The hum of the testing hall felt like a physical weight. Ayush stared at the screen, his mind a chaotic storm of variables and "what-ifs." Was it a targeted strike? Did they find the shard? Every second spent analysing the security update was a second stolen from the exam. He forced his eyes to lock onto Question One. Two minutes had already evaporated. In the National 100, a minute was a lifetime.

  The exam was a six-hour descent into cognitive hell, split into two three-hour blocks with a meagre twenty-minute "Cal-Slu" break. It was a brutal filtration of five distinct disciplines.

  First came Data Processing, the "Speed Round." Ayush’s brain reeled, trying to perform the lightning-fast calculations his shard was supposed to automate. If he spent more than seventy-five seconds on a question, he was already falling behind the curve. Then came Kinetic Physics, or "Applied Pits Theory." It was a psychological sucker punch, forcing them to calculate the exact efficiency of the treadmills they had bled on that very morning. It turned their own exploitation into a sterile math problem.

  Then, the shift to Robotics and Logic. No multiple-choice here. Ayush had to navigate a virtual terminal to debug simulated machines in real-time. Finally, the "Reality Check" of Finance and Economics. For a boy who lived on a +25 calorie surplus, being asked to calculate the compound interest on a million-credit Grid apartment felt like a deliberate insult. Many students simply broke here, their tempers fraying into white-hot despair. The final gate was Astrophysics and High Theory, the "Genius Filter." It required knowledge of the Spire’s structural integrity and vacuum cooling systems, concepts most Pitsian schools didn't even have the textbooks for.

  The ultimate cruelty? The negative marking. A three-point question answered incorrectly wouldn't just result in a zero; it would strip away six points.

  As the hours ground on, Ayush found his rhythm. He was a survivor, a natural topper who had spent his life outperforming his peers. He was smart enough to solve anything; the only enemy was the clock. His mind flickered between the logic puzzles and the nagging fear of the security update, slowing his usual lightning pace. He glanced up every few minutes, searching for extra surveillance, but the robots merely glided in their pre-programmed patterns. No humans. No eyes. Just the whirr of servos.

  "Ten minutes remaining," the display flashed crimson.

  Ayush’s heart hammered. He still had fifteen questions left in Section 3. He went into "the zone," a cold, focused state where the world outside the screen ceased to exist. He grilled his way through the code, fingers flying, but he was still three questions short when the timer hit zero.

  "Move away from your seats," the robots droned. "Form a line to exit for the nutrition break."

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Outside, the air was thick with the smell of sweat and fear. Vineeth pulled Ayush aside, his eyes wide. "Was that update... was it your doing?"

  "No," Ayush whispered, his voice hoarse. "I’m as shocked as you are. I don't know what the hell happened."

  "I think they caught your bypass," Vineeth hissed.

  "If they had, they would have dragged me out of Pod 77-B an hour ago," Ayush countered, though his hands were shaking. "Maybe they found a hole but don't know who was planning to use it."

  "Maybe," Vineeth muttered. "How was it? Did you finish?"

  "I missed three questions completely. My brain was stuck on the update. What about you?"

  "I attempted everything I wanted," Vineeth said, "but I'm not sure if I’m right. At least I finished."

  The bell rang. The break was over. They gulped down their gray slurries and returned to the pods. The second session began on a steadier note. Ayush was calmer now, the data shard a distant, painful memory. For three hours, the only sound was the mechanical whirr of the proctors.

  Ayush reached the final question of Section 5, his body screaming for rest. His eyes were bloodshot, his brain felt like frayed copper wire, and his hands were cramped into claws. He looked for the 'Finish' button, but it wasn't there. Instead, a single, glowing prompt appeared: BONUS QUESTION.

  "What the hell is this?" Ayush murmured. He glanced sideways. No one else seemed to have reached this stage yet. He clicked.

  The screen read: System Error 0x000F80: The Kernel is experiencing entropy. How do you re-verify a decaying certificate without access to the Master Private Key?

  "I don't understand a single word of this," he breathed. He looked around to ask a robot, but suddenly, arms started raising across the hall. Murmurs turned into a dull roar of confusion. Other students were hitting the wall.

  The speakers hissed to life. The voice that came through was human—warm, authoritative, and startlingly real. "Attention, students. The final question is a bonus. Solving this grants fifty marks. Partial credit will be given for close attempts. There are no negative marks for this section. All the best."

  Ayush checked the clock. Five minutes left. Why announce this now? Why is a human speaking? He looked at the screen again. Focus, man. Focus.

  The hall was in a state of paralysis. Most students, exhausted by the previous five sections, simply stared at the screen in defeat. They had nothing left to give. Ayush, however, searched every corner of his memory. He thought of Ishaan’s journals, the "low-level" notes, the ancient architectures. He couldn't find a direct answer, but he began to type, using raw common sense and every scrap of logic he possessed.

  The final bell rang. "Attention students, get in line to proceed to exit," the robotic voice returned.

  Suddenly, the human voice boomed over the intercom again, cutting through the silence like a blade.

  "Ayush Pawar. Pod 77-B, Exam Hall 4. Please report to the Chairman’s office immediately."

  Ayush’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach. The shard. It had to be the shard. The journey to the Grid was over before it had even begun. He would be de-allocated. He would be a battery forever. Two robot proctors flanked him, their metallic frames a silent escort toward his doom.