Joon-ho couldn't bring himself to return to his room. The thought of facing his teammates, of seeing the disappointment in their eyes, was too much to bear. Instead, he wandered around the university grounds, seeking out the most secluded pathways, where the shadows of the tall buildings and the quiet rustle of the evening breeze offered him a temporary escape from the overwhelming guilt that gnawed at him.
The campus, usually alive with the energy of students, felt eerily quiet. The echoes of his footsteps seemed to chase him, a constant reminder of the heavy burden he carried. Each step felt like a condemnation, each breath a struggle against the suffocating weight of his actions. He kept walking, letting his feet guide him to a place far away from the dorms, far away from the judgmental eyes of others.
Eventually, Joon-ho found himself at the edge of the campus, where a tall, see-through gate separated the university from the outside world. He stood there, staring through the bars at the landscape beyond. The rolling hills of Gyeonggi Province stretched out before him, a vast expanse of green under the darkening sky. The world outside seemed so free, so full of possibilities—yet here he was, trapped within the walls of NexaCorp Korea University, his own choices having built the prison around him.
He slumped down to the ground, his back against the cold metal of the gate. The coolness seeped through his clothes, but he didn't care. The physical discomfort was nothing compared to the turmoil inside him. He had destroyed their dream—the dream that had united them as a team, the dream they had all worked so hard to achieve. It was because of him, and Min-jae too, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was the catalyst, the one who had pushed things too far.
Joon-ho stared out at the landscape, the distant mountains barely visible in the fading light. The university was a marvel of modern design, with every facility and entertainment imaginable. Yet, to him, it felt like a gilded cage, a prison where he was confined not just physically, but emotionally as well. The gate before him was a reminder of the world beyond, a world he couldn't reach. The vastness outside contrasted sharply with the narrow confines of his mind, where regret and self-blame roamed freely.
The night air was crisp, the sounds of the world outside faintly reaching his ears. He could hear the distant hum of cars, the occasional chirp of crickets, the whisper of the wind. It all felt so far away as if the outside world was moving on without him, leaving him behind to grapple with his failures.
He had let them all down—Soo-jin, Jin-kyong, Baek-hyeon. They didn't deserve this. They didn't deserve to have their dreams shattered because of his inability to control his temper, and his failure to think clearly in the heat of the moment. Joon-ho felt a knot tighten in his chest, a bitter taste of regret on his tongue. How could he face them now? How could he look them in the eye knowing he had ruined everything?
He pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his forehead against them. The darkness around him deepened, but he made no move to leave. The silence was comforting in a way, allowing him to be alone with his thoughts, to wallow in the misery of his own making. Here, away from everyone else, he could let the mask slip, could let the tears fall without anyone seeing.
For a moment, he wished he could disappear into the night, slip through the bars of the gate and vanish into the world beyond. But he knew that was impossible. There was no running away from what he had done, no escaping the consequences of his actions. The only thing he could do now was face them, no matter how painful it might be.
But for now, Joon-ho remained where he was, staring out at the world he couldn't reach, lost in the echoes of his guilt.
Tae-young's sudden appearance shattered the fragile solitude Joon-ho had found. The quiet night, the soft rustle of leaves, the distant hum of traffic—all of it was disrupted by the one person he least wanted to see. Joon-ho didn't even bother to look up at first, hoping that Tae-young would just move on, but he should have known better. Tae-young never missed an opportunity to make his presence known.
"It was right of me not to make friends with you," Tae-young began, his voice carrying a tone of self-satisfaction.
Joon-ho felt a bitter taste in his mouth. He remembered their brief time as potential roommates in room 205. Tae-young had bailed out before they could even start, opting instead for a private room. At the time, Joon-ho had thought it was just typical arrogance, the kind that comes with being the number one Assassin in Korea. Now, that same arrogance was standing before him, ready to rub salt in the wound.
Tae-young continued, unperturbed by Joon-ho's lack of response.
"I saw what you did in that match. You fought back when Min-jae hit Baek-hyeon. Commendable, really. It takes courage to stand up like that. But," Tae-young's voice dropped, taking on a sharper edge. "It's also what makes you weak."
The words cut deep, far deeper than Joon-ho expected. He stood up abruptly, his eyes locking onto Tae-young's with a mix of anger and hurt.
"You're just an egoist, Tae-young. All you care about is yourself. That's a sin, being prideful. You think that makes you better than everyone else?"
Tae-young's expression remained calm, almost amused as if he'd been waiting for this.
"Egoist, huh? Let me ask you something, Joon-ho. Say someone wants to be the greatest football player of all time. Do you think they're going to pass the ball to their teammate or take the shot themselves? Why is it that the greatest players are always strikers, the ones who score goals? You think they're great because they're selfless? No, it's because they have the drive to be the best, and that drive comes from ego."
Joon-ho clenched his fists, but Tae-young wasn't done.
"Why did you choose to play as an Assassin? If you don't have the drive, if you care so much about your teammates, then why not play as a Tank or Support? No, you chose Assassin because deep down, you wanted to be the one who makes the difference, the one who ends the game. But you don't have what it takes. You're not strong, not skilled—you're just lucky."
The words hit like a punch to the gut, and Joon-ho staggered back, feeling as though the ground had just been pulled out from under him. Tae-young was right, in his twisted way. Joon-ho had chosen the Assassin role not just because it was what he was best at, but because he wanted to prove something—to himself, to everyone. But what had he proven? His rank, 17th for Assassin in the country, was built on matches that didn't even compare to what real professionals faced. It was luck, pure and simple, that had carried him this far.
"You're not cut out for this, Joon-ho. You're clinging to a dream that you're not ready to fight for. And now, because of your weakness, your whole team is about to pay the price," Tae-young took a step closer, his voice lowering as he delivered the final blow.
Joon-ho felt his heart sink. He wanted to argue, to fight back, but he knew Tae-young's words had a cruel truth to them. He wasn't the strongest, or the most skilled. And now, because of his actions, his team—Soo-jin, Jin-kyong, Baek-hyeon—was about to suffer the consequences. The guilt that had been eating away at him now felt even heavier, like a weight he could never lift.
Tae-young, seeing the effect his words had, smirked and turned to leave.
"Good luck with whatever's left of your team," he said over his shoulder, his tone dripping with condescension. "You're going to need it."
As Tae-young walked away, Joon-ho was left standing alone, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. Anger, frustration, guilt, and a deep sense of inadequacy all swirled together, leaving him feeling more lost than ever. Tae-young's words echoed in his head, and for the first time, Joon-ho began to doubt whether he had what it took to continue.
As Tae-young's footsteps faded into the distance, Joon-ho slumped back onto the bench, the weight of everything crashing down on him. The once clear path ahead was now shrouded in doubt, his dreams feeling more like distant fantasies than achievable goals. He stared through the see-through gate, the outside world just beyond his reach, symbolizing the freedom and success that seemed to be slipping further away with every mistake he made.
The night air was cool, but it did nothing to calm the storm raging within him. For the first time, Joon-ho truly questioned if he belonged at NexaCorp Korea University—if he was meant to be here, or if it was all just an illusion, a stroke of luck that had finally run out.