Investors have been breaking out their checkbooks this year for healthcare startups, especially when AI is involved.

Digital health startups raised $9.9 billion in the first three quarters of the year, surpassing the sector's fundraising pace from the same period last year, according to Rock Health.

And while AI scribe startups dominated the headlines last year, this year's players are raising venture capital to apply AI to a broader range of healthcare tasks, from remote monitoring to medical coding and billing.

Business Insider has published exclusive pitch decks for 9 healthcare startups grabbing funding so far this year.

Here are those startups, in alphabetical order:

Here's the exclusive pitch deck Ambience Healthcare used to raise $243 million as the AI scribing gold rush hits new highs

Ambience, which automates medical transcription, coding, and payment processing, raised its Series C from Andreessen Horowitz and Oak HC/FT.

Here's an exclusive look at the pitch deck that got an ex-Amazon exec $10 million to bring AI agents to health systems

Ascertain raised its $10 million Series A in April, led by private equity firm Deerfield Management.

Check out the exclusive pitch deck an ex-Uber leader used to raise $10 million to build AI for home healthcare tech

Axle Health raised a $10 million Series A in May, led by F-Prime Capital, for its AI-powered product that simplifies home health logistics.

These engineers raised $8.1 million for a new healthcare AI startup after OpenAI acquired their last company. See the pitch deck they used.

Charta Health raised $8.1 million in a seed round from Bain Capital Ventures in February for its AI that reviews patient charts to automate administrative work.

Check out the exclusive pitch deck startup Doctronic used to raise $5 million for its AI agents to replace 'Dr. Google'

Union Square Ventures led Doctronic's $5 million seed round in April. The startup aims to connect patients with AI agents for fast, anonymous, and personalized healthcare advice.

Here's the pitch deck that Point72-backed Heidi Health used to raise $65 million to battle in the AI scribe race

Heidi's October Series B, led by Steve Cohen's Point72 Private Investments, valued the startup at $465 million post-money. Heidi sells ambient clinical documentation tech.

Here's an exclusive look at the pitch deck that landed healthcare AI copilot Navina $55 million in funding from Goldman Sachs

Navina connects disparate health data to surface clinical insights for providers. The startup announced its $55 million Series C funding round, led by Goldman Sachs' growth equity unit, in March.

Healthcare AI startup Qventus just raised $105 million from private equity giant KKR. Here's the pitch deck it used.

Qventus announced its Series C in January. The startup's latest tech helps automate non-clinical tasks before and after surgeries.

See the exclusive pitch deck Sensi.AI used to raise $45 million to boost home healthcare for seniors with AI

Sensi.AI works with home care agencies to monitor aging patients with its audio-only in-home devices, powered by predictive AI. Qumra Capital led its October Series C.

• Jay Gengelbach quit his $700,000 tech job at Verily in mid-2024, knowing it was a financial risk.
• He says he's now more fulfilled in a new role — and his compensation is creeping up, too.
• This is the third installment of a five-part personal essay series, How to Quit Well.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with 41-year-old Jay Gengelbach, a software engineer from Boulder, Colorado, who lives in Canada. The following has been edited for length and clarity.

I joined Google as a software engineer straight out of college in 2006.

I loved telling people I worked at Google; it was a badge of honor that made me interesting.

After roughly 12 years there, I joined Verily, another Alphabet-owned company, in 2018, for six years.

At Verily, I earned up to $700,000, but in mid-2024, after growing unhappy in my job, I decided to resign, even if it meant a smaller salary. Making the jump was scary, but more than a year after quitting, the financial and emotional risk is starting to pay off.

Working at Google was fun, but I got bored in the same role for too long

Google was a great place to work. We had wild benefits, nap pods, and free food. It was extravagant. Once, I saw employees having a luau-themed lunch, and it wasn't even a special holiday. On at least a couple of occasions, the company handed out $1,000 holiday bonuses to staff in cash.

