The clash didn't pause.
Both sides pressed forward without retreat—attack folding into defense, defense shifting into counterstrike. The digital battlefield pulsed with activity, layers rising and collapsing in rapid succession.
Then the first breakthrough came.
A system alert flashed across the organizers' screens.
Anonymous has identified Mr.Fool's current city.
Z City.
The information spread instantly.
At the university, murmurs turned into disbelief.
The newcomer wasn't hiding halfway across the world.
He was here.
Students stared at one another, shocked. Z City wasn't a tech capital. It wasn't a hub. The idea that someone from their own city had reached the finals—and pushed Anonymous this far—felt unreal.
Rich froze mid-conversation.
A thought crossed his mind.
PK.
He was absent today.
Perfectly fine yesterday.
Quiet. Always quiet.
For a brief second, the idea lingered.
Then Rich scoffed inwardly.
Impossible.
PK was just a village guy. Smart, maybe—but this? No way.
He dismissed it and moved on.
Back in the competition, Anonymous pressed their advantage.
But in their urgency, they made a mistake.
A minor routing oversight.
A timing mismatch.
Something only visible if you weren't chasing aggressively.
Mr.Fool noticed.
He didn't rush.
He followed the gap—slowly, carefully—letting it reveal more than it should.
Seconds later, another alert appeared.
This time, it stunned everyone.
Mr.Fool has identified Anonymous' current city.
Berlin.
Silence swept through the control room.
The organizers stared at the screen, disbelief written across their faces.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
Anonymous was expected to dominate—to overwhelm, to finish cleanly.
Instead, the newcomer had matched them.
City for city.
Exposure for exposure.
The duel had crossed a line.
And now—
It wasn't about who was better anymore.
It was about who would break first.