In the final lap, the music cut out entirely. A prompt appeared on the screen:

He looked back. The window was empty, but on his monitor, the zip file reappeared, its size now 0KB. The race was over, but the feeling of being watched remained.

He started a race. The track was a twisted version of Seaside Hill, but the bright blues had bled into deep indigos and charcoal. There were no other racers. No power-ups. Just the sound of the engine and the digital wind.

As Leo drove, he noticed the "all-stars" weren't in their cars. They were standing on the sidelines, frozen like statues, watching him pass. Beat, AiAi, Ulala—their eyes followed his car with a frame-by-frame mechanical precision.

Leo hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keys. He typed: “The finish line.”