After Steven's triumphant return, stealing the spotlight at the hackathon, he even earned praise from the principal. At school, Steven was practically revered by the students—a legend in their eyes. He was an academic genius, a sports prodigy, a programming expert effortlessly winning hackathons that even seniors struggled with, and the CEO of a thriving gaming company. To them, Steven was like a god, capable of achieving anything. He was dating the campus belle, Veronica, and had the ability to keep the arrogant and reckless Arnold in line.
One day during the computer class, Steven found Mr. Stark struggling to fix a computer. Steven wanting to help Mr. Stark, came forward. "Mind if I take a look?"
"No, Steven you may be good at programming but this is hardware."
"Don't worry sir. If I fail I will compensate for the loss."
"But Steven this is the latest model. It's quite expensive."
"Don't worry sir. I will just buy the entire thing."
Steven immediately got down to business. He had purchased quite a lot of stuff from the system. Many belonged to fields decades ahead of the curve—quantum systems, self-evolving AI, and more. If Steven said he was second in the field of technology, nobody could take first place.
While Steven worked on the PC, the students discussed among themselves.
"Can Steven fix it."
"I don't think so."
"Yeah he might be good at software stuff but he doesn;t know a thing about hardware."
"Then won't Steven lose a lot of money. I checked and this model costs 10,00 dollars."
"Well that sum might be a lot for us but for Steven that pocket change. All he will lose is a bit of face."
Arnold was truly angry. He truly hated Steven. Ever since he returned from France, he has been overshadowed by Steven. Just a week before, right after the fundraiser gala, the White family found out that Steven not only had Silverbyte Studio but also had Sky Pearl Club and Rosewood Hotel, and just his assets alone were comparable to the entire White Family. Arnold even wondered what happened with Steven in just a month, Arnold was in France?
While students gossiped, Steven expertly handled the computer. He quickly fixed it and then bam. He booted the machine, and it lit up, operating perfectly. Seeing this many students cheered, and even Professor Stark was amazed.
That day, as the school ended, Steven was approached by Professor Stark. "Steven, I need your help with something. Steven, though confused, was intrigued by the request. He followed Mr. Stark to his place. Mr. Stark also runs a small cyber cafe at his house along with a computer repairing business.
"Steven, the thing I need help with is this one." Mr. Stark said, patting a computer. "The client cane two days ago, but he has a verry strange request. He wants us to repair this thing without booting this up."
"That's a strange request." This was the first time Steven had heard of this kind of repair method.
"Yeah, that the problem. We don't know what the fault is without booting the PC."
"Ok, let me try." Steven said. "Teacher, Do you have a spare PC."
"Wait what. Professor don't tell me you want this boy to work on this thing. If he fails the client will not pay us, infact if he asks us for compensation we will be screwed." said a young man, who appeared to be a college student.
"Liam, don't look down on Steven because of his young age. He is quite talented. Just go and bring a spare laptop for him, "Professor Stark said to his assistant, Liam. Assistant Liam quickly brought a spare Laptop to Steven.
Steven's hands moved with astonishing speed. In a blur of motion, he connected the diagnostic workstation to the malfunctioning computer using a few slender cables.
Professor Stark arched an eyebrow. "Steven, what are you trying to pull off here?"
It didn't take long for the professor to catch on. Steven was attempting something unconventional—he was about to remotely access and repair the system without powering it on.
Assistant Liam's jaw dropped. "Why didn't I think of that?"
But Professor Stark quickly cut him off. "Even if you had, could you pull it off like Steven? Watch and learn." Liam leaned in just as Steven's screen came alive. Dozens of program windows popped up, each one humming with code. Steven's fingers danced across the keyboard at a speed that defied belief—his movements blurred into afterimages. He was everywhere at once: navigating folders, debugging scripts, executing terminal commands, and seamlessly weaving it all together.
It was like watching a scene out of a sci-fi blockbuster.
Moments later, the malfunction was resolved. The secondary machine's interface appeared smoothly on Steven's screen. He had done it—remote access established and the system fully repaired.
Professor Stark laughed in disbelief and pulled Steven into an uncharacteristically warm hug. "Incredible work, Steven. That was genius."
Liam looked stunned. "You actually… did it."
All the mocking remarks he'd made earlier came back to him like sharp echoes. Embarrassment flushed his cheeks.
Steven didn't gloat. He simply let his work speak louder than his words.
That situation hit Liam like a thunderclap.
Professor Stark nodded firmly. "Liam, it's time you stop underestimating people."
Ashamed, Liam bowed slightly. "Steven, I apologize. I misjudged you. I hope I can learn from you."
Steven waved it off without ceremony. But as he glanced back at the connected machine's desktop, something caught his eye—several folders, all of them locked.
Why had the original user insisted the computer not be powered on? What secrets were hidden inside these folders?
His curiosity burned.
"System," Steven asked in his mind, "if I access these folders, will the user find out?"
[At your current skill level level, the owner will remain unaware.] The system's monotone electronic voice answered Steven in his mind.
Reassured, Steven began working on the encryption.
To others, the folder locks would've seemed complex—but not to someone with Steven's skills. In five seconds flat, the first folder clicked open.
