As Joon-ho and Min-jae were forcefully ejected from the NexaRealm, the match continued without them, the other players unaware of the turmoil that had unfolded outside of the virtual world. The game didn't pause, didn't acknowledge the absence of two players who had lost themselves to their emotions. For the remaining members of Team 2, the fight for the crown carried on, with the stakes as high as ever.
But for Joon-ho, the battle had shifted from the virtual arena to a far more personal one.
The instructors led him to a separate room, stark and sterile, devoid of any distractions. They didn't say a word as they left him there, alone with nothing but the silence and his thoughts. The door closed with a decisive click, sealing him in with the aftermath of his actions.
Joon-ho sat heavily in the chair, his hands trembling slightly as he rubbed his face, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions that had overtaken him. His heart was still pounding, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away, leaving behind a raw, hollow feeling in its wake.
Why had he done that? The question echoed in his mind, relentless and unforgiving. He replayed the scene over and over—the moment he had lost control, the anger that had blinded him, the punch he had thrown in a fit of rage. It all seemed so surreal now as if it had happened to someone else.
But it hadn't. It was all him.
Joon-ho couldn't shake the image of Min-jae's stunned expression, the shock in his own teammates' eyes as they watched their leader—usually so composed and level-headed—snap under the pressure. He had let them down, not just as a player, but as the person they relied on to keep it together when things got tough.
He shouldn't have done that. The thought was a heavy weight on his chest, pressing down harder with each passing second. He knew better. He was supposed to be the one who kept his cool, who strategized and led by example. And yet, in that crucial moment, he had failed.
Regret gnawed at him, sharp and unyielding. He had thrown away everything they had worked for, all because he couldn't hold it together for just a few more minutes. What if this cost them everything? What if, because of him, Team 2 was eliminated from the competition? The very thought was unbearable.
Joon-ho stared at his hands, as if searching for an explanation, some justification for what he had done. But there was none. It had been a moment of weakness, a lapse in judgment that could have catastrophic consequences for the entire team. For a brief second, he wondered if there was any way to undo what had been done, to take back that moment and act differently.
But he knew better. There was no going back. The damage was done, and now he had to live with the fallout.
As he sat there, alone with his thoughts, Joon-ho felt the full weight of his actions settle over him. The regret was overwhelming, a suffocating presence that left him with nothing but the stark reality of his mistake. And in that moment, he realized just how far he had strayed from the person he wanted to be—the leader his team needed him to be.
Director Hye-su entered the room with an air of authority, her expression stern as she closed the door behind her. She didn't sit; instead, she remained standing, her gaze fixed on Joon-ho, who looked up at her with a mix of regret and apprehension.
"I'm disappointed in you, Joon-ho," she began, her voice carrying a weight that made Joon-ho's heart sink even further. "After everything I've done to ensure you stay at NexaCorp Korea University—something only a few have been granted—you make such a grave mistake. Fighting? That alone could result in expulsion."
Joon-ho winced at the word "expulsion." It hung in the air like a looming threat, a consequence that could unravel everything he had worked for. But he remained silent, knowing that whatever he said might only make things worse.
Director Hye-su continued, her tone not softening.
"You must understand, Joon-ho, that pushing young minds to desperation was part of my intention. I wanted to see how far you could go, what you could endure. But even with that understanding, what happened cannot be undone. You and Min-jae crossed a line, and now, there's no going back."
"What happened to the team, Director? Are they... are they disqualified?" Joon-ho, who had been sitting quietly, finally spoke up, his voice tinged with concern.
"Soo-jin managed to win the crown back, despite the chaos you and Min-jae caused. While you were fighting, she trailed Team 5, waiting for the right moment. When Team 5 encountered other teams and a brawl broke out, Soo-jin used perfect timing to swoop in for an elimination, reclaim the crown, and run down the timer. She secured victory for your team," Director Hye-su's expression remained unreadable as she answered.
For a moment, hope flickered in Joon-ho's eyes. The news of Soo-jin's success felt like a lifeline, a chance for redemption. But the director quickly extinguished that hope with her next words.
