spend fifty or sixty thousand dollars total on tuition and living expenses over four years, but by graduation, you already owe eighty or ninety thousand.
Since early repaynt isn't allowed, you're locked into twenty years of scheduled paynts. Even in the best-case scenario, your total debt can balloon to half a million dollars.
Worst-case scenario?
Retirees still paying off student loans is not rare.
That's why relying on parents is the normal choice.
But now—
"Ugh…"
Millia sighed heavily.
"So annoying."
She pulled a pillow over her head and let out a muffled, frustrated whine.
Just as she was about to vent properly, her phone rang.
She fished out her free-with-top-up Motorola. The caller ID showed her best friend.
She answered. Before she could even say "Hello," an excited shriek exploded from the other end.
"Millia, were you out on a date or sothing? I spamd you on Myspace forever and you never replied!"
"Get online, now! Isabella just dropped sothing huge! She posted a video online! A video about the Goblet of Fire (Part One) premiere!"
"OMG, that video is insanely cool!"
Yes. Millia was a Isabella fan.
Or more accurately, a hardcore Harry Potter fan.
Back in 1998, she read Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.
And then she fell headfirst into the magical world.
By now, she owned the full set of HP books—paperbacks, but still.
She'd seen all the movies. At first, she only liked Harry, because she thought Daniel looked unbelievably perfect for the role.
Later, she grew to love Hermione. Isabella was gorgeous, and her movie version was way more fun than in the books.
She also watched the movie version of The Voice, bought Isabella's mini CD, followed three seasons of the show, shared a Disney Channel account with her college roommates, and binge-watched Hannah Montana.
She thought Isabella was endlessly interesting. As a kid, she was pretty, cute, and omnipotent. As an adult, still pretty, still cute, still unstoppable.
Honestly, over the past few years, everything Isabella put out had been her spiritual rations. Her best comfort when exhausted.
And sure, deep down, she also wished she could be that successful one day.
So now Isabella had released sothing new?
Normally, she would've watched it instantly.
But today—
Her life had just taken a hard left turn. She didn't have the energy.
Not to ntion, her family didn't have internet at ho. Internet access in the US was expensive.
And her laptop was still back in her dorm.
She was just about to ask her friend to summarize the video when—
Beep beep beep.
The line went dead.
She rolled her eyes so hard it almost hurt.
"Oh co on. That's just—disgusting."
She knew exactly what her friend was doing. Whenever they found sothing amazing and wanted to recomnd it, they always stopped mid-sentence on purpose, just to bait the other into checking it out themselves.
So—
"Sigh."
She let out another long breath.
Her best friend's behavior completely ignited Millia's curiosity. Carrying her frustration with her, she left the house.
She ducked into an internet café near her neighborhood and, after paying a painfully expensive three dollars, bought herself one hour of internet ti.
Then—
She logged into Myspace.
She skimd the group her friend had ntioned, and soon spotted a hyperlink.
Click.
A clean, minimalist webpage instantly appeared in front of her.
At the very top was a long banner image.
The cartoon beaver that everyone recognized was holding up a "HAPPY NEW YEAR" sign, greeting visitors.
Below that was the familiar hopage layout common to social platforms:
The bolded na of the page owner: Isabella Haywood.
To the left of the na was the profile picture. A still from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone: Hermione Granger in her Gryffindor uniform, raising her hand in class. Ten-year-old Isabella was basically the definition of adorable.
Under the na was the account info:
@IsabellaHaywood · 1.076 million subscribers · 1 video
Below that were tabs like "Subscribe," "Ho," and "Videos."
Centered on the page was a video thumbnail.
Across it, in large capital letters, was the English title:
Vlog at the Goblet of Fire Premiere
The background of the thumbnail was a photo. Dressed in formalwear, Isabella was standing on the red carpet of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire premiere, posing with a curly-haired girl. In the photo, Isabella looked elegant and composed, while the other girl was visibly ecstatic.
As for the crowd behind them—
Borderline insane.
And just looking at that photo made Millia feel a little jealous.
"Damn—"
"Who is that girl?"
"How did she get to be on Isabella's video thumbnail??"
After staring for barely a second, Millia felt her mouth turn sour.
Going to London for an HP premiere was sothing she had imagined many tis, but—
It was just a dream.
So now—
"Sigh."
After who-knew-how-many sighs today, Millia felt like she'd aged into an old woman overnight.
She shook her head hard, as if trying to throw off the regret.
She clicked the video decisively. A black screen appeared, along with a spinning loading circle.
She knew that ant the video was buffering, so without hesitation, she looked down at the stats.