Initially, I worked on software that helped keep the site up. After working in California for two years, I relocated to Colorado and stayed in that role for another two years. Even though I loved Google as a company, I became burned out and unsatisfied in my role.

I moved onto the payments team for four years before spending another four on the Google Now team, where I became a manager. I've learned I tend to get bored after doing the same thing after about four years.

Being a manager was very isolating

In 2018, I got the opportunity to work at Verily, an Alphabet company focused on improving people's health with tech. I eventually became an engineering director there.

After six years, I became unhappy in my job. The pandemic and a period of layoffs were stressful. As a manager, I had to motivate my people, which I found challenging.

Somewhere along the way, I realized I didn't have work friends anymore. People used to have lunch with me for fun, but after I became a manager, eating with me was seen as networking. Not having peer relationships was very isolating.

I thought about going back to Google, but I realized it wasn't where I wanted to be. From what I saw and heard, layoffs in 2023 created a tangible shift in tone among employees. Layoffs were also happening at other Big Tech companies, and I was suspicious of working for them.

It was a fork in the road. For a long time, I didn't have to choose between what made me happy and what paid well, but I wasn't happy in my well-paid job, and I had to work out what I was going to do about it.

I worried I'd be miserable in a new job — and making less money

With support from my wife and therapist, I resigned from Verily in mid-2024. The tech market wasn't looking amazing, but I had enough savings to feel like I'd be OK if I were unemployed for one year.

Toward the end of my time at Verily, I was earning a total of around $700,000. I knew that matching that compensation would be really difficult outside Big Tech.

I feared I'd still be miserable in my next job, while making half the money.

When I started job hunting, I made a list describing my dream role, including compensation, location, and title. Ideally, I wanted an individual contributor position, instead of a manager role, and to be in an industry focused on making the world a better place.

In October 2024, I took up a remote position as a distinguished engineer for an insurance company. But in January, I moved to a software engineering job at a company called Vercel, which would allow me to relocate my family to Canada. I'd wanted to leave the US, so we moved to Canada in July 2025.

Vercel helps build hosting infrastructure for websites, which is a mission I feel good about, since excellent infrastructure helps businesses move faster.

After a long stint of feeling like I wasn't doing what I really wanted, I now feel like I'm solving hard problems again. Having an individual contributor role, instead of being a manager, means I get to flex muscles I hadn't used in a while. I'm also enjoying the quicker pace of delivering things at a smaller company.

Leaving Big Tech taught me money can't buy happiness

My Big Tech salary allowed me to save a lot for my retirement, but it also meant my lifestyle inflated over time.

When I moved jobs, I knew that smaller companies often have smaller bonuses and equity than larger companies, so I'd have to make some lifestyle changes. We had a pool in our house, and it was expensive to maintain the property, so we had to get that albatross off our necks. When we moved to Canada, we downsized and scaled back on vacations.

Vercel recently announced a new funding round, which roughly tripled its valuation to $9 billion. This substantially impacts the value of my equity compensation. Although my equity is currently unvested and non-liquid, the decision I made to leave Big Tech has now started to feel less financially crazy than before.

At the same time, I've realized money doesn't buy happiness. I'm in a more fulfilling job and happier than I was when I was earning $700,000.

It wasn't that I needed that much money — there were points where I stuck to an annual budget and still had $100,000 left over — but I was afraid to discover what things were like without it. It was like breaking out of golden handcuffs.

Do you have a story to share about quitting your Big Tech job? Contact this reporter at ccheong@businessinsider.com

• This Thanksgiving, founders face explaining their businesses to friends and family — and proving they're not unemployed.
• Six founders told Business Insider their stories of Thanksgiving awkwardness.
• One founder said that they have to battle AI skeptics at dinner; another said their family didn't get why they had to take calls.

At 11:00 p.m. on Thanksgiving day last year, Kieran White brought his girlfriend's family to a Pasadena parking garage. His goal: prove that he's not a scammer.

