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THE LOBBY WAS A MOSAIC OF HEARTBREAK, hushed conversations, and farewells. The weight of defeat hung thick in the air, palpable even in the quiet voices and muffled sobs of the defeated dojangs. Each person bore their pain differently, and yet they all felt the same hollow ache of loss.
Park sat in a corner, his headphones draped around his neck as soft music played faintly from them. Chausiku Masai, the captain of the eliminated Nigerian team, sat beside him, her fingers intertwined with his. They exchanged quiet words, their shared grief forming an unspoken bond.
"I'll call you every night," Park murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
"And I'll text you every morning," Chausiku promised, squeezing his hand gently.
Their shared pain was evident, but so was the comfort they found in each other.
On the other side of the room, Lee was huddled in a corner, his phone pressed to his ear. His quiet sniffles were barely audible, but his hunched shoulders betrayed the tears streaming down his face.
"Mimi... I'm so sorry," he choked out.
Her voice on the other end was soft and soothing, a balm to his wounded heart. "Don't you dare apologize, mi amor. You did amazing. I'm so proud of you."
The boy let out a shaky breath, trying to compose himself.
"When you get home," Mimi continued, her tone laced with warmth, "I'll make you all your favorite snacks. We'll spend the whole day watching k-dramas and eating ice cream, just like when I got my first period, remember? You took care of me when the whole class laughed. Let me take care of you now."
Her words brought a small, bittersweet smile to Lee's face. "You always know what to say," he whispered.
Across the lobby, Kwon stood near the front desk, engaged in a serious conversation with the sponsors who had placed their faith—and money—in him. His face was a mask of calm determination, his tone measured and resolute.
Though defeat lingered in the back of his mind, Kwon didn't allow it to consume him. He wasn't just fighting for himself anymore; he was fighting for the future he had promised to build for himself.
Y/n, meanwhile, sat on a bench with her phone pressed to her ear. Aisha's voice on the other end was steady and reassuring, offering the kind of support only a lifelong friend could provide.
