The easy rhythm of their new normal—coding, co-op Genshin sessions, and quiet dates—was abruptly interrupted by a notification that made Kairos's stomach drop. It wasn't from Ares, or the CampusFix monitoring system. It was a GitHub notification for their project repository.
User Nexus-Audit has submitted a pull request.
Kairos stared at the screen. Nexus-Audit? He didn't recognize the username. Who was this, and why were they submitting code to their project? A cold dread washed over him. Had they been hacked? Was this some kind of exploit?
He clicked on the pull request with a sense of impending doom. The title was simple: "Feature: Automated Code Quality & Security Scanning."
His eyes scanned the description. It wasn't malicious code. It was a comprehensive integration of external tools—ESLint for code linting, a security vulnerability scanner, a dependency updater. The PR description was meticulously written, explaining how this CI/CD pipeline would automatically check every new piece of code for common errors and security flaws before it could be merged into the main branch.
It was, objectively, a brilliant addition. It was also something he and Ares had discussed as a "someday, maybe" feature. Now, a stranger had just… built it for them.
Kairos: Are you seeing this?
Ares:I'm looking at it right now. Who is Nexus-Audit?
Kairos:No idea. Should we reject it? It feels… invasive.
Before Ares could reply, another notification popped up. This time, it was an email from Professor Evans.
Subject: Regarding your CampusFix Project
Message: Kairos, Ares. Hope you don't mind, I took the liberty of sharing your repo (read-only, of course) with a former student of mine, Ben Carter. He's a senior engineer at NexTech and runs their internal dev tools team. He was impressed with your work at the showcase and wanted to contribute something useful. He goes by Nexus-Audit. I trust you'll give his pull request due consideration. - Evans
The dread transformed into a dizzying mix of awe and intimidation. A senior engineer from NexTech? The same company that had reached out after the hackathon? He wasn't just looking; he was actively contributing. This wasn't an invasion; it was an endorsement from the big leagues.
Ares: Okay. So it's not a hacker. It's a… mentor?
Kairos:I feel like a kid who built a treehouse, and a master carpenter just showed up to install reinforced joists.
Ares:The code is flawless. Look at the configuration files. It's… beautiful.
They spent the next hour on a call, poring over every line of Ben's contribution. It was a masterclass in clean, professional development. The comments were clear, the configuration was robust, and it solved problems they hadn't even known they had.
"So… do we merge it?" Kairos asked, his finger hovering over the button. It felt momentous. It was accepting that their project was now being seen by real, professional eyes. It was opening themselves up to a new level of scrutiny.
"It's the logical choice," Ares said, her voice all business, but he could hear the underlying thrill. "It improves the project's stability and security. It's a net positive."
"Right. Logic." He took a deep breath. "Merging."
He clicked the button. The code was integrated. Almost instantly, a new check started running on their repository—the automated scanner from Ben's pipeline, now working on their codebase.
They watched, mesmerized, as the system analyzed their entire project. It was like having a silent, hyper-competent partner reviewing their every past decision.
And then, it finished. The result wasn't a clean bill of health.
A list of issues appeared. Dozens of them. Mostly minor: unused variables, inconsistent formatting, a few functions that were too complex.
But one was highlighted in yellow, a warning.
Security: Potential SQL injection vulnerability in user input sanitization.
Kairos's blood ran cold. A security flaw. In their live app. A real one, found by a tool a professional had just given them.
"Okay," Ares said, her voice tight. "No more Genshin tonight."
"No," Kairos agreed, his own focus snapping into a razor's edge. "We have a bug to fix."
The dynamic shifted instantly. The playful competition of their game night was gone, replaced by the sobering reality of professional responsibility. They weren't just students anymore. Their project had outgrown the classroom. Someone important was watching, and he had just handed them a mirror, showing them a crack they'd never seen.
For the next four hours, they worked in a focused silence, broken only by the clack of keys and short, technical exchanges. They fixed the formatting, removed the dead code, and refactored the complex functions. Finally, they tackled the SQL injection warning, rewriting the database query to use parameterized inputs, eliminating the vulnerability entirely.
It was grueling, unglamorous work. But as they pushed the fixes and watched the automated scanner finally return a clean, green "All checks passed" status, a feeling of immense pride washed over them, far deeper than any victory in a video game.
They had been tested by an unseen professional, and they had passed. Their code was now stronger, safer, and better because of it.
Kairos: We should thank him.
Ares:I already did. Sent a message through LinkedIn. He just wrote back: "Fast turnaround. Good work."