White cofounded Curo, a Y Combinator-backed startup focused on electric vehicle charging. His girlfriend's family didn't fully get it, though. White's defense started at the Thanksgiving table, and eventually moved to the living room. While the family played games, White sat with his girlfriend's grandfather explaining his job.

Eventually, he decided to high-tail it to a parking garage to point out his company's logo on a sign to showcase its existence.

"I wouldn't let it drop that I wasn't unemployed," White said. "I always thought that everyone knew what YC was. It was like: 'Picture Harvard, but for startups.' It was a hard message to convey."

How exactly should a founder explain their job? It can be difficult to prove that the work is real — and even more difficult to show that the startup will still be around for a few years. It doesn't help that the work environment is often decidedly non-corporate, or that founders sometimes sleep on couches and air mattresses. Meanwhile, a slew of recent TV shows have framed some founders as scammers and flame-outs.

So, as you gather around the Thanksgiving table, consider lighting a candle for the startup founder, faced with defending their job to doubtful aunts and uncles. Six of them told Business Insider about their Turkey Day tussles.

The startup founder's Thanksgiving awkwardness

Dagobert Renouf said that his ex-wife's family didn't take him seriously.

The French salesman for Comp AI used to run a startup with his former spouse. After years of building, the couple had gotten their first customer. "Finally, we got some traction," he said.

His ex-wife's three siblings were at the Thanksgiving table that year. One was buying a house, another was having a baby, and the third was promoted at a bank. Meanwhile, Renouf and his then-wife were grateful to have made $200.

"It was a bit painful," Renouf said. "People could be excited. It's just that they didn't necessarily get it. It's such a disconnect, when you build your own business, with somebody who'd never done that."

Raechel Lambert knows that "disconnect" well. The New Hampshire-based DNNR founder said that she and her relatives sometimes sound like they're speaking a different language.

"When I say Jason Calacanis, it just sounds like some random name," she said.

Founders have long had difficult explaining their jobs — and proving that they will be successful — to family members. When Brian Chesky founded Airbnb, he told his mother that he was an entrepreneur. His mom's response: "No, you're unemployed."

For Chris Pisarski's family, the rub was that he had to take calls on Thanksgiving.

Pisarski's startup, Crustdata, has a dev team based in Vietnam. There's no Thanksgiving in Vietnam, Pisarski said, so he needed to take calls. "You're doing this now?" he remembered his family saying. "You're not making any money for this."

It didn't help that Pisarski recently moved from a top-floor Chelsea apartment to a basement, or that he had to raise his voice on the call during a "relaxing" holiday, he told Business Insider. He also had to skip out on the family tradition of mall shopping and movie-watching on Black Friday.

"It was a little bit of concern, but mostly confusion," Pisarski said.

The families who get it

Not everyone is so perplexed by the work of being a startup founder. But the clued-in family can prove a different kind of challenge, though — they may start asking hard-hitting questions.

Bond founder Chloe Samaha's parents are both entrepreneurs. Thanksgiving is for "business talk and grilling," she said.

"My dad's favorite question is: How many customers did you close today?" Samaha said.

On the other side of the table are Samaha's aunts and uncles, who she says are critical of AI and believe the tech is taking people's jobs. (Bond, Samaha's company, is an "AI chief of staff.") The San Francisco-based founder uses the example of the calculator with these family members; students continued to learn math even after its advent, after all.

Karun Kaushik remembers when people doubted him. In those pre-revenue days, with less funding to point to, Kaushik found it difficult to justify his work.

He's clearly serious now: Kaushik's startup Delve recently closed $32 million in Series A funding. Over vegetarian turkey — cauliflower with carrot feathers — his family talks about everything but work.

"They love me for who I am, not what I do," Kaushik said. "I try not to talk about it."

Can families learn to respect their founder children's work? It depends. I asked White, who brought his girlfriend's family to the garage on Thanksgiving day, whether he thought the defense worked.

"We'll see this year," he said.

