When My Blocks Went Missing & Kernel Almost Crashed

🏛️ Arrival at the Venue — The Missing Blocks

The grand hall was a full-blown sensory assault—bright lights, stern judges, rolls of fabric stacked like skyscrapers, and rows of printing tables arranged with military precision. The energy buzzed; contestants were loudly, confidently unpacking their gear like seasoned magicians ready to reveal tricks.

I spotted Buggy immediately.

He was surrounded by a small crowd, proudly displaying his full set of ten exquisitely carved design blocks to his teammates and a couple of overly-interested journalists. The sight of his perfect, gleaming tools sent a familiar prickle of nerves skittering through me.

Kernel leaned close to my ear, voice steady and reassuring.

“Don’t worry, Novi. You have ten too. You’re equally capable.”

I managed a weak smile and reached for my leather pouch. My fingers expected the cool, familiar shapes of ten wooden blocks.

Instead—

Shock. Silence. Panic.

My hand closed around only two design blocks.

• One with a tiny dot-pattern.
• One with a short zig-zag.

The rest—my precious eight—were gone.

Kernel immediately entered full diagnostic meltdown.

”This is unacceptable! We must report it! Statistically, you cannot win—two designs versus ten—this is a hard-loss condition!”

A sinking weight settled in my stomach. Whether I’d misplaced them in the rush or someone had messed with my bag didn’t matter anymore—time was already against me.

🔍 My Frantic Search

I tuned Kernel out and launched into a chaotic, borderline embarrassing search.

I looked everywhere:

• under the tables
• behind curtains
• inside every pocket
• dumping my entire bag onto the floor
• checking compartments I forgot even existed

Each failed attempt made me feel more unhinged.

Kernel, ever the painfully logical human calculator, remarked:

“Statistically, repeating a failed search procedure will not change the result."

"Kernel, NOT NOW!” I hissed, barely holding it together.

I grabbed my phone and texted my most organized friend:

“Hey can you bring 8 design blocks to the venue NOW?? Any design?? Anything?? Pls pls”

Her reply was instant and laced with pure judgment:

“Why do you think I own fabric-printing design blocks???”

I threw my head back, letting the ceiling blur into one big glowing regret.

Next, I attacked instant delivery apps with desperate precision:

• “pattern stamp"
• "cloth printing design blocks"
• "block printing tool urgent"
• "any stamp pls pls pls express delivery???”

Every search returned the same mocking message:

No matching items found.

Kernel, irritatingly calm again:

“Novi, we should report this. This is a solvable governance problem."

"Kernel, stop talking like a helpdesk!”

In a final act of desperation, I picked up random objects from backstage: a bottle cap, a keychain, a metal clip, a sad rubber band. I inked and pressed them, praying for even the faintest usable pattern.

Nope. Each attempt was a new flavour of disappointment.

Finally, I collapsed into a chair, mind spinning, voice reduced to a cracked whisper:

“Why is this happening today…”

💡 The Binary Breakthrough

Exhausted and soaked in invisible stress-sweat, I stumbled down a narrow backstage corridor and slumped against a wall. The distant roar of the crowd and the confident thud-thud-thud of Buggy starting his design sounded like a countdown to my doom.

Then it happened.

A literal lightbulb moment.

Someone in the adjacent gallery flicked a switch, and a bright spotlight hit a framed piece of abstract art.

I froze.

The pattern—simple shapes repeating, expanding, spiraling into complexity—pulled me out of my despair like a hand reaching through fog.

Kernel, hovering like my worried shadow, asked softly:

“Novi…?”

I didn’t look away from the artwork.

A slow, incredulous smile crept onto my face.

“That’s it.
This isn’t created from abundance…
It’s created from base + position.
Decimal does it.
Binary does it.
Base isn’t the limit — the strategy is.”

Kernel tilted his head, deeply concerned.

“Binary? Are we discussing computation now? This is a fabric competition, Novi. You must focus.”

I ignored him completely, adrenaline washing over panic.

“Buggy is working in decimal, Kernel.
But I…
I will go binary!
This is a philosophical leap—from the mundane to the exponential!”

Kernel’s worry escalated.

“Novi, you are not making sense. Also, they are calling the finalists on stage!”

