Chapter Text
The celebration had long since died down.
Inside the team van, laughter filled the air as the five players around Hector "Frost" Rosario replayed the highlights from their latest VCT victory. One was arguing that his clutch deserved the MVP, another was already browsing memes made about the match, while someone in the back was trying—and failing—to convince the others to stop at a convenience store before returning to the hotel.
Hector let them enjoy themselves.
They deserved it.
Leaning comfortably against his seat, he unlocked his phone and absentmindedly scrolled through X.
As expected.
The internet had found its newest topic.
"FROST AND TERMI FINALLY FIST-BUMP AFTER 164 DAYS."
Another post zoomed in on the exact moment.
A slow-motion replay.
The comments were even funnier.
"Look at termi's face. Bro looked traumatized."
"He really wasn't sure Frost would leave him hanging again."
"Character development."
Hector snorted quietly.
He remembered that moment far too well.
Back then...
He had ignored the offered fist-bump completely.
Not intentionally.
Not maliciously.
His head had simply been elsewhere after a frustrating loss. He had walked past without noticing until someone mentioned it later.
The internet, of course, had turned it into an international incident.
Then came the retaliation.
The next time their teams met, Pyeon "termi" Seonho had dramatically skipped every single fist-bump...
...except with his own players.
The clip had gone viral.
Even Hector had laughed when he saw it.
Now, more than five months later—
One simple fist-bump.
The entire esports community acted as though decades of diplomatic tension had finally ended.
Ridiculous.
But admittedly...
Kind of funny.
He kept scrolling.
There were edits.
Memes.
Fan art.
One post compared their handshake to two divorced parents finally speaking again.
Hector sighed.
"The internet has too much free time."
His players continued chatting behind him.
"Coach."
"Hm?"
"They're saying you've reconciled with Coach termi."
"I wasn't aware we were fighting."
"You ignored his fist-bump."
"I missed it."
"They don't believe that."
"I know."
More laughter erupted.
Hector simply shook his head before locking his phone.
Outside, the Seoul traffic crawled forward beneath the evening lights.
He watched buildings pass by through the window.
It had been months since he'd left his previous organization.
From Talon—now competing under the name FS.
To Global Esports.
A fresh start.
Different players.
Different staff.
Different expectations.
It hadn't been easy.
Changing teams never was.
But he had no regrets.
His current roster worked hard.
They argued.
They joked.
They trusted him.
That was enough.
The van rolled smoothly for another minute.
Then—
Screech!
The driver slammed the brakes.
Everyone jolted forward.
"What happened?" Hector asked, instinctively grabbing the seat in front of him.
The driver peered through the windshield.
"There's a car accident ahead, sir."
"What kind?"
"I'm not sure..."
The driver leaned slightly.
"...Looks like two vehicles collided."
Traffic had completely stopped.
Some passengers had already gotten out of their cars.
Others were calling emergency services.
Hector glanced through the front windshield.
His eyes wandered across the damaged vehicles.
Broken headlights.
Steam rising.
Shattered glass.
Then—
His gaze froze.
White.
Blue.
A familiar jacket.
A uniform he recognized instantly.
KRX.
His expression changed.
"...No way."
The team bus.
Or rather—
What remained of the front portion.
His heartbeat slowed.
His thoughts became painfully clear.
KRX...?
Without thinking, he opened the van door.
"Coach?"
"I'm checking. Stay inside."
His players exchanged worried looks but stayed inside.
The air outside smelled faintly of smoke and leaking coolant.
Staff members hurried back and forth.
Someone was shouting into a phone.
Another person was trying to direct traffic.
Hector took several quick steps toward the wreck.
The side of the vehicle clearly displayed the logo.
KRX.
His stomach tightened.
Please don't let anyone be seriously hurt.
Before he reached the scene—
Someone spotted him.
A young player wearing the same white-and-blue jersey immediately ran over.
The player stopped in front of him, breathing heavily.
Recognition flashed across his face.
"...Coach Frost."
There was surprise.
But only for a second.
It was quickly replaced by panic.
Hector recognized him too.
One of KRX's younger players.
His usually composed expression had completely fallen apart.
"What happened?" Hector asked immediately.
"The driver lost control..."
The player swallowed hard.
"...Everyone else managed to get out."
Everyone else.
Not everyone.
The implication hit instantly.
"Who?"
The player's lips trembled.
"Coach..."
He pointed toward the crushed front passenger seat.
"...Coach termi."
Hector looked past him.
The front of the vehicle had folded inward from the collision.
Metal wrapped around the passenger side like a vice.
Emergency responders hadn't arrived yet.
Every second felt longer than the last.
The player stepped closer.
His voice cracked.
"Please..."
His desperation was unmistakable.
"You have to help us."
Hector's eyes narrowed.
"...Help?"
The player nodded frantically.
"Coach..."
His breathing became uneven.
"He's stuck."
A beat of silence.
"And we can't get him out."
