The morning after the “Final Warning” email, Max’s calm was a thin, deceptive layer of ice over an ocean of frenetic activity.
On the surface, Max Adler was a man who had broken under pressure—a social climber who had finally understood his place and was hiding in his room.
In reality, he was a general coordinating a tactical pincer movement.
His phone vibrated with a secure chat notification.
It was Isa.
Isa: Bingo.
My contact in Massachusetts has finished the trace.
The final IP doesn’t just resolve within the campus; it points specifically to one of the terminals in the Science Faculty computer lab.
The email was sent from there at exactly 23:14.
Sending you the terminal number and access log now.
It was the first solid piece of the puzzle.
The stalker felt safe operating from a public place, believing the mass of students would serve as camouflage.
Max didn’t waste a second and forwarded the information to Victoria.
Max: Intelligence update.
The target operated from the Science Faculty computer lab last night, terminal 42.
Tell your man to focus on security footage from that entrance and the adjacent hallways between 23:00 and 23:30.
This is our best chance to put a face to the shadow.
Two days of tense, absolute, self-imposed calm followed.
Max played the role of the “defeated man” with an acting precision that only his [Player Mind] skill could sustain.
He kept a low profile, skipped classes, and avoided any public contact with his allies.
He knew the shadow was watching, gloating over his apparent isolation.
Max let the silence work for him, allowing Isa’s and Victoria’s networks to operate in the vacuum he had created.
On Wednesday afternoon, as the sunlight began to fade, Max’s phone rang.
It was Victoria.
Her voice came through crisp, vibrating with a triumphant satisfaction she didn’t try to hide.
“We have him, Max,” she said, and Max could almost picture her smiling in her office.
“My investigator got access to the Science Faculty recordings.
In the time range you marked, only five people used that specific terminal.
Four are graduate students with impeccable access records and solid alibis.
The fifth…
is an anomaly.”
Max sat up straight in his chair, his pulse quickening slightly for the first time in days.
“What kind of anomaly?”
“A freshman who doesn’t fit the faculty profile,” Victoria continued.
“He was wearing a cap pulled low to avoid the direct cameras, but he was careless entering the building; the wide-angle in the lobby caught his face.
I’m sending you the technical description right now: Male, Caucasian, messy brown hair, thin build, approximately 5’7″.
With the physical description in hand, Max knew the net was finally tightening around his prey’s neck.
All he needed was a name to turn the shadow into a target.
Victoria’s definitive call came an hour later.
Max answered on the first ring, but this time, the campus queen’s tone had changed.
The euphoria of victory had been replaced by a note of confusion, almost disbelief.
“I moved some strings.
I used the technical description you gave me, and it didn’t take my sorority girls three hours to find him.
There’s a freshman in the Science Faculty who matches perfectly: reserved to the point of invisibility, sometimes seen around campus with a professional camera…
and he’s a scholarship student with excellent grades, just like you.
His name is Adrián Valente.”
The name resonated in Max’s mind, but no matter how hard he searched his eidetic memory files, he found nothing.
He was a blank slate.
“Adrián Valente…” Max repeated, savoring the name as if it were an encrypted code.
“Does he have any connection to Leo Vargas?
Is he part of his circle?
Any debt, any favors owed?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line—Victoria’s silence was unusual.
“That’s the strange part,” she replied, and Max detected a note of genuine unease in her tone.
“No.
I’ve had it checked three times.
They don’t speak, they don’t share common friends, they don’t even attend the same events.
From what it looks like, Leo doesn’t even know this kid exists.
There’s no trace of money, no loyalties.
Nothing.”
The revelation hit Max with unexpected weight.
This was far more disturbing than a simple class-based revenge.
An attack from Leo was predictable—the tantrum of a wounded bully using pawns to strike.
But a calculated attack from a stranger, with no apparent financial or social motive, entered the realm of the irrational.
Was it an obsession?
A personal resentment born in the shadows?
In Max’s game, logical motivations were easy to counter; human unknowns were dangerous.
Despite the mystery, Max knew he couldn’t afford doubt.
The net was cast, and it was time to pull it in.
He opened a new encrypted group chat, titled simply ‘M&I&V&L’.
Max: We know who it is.
He doesn’t seem to have any connection to Leo or the power groups.
We don’t know why he’s doing it, but the evidence is irrefutable.
I need you to meet me tomorrow at 17:00 outside the Science Faculty computer lab.
We’re going to get some answers.
The responses didn’t take long, each reflecting the essence of his allies.
Laura: A stranger stalking from the shadows…
that’s a thousand times creepier than Leo.
I’ll be there.
He won’t be taking another photo as long as he lives.
Isa: No known connection = unpredictable variable.
Direct confrontation in a closed space is a tactical risk, but it’s the only way to collapse his anonymity.
I accept.
I need to see his stress response pattern.
Victoria: A lone wolf playing spy?
How interesting.
This is getting better and better, Max.
Of course I’m going.
I want to see the face of the boy who thinks he can watch my partners.
The next day, at five in the afternoon, the improbable team was gathered under the cold fluorescent lights of the Science hallway.
Max, Laura, Isa, and Victoria positioned themselves in a discreet spot—an oasis of power and determination that clashed with the sterile environment of the building.
Through the glass wall of the computer lab, they saw Adrián Valente.
He was a fragile-looking young man, hunched over his keyboard, moving with absolute technical efficiency, oblivious to the storm that had just parked at his door.
They waited.
Time slowed as the afternoon sun began to die behind the campus buildings.
They watched as other students finished their tasks and left, as the murmur of voices faded until only the hum of server fans remained.
Finally, after nearly an hour of surveillance, only one figure remained inside, his pale face illuminated by the bluish glow of terminal 42.
Adrián.
Max looked at his companions.
Laura’s shoulders were tense, her gaze steady, ready for physical action; Isa maintained an analytical expression, already processing the micro-gestures she would see in seconds; and Victoria wore a predatory smile, savoring the moment of the enemy’s surrender.
“Now,” Max said.
His voice was calm, but charged with an authority that no longer needed the System to impose itself.
They rose as a single organism and walked toward the wood-and-glass door.
The hunt was over.
The confrontation with the shadow was about to begin.