The joint interview at Apex Cyber-Systems ended without a clear winner.

The committee had watched them argue over encryption models, tear apart each other’s architectural decisions, and still—somehow—build a near-perfect defensive protocol together in under forty minutes.

They weren’t impressed.

They were intrigued.

“Final decision will depend on your performance at Code-Racer this weekend,” the panel head had said calmly. “We value composure under pressure.”

Composure.

That word echoed in Navya’s mind for the next seventy-two hours.

The annual “Code-Racer” Hackathon ended at 11:59 PM.

When the results flashed on the massive auditorium screen, Aarav Malhotra’s name stood at the top.

He had claimed the Golden Terminal trophy and the $5,000 prize.

Navya Kapoor—who had spent forty-eight hours straight surviving on caffeine and pure, unfiltered spite—finished third.

The gap wasn’t skill.

It was server lag that cost her the final commit.

In her mind, that lag was Aarav’s fault.

Everything was Aarav’s fault.

The next evening, the computer lab was nearly empty.

Aarav was at his usual station, packing his gear. In the center of his desk sat his pride and joy: a Custom GMK Mechanical Keyboard with hand-lubed switches and artisan keycaps. It cost more than most people’s laptops and sounded like raindrops on a tin roof when he typed.

He stepped away for exactly three minutes to grab a printout from the hall.

Navya was walking past, a half-empty, extra-large Monster Energy Ultra in her hand.

She saw the trophy.

She saw his smug, empty chair.

“Mr. Perfect,” she muttered. “Mr. ‘I-don’t-make-mistakes.’”

She didn’t plan to do it.

But as she leaned over to inspect his code—determined to find one microscopic flaw she could weaponize—her sleeve caught the edge of the tall can.

Time slowed.

The neon-green liquid arched through the air in a perfect, sticky trajectory, landing directly into the heart of the mechanical masterpiece.

Sizzle.

The RGB lights beneath the keys flickered once, turned a sickly purple, and died.

“Oh… crap,” Navya whispered, eyes wide.

She grabbed a handful of napkins, frantically dabbing at the keys. It was a massacre. The “A” key was stuck. The “Enter” key was swimming in caffeine.

The door creaked.

Aarav walked in.

He stopped mid-step.

His gaze moved slowly—from the napkins in her hand, to the dripping can, to the keyboard.

The silence was heavier than any insult they had ever thrown at each other.

“Kapoor,” he said quietly.

No shouting.

Just a cold, controlled fury vibrating beneath the surface.

“That was a limited-edition PCB.”

“It was an accident!” Navya blurted, stepping back. “I was just looking. I’ll pay for it. I’ll buy you a new one.”

“You can’t buy this one,” he replied flatly. “They stopped manufacturing those switches two years ago.”

He walked forward, lifted the keyboard carefully, and watched a drop of green liquid fall onto the desk.

When he looked at her again, something had changed.

For the first time, it wasn’t rivalry in his eyes.

It was disappointment.

“You’re not just competitive, Kapoor,” he said. “You’re careless.”

The words hit harder than any insult.

“Stay away from my station. Stay away from my code. And for once in your life—think before you act.”

He slid the ruined hardware into his bag and walked out.

The lab door shut with a soft click.

And for the first time in three years—

Navya Kapoor had no comeback.

She just stood there in the silent lab, staring at the faint green stain on the desk, feeling dangerously close to becoming the villain in someone else’s story.