-
The world narrowed into controlled chaos.
People were shouting.
Car horns blared somewhere behind the growing traffic jam.
Someone was directing civilians away from the wreck while another frantically spoke into a phone, repeating the location to emergency services.
Hector didn't raise his voice.
He simply became calm.
"Coach!"
The familiar shout made him turn.
His five players had climbed out of GE's van despite his earlier instructions.
They hurried toward him, concern written plainly across their faces.
He frowned.
"Go back inside."
None of them moved.
"We want to help," one of them said, meeting his eyes without hesitation.
Another nodded firmly.
"We can't just watch."
For a brief moment, Hector looked at each of them.
Young.
Talented.
And completely willing to throw themselves into danger without thinking.
Exactly what he didn't want.
He let out a quiet breath.
"...Fine."
Five heads immediately lifted hopefully.
"But."
His tone became noticeably firmer.
"You stay out of the way."
They straightened instinctively.
"You do exactly what I tell you."
"Yes, Coach."
"And if I say run, you run."
No arguments.
No hesitation.
"Understood?"
"Understood!"
Satisfied, Hector quickly assigned them tasks.
"You two, keep everyone else away from the front."
They nodded.
"You—"
He pointed toward another player.
"See if anyone has a fire extinguisher."
"I'm on it."
"The rest of you, stay with KRX's players."
He glanced toward the shaken group still standing nearby.
"They're in shock. Keep them calm."
His players dispersed immediately.
Watching them move with purpose eased his mind slightly.
Only then did Hector turn back toward the wreck.
The front passenger side had taken the worst of the collision.
Metal had folded inward like crumpled paper.
The windshield was shattered.
Glass glittered across the dashboard.
He carefully approached, avoiding broken debris scattered across the asphalt.
"...termi."
The coach turned his head slowly.
Despite the circumstances, surprise flickered across his face.
"...Frost."
For a second, it almost looked like he wanted to smile.
Instead, he forced his expression back into something composed.
Professional.
As always.
"Is there..."
His breathing hitched.
"...is everyone out?"
Even now...
He wasn't asking about himself.
Hector looked toward the players gathered behind the safety barrier his own team had started forming.
"They're all out."
A tiny breath escaped termi.
"...Good."
"Everyone except you."
Silence settled between them.
Hector crouched beside the twisted frame, studying every bent piece of metal.
The dashboard had crushed downward.
The passenger door had folded inward.
His lower body was completely trapped.
Trying to force him free would almost certainly make things worse.
They needed hydraulic rescue equipment.
They needed firefighters.
They needed them now.
His eyes continued searching.
Looking.
Calculating.
Anything.
Anything at all—
Then he saw it.
A clear liquid slowly dripping beneath the damaged vehicle.
One drop.
Another.
Another.
His heartbeat stopped.
Fuel.
A thin stream spread beneath the front axle before slowly creeping across the road.
Hector's stomach clenched.
One spark.
One electrical short.
One discarded cigarette.
One careless mistake.
That would be enough.
His expression remained carefully neutral.
Inside...
His thoughts raced.
No.
No.
Don't even think about it.
He had seen enough vehicle accidents to understand exactly how dangerous this had become.
He immediately glanced around.
No visible flames.
No smoke beyond the damaged engine.
But that meant nothing.
A damaged battery.
A severed cable.
Static electricity.
There were too many possibilities.
"...Frost?"
The voice brought him back.
"What..."
termi watched him carefully.
"...what is it?"
Even trapped.
Even pale.
Even sweating from pain.
His instincts hadn't dulled.
Coaches spent their careers reading people.
Recognizing the smallest shifts in expression.
Hector knew he couldn't lie convincingly.
But he also couldn't tell him.
Not now.
Not while termi couldn't move.
He met the other coach's eyes.
"You."
termi blinked.
"...Me?"
"You focus on staying awake."
His voice left no room for discussion.
"I'll deal with this."
For the first time since Hector had arrived...
termi's calm façade cracked just a little.
"...It's bad, isn't it?"
Hector ignored the question.
Instead, he leaned closer.
"Talk to me."
"...About what?"
"Anything."
termi let out a weak laugh that immediately turned into a wince.
"You always were terrible at small talk."
"And yet here I am."
"...Trying."
Another strained chuckle.
Around them, the tension continued to build.
One of GE's players returned, slightly out of breath.
"Coach!"
He held up a red fire extinguisher.
"Found one!"
"Good."
"Two, actually."
"Keep both nearby."
Another player jogged over.
"Emergency services said they're close!"
"How close?"
"A few minutes."
A few minutes.
Normally, that wouldn't sound long.
Right now...
It felt endless.
Behind them, KRX's players stood together in uneasy silence.
Some were watching their coach.
Others couldn't bear to look.
One quietly wiped tears from his face before anyone noticed.
Hector saw it all.
But there was nothing he could say that would make this easier.
The only thing he could do...
Was keep everyone alive until help arrived.