It's been an interesting five years for Americans studying abroad. The pandemic slammed the brakes on many international programs, sending would-be global citizens back to their parents' homes. Now, the pendulum has swung back the other way — the number of American students studying abroad for academic credit is nearly back to pre-pandemic levels, and a growing number of students are undertaking their entire college careers outside the US as stateside higher education costs soar. Shorter trips are booming, too, as more students and families try to scratch that international experience itch.

The landscape is not an easy one: Costs are rising, scholarships are uncertain, and the political environment can be hostile. The chaos at home is following American students beyond borders, assuming they can cross them, given colliding economic and political pressures. Counselors, program administrators, and families I spoke with said that study abroad is more important than ever in today's globalized economy. It's also harder than ever to pull off.

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The idea of getting an international education — whether for a summer, a semester, or an entire degree — has become increasingly appealing. Nearly 300,000 US students studied abroad for academic credit in the 2023-2024 academic year, a 6% increase from the year before, according to the Open Doors Report released in November by the Institute of International Education, a nonprofit that promotes foreign study. European destinations, namely Italy, Spain, the United Kingdom, and France, are especially popular. More American students are also choosing to spend their entire college careers outside the United States. The Universities and Colleges Admission Service in the UK reported a 14% increase in undergraduate applications from American students for the 2025 fall semester compared to the previous year. In Canada, the University of British Columbia Vancouver saw a 27% jump in graduate applications from the previous year, and the University of Toronto has seen an increase in US applicants, too.

"We are seeing off-the-charts demand for study abroad," says Melissa Torres, the president and CEO of the Forum on Education Abroad, a nonprofit that sets standards for the study abroad industry.

While more American students are looking beyond their home shores for higher education, making it out of the country is increasingly difficult. Much of the study abroad industry was decimated during the COVID-19 pandemic with programs shuttered and staff laid off. Many programs are now up and running again, especially in Europe, but getting back to full speed has been a struggle, and recent developments are adding new wrinkles.

Different schools and programs have different arrangements for financing study abroad. Some American colleges may waive their tuition for the semester, so students pay their study abroad program fee to the provider or destination institution. This setup can be cheaper, but it may also limit the scholarships students can receive from their "home" college. Alternatively, students may pay tuition to their US university, which then pays the program and/or the foreign school directly. Other US schools charge their tuition and have the student pay the program separately for housing and expenses. There is a raft of scholarships, grants, and loans available to help pick up the tab, but study abroad is often an expensive proposition. College and university budgets are under stress, and as a result, study abroad programs are being squeezed.

Ryan Dye, executive director and senior vice president for AIFS Abroad, tells me that much of the "uptick in financial anxiety" is on the institutional side. Many schools are receiving reduced state and federal funding, and the plunge in international students in the US due to the Trump administration's hardline immigration policies is hitting them where it hurts, because foreign students generally pay full tuition.

"They're being told to do all they can to retain tuition at the home institution — don't let that tuition leave the institution," Dye says. That means encouraging students to stick around the stateside campus, nudging them toward exchange programs where they pay full tuition, and capping the amount of money each student who crosses the border is allowed to receive. Schools are asking third-party study abroad administrators for discounts on the amount they charge per student, Dye says. "They're just saying, 'Look, we cannot pay out what we used to pay out. Our students can't pay out what they used to pay out. Can you help us?'"

Some of the most critical funding for financial aid was thrown into question in February, when the Trump administration paused funding for several international exchange programs, including the Fulbright-Hays Program, which supports research and training abroad, and the Gilman Scholarship, which helps fund undergraduate students studying abroad, as part of a review of federal programs and spending. It left students already thousands of miles from home in a lurch, wondering if the money would come through or their plans would have to be changed or called off. The federal government released the funding after several weeks, although some organizations complained that it was done in a sporadic, trickling manner, and many are still on edge about what the future holds.

"All that money was awarded in the end, so it's kind of hard to know what's going to really happen," says Amy McMillan, executive vice president of marketing and institutional relations at IES Abroad, a study abroad provider. IES awards about $7 million a year in financial aid of its own, and in the fall of 2025, it saw a 16% increase in aid applications compared to the year before.