I whispered, half to myself:

“Yes… dot dot, dot zigzag, zigzag dot, zigzag zigzag…”

Kernel tried to say something else, but I was already moving.

I grabbed my pouch, secured the two lonely design blocks, and walked toward the stage—

heart pounding, mind buzzing,
ready to attempt the impossible.

😨 Kernel’s One-Minute Catastrophe

(Meanwhile, on Kernel’s side…)

Kernel had a bad feeling. The kind of bad feeling that settled into the stomach like a poorly documented bug and refused to leave. He hurried from backstage to the audience rows, weaving through people until he found a seat with a clear view of the stage.

What he saw made his heart drop.

Novi stood dead center under the harsh white lights—completely still.

• Not adjusting her tools.
• Not greeting the judges.
• Not beginning her design.
• Just… frozen.

Muttering something to herself.

Kernel leaned forward, straining to hear.

”…dot dot… dot zigzag… zigzag dot… exponential leap…"

"What on earth…” he whispered, burying his face in his hands.

The judges exchanged worried looks.

Buggy smirked like someone already drafting his victory speech.

The audience began to shift and whisper.

Kernel cringed so hard his shoulders folded inward.

This is it. This is the meltdown. She’s gone full abstract philosophy in front of a live audience.

A whole minute of complete stillness passed.

A whole minute.

In competitive time, that was eternity.

Kernel could no longer sit there. His embarrassment was now so intense that his entire spine felt like it was retreating into itself. He stood up abruptly.

He was going backstage.

Someone had to gently guide Novi off before she became a metaphor in someone’s TED talk about public breakdowns.

But just as he turned—

Novi moved.

And Kernel froze.

Her hand dipped into the ink. Stamp.

Dot—clean, sharp, confident.

Then the second block. Stamp.

Zigzag.

Then both—rapid, fluid combinations that seemed impossible for someone carrying the weight of panic moments ago. Dot-dot. Dot-zig. Zig-dot. Zig-zig. Over and over—each sequence forming a new, distinct motif.

Rhythmic. Deliberate.

Like she wasn’t designing but composing.

The audience gasped.

The judges leaned so far forward one nearly lost her balance.

Buggy stopped mid-stamp, disbelief cracking across his face.

Kernel slowly sat back down, his mouth falling open.

Eight missing design blocks.

Two tiny tools.

And Novi was creating more variation, more depth, more originality than he had ever seen—even in her best rehearsals.

His embarrassment dissolved, replaced by an unexpected prickle of awe rising up his neck.

Novi wasn’t frozen.

She wasn’t panicking.

She was computing.

She was planning.

She was… about to change the game.

Kernel let out a long breath, equal parts relief and astonishment.

“This girl,” he whispered under his breath, shaking his head, “is going to give me grey hair.”

🧩 Backstage — The Partial Reveal

From my side, right after stepping off stage…

Kernel practically jogged backstage the moment I stepped off. His internal systems must have been a mess—I could practically feel the spiritual overheating from that eternal minute of silence followed by the wild pattern blitz he’d just witnessed.

I was calmly wiping ink off my fingers, serene and satisfied. Kernel, however, looked like he’d sprinted through seven existential crises simultaneously.

He marched straight up to me.

”Novi. Explain. Now.”

I blinked innocently. “Explain what?”

Kernel gestured wildly toward the stage.

”The— the THING you just did! That pattern explosion! You had TWO design blocks! Two! You shouldn’t have been able to create that many variations unless you—“

He paused.

”—were secretly possessed.”

I snorted. “Kernel, please. If I were possessed, the pattern would’ve been symmetrical."

"Then WHAT was it?” he demanded.

I leaned back against the wall, clutching my ink-stained pouch.

”Binary.”

Kernel blinked. “Binary… as in… computer binary? Like 0 and 1? Novi, this is a textile competition. You didn’t hack the fabric."

"Actually,” I said, grinning, “I kind of did.”

He stared.

I sighed and held up the two design blocks.

”This one is dot. This one is zig-zag,” I said.

”Two symbols, Kernel. Just two.”

Kernel folded his arms. “I’m aware of the count."

"And two symbols are enough,” I said.

”Dot-dot."

"Dot-zig."

"Zig-dot."

"Zig-zig.”

I tapped each block lightly, like demonstrating a magic trick.