Then—
In the distance—
The faint wail of sirens finally reached them.
No one relaxed.
Not yet.
Because the leaking fuel continued to spread beneath the wreck, inch by inch across the asphalt.
And every passing second reminded Hector just how fragile their remaining time really was.
-
The smell reached Hector before anyone said a word.
Gasoline.
It was no longer a faint scent carried by the breeze.
It hung in the air now, sharp enough to sting his nose.
The thin stream beneath the bus had spread into a dark, shimmering puddle across the asphalt.
Every passing second made it larger.
Hector looked around the scene.
Curious onlookers had gathered despite the growing danger. Some held up their phones while others whispered anxiously among themselves.
His expression hardened.
"Everyone back!"
The authority in his voice cut through the noise.
"No one comes closer."
People instinctively stepped away.
One man, wearing casual clothes with a reflective emergency-response patch clipped to his backpack, approached cautiously.
"I'm off duty," he said quickly, showing an identification card. "Volunteer firefighter. I've been trained."
Hector gave him a brief look before nodding.
"You know what leaking fuel means."
"I do."
"Then stay with me."
The man nodded once.
Together, they quickly checked the area around the wreck, making sure no one carried anything that could create a spark.
"Cigarettes out!"
One spectator immediately threw his cigarette to the ground.
"Not there!"
The volunteer firefighter stomped it out with his boot before kicking it far from the spreading fuel.
"No phones near the bus!" Hector called next. "Move back!"
His own players had already begun guiding people farther away.
"Please, everyone. Give them room."
KRX's players obeyed immediately.
Not because they understood every danger.
But because they trusted Hector.
The older coach returned his attention to the wreck.
The windshield was gone now, allowing him to kneel closer to the trapped passenger seat.
"...Still with me?"
termi slowly opened one eye.
"Barely."
His voice sounded weaker.
Much weaker.
His skin had grown noticeably paler.
Sweat clung to his forehead despite the cool evening air.
Hector recognized the signs.
Pain.
Blood loss.
Shock.
He couldn't let him fall asleep.
"You know," Hector said casually, "the internet's still talking about that fist-bump."
A tiny smile tugged at termi's lips.
"...Which one?"
"The one from last week."
"The successful one?"
"The miraculous one."
A quiet, breathless laugh escaped the older coach.
"I really thought..."
He winced.
"...you'd ignore me again."
"I noticed this time."
"I was prepared."
"For what?"
"...Humiliation."
Hector shook his head.
"You've held onto that for months?"
"You embarrassed me in front of the entire Valorant community."
"I accidentally embarrassed you."
"Same result."
Despite everything, Hector found himself smiling.
"You got your revenge."
"I did."
"You skipped every single fist-bump afterward."
"I practiced that."
"I could tell."
"It looked dramatic, didn't it?"
"It looked childish."
"It was childish."
Another weak chuckle.
The conversation slowed.
Too slowly.
Hector noticed termi's eyes lingering shut a little longer after every sentence.
"Hey."
"Hm?"
"When did you start respecting me?"
termi blinked lazily.
"What kind of question is that?"
"You've always acted like beating me was personal."
"It wasn't personal."
"No?"
"It was..."
He paused, searching for the right words.
"...professional."
"You've got a funny way of showing professional respect."
"I respected you because..."
Another pause.
"...you always prepared."
His breathing became uneven.
"You made your teams..."
"...think."
"...adapt."
"...That was annoying."
Hector quietly laughed.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It is."
The silence stretched again.
Longer this time.
The older coach's breathing grew heavier.
His head leaned against the damaged seat.
His eyelids fluttered.
"...termi."
"...Hm?"
"Stay with me."
"I'm trying."
"You'll have to try harder."
"...Bossy."
"I learned from watching you."
That earned the faintest smile.
Then—
Sirens.
Loud.
Close.
Several fire engines rounded the corner, followed by ambulances and police vehicles.
The firefighters moved with practiced efficiency.
One team immediately established a safety perimeter.
Another began examining the leaking fuel.
The rescue commander crouched beside Hector after receiving a quick explanation.
"Passenger trapped?"
Hector nodded.
"Lower body."
The commander peered inside the wreck.
"Damn."
He stood and motioned toward his crew.
"Hydraulic cutters!"
Within moments, equipment was unloaded.
One firefighter checked the engine compartment.
Another crawled beneath the bus with a flashlight before immediately backing out.
"Captain!"
The firefighter's expression was grim.
"Battery compartment's compromised."
The rescue commander cursed under his breath.
"And the fuel?"
"Still leaking."
"...Damn."
Hector caught enough of the conversation to understand.
This wasn't going to be straightforward.
The commander returned.
"We can cut him free."
Hector felt a flicker of relief.
"But..."
It vanished.
"...the damaged battery could arc at any time."
"And the fuel."
The commander nodded once.
"If we create a spark..."
He didn't finish.
He didn't have to.
Everyone understood.