"Steven!" Stark and Liam cried out, alarmed, but it was too late. The folder's contents spilled onto the screen.
The room fell silent.
The three of them stared, wide-eyed, hardly able to believe what they saw…
Steven's eyes narrowed as he clicked on the mysterious folder labeled "Target Location – A347." The screen flickered, and a cascade of subfolders unfolded. At first glance, he expected something grim—criminal ledgers, smuggling trails, or dark web activities. Instead, what appeared was even more unsettling.
The folder contained high-resolution photographs of a sprawling marketplace.
"That's… not what I expected," Steven murmured.
The images showed a vibrant trade district alive with bustling crowds, merchants haggling, and neatly organized stalls. But something about it felt off—too calculated, too comprehensive. Every photo was labeled with eerie precision:
"Real Scene of the Third Passage, West Charlestown Trade Area (Price Negotiation)""Real Scene of the Second Passage, East Manhattan Province, Charlestown Trade Area (Transaction Completed)"
Steven's brow furrowed. These weren't random snapshots; they were part of a surveillance operation. The photos covered every key sector of Charlestown's most important economic zone—a location vital not just to the city, but to the entire Manhattan Province.
And yet, this wasn't public information. These weren't tourist photos.
"This is confidential mapping…" he said aloud.
Mr. Stark leaned in. "Someone's been documenting trade zones in terrifying detail. If this got out—"
"—it could cripple Charlestown's economy," Steven finished grimly. "This has to be corporate espionage. Or worse."
He clicked into the next folder.
Files titled with cryptic names—"TargetX234," "TargetC231," "TargetG345"—filled the screen. Steven opened one. Inside was a cold, clinical profile: a name, a face, routine movements, affiliations… and at the bottom, a single line in blood-red text:
STATUS: SUCCESSFUL.
Steven's stomach dropped. Each document was a hit list—targets that had been surveilled, followed, and, judging by the status tags… neutralized.
Mr. Stark staggered back. "Some of these names… weren't they reported missing or dead in the past few years?"
Steven nodded grimly and opened one final file. A familiar face jumped out at him—Charlotte, the girl he had saved weeks ago in that alley. The file detailed her habits, routines… even plans for her abduction.
Steven's eyes darkened. "So that really was a kidnapping. And I walked into it blind. It always bugged me why there were only three goons in the alley and nobody else." he mused to himself.
He clicked the final folder—and froze.
Inside was a comprehensive data cache on the Rosewood Hotel.
Blueprints. Access points. Emergency exits. Staff rosters. Vendor schedules. Supply chain data. Even details on pipeline schematics and external maintenance logs. The folder included the most basic details, such as where the kitchen supplies came from and which third-party service handled the laundry. Steven's pulse surged as he scrolled through the documents.
Then he found the worst one: a timeline outlining a terrorist attack, scheduled to strike during an upcoming high-profile event—a medical research conference set to host the country's leading doctors, pharmaceutical innovators, and public health figures.
"This isn't just an attack on my hotel," Steven muttered. "It's a blow to national infrastructure. Medicine, research, pharmaceuticals… all targeted in one shot."
Mr. Stark's face was pale. "We need to call the police."
"No," Steven said sharply. "We need someone higher. I'll take care of it."
Steven said as he quickly called General Adams. General Adams was currently living in Charlestown with the Bennet Family. Steven didn't explain a thing and just asked Mr. Adams to come to the place urgently.
Ten minutes later, a black SUV rolled up.
General Adams stepped out, dressed casually but exuding quiet authority. A tall man with a soldier's posture flanked him—likely a bodyguard. He wore a leather jacket, and the slight bulge in his right coat pocket suggested he was armed—probably carrying a pistol.
Adams entered the shop with a grin. "Kid, why did you call me in such a hurry? Don't tell me you had another spat with Veronica. Is that why she's at home today instead of spending time at your place for your study sessions? f you're hoping I'll help you convince her, forget it. I'm not getting involved in your relationship drama. It's your—"
His words trailed off as he registered the tension in the room.
"What happened? Did you get into trouble. Did you do something illegal?" he asked.
Steven didn't smile. "Well, technically yes. I just did something, and now its a very big problem."
"What is it. Did you commit some financial fraud. Let me make it clear, if you are in wrong I am not helping you."
"That's not the case. All I did was boot client PC, when he asked to not do that."
Adams raised an eyebrow. "That's it? You dragged me here for a tech repair mishap?"
"No. It's what I found inside," Steven said, pointing to the screen.
As Adams scanned through the folders, his expression hardened. When he reached the assassination files and Rosewood blueprint, his lips pressed into a firm line.
"This is serious."
"There's more," Steven said. "This kind of detail… it means there's a mole in our systems. Someone's feeding information."
"You're right," Adams said. "But pulling off a covert op won't be easy."
"Leave that to me," Steven said. "Rosewood is my property. I'll throw a 'private' party during the conference. You can use that to embed your team."
Adams gave a slow nod. "Smart. We'll use your event as cover."
"I want this quiet," Steven said. "Whoever's behind this can't know we're onto them. Not yet."
Adams glanced at the screen one last time. "You got guts, kid. And now you've just stepped into a bigger game."