In August, the Trump administration revoked $100 million of funding from at least 22 international exchange programs run by the Bureau of Educational and Cultural Affairs, which is intended to promote American values through cultural and professional exchanges. The administration reportedly deemed the programs in question lower funding priorities in the current environment. International exchange advocates have warned the cuts will likely lead to furloughs and closures and impact students' ability to go abroad.

In a statement to Business Insider, a State Department spokesperson said that under the Trump administration, the agency "continues to provide opportunities for American students to study abroad through its educational and cultural exchange programs."

Amine Mechaal, the executive director of global engagement at Columbia University's Teachers College, tells me that the environment earlier this year was "crazier" than it is now, but the financial picture remains uncertain for students who want to get away. Some can fall back on their parents, but America's shaky job market, uncertain economy, and the realities of uneven wealth in America mean that's far from guaranteed. "Because of the economic situation right now, there are a lot of concerns about students' ability to pay," he says.

It's a Catch-22 for American schools: Study abroad programs stretch their budgets, and they're useful recruiting tools for the American tuition they need now more than ever as tuition from international students dries up. It's a conundrum for programs and students alike — international students often study abroad during their American degree programs, and if there are fewer of them, organizations may be unable to fill the programs and cancel them.

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Even after sorting out the money situation and making it to their far-flung destinations, American students may have to confront the economic and political realities of home. Some students might be relieved to get away, given the country's fraught climate and the chaos on some college campuses. But in today's globalized world, true escape isn't possible.

Jill Madenberg, a college admissions counselor, tells me that finances are still the No. 1 issue on families' minds when they discuss short-term or full-degree study abroad, but politics come into play now more than ever. "For some parents, the beauty of studying abroad and the ability to experience different cultures is very much top of mind," she says. And then there are others who express concerns about "how their child would be perceived as an American studying in a foreign place."

Genevieve Klein, a college junior studying abroad in Paris, says that on her first day of language classes in her program, a classmate from Italy asked her what it is like to live in the US right now. It took her a second to grasp what he was getting at, and even then, she wasn't sure how to answer. Overall, her Paris experience has been a positive one, but negative perceptions of her home country in France have made her feel like she has to change people's minds about Americans. "I think this has made me more aware in general of how people may make assumptions of others based on what is going on politically in the country they're from, now that I myself am on the receiving end of that," she says.

For Mackenzie Halford, who's finishing up a degree with a semester in Seville, it's more than uncomfortable café conversations that are weighing on their experience. They're transgender, and their passport's space for a gender identifier has an X, which the Trump administration is no longer allowing on new passports. When they first caught wind of the change, they called the consulate to see if they could obtain an emergency passport with an "F" on it. Nobody answered, but after doing some research, they think it should be fine to return to the US in December. "It's kind of left up to the discretion of the people who are working at the airport," they say.

Mechaal, from Teachers College, tells me politics are the "elephant in the room" in conversations with students. They don't address it explicitly, but there's an awareness that policies could change at any moment. "With all these shifts and changes, and almost at a certain time, it was like every day there were new updates," he says.

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Study abroad used to be a carefree corner of American higher education, marked by Aperol spritzes, art museums, and weekend jaunts across Europe. But the questions facing these programs have become much more salient as the trips abroad have transformed from a luxury experience into one that's increasingly a necessity for the future workforce.

Recent research from the Forum on Education Abroad, conducted in conjunction with four business schools at large, public universities in the US, found that students who studied abroad earned, on average, $4,159 more in their first job after graduation than those who didn't, representing a 6.3% earnings differential.

"If you think about that and multiply that over a lifetime and over the retirement contributions and the increases in bonuses and salaries as a person progresses in their career, the potential financial impact is actually quite high," Torres, from the Forum, says.

A separate survey from the organization of over 8,000 study abroad alumni found that 90% of respondents said study abroad helped them build job skills, and over half said it helped them get their first jobs.