The firefighters immediately began positioning extinguishers around the wreck while another crew carefully prepared a foam line.
Every movement was deliberate.
Measured.
Calculated.
Hector remained beside the broken window.
He looked at termi again.
"...Hey, Frost?"
"I'm here."
The older coach's eyes were barely open now.
"If..."
He swallowed painfully.
"...If I don't make it—"
"Don't say that."
"But if I don't..."
His breathing shook.
"...take..."
Another breath.
"...take care of the boys."
"...Yeah?"
"They're..."
His voice faded.
"...good kids."
"...termi."
"You'll tell them..."
His eyes drifted toward the players standing behind the safety line.
"...they did well."
"You can tell them yourself."
A faint smile.
"I don't..."
His eyelids lowered.
"...think..."
"...termi."
"...I..."
The smile disappeared.
His head slowly slumped sideways.
His body went completely still.
"...termi?"
No response.
Hector's heart lurched.
"...termi!"
His eyes widened.
"Hey!"
Nothing.
"Open your eyes!"
Still nothing.
The rescue commander immediately looked over.
"What happened?"
"He's unconscious!"
Several firefighters rushed forward.
At that exact moment—
CRACK!
A sharp, electrical crack echoed from the engine compartment.
Every firefighter froze.
Another crackle followed.
Louder.
Longer.
The rescue commander's face drained of color.
"Everyone!"
His shout thundered across the accident scene.
"CLEAR THE AREA!"
For one terrible heartbeat—
No one moved.
They all stared at the damaged bus, frozen as the ominous crackling continued from somewhere beneath the twisted metal.
-
"Move!"
The rescue commander was already issuing orders before the echo of the crackling had faded.
"Battery team, with me!"
Two firefighters rushed toward the front of the bus carrying insulated tools while another dragged a thermal imaging camera into position.
Everyone else remained frozen.
Not because they didn't know what to do.
Because every step now had to be the right one.
The compromised battery sat somewhere beneath twisted metal and fractured plastic. If the sound had been an electrical arc, one wrong movement could ignite the leaking fuel in an instant.
The commander knelt, studying the engine compartment through the warped hood.
"Camera."
A firefighter handed him the thermal imager.
The screen flickered to life, revealing bright patches of residual heat from the engine.
They watched in tense silence.
Another crack.
This time softer.
The commander narrowed his eyes.
"No visible arc."
One firefighter leaned closer, careful not to touch the wreck.
"Could be damaged wiring shifting under tension."
"Could be."
Another firefighter spoke up.
"But if we assume wrong—"
"I know."
The commander inhaled slowly.
Every second they waited reduced the trapped victim's chances.
Every second they rushed increased the chance of killing everyone nearby.
It was an impossible calculation.
He looked once toward the unconscious coach inside.
Then made his decision.
"We proceed."
Nobody questioned him.
"Disconnect every accessible power source."
"Foam line stays charged."
"Extinguishers ready."
"If anyone sees so much as a spark, you shout."
A chorus of "Yes, Captain!" answered him.
The operation resumed.
A paramedic carrying a compact medical kit hurried toward the shattered passenger side.
"I need access."
The firefighters carefully created enough room for him to squeeze through the broken window.
Hector instinctively stepped aside.
The paramedic twisted awkwardly between bent metal and shattered glass until he reached termi.
"Coach?"
No response.
He pressed two fingers against the side of the older man's neck.
The seconds dragged.
One.
Two.
Three.
"...Pulse present."
Hector released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
The paramedic quickly checked termi's pupils before wrapping a blood pressure cuff around the only arm he could comfortably reach.
His expression darkened.
"Blood pressure's dropping."
He looked toward the rescue commander.
"He's alive."
Another pause.
"But he's deteriorating fast."
The words settled heavily over everyone.
There wasn't any time left to waste.
The rescue commander nodded once.
"We move now."
The firefighters repositioned themselves.
One prepared the hydraulic spreaders.
Another laid out cutting tools.
The foam team remained at the ready, eyes fixed on the leaking fuel.
Hector stayed exactly where he was.
Close enough to see termi.
Close enough to hear every strained breath through the oxygen mask the paramedic had managed to secure.
A gloved hand rested against his shoulder.
"Sir."
He looked up.
A firefighter.
"You need to step back."
"I'm staying."
"You can't."
"I'll stay out of your way."
"The rescue zone is no longer safe."
"I know."
"Then please move."
Hector shook his head.
"I'm not leaving."
The firefighter glanced toward his commander.
The commander sighed before approaching himself.
"Coach Frost."
Hector met his gaze.
"I appreciate everything you've done."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"You have to."
"I said I'm staying."
"If something happens—"
"I know what happens."
Silence.
The commander studied him for several seconds.
Then quietly asked,
"Would Coach Seonho want you standing here?"
The question hit harder than Hector expected.
His eyes drifted back toward the unconscious man.
"...No."
"He'd order you back himself."
