By morning, the name had spread.
Mr.Fool.
The competition organizers released the official rankings.
Rank 1: Anonymous
Rank 2: Mr.Fool
No details. No interviews. Just the names.
Unlike the first round, they revealed the rules for the final immediately—publicly.
And the task was different.
Uncomfortably different.
Round Two was not about systems.
It was about each other.
The two finalists would face off directly.
Attack and defend simultaneously.
The objective was simple—and terrifying.
Locate the opponent's real-world position.
The rule was deliberate. Brutal.
Once a location was discovered, the round would end. The idea was to simulate a real cyber-conflict—forcing participants to assume that once exposed, they would need to evacuate immediately.
It wasn't a game anymore.
It was about identity.
For the first time since the competition began, PK felt tension crawl up his spine.
If they found him—
He would have to disappear. Leave the dorm. Leave the campus. Possibly leave the city.
For a brief moment, fear surfaced.
Then he exhaled.
Fear was inefficient.
He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing.
This wasn't a mistake in the rules.
It was the point of them.
PK opened his laptop again—not to type, but to think.
Location tracing relied on assumptions.
Assumptions relied on patterns.
Patterns could be fabricated.
He began planning—not how to hide, but how to mislead.
That was when another thought surfaced.
The money.
Until now, he had avoided touching it—letting it sit untouched, unacknowledged.
But if this round went wrong, liquidity would matter.
Mobility would matter.
Control would matter.
His fingers hovered over the screen.
This time—
He would use it.
He smiled faintly
If they wanted to find him—
They would have to chase a ghost.