Date: February 10, 2025

  Today was competition day.

  The Presentations

  I sat in the audience, heart hammering, hands clenched together in my lap. My turn was coming.

  Samantha had just presented—confident, polished, and smooth. Then came Nathan, and my stomach twisted the moment his slides appeared on the screen.

  Because I recognized them.

  The structure. The logic. The model.

  He had changed just enough to make it look different, but every core insight was mine.

  I forced my expression to stay neutral, even as something hot and sharp curled in my chest. I’d known this was coming, but knowing didn’t make it easier.

  I wasn’t angry, yet. That would come later. Right now, sitting in that chair, watching my own work come out of his mouth, I felt something far worse.

  Humiliation.

  Had I been too trusting? Too naive? Had I made it that easy for someone to take what I built and call it their own?

  I inhaled slowly, forcing myself to focus. Across the room, my eyes landed on Ethan, Leo, Eric, and Hannah—all watching.

  Leo was sitting back, fingers tapping idly against his knee, but his gaze flicked to me, lingering just a second longer than necessary. Ethan sat with his arms crossed, his face unreadable, but there was something sharp in his expression. Hannah, ever composed, gave me the smallest, almost imperceptible nod.

  I straightened.

  Fine. Nathan wanted to play this game?

  Let’s see who played it better.

  When my name was called, I stood on legs that did not feel steady and climbed the stage.

  Breathe.

  I exhaled slowly, scanning the audience. My throat felt dry, my heartbeat too loud.

  For a terrifying second, I thought my voice would shake.

  Then I started speaking.

  And everything clicked.

  My model wasn’t just Nathan’s version. It was better. It was refined. I had spent extra hours improving it, finding weaknesses he hadn’t even considered, stress-testing areas that had seemed minor but would make all the difference in real-world application.

  I wasn’t just proving my work.

  I was proving myself.

  I finished strong, my voice steady. When I stepped away from the podium, I let myself take a breath—controlled, measured.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Then I looked toward the panel.

  The CEO leaned forward slightly, eyes flicking between my slides and me. When he finally spoke, his words were measured, deliberate.

  “Interesting,” he mused, tapping his fingers against the table. “I noticed a few similarities between this and Nathan’s model.”

  A flicker of tension shot through me, but I held my ground. He knew. And he didn’t care.

  “But,” he continued, “I have to say, your version is more thorough. The additional refinements to seasonal segmentation and prediction confidence intervals give it a stronger business case.”

  I let out a slow breath.

  It wasn’t an outright acknowledgment, but it was something.

  The Results

  We were made to sit through an agonizing fifteen-minute interlude while the judges deliberated.

  I barely heard a word of the chatter around me. My mind kept cycling through the presentation, the subtle weight of the CEO’s gaze, the way I had caught Ethan watching me.

  Then, the CEO returned to the podium, holding the final rankings.

  I felt my heart pound against my ribs.

  “First place,” he announced, “goes to Andrea Patel.”

  Applause erupted. Andrea, a new hire from the finance analytics team, walked up to shake the CEO’s hand. She had deserved it.

  “Second place,” he continued, “Daniel Tran.”

  I swallowed hard.

  I swear to God if Nathan w-

  “And in third place, Ada Watanabe.”

  What?

  I looked up, eyes wide. Did I hear wrong?

  Beside me, Samantha was excitedly shaking my arm and saying something but I didn't hear. I felt a shove as she pushed me forward. I barely registered the applause as I walked toward the front, shaking the CEO’s hand.

  Third place.

  I wasn’t some lost journalism major who had stumbled into data science on a whim.

  I had earned this.

  As I turned back to my seat, I felt Ethan’s gaze on me.

  I expected indifference. Maybe a flicker of amusement. But what I saw instead was approval.

  Something in my chest tightened. Was it gratitude? Embarrassment at nearly having cried in front of him? Or was it just flattering to get the approval of one of TechJolt's finest? I pushed it aside.

  A Corporate Lesson

  After the ceremony, the CEO shook hands with the finalists.

  When he got to me, his grip was firm but brief.

  “You handled that well,” he said under his breath.

  I blinked. “Handled what?”

  His mouth twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Getting your idea stolen.”

  A rush of emotions tangled in my throat, but I kept my face impassive. “It happens, I guess.”

  “It does.” He released my hand and gave me a measuring look. “Consider it a rite of passage. The best ones always get their ideas stolen first.”

  That wasn’t exactly comforting.

  But before I could respond, he added, “I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Watanabe. I expect to see great things.”

  I watched him walk away, unease curling beneath my ribs.

  Nathan’s Karma

  The next morning, Samantha practically pounced on me as I sat down.

  “Did you hear?” she whispered.

  I yawned. “Hear what?”

  She grinned. “Nathan got fired.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “Apparently, he accessed client data he wasn’t supposed to for the challenge. Some unsecured database or something.” She shrugged. “No one knows how he knew about it, but honestly? Feels like karma.”

  I stared at her. “He what?”

  She nodded, eyes gleaming. “Guess TechJolt has some standards, huh?”

  A slow realization settled in me.

  Across the room, Leo was leaning back in his chair, scrolling on his phone.

  He wasn’t looking at me, wasn’t even paying attention to our conversation.

  But as I met his gaze, he winked.

  Then he stood, stretched, and walked off like nothing had happened.

  Something about that wink lingered.

  End-of-Day Reflections

  The office had emptied, leaving only the quiet hum of late-night workers, the occasional murmur of someone on a call.

  I stayed at my desk, staring at my screen, letting everything sink in.

  I had walked into TechJolt unsure if I even belonged here.

  Today, I had my answer.

  I had placed third—not because I got lucky, not because someone handed it to me, but because I had earned it.

  I wasn’t the best. Not yet.

  But I was here.

  And I wasn’t going anywhere.

  As I packed up my things, my phone buzzed. A message from my older brother.

  [Hiro: Saw your company’s LinkedIn post about the competition. Third place, huh? Not bad, kid.]

  I smirked.

  [Me: Not bad at all.]

  I let out a slow breath and shut my laptop.

  Tomorrow, I’d be back at it.

  Tomorrow, I’d start working toward the next thing.

  Because I wasn’t done yet. I slung my bag over my shoulder. It felt light, comfortable, right. Maybe I did belong here after all.