A faint, humorless smile appeared on Hector's face.
"Yeah."
"He would."
The commander nodded.
"So let us do our job."
For a long moment, Hector didn't move.
Then he leaned closer through the broken window.
The paramedic shifted slightly to give him room.
"...Hey."
No response.
Hector spoke anyway.
"You don't get to leave like this."
The unconscious coach remained still.
"You still owe me another fist-bump."
Nothing.
"So..."
His voice became quieter.
"...don't make me wait another hundred and sixty-four days."
The words caught briefly in his throat.
"I'll be right here."
A pause.
"I won't let you face this alone."
Only then did he straighten.
The firefighters gently but firmly guided him backward beyond the marked safety line.
He didn't resist.
Not anymore.
Behind him, GE's players stood silently.
Across from them, KRX's players watched with red eyes and clasped hands.
One of the younger players whispered so quietly that Hector almost didn't hear it.
"Coach..."
Another closed his eyes, unable to watch.
No one spoke after that.
The firefighters took their positions.
Heavy insulating blankets were carefully draped over exposed electrical components.
Another crew advanced with a hose, coating the ground beneath the bus in thick white rescue foam that swallowed the spreading fuel beneath layers of fire suppressant.
The smell of gasoline slowly faded beneath the chemical scent of the foam.
The rescue commander surveyed every position one last time.
"Battery isolated?"
"As much as possible."
"Medical?"
"Ready."
"Fire suppression?"
"Ready."
"Hydraulics?"
The firefighter operating the spreaders tightened his grip.
"Ready."
The commander raised one hand.
The entire accident scene seemed to stop breathing.
"Begin extraction."
The hydraulic spreaders bit into the twisted metal.
For a heartbeat...
Nothing happened.
Then—
The crushed dashboard screamed in protest.
Twisted steel fought against the machine with a deafening groan that echoed through the night, sending every eye back toward the wreck as the rescue truly began.
-
The hydraulic spreaders groaned relentlessly.
CRRRRKKK—!
Twisted steel resisted every millimeter before finally giving way.
"Hold it!"
The rescue commander raised a hand.
The machine stopped immediately.
The firefighters inspected the newly created gap, checking for shifting metal or signs that the bus was becoming unstable.
"So far, so good," one firefighter reported.
"Continue."
The spreaders bit into the crushed dashboard once more.
Each movement was agonizingly slow.
Inside the wreck, the paramedic braced one hand against the bent frame while carefully supporting termi's upper body.
"Easy..."
The dashboard lifted another fraction of an inch.
The older coach remained unconscious.
The paramedic watched the movement closely.
"Stop."
Again, the rescue halted.
"What is it?" the commander asked.
"The dashboard's moving against his pelvis."
The firefighter operating the spreaders immediately released pressure.
The paramedic reached lower, feeling as much as he safely could around the trapped area.
He didn't like what he found.
His jaw tightened.
"Possible pelvic fracture."
No one said anything.
Those two words alone carried enough weight.
Pelvic injuries could bleed heavily.
Moving the patient incorrectly could make everything worse.
"We'll have to lift evenly," the paramedic continued.
"No twisting."
"No sudden movement."
The commander nodded once.
"You heard him."
Every firefighter adjusted their position.
The next attempt was even slower than before.
Millimeter by millimeter.
The dashboard creaked upward.
The paramedic continuously checked for resistance, making sure nothing shifted dangerously.
Outside the safety line, Hector barely blinked.
Every sound from the wreck made his shoulders tense.
Every pause stretched unbearably long.
He knew enough about accidents to understand why they were moving so carefully.
Fast meant reckless.
Slow meant hope.
Behind him, KRX's players stood shoulder to shoulder.
Nobody spoke.
Nobody looked away.
One of the younger players finally broke the silence.
"...We should've stayed."
Another lowered his head.
"If we'd pulled harder..."
"We could've—"
"No."
The quiet voice came from another teammate.
"Coach told us not to."
"He ordered us out."
"He said to wait for help."
"He told us..."
The player's voice cracked.
"...to abandon him."
Silence returned.
The memory replayed vividly in each of their minds.
The impact.
The twisted metal.
Their coach trying to push the passenger door open.
Realizing it wouldn't move.
Looking back at them.
"Go."
"Don't stay here."
"Get out while you still can."
"Wait for emergency services."
"Leave me."
They hadn't wanted to.
Not one of them.
Some had tried pulling at the dashboard.
Others had tried forcing the door open.
termi had shouted louder than they'd ever heard before.
"That's an order!"
They had obeyed.
Because he was their coach.
Because they trusted him.
Now...
Standing safely outside while he remained trapped...
That trust felt unbearable.
"We left him."
One player buried his face in trembling hands.
"We actually left him."
Hector quietly walked over.
The players straightened instinctively.
None of them could meet his eyes.
"...Your coach is a smart man."
They looked up.
"He knew exactly what would've happened if you'd stayed."
