My roommate, Brandon, under the guise of assisting me, systematically swiped 99 of my discarded code drafts from my computer. After that, he entered various coding competitions, raking in awards left and right, quickly becoming the undisputed campus superstar. It wasn’t until he stole my very last discarded code, using it to compete in the National Collegiate Tech Competition finals. During the live final presentation, his program suddenly crashed. A massive red warning and a countdown timer exploded onto the screen. He stormed into our dorm with his advisor, Professor Hayes, and Dean Miller, accusing me of implanting a virus in his computer and sabotaging his competition. I simply presented the original logs, detailing every instance he had stolen my code. “What he submitted isn’t just a regular program. It’s a test version of my mentor’s confidential project.” “That countdown? It’s the final warning before the system self-destructs.” … The atmosphere at the live National Collegiate Tech Competition finals was electric. My roommate, Brandon, was beaming with triumph, basking in a tidal wave of adulation. The online live stream soared to nearly 200,000 viewers, the live chat a molten torrent, flooding the screen with comments. [Genius! This kid is a cross-disciplinary programming prodigy!] [Who would’ve thought an art design student could write such a sophisticated recognition algorithm? A total game-changer!] [Brandon, my heart belongs to you!] I sat calmly in the bustling audience, observing it all. In just three short months, he’d transformed from a tech novice who could barely set up a Python environment into a celebrated prodigy bathed in the spotlight – our university’s unquestionable top star. On stage, Brandon had reached the final step of his presentation. The hall erupted in thunderous applause. He nodded subtly, addressing the judges and the audience, his voice clear and elegant: “Esteemed judges, ladies and gentlemen, I will now fully demonstrate the real-time recognition and tracking capabilities of my ‘Falcon’ system on complex dynamic images.” His fingertips gracefully tapped the Enter key on the keyboard, his posture utterly composed. On the massive main screen, a CG animation simulating a rescue operation in a complex urban environment began to play. Dozens of drone models weaved, flipped, and dogfought at high speed through intricate building complexes, their trajectories chaotic and almost impossible for the naked eye to follow. Yet, the “Falcon” system, within moments of activation, precisely locked onto each drone with different colored tracking boxes, flawlessly planning the optimal search and rescue paths and directing them to execute their tasks in perfect order. “Oh my God!” “This… this already surpasses most commercial recognition systems on the market!” “Unbelievable! The logic of this algorithm is simply flawless!” On the judges’ panel, several well-known professors and corporate executives from the industry could no longer maintain their composure. They rose to their feet, their faces etched with shock and disbelief. Brandon’s chin lifted slightly, relishing every moment. His gaze cut through the cameras, past the sea of bobbing heads, finally landing on my quiet corner. I knew he was flaunting his success at me. Declaring his victory to me, the stepping stone he’d used to climb to the top. The very next second. The colossal demo screen on stage flickered, a momentary freeze. Then, all the dazzling tracking boxes, the intricate CG animation, vanished instantly. In their place was a dead, unsettling blue screen. A line of white error code flashed briefly across the top of the screen. The applause and cheers in the hall abruptly ceased. Everyone froze. Murmurs rippled through the crowd. “What’s going on? Did it crash?” Brandon’s smile froze. He frantically tapped the keyboard, trying to restore the program, but it was all in vain. Then, the blue screen disappeared. A massive, pixelated red skull, grinning mockingly, dominated the center of the entire screen. Below the skull, a line of equally blood-red, constantly flashing giant numbers abruptly popped up. **[60]** Gasps swept through the audience, a commotion spreading like ripples in water. “What the hell is that?!” **[59]** The live chat instantly exploded. [OMG! What is this? A virus?] [The finals system got hacked?!] **[58]** Brandon was in full panic mode. He stared at the grinning skull on the screen, his body involuntarily stepping