"There's a lot of talk these days about the disconnect and what employers need, and there's all this uncertainty about AI and what's the future workforce going to look like — and employers often say that people coming out of college maybe don't have the exact skills that they're looking for," Torres says. "What we're demonstrating is this is an experience that fills that gap."

International students coming to the US also contribute to the economy, with an estimated $42.9 billion added to US GDP during the 2024-2025 academic year.

Given the impact that study abroad has on individual students, jobs, and the economy, a potential slowdown, although not yet evidenced on the outbound end, is concerning. Moreover, if the opportunity becomes financially out of reach for a growing number of students, it may harm them and their future employers throughout their working lives. The study abroad cohort is already pretty privileged — the students are disproportionately white come from families who can foot the bill.

"There is a disconnect there," says Mirka Martel, the head of research, evaluation, and learning at IEE. "Study abroad should really become more accessible to more students."

Teala Avery, who graduated from Spelman College in 2024, relied on a mix of scholarships, grants, and her own money to do a semester abroad in Tokyo in 2023. It still wasn't enough, and she wound up taking out the first and only loan she needed in college to pull it off. Still, she felt like it was worth it as she ventured into the working world. "Studying abroad during college was just a no-brainer for me, and it was really like I had the dream, and then all of the logistics would come afterward," she says.

The argument is more than economic, too. Study abroad is a way for students to expand their horizons and develop more independence. It can be a transformative experience. It's also one of the rare times in many people's lives when they have the freedom to take off.

Study abroad may not be for everyone, but it's increasingly meaningful on a job application. And as costs rise and politics intrude, the gap between who can and can't swing it is widening — and that gap could shape the future workforce.

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Emily Stewart is a senior correspondent at Business Insider, writing about business and the economy.

• Alibaba CEO Eddie Wu says he doesn't see "much of an issue" with an AI bubble.
• Wu said AI demand is outpacing global chip supply, and the company plans to invest "aggressively."
• The Chinese tech giant posted a 5% increase in revenue year-over-year for its September quarter.

Alibaba's CEO brushed off talk of an AI bubble and said he's doubling down on spending.

The CEO of the Chinese tech giant, Eddie Wu, said on Alibaba's second-quarter earnings call on Tuesday that the company "doesn't really see much of an issue in terms of a so-called AI bubble."

"We're not even able to keep pace with the growth in customer demand," Wu said, adding that the pace at which Alibaba can deploy new servers is insufficient.

"In the next three years to come, AI resources will continue to be under supply," he said.

Wu said that the surge in demand isn't coming from hype but from real-world AI adoption across the economy, such as across product development, manufacturing processes, and supporting companies.

He said that Alibaba's Qwen app, launched just last week, surpassed 10 million downloads in its first week.

On Tuesday, Alibaba Group posted 247.8 billion yuan, or $34.8 billion, in revenue for the quarter ending September 30, a 5% increase from last year.

Profits were hit by heavy spending on AI and commerce. Net income fell 53% from a year earlier to 20.6 billion yuan due to a "decrease in income from operations." Sales and marketing expenses surged, more than doubling from a year ago.

The cloud division, which includes Alibaba's Qwen platform, led the company's growth. The cloud business grew 34% to 39.8 billion yuan, driven by "public cloud revenue growth, including the increasing adoption of AI-related products."

Wu said on the call that the company is planning to invest "aggressively" in AI infrastructure to meet demand.

Alibaba announced in February that it would invest 380 billion yuan in AI infrastructure over the next three years.

"In big picture terms, I would say that the 380 billion figure we had mentioned previously might be on the small side," Wu said on Tuesday.

The company's stock is up more than 86% this year.

AI bubble chatter

Wu's remarks contrast with those of Alibaba's chairman, Joe Tsai.

Tsai said at the HSBC Global Investment Summit in March that he's starting to "see the beginning of some kind of bubble," pointing to the rush to build data centers.

Big Tech firms, including Microsoft, Amazon, Google, and Meta, are collectively expected to spend $320 billion on capital expenditures this year as they race to expand their AI infrastructure.