Nobody answered.
"You would've crowded the wreck."
"You would've gotten hurt trying to force the metal."
He glanced toward the leaking fuel, now mostly covered in foam.
"And if something had gone wrong..."
His voice softened.
"...there would've been more victims."
The youngest player bit his lip.
"But we left him alone."
"No."
Hector shook his head.
"You followed his order."
Another silence.
"He didn't tell you to leave because he gave up."
The players listened carefully.
"He told you to leave because he was still thinking like a coach."
Hector looked back toward the bus.
"Even trapped..."
"...his first priority was making sure every one of you survived."
Several players lowered their heads.
Tears quietly rolled down one player's face.
"He protected you."
"...That's what coaches do."
No one spoke after that.
There wasn't anything to argue against.
Back at the wreck, another loud groan echoed as the spreaders forced the dashboard higher.
The paramedic immediately leaned farther inside.
"I've got room."
Two firefighters carefully reached beneath the bent metal.
"Easy..."
"Easy..."
One leg came free first.
The fabric of termi's pants had been torn open by jagged steel.
Blood soaked through the exposed material.
The unnatural angle of his lower leg made several firefighters exchange uneasy glances.
Broken.
Almost certainly.
"Support it."
A splint was quickly positioned.
Then came the second leg.
It emerged just as bloodied.
Another obvious deformity.
Another likely fracture.
The paramedic immediately stabilized both legs while checking for worsening bleeding.
"Legs are free."
A wave of relief swept across those watching.
Only briefly.
Because the firefighter nearest the dashboard looked upward.
"...Captain."
The rescue commander stepped closer.
"The hips."
The dashboard hadn't moved nearly enough.
Despite freeing both legs, the thick section of crushed metal remained firmly pressed across termi's pelvis.
It hadn't budged.
The commander studied the wreck.
The dashboard had folded inward around the frame itself.
Removing it would require cutting structural supports.
A much riskier operation.
The paramedic looked up.
"We can't pull him."
"I know."
"If we try..."
"We'll destroy his pelvis."
The commander closed his eyes briefly before opening them again.
"Prepare for phase two."
The firefighters exchanged grim looks.
No one complained.
No one hesitated.
But every one of them understood.
The next step would be far more dangerous than anything they'd done so far.
The rescue commander surveyed the increasingly unstable front of the bus.
Twisted metal continued settling with small pops and groans.
The thermal camera showed the engine cooling—but the vehicle itself was beginning to shift under the stress of the rescue.
He turned toward everyone gathered nearby.
His expression was grave.
"We have a narrow window."
Every conversation stopped.
The commander continued.
"The structure is becoming unstable."
He looked directly at his crew.
"We either get him out now..."
A heavy silence settled over the scene.
"...or this rescue becomes even more dangerous for everyone involved."
No one needed him to explain what that meant.
The clock had started.
And it wasn't on their side.
-
"No unnecessary movement."
The rescue commander's voice carried over the steady hum of equipment.
"We're cutting structural supports now."
The firefighters acknowledged with brief nods before moving into position.
The atmosphere changed.
Until now, they had been forcing twisted metal apart.
This was different.
Now they would be removing parts of the bus that were still helping hold its damaged frame together.
Every cut had consequences.
A firefighter positioned the hydraulic cutter against the first support beam.
"Ready."
The commander swept his eyes over the entire rescue scene.
"Medical?"
"Ready."
"Fire suppression?"
"Ready."
"Stabilization?"
"Ready."
He took one final breath.
"Cut."
The jaws of the hydraulic cutter closed with a loud metallic crunch.
KRAKKK—!
Steel snapped.
The entire front of the bus groaned.
Several firefighters immediately looked toward the stabilization struts supporting the vehicle.
"No movement," one called.
"Continue."
Another cut.
Another tortured scream of metal.
The paramedic never took his eyes off termi.
One hand remained on the older coach's neck, constantly checking his pulse.
The other monitored the portable vital signs monitor attached after squeezing through the shattered window.
His heartbeat was still there.
Weak.
Fast.
Too fast.
The paramedic frowned.
"...Pressure's dropping again."
He gently pressed against termi's abdomen, watching for a response.
Even unconscious, the older coach's body tensed slightly.
The paramedic's expression darkened.
"Captain."
The rescue commander immediately looked over.
"I think he's bleeding internally."
Silence.
No one interrupted.
The paramedic continued calmly despite the urgency in his voice.
"Mechanism fits."
"Pelvic trauma."
"Abdominal rigidity."
"Hypotension."
He looked toward another paramedic waiting outside.
"Notify dispatch."
"Tell them we need a Level One trauma center."
The second paramedic was already reaching for his radio.
"Dispatch, this is Rescue Medical Three."
His voice remained steady.
"We have one critical trauma patient."
He glanced toward the trapped coach before continuing.
"Suspected pelvic fracture with possible internal hemorrhage."
A brief pause.
"Request immediate trauma team activation."
