Max and Ming they worked together seamlessly, arguing briefly over the specifics of Bayesian inference before settling on the perfect answer. Ethan leaned back, watching them, only stepping in once to correct a minor detail about non-Euclidean geometry—a correction that left Max staring at him with utter awe.

The final round was Pop Culture & Arts. Hailey took charge, ably supported by Quinn and Ruby. They nailed questions about 90s sitcoms and contemporary music, but stumbled slightly on Renaissance painters.

Ethan subtly took the pen. Who painted 'The Birth of Venus'? Sandro Botticelli. Name the lead singer of the band, 'The Arctic Monkeys'. Alex Turner.

The final scoring took place. The room was tense. The host returned with the final tally.

"It was a tough competition tonight. We had some sharp minds. In third place, with 28 points, is 'The Calculus Club'!"

"In second place, nearly clinching the win with 31 points, the formidable team of seniors: 'The Grad Students'!"

He paused dramatically. "And our winner tonight, with a stunning, near-perfect score of 33 points, and taking home the $1,000 prize: 'THE KERNEL PANIC'!"

The table exploded with cheers and high-fives. Ming practically hugged Ethan. "We did it! We actually won!"

Ethan just smiled, picking up the cash prize—a surprisingly heavy stack of crisp hundred-dollar bills. He looked at the cash, then at Ming, Max, Quinn, Ruby, and finally, at Hailey, whose face was flushed with success and excitement.

A moment later, Ethan returned to the table after collecting the prize from the host, a wide smile on his face. The entire table erupted. Cheers and hugs were exchanged wildly. In the midst of the euphoric chaos, Ethan moved close to Hailey. He capitalized on the distraction, letting his hand slide down her side until it rested on her lower back, just above her buttocks.

Hailey, fueled by the adrenaline of the win and the intoxicating proximity to Ethan, registered his touch instantly. Instead of pulling away, she subtly pressed his hand, then quickly grabbed it and slid it down, placing it directly and deliberately on her ass.

Ethan looked directly into her eyes, his own reflecting the surprise and heat of the moment. Hailey immediately dropped her gaze, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of crimson, now mixed with embarrassment. He responded by giving her butt a deliberate, gentle squeeze, eliciting a sharp, hushed gasp from her.

The others were still shouting, jumping, and celebrating, completely oblivious to the intimate, charged exchange happening between the two. Taking advantage of the sustained noise, Ethan leaned in, ostensibly to celebrate, and kissed her on the cheek, his lips intentionally brushing against the corner of her mouth.

[Simmer this one down, Champion. Cook her on low heat. This little lamb is about to melt for you.] The System's voice was full of amusement.

The excitement settled slightly, and the stack of one-hundred-dollar bills was placed on the sticky table.

"Alright, $1,000," Ming announced, carefully counting the bills, a look of reverence on his face. "What do we do with the spoils of war?"

"I say we split it evenly," suggested Quinn. "A hundred sixty-six dollars each!"

Max shook his head. "No, you guys take it. It was fun, but I don't need the cash." He looked at Ethan, who nodded in agreement.

Ethan shrugged casually, though he knew $1,000 meant virtually nothing to him. "Same here. Consider it a bonus for the effort. How about you four split it, and we can host a proper victory party or buy everyone dinner next week?" Ethan made sure to keep his tone light, avoiding sounding condescending.

"No way," Ruby said, folding her arms. "We won as a team, we spend it as a team. Hailey, you hold onto it. It's the 'Kernel Panic' emergency fund. We can use it next time we all go out together."

Everyone agreed enthusiastically. Hailey, still slightly flustered by Ethan's touch, carefully tucked the money into her small backpack.

Just then, a group of older students from the runner-up team approached their table. They looked a bit more polished and tired—clearly graduate students.

"Hey," said their leader, a tall man with a beard, holding up his beer. "Good game, 'Kernel Panic.' You guys blindsided us in the history round. We thought we had that locked."

"Thanks," Max replied, smiling. "You guys were tough in the Science round."

"Yeah, we're all Post-Docs and Ph.D. candidates in the materials science program," the bearded man explained, gesturing to his team. "We usually dominate these things." He looked at Ethan. "What program are you guys in? You look... young."

"Undergrad," Ethan replied simply. "Freshmen."

The grad students' eyes went wide. The table of freshmen burst into laughter, enjoying the stunned looks on the veterans' faces.

"Freshmen? Seriously?" The man let out a respectful whistle. "Alright, you guys earned it. Come on, we'll buy you the next round of drinks and some wings. A truce for the night."

The two groups merged for a lively, food-filled conversation. The grad students talked about their research, giving the freshmen a glimpse into the future of their studies. Amidst the laughter and the passing of plates, Ethan, always sitting close to Hailey, used the crowded table as cover. Every few minutes, his hand would casually find its way to her inner thigh or lower back, applying subtle pressure and eliciting small, intoxicating jolts of pleasure and surprise from Hailey, who now struggled to focus on the conversation, caught between intellectual debate and silent arousal.

After a few more rounds of drinks, the celebration started to wind down. Max, despite his intellectual prowess, was clearly a lightweight and was now quite tipsy, leaning heavily on Ming.

"I think the 'Kernel Panic' is starting to get a little... buggy," Ming commented, struggling to support Max.

The sun hadn't completely set, but it was getting dark, and Max definitely shouldn't drive his Porsche. Ming didn't have a license, and the other girls were wary.

Ethan, realizing the situation, calmly pulled out his cell phone and stepped slightly away from the table.

"Hey, Jason, can you help me out? I have some friends here who are a little too drunk to drive. Can you come pick us up and bring someone to drive the other SUV?"

Jason answered immediately. His breathing sounded ragged, like he was running. "Yes, sir, of course, boss. I'm a little far, but I'll be there shortly."

Jason's voice sounded odd, and the background noise was alarming. Ethan thought he heard muffled shouts and, distinctly, the sound of gunshots behind Jason.

"Everything alright, Jason?" Ethan asked, his voice tightening, the easy confidence suddenly gone.

"Everything's fine, boss," Jason replied quickly, but his voice was strained. "Nothing to worry about."

The sound of the gunshots grew louder, accompanied by sharp, distant cries. The noise was undeniable now, and it sent a spike of immediate anxiety through Ethan. His heart began to pound against his ribs, a response purely driven by his protective nature for his bodyguard.

Ethan thought: "Something is definitely wrong. And he's hiding it."

Ethan knew the conversation needed to end, but he was left with a cold pit of worry in his stomach as the call ended abruptly. He quickly returned to the table, masking his concern with a forced smile.

"Our ride is on its way," he announced, his gaze instantly sweeping the room, evaluating potential threats for the first time that night.

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