The AI bubble debate has split tech leaders across the industry.

Some executives have rejected the idea that the AI boom is overheating. Last week, Nvidia CEO Jensen Huang dismissed fears of an AI bubble on his company's latest earnings call.

"There's been a lot of talk about an AI bubble," Huang said. "From our vantage point, we see something very different."

Others have been more cautious. OpenAI CEO Sam Altman said in August that investor enthusiasm has run ahead of reality.

"Are we in a phase where investors as a whole are overexcited about AI? My opinion is yes. Is AI the most important thing to happen in a very long time? My opinion is also yes," he said.

• David Beckham says his father's tough love helped him get through some of the low moments in his career.
• "All of those moments where my dad was hard on me as a kid, there was a reason for it," he said.
• Beckham added that his dad only acknowledged his success when he received his 100th cap in 2008.

David Beckham, 50, says he weathered the toughest parts of his career thanks to his dad's strict parenting style.

During an appearance on Tuesday's episode of "This Life of Mine with James Corden" podcast, the soccer icon spoke about his upbringing and his own approach to raising kids.

Despite excelling in soccer, Beckham said he never considered himself an especially talented player when he was younger.

"No, because my dad was so tough on me as a young kid," Beckham told host James Corden.

"I have two sisters, and we lived in a household with a lot of love in it, but my dad was so tough on me with my Sunday league football team that he very rarely turned around to me and said, 'Well done, boy. You did well today, you played well,'" Beckham said.

"He'd say it, but then he'd say, 'But this is what you can do better,' and, 'This is what you should be doing,' and, 'If you just did that, you would be able to score or cross those balls like that,'" Beckham said.

He added that his father's strict feedback kept him from ever considering himself a great player.

It wasn't until much later in his career that his father finally expressed approval, Beckham said.

"But my dad never told me I'd done well, really, until my 100th cap. That was the first time my dad turned around to me and said, 'You've made it, boy,'" Beckham said. "That was the first time. Not even when I got into the United First team, not even when I won the Premiership, not even when I won the Champions League."

In soccer, a 100th cap represents a player's 100th appearance for their national team.

Beckham added that the compliment from his father came during dinner in Paris in 2008, after the match.

"And that was the first time he really kind of acknowledged the career that I'd had," Beckham said.

He also credited his father's tough love for fueling the relentless work ethic he became known for.

Beckham added he "might not have been able to get through" some of the hardest moments in his career if his dad "wasn't as tough" with him as he was during his youth-club days.

"All of those moments where my dad was hard on me as a kid, there was a reason for it. Those tough moments that I had in my career, all I knew was to put my head down and work hard," Beckham said.

But as a father of four, Beckham said he is "definitely not as tough" on his own children.

"I am different with my kids. I'm a lot softer than my dad was, but there's certain traits that I do have the same as my dad," Beckham said, adding that he can be strict with his sons when it comes to how they play soccer.

In early November, Beckham was knighted by King Charles III for his services to sport and charity.

• China's new vibe-coding app LingGuang got so hot it briefly crashed from demand.
• Its AI camera can analyze scenes in real time and generate videos on the fly.
• I tried LingGuang and stacked it against ChatGPT.

A new Chinese vibe-coding tool exploded in popularity last week, so of course, I had to test it.

LingGuang, an AI app for building apps using plain-language prompts, launched on November 18. By Monday, it had racked up over 2 million downloads.

Chinese tech group Ant Group, which built the tool, said the surge of users briefly crashed the app's flash program feature.

To see what the hype was about, I took LingGuang for a spin — and stacked it against OpenAI's ChatGPT.

The AGI camera stole the show

I logged in with my Alibaba account (Ant Group is an affiliate company of the Chinese conglomerate Alibaba Group) and landed on a moving mountain landscape paired with a Chinese tagline: "Let the complex be simple."

Compared with ChatGPT's plain backdrop, LingGuang looked like it was beamed in from 2030.