Another pause.
"Patient not yet extricated."
The words sounded almost surreal.
Preparing a hospital...
Before they had even managed to free him.
"Copy," came the reply through static.
"Trauma center notified."
The radio clicked off.
Nobody relaxed.
There was still far too much work left.
-
Several meters away, behind the safety line, silence lingered among KRX's players.
The earlier panic had settled into something quieter.
Heavier.
One of the younger players stared fixedly at the wreck.
"...Coach always gets on us for skipping breakfast."
Another gave a weak laugh.
"He carries snacks everywhere."
"He acts annoyed every time we stay up late."
"But he stays later than anyone."
The laughter faded almost immediately.
Hector stood beside them.
He didn't interrupt.
Sometimes people needed to speak.
Not because someone expected an answer.
But because silence hurt more.
"He yelled at me last month."
The youngest player rubbed his eyes.
"I thought he hated me."
Another teammate shook his head.
"He yelled because you skipped VOD review."
"I know."
"...He bought me dinner afterward."
A quiet smile spread across several faces.
"He didn't even apologize."
"He never does."
"He just asks if you've eaten."
One player chuckled softly through watery eyes.
"That's basically his apology."
For the first time since the accident, Hector allowed himself a faint smile.
"...Sounds about right."
The players looked toward him.
He folded his arms.
"Good coaches aren't always the easiest people to like."
Their attention remained fixed on him.
"But..."
He glanced toward the wreck.
"...they're usually the easiest people to trust."
The players slowly nodded.
No one argued.
Because every one of them had obeyed termi's impossible order without hesitation.
Not because they wanted to leave him.
Because they trusted him enough to believe it was the only way everyone else would survive.
Hector's gaze remained on the rescue.
Inside, however...
He was far less composed than he appeared.
He remembered the countless post-match handshakes.
The drafts they had quietly complimented each other on.
The rivalry that had become mutual respect over the years.
There had always been another tournament.
Another match.
Another chance to cross paths.
He had never imagined one of those meetings would happen like this.
He quietly clenched his fists.
Hang on.
Just...hang on.
-
"Last support."
The rescue commander's voice brought everyone's attention back.
One final structural beam remained.
It was the only thing preventing the dashboard from being lifted clear.
But it was also helping hold the twisted front compartment together.
The commander looked at every firefighter individually.
"This is the dangerous one."
Nobody spoke.
"On my signal."
The hydraulic cutter was positioned carefully.
Another firefighter stood ready with the spreaders.
Two more braced themselves to stabilize the dashboard the instant the support separated.
The paramedic tightened his grip on termi's shoulders.
"I'm ready."
The commander nodded.
"Cut."
KRRRAAAK!
The steel gave way.
For one heartbeat—
Nothing happened.
Then—
BANG!
The dashboard suddenly lurched downward as the remaining tension in the twisted frame released all at once.
"Catch it!"
Two firefighters threw themselves forward.
One jammed the hydraulic spreaders between the collapsing metal and the frame.
Another shoved a stabilization block beneath the dashboard with both hands.
The metal slammed into the spreaders instead of crashing back onto termi.
The entire bus shuddered violently.
"Hold!"
"Hold!"
"Don't let it move!"
Every firefighter strained against the shifting weight.
The spreaders groaned under the pressure.
For several terrifying seconds, nobody knew whether the unstable front end would collapse completely.
Then—
The movement stopped.
Silence.
Broken only by everyone's ragged breathing.
The rescue commander slowly exhaled.
"...Good save."
Several firefighters exchanged exhausted looks but didn't relax.
Not yet.
The danger had passed.
Only barely.
The commander looked toward the paramedic.
"Status?"
The paramedic immediately checked termi again.
A long second passed.
Then another.
Finally, he looked up.
"He's still with us."
A wave of relief swept through everyone on the scene.
Brief.
Fragile.
Because the hardest part—
Lifting him free without worsening his injuries—
Was only just about to begin.
-
"Everyone ready?"
The rescue commander looked around one final time.
The answer came immediately.
"Ready."
The firefighters had spent the last several minutes carefully securing the crushed dashboard so it could no longer shift unexpectedly. The twisted metal was held in place by hydraulic spreaders and stabilization blocks, creating just enough room for the medical team to work.
The paramedic knelt beside termi.
"We're going to move him now."
There was no response.
The oxygen mask fogged slightly with each shallow breath.
"Pelvic binder."
Another paramedic passed over the device.
Working carefully in the cramped space, they slid the binder beneath termi's hips as gently as possible. Every movement was deliberate.
"Easy..."
"Don't rotate him."
"Watch the left leg."
One firefighter supported the dashboard overhead while another steadied the seat itself.
The lead paramedic looked toward the rescue commander.
"We'll need a synchronized lift."
The commander nodded.
"No one moves until I count."
A spinal board was maneuvered through the shattered side of the bus, inch by inch, until it rested beside the trapped coach.