”Four patterns with just two symbols. And if you repeat sequences…”

I shrugged.

”…you get infinite possibilities.

Because every time you repeat the sequence, you’re not adding a symbol—you’re adding a position. And positions are limitless.”

Kernel’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait. That was Binary? You used Binary for fabric printing?”

I nodded. “Yup."

"That’s… absurd!"

"But effective,” I said sweetly.

Kernel opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

”I don’t understand fully,” he admitted, rubbing his forehead. “How did you know where to place them? How did you sequence them? And how—“

I placed a finger on his lips.

”Kernel,” I said, smiling,

“That’s the partial explanation. You’ll get the rest at home. Right now—“

I lifted my ink-stained hands.

”—I need soap. And a snack. Possibly seven.”

Kernel nodded, intrigued and overwhelmed.

And he knew one thing for certain:

Whatever I’d pulled off on that stage…

he hadn’t even seen half the truth yet.

🏠 At Home — The Full Reveal & The Strategy Behind Infinity

By the time we reached home, the adrenaline had drained out of my system and transformed into pure exhaustion. I tossed my ink-stained pouch onto the table, kicked off my shoes, and collapsed onto the couch like a deflated origami crane.

Kernel followed me in, still wearing the same expression he’d worn backstage—the “I will not sleep until I understand” face.

He set two glasses of water on the table.

”Novi,” he said, sitting beside me, “I’ve been patient. But now I need the full explanation. No more poetic half-answers. What happened today?”

I groaned dramatically, lifted one hand, and pointed to the ceiling.

”Kernel, bring me the whiteboard.”

Kernel sighed.

”You don’t need a whiteboard—"

"Kernel."

"…I’ll bring the whiteboard.”

He dragged over the small foldable board I use for late-night brainstorming. I sat up, cracked my knuckles, and drew two big symbols:

“These,” I said, “are my 0 and 1.”

Kernel nodded slowly.

I continued.

”You saw me randomly stamping? That wasn’t random. I was creating sequences.”

I wrote:

”Two design blocks → four patterns.
Add one more repetition → eight.
Then sixteen.
Then thirty-two.
Exponential growth.”

Kernel leaned back, lips parted slightly.

”Binary in fabric… I still can’t believe you did that on the fly.”

I shrugged. “Binary is just… comforting. Two choices. Infinite possibilities, as long as you use the positional strategy.”

Then I drew three columns:

“Binary is the simplest.

If I had eight design blocks?

That’s like switching to Octal.”

I held up eight fingers.

”Eight symbols → even more combinations ($8^n$).

The base changes the efficiency, not the infinity."

"Sixteen design blocks?” Kernel guessed.

”Hexadecimal,” I grinned.

”Sixteen symbols.

Everything becomes super-efficient.

That’s why programmers love it.”

Kernel stared, amazed.

”You’re telling me number systems aren’t about quantity. They’re about structure."

"Yes!” I slapped the table, delighted.

”That’s the point! Buggy worked in decimal thinking. He saw ten design blocks as ten individual options.

I had two design blocks and used strategy, not quantity.”

Kernel sat quietly, absorbing.

I softened my tone.

”Look, Kernel… this is true in life too.”

I put the marker down and folded my hands.

”Sometimes we look at someone else and think they have more—more tools, more opportunities, more advantages.”

I pointed at the board.

”But they might just be using a system we don’t understand yet.”

Kernel’s eyes lifted to mine.

”We think they’re infinite,” I continued, “but they’re not. They’re just applying a pattern. A method. A strategy.”

I leaned back into the couch cushion.

”When we learn that strategy—binary, octal, hex, whatever—suddenly… we aren’t limited anymore. We realize we didn’t need more resources. We needed more perspective.”

A small smile tugged at Kernel’s lips.

”And today,” he said softly, “You showed that two design blocks can stand against ten.”

I laughed gently.

”Kernel, two design blocks can stand against anything if you use them right.”

We sat there for a moment, a gentle silence settling between us.

Kernel exhaled, somewhere between admiration and exhaustion.

”Well,” he murmured, “that explains the grey hair."

"Good,” I said brightly.

”Because tomorrow? We’re trying imaginary numbers.”

Kernel groaned into a pillow.

But he was smiling.