back. He stammered incoherently into the microphone: “No… no, it’s not that, this… this is just an accident, the program… the program just had a tiny bug…” His voice trembled, utterly unconvincing. The judges’ panel was in disarray. Staff members rushed onto the stage, clumsily trying to control the screen, pulling out power cables, but that blood-red countdown stubbornly pulsed on the dark screen. **[22]** **[21]** … In the midst of the extreme chaos, Brandon furiously rushed off the stage, heading straight for me. He abruptly raised his hand, his trembling finger pointing directly at me. “You did this, didn’t you?!” Countless eyes turned to me. The students around me whispered. “He’s Brandon’s roommate, isn’t he?” “How despicable, to pull such a dirty trick behind his back.” I just smiled faintly, saying nothing. He mistook my silence for guilt. He spun around, went back to the stage, grabbed the microphone, and yelled. “It’s him!” His voice, amplified by the microphone, shrilly echoed through the entire venue. “It’s my roommate, Asher, who planted a virus in my program!” Under the gaze of everyone present, I calmly closed my laptop and slowly stood up. All eyes in the audience snapped towards me, filled with scrutiny. I walked calmly onto the stage with my backpack. The moment Brandon saw me, it was as if he found an outlet for all his emotions. He pointed at me, sobbing hysterically: “It’s him! Professor Hayes, it’s him! He’s jealous I won the championship, jealous everyone’s paying attention to me! So he wants to ruin me! He’s ruined our school’s reputation!” His advisor, Professor Hayes, rushed onto the stage, his face ashen, and demanded in an undeniable, stern tone, “Asher! Why would you do this?!” “This competition is a testament to our school’s honor! This malicious act of sabotage is extremely serious! Do you have any idea how much negative impact you’ve caused the school?!” Dean Miller, one of the competition judges and our department head, now stepped forward, his face etched with heartache. He placed a hand on Brandon’s shoulder, comforting him in a paternal tone: “Brandon, don’t be afraid, we’ll get justice for you!” Then, he turned to me, his voice even graver: “Now is not the time to pursue motives, but to solve the problem! Asher, I order you to immediately hand over the virus you planted and explain how you did it! Cooperate for leniency! Otherwise, the most severe disciplinary action from the school awaits you!” On this nationally live-streamed stage, I was unequivocally branded as someone who had maliciously sabotaged the competition and tarnished the school’s reputation. Meanwhile, the live chat was in a frenzy. #AsherMaliciouslyPlantedVirus #ProdigyBrandonSabotagedByRoommate #ComputerScienceDepartmentDisgrace These hashtags instantly went viral. Countless uninformed viewers subjected me to online harassment with the most vicious language. On stage, three pairs of eyes glared at me, filled with anger and disdain. Brandon’s sobbing continued. He cried while accusing me of my “crimes,” portraying himself as a pure, innocent victim cruelly wronged. “Professor Hayes, Dean Miller, you must stand up for me! I sacrificed so many sleepless nights, so much effort for this competition… I was so close to success, and he ruined it all… I… I don’t want to live…” His performance was tearful and utterly convincing. Facing this overwhelming wave of slander and curses, I remained unusually calm. My composure seemed to infuriate them further. Professor Hayes’ face darkened even more: “Asher! What kind of attitude is that?! Do you think staying silent will get you off the hook?!” A staff member handed me a microphone. I took the microphone, feeling its cold metal. My gaze bypassed Professor Hayes and Dean Miller, falling directly on Brandon, who was still sobbing on the floor. I looked at him, a faint, almost imperceptible curve playing on my lips. Then, I spoke softly, my voice carried clearly through the microphone to every corner of the venue. “Brandon, I just have one question for you.” “What was the original filename of the program archive you submitted, as it appeared on my computer?” Brandon’s sobs abruptly stopped. His body stiffened instantly, a flicker of extreme panic flashing in his eyes. He opened his mouth, emitting a guttural “Uh… uh…” sound that, amplified by the microphone, sounded particularly harsh. Yet, he couldn’t utter a single word in response.
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