The video had been uploaded early this morning. So far, it had over 3.49 million views, more than 980,000 likes, and 57,339 comnts.
Those numbers shocked Millia—
Just kidding.
Isabella being top-tier famous was common knowledge. When Isabella could trend just by breathing, and even Google fed her trending keywords, millions of views the mont news dropped was completely normal.
The only abnormal thing was—
[@cisco245: Oh my god—this video blew my mind. This might be the best video I've seen since I started using the internet. No—since I was born.]
[@vivsck6: Holy crap! I'm already an Isabella fan, but I never imagined she could be even more interesting than I pictured. She's insanely cute in real life!]
[@ayushvasurudragour427: OMG—this is the Isabella I love. The opening alone shocked . I want to spoil it so bad, but—no. You HAVE to watch it yourself.]
[@Tyranus1: This video made tear up. I wasn't an Isabella fan before. I'm more of a LOTR guy. I'm 43 years old. But this video made like Isa. I can't even explain why. Just trust —after you watch it, you'll feel the sa.]
Nothing but praise.
Millia narrowed her eyes.
Sure, Isabella was insanely popular and talented, but this was the internet.
In the past, even when Isabella caused massive waves—like record-breaking ratings for The Voice or the global shock from Hannah Montana—there were always people online who disliked her.
But now?
Everyone was praising her?
Honestly—
Even as soone who liked Isabella, Millia felt the comnt section looked suspicious.
Just as she pressed her lips together, sensing sothing odd, a clear greeting suddenly reached her ears:
"Hello, everyone—"
The video finished loading and started playing automatically.
Millia quickly scrolled back to the top of the page.
And then—
The girl greeting the cara made her pupils shrink instantly.
"Bare—bare—barefaced???"
She blurted it out, headphones already on.
Her reaction wasn't strange at all.
In this era, female celebrities—or any celebrities—appearing on cara without makeup was practically unheard of. It wouldn't be until the mobile internet age, when everyone could record videos, that stars would be unable to hide their casual, unfiltered selves.
So now—
Isabella, with no makeup on, appearing in a public video?
"Oh—"
"That's insanely bold."
Millia marveled internally. But the very next second, she smiled.
"Isabella really is a girl kissed by God."
"She still looks this good without makeup."
She murmured a couple of lines, then dragged the progress bar back.
Since Isabella had already surprised her at the very start, Millia wanted to rewatch it. She'd missed a second or two while reading comnts.
The video restarted, Isabella greeting the cara again.
Only then did Millia notice how rough the vlog actually was.
Isabella was sitting in her dining room at ho, talking to the cara about the ti, location, and her plans for the day.
After that, the cara suddenly flipped—literally flipped. Isabella physically turned the device and started filming her breakfast.
On the plate were fried eggs, sausages, vegetables, bread, and beans.
It looked… extrely ordinary.
Especially the beans.
Those never looked good.
Millia raised an eyebrow in surprise, thinking that even a superstar ate pretty much the sa as her, when the cara flipped back again and Isabella said:
"Uh—let clarify sothing first—"
"What you're seeing right now is just my breakfast today."
"I'm at my own house right now, but because of work, I hardly ever stay here."
"I only co back maybe once or twice a year."
"So there's basically no food at ho."
"My mom had an assistant go out and buy this last night."
"What I usually eat is better than this."
"So if anyone thinks I eat pretty plain food, that's not true."
"As for what I normally eat—"
She paused.
Her brows knit slightly, lips pursed, like she was thinking—or hesitating.
Two seconds later, as if she'd made up her mind, she said:
"If I get the ti, I'll film it."
"But we have to agree on one thing first."
"You're not allowed to say I eat too much."
"Because I'm not like other female celebrities. I don't diet."
"I'm only fifteen. I'm still growing."
"And God gave a really good body. I've never dieted, and I still don't gain weight—"
"Oh—Isabella is so cute."
"She's so real."
Millia's smile widened instantly.
"I knew it! Isabella's a huge star. There's no way she eats like a normal person!"
Sure, Western culture values politeness and modesty.
But wild confidence is the Anglo-Saxon default.
So if you're rich and still living like an average person—
Do I look stupid to you?
Exactly.
That was why Millia had instinctively been surprised earlier.
But now?
Isabella openly acknowledging her wealth made Millia happy.
Isabella casually showing her real life made her even happier.
At that mont, it didn't feel like she was watching a video.
It felt like sitting across from a friend she'd known for years, talking one-on-one.
That sudden sense of closeness made Millia impatient to see what ca next.
And then—
"Oh—so this is London, England?"
"It looks way classier than New York or Los Angeles."
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