LingGuang offers a feature that caught my eye: an artificial general intelligence camera. Ant Group said it can understand scenes in real time and help users analyze or edit what they're looking at without uploading a photo.

I first tested it at work, with wild results. I pointed my phone camera at a startup founder speaking in a podcast video clip, and LingGuang instantly recognized him and named the company he started.

I took it to my local supermarket to see what else it could do.

I was hunting for a post-workout protein smoothie, and I pointed the AGI camera at three brands on the shelf. The app immediately identified the English-labeled products and surfaced essential information, including protein levels, flavor, whether it contained sweetener, and what it was suitable for. The information checked out, although I needed to make sure the camera had a clear shot of the product.

To determine which one was the smartest buy, I activated voice mode and asked in Chinese. LingGuang compared protein, brand speciality, and price, pulling data from the image and the web. Then it gave recommendations: most nutritious, best value, and a lactose-free pick.

I tried the same thing with ChatGPT. Because it can't analyze scenes in real time, I took a photo of the shakes and uploaded it manually — a process that felt outdated after using LingGuang.

ChatGPT's comparison was detailed and on par with LingGuang's, but the experience lacked the immediacy and visual cues that made LingGuang feel seamless.

One user interface difference also stood out. When LingGuang captures an image, it surfaces tappable prompt bubbles that guide you through the next steps.

ChatGPT suggests prompts as well, but they sit below the chatbox and still require typing. LingGuang felt like an AR companion, while ChatGPT felt like, well, chat.

The Chinese app had one drawback: Nothing from the AGI session saves. I couldn't revisit any photos or responses afterward, which makes it hard to reference anything later. ChatGPT saves every uploaded image in the chat, something I rely on.

Generating videos on the fly

LingGuang also offers something ChatGPT doesn't: on-the-fly video and image generation directly from its AGI camera.

Users can snap a photo, tap into the edit tab, and turn the image into a video or edit it with prompts.

I snapped a photo of my Labubu on the AGI camera and asked LingGuang to make it smile and dance.

Twenty seconds later, it spat out a clip, including a cute soundtrack, of my Labubu grinning and flapping around like a tiny bat, synced to the movement of my hand in the frame.

ChatGPT has no equivalent feature. To animate an image, I had to switch to Sora, upload a photo I took of Hong Kong's harbor, and ask it to "bring it to life." The result was stunning and a little dramatic.

LingGuang handled the same image differently. Its output was strong, with softer waves and a more realistic feel — almost as if I were on a boat.

Visual style comes down to personal preference, but LingGuang allows me to capture, edit, and generate a video in a single, continuous workflow. On user experience, it wins.

I built a flash app in a minute

LingGuang's flash app feature — the one that crashed from overuse — promised to build mini-apps in 30 seconds.

When I opened it, LingGuang suggested app ideas. One of them was a "meal decision" generator that works like a food lottery.

My friends and I regularly spend more time deciding what to eat than actually eating, so I tapped it. The screen started "thinking." It wasn't 30 seconds, but about a minute later, a fully formed mini-app appeared.

The instructions from the bot were clear: include the dish names, their origins, and a brief description of why they're recommended. The flash app added food emojis and sound effects to mimic the drumroll-and-reveal vibe of a lottery. All I did was click a prompt. It felt like sorcery.

The generator recommended food like curry rice and Japanese ramen. Wanting to push the app further, I asked it to tailor the mini-app to food from Singapore, where I live.

Another minute later, it regenerated the entire interface and swapped in local dishes. One of the first picks: Katong laksa. Hyper-specific to where I live. Another: chilli crab. The classic tourist magnet. The flash app nailed the selection of my local cuisine.

I asked ChatGPT to create a flash app that could "help me choose what to eat on a daily basis." It generated the full code, explained how to build it, and even suggested ways to customize it.

There was no instant app, but I appreciated having actual code to work with, something LingGuang never surfaced. LingGuang's flash feature works for simple, everyday use cases. For anything more complex, I'd still turn to ChatGPT or other vibe-coding tools.