"However," she continued, her voice growing colder. "The offence you and Min-jae committed cannot go unpunished. I'm considering disqualifying Team 2."
Joon-ho's heart dropped, and he immediately protested.
"That's not fair! Soo-jin, Jin-kyong, Baek-hyeon—they had nothing to do with what Min-jae and I did. If you must punish someone, punish us, but don't take the whole team down with us!"
Director Hye-su's eyes flashed with a sharp intensity, and she snarled.
"Silent, young man! When an elder is speaking, you listen," her words cut through the air like a blade, leaving Joon-ho stunned into silence. "You may be considered an adult by age, but in my eyes, you're still a child—just like the rest of the students here."
She paused, letting her words sink in before continuing.
"Every action bears consequences, Joon-ho. But not all consequences are tied to the actions themselves. For the rest of Team 2, their potential disqualification is a consequence of your and Min-jae's failure. They suffer because of what you did, because you couldn't control yourself. That is the reality of leadership, of responsibility."
With that, Director Hye-su turned and walked out of the room, leaving Joon-ho alone once more, the weight of her words pressing down on him like a crushing burden. The door closed behind her, the sound echoing in the silence that followed, as Joon-ho was left to grapple with the gravity of what he had done and what it might mean for his team.
Joon-ho sat in the quiet room, the weight of the conversation with Director Hye-su still heavy on his shoulders. The silence around him seemed to amplify his thoughts, each one more suffocating than the last. He replayed the events over and over in his mind—the fight, the regret, the harsh words of the director. Every moment felt like a nail driving deeper into the realization that he had jeopardized everything for not only himself but his entire team.
The minutes stretched on, each one feeling like an eternity. Joon-ho kept staring at the same spot on the floor, unable to bring himself to move. He knew he had to face his team eventually, but the thought of seeing their disappointed faces, knowing he had let them down, was unbearable. He felt trapped in that small room, caged by his actions and the consequences that followed.
Finally, after what felt like hours, the door creaked open. An instructor stepped inside, his expression neutral but his tone gentle as he spoke.
"You can go now, Joon-ho."
Joon-ho nodded silently, slowly rising from his chair. His legs felt heavy as if they were made of lead, but he forced himself to move. As he stepped out of the room, the emptiness of the game building struck him. The usually bustling halls were now eerily quiet, the screens that once buzzed with activity now dark and lifeless. It was as if the building itself was reflecting the emptiness he felt inside.
As he made his way toward the exit, he noticed Min-jae up ahead, also leaving. Their releases had been timed close together, but despite the proximity, there was a palpable distance between them. Neither of them spoke, and neither even looked in the other's direction. It was as if an invisible wall had been erected between them, too thick to break through with words or even a glance.
The tension was suffocating, but Joon-ho knew that any attempt to address it now would only make things worse. The air between them crackled with unresolved anger, guilt, and confusion—emotions too raw to be processed in the heat of the moment. So they walked in silence, their footsteps echoing through the empty building.
As they reached the exit, the cool evening air hit them, a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere inside. But even the fresh air did little to alleviate the heaviness in Joon-ho's chest. He paused for a moment, glancing up at the darkening sky, searching for some sort of answer, some sign of what to do next.
But there was nothing—only the vast, indifferent sky above, offering no guidance or comfort.
Min-jae continued walking, not sparing a single glance back at Joon-ho. The distance between them grew, both physically and metaphorically, as Min-jae disappeared around the corner, leaving Joon-ho standing alone at the entrance.
For a brief moment, Joon-ho considered calling out to him, trying to bridge the gap that had formed between them. But the words caught in his throat, and he couldn't bring himself to do it. He knew that whatever came next would not be easy, for either of them or the team. The future felt uncertain, like a dark cloud looming on the horizon, and Joon-ho couldn't shake the feeling that the storm had only just begun.
With a heavy heart, Joon-ho finally turned and began the long walk back to his dorm, each step filled with dread about what awaited him. The consequences of their actions were still unfolding, and he had no idea where they would lead, but one thing was certain—nothing would be the same after today.