There was barely enough room.
"Board in position."
"Good."
The paramedics exchanged one last look.
This would be the most delicate part of the rescue.
If they twisted him—
If they lifted unevenly—
If they moved too quickly—
The pelvic injury could worsen.
The rescue commander raised his voice.
"On my count."
Everyone froze.
"One..."
Hands found their positions.
"Two..."
The paramedics stabilized termi's head and neck.
The firefighters braced the dashboard.
"Three."
Together.
They lifted.
The movement was almost imperceptible.
Just enough to slide the spinal board underneath.
The lead paramedic kept one hand firmly against termi's pelvis, making sure nothing shifted.
"More."
A fraction higher.
"Good."
"Hold."
The board slid fully beneath him.
The commander looked around.
"No twisting."
"Lower together."
Slowly...
Carefully...
They settled termi onto the spinal board.
The paramedic immediately checked his airway again.
"Pulse?"
"We've still got one."
"We're clear."
For a second...
Nobody reacted.
Then one firefighter quietly said the words everyone had been waiting to hear.
"He's free."
A collective breath escaped the rescue team.
Hours of tension seemed to release all at once.
But nobody celebrated.
Not yet.
There was still a critically injured patient in front of them.
-
Hector hadn't realized he had taken a step forward until someone gently caught his arm.
He looked down.
One of the firefighters.
The man gave him a small shake of the head.
"Let us through."
Hector glanced toward the medical team.
They were already surrounding termi, checking IV lines, securing straps across the spinal board, reassessing his injuries.
There wasn't room for anyone else.
He stepped back immediately.
"...Sorry."
The firefighter offered a tired smile.
"No need."
His expression softened.
"You got us here."
Hector didn't answer.
His eyes never left the stretcher.
-
As the paramedics carried termi away from the wreck, KRX's players finally saw him clearly.
No twisted metal.
No dashboard hiding the extent of the damage.
Just their coach.
His uniform jacket had been cut open to allow treatment.
Bandages covered fresh wounds.
Blood stained the fabric beneath him despite the efforts to control the bleeding.
Both legs had been splinted, and the pelvic binder was secured tightly around his hips.
Bruises had already begun darkening across his face and arms.
For a long moment...
No one spoke.
One player covered his mouth.
Another immediately looked away.
The youngest member of the roster stood completely frozen.
"...Coach..."
His voice broke.
"He looks..."
He couldn't finish.
Another player's knees nearly gave out.
A teammate caught him before he hit the ground.
"I..."
He swallowed hard.
"I've never seen him..."
Not like this.
Never.
To them, termi had always seemed unshakable.
The one who stayed calm after crushing defeats.
The one who found solutions during impossible rounds.
The one who somehow carried everyone's burdens without asking for help himself.
Seeing him motionless on a stretcher...
It didn't feel real.
Hector quietly walked over.
He didn't try to stop their tears.
He didn't tell them to stay strong.
Some moments weren't meant to be endured without breaking.
Instead, he simply stood beside them.
A silent reminder.
They weren't alone.
-
The ambulance doors stood open.
The paramedics moved quickly.
"Monitor connected."
"Pressure?"
"Dropping."
"IV flowing."
"Let's go."
One paramedic climbed inside.
Another reached for the rear doors.
Just then—
"...Mm..."
The faint sound was almost lost beneath the surrounding noise.
The lead paramedic immediately looked down.
"He's waking."
termi's eyelids fluttered weakly.
His eyes struggled to focus beneath the harsh ambulance lights.
Confusion lingered there for only a second before recognition slowly replaced it.
His gaze drifted past the paramedics.
Past the firefighters.
Past the flashing emergency lights.
Until it settled on one person standing a few meters away.
Hector.
For a long moment...
Neither of them spoke.
There was nothing to say.
Not here.
Not now.
The older coach couldn't lift his hand.
Couldn't manage a smile.
Instead...
Almost imperceptibly...
He dipped his chin.
A tiny nod.
Grateful.
Acknowledging.
As though saying everything words no longer could.
Thank you.
Hector answered with a nod of his own.
"You still owe me."
His voice was quiet.
"But you can pay me back later."
A faint breath escaped termi.
Whether it was meant to be a laugh...
Or simply relief...
No one could tell.
His eyes slowly closed again.
The monitor continued its steady rhythm.
The paramedic checked his pulse once more.
"He's out again."
The ambulance doors closed.
With a solid thunk.
The siren wailed to life.
Police motorcycles pulled ahead to clear the road.
The ambulance accelerated into the night, disappearing beneath flashing blue and red lights.
Silence settled over those left behind.
The wrecked bus.
The shattered glass.
The rescue equipment.
Everything suddenly felt still.
Hector watched until the ambulance was no longer visible.
Only then did he let out the breath he'd been holding for what felt like hours.
The rivalry could wait.
The jokes about missed fist-bumps could wait.
The next match could wait.
Right now...
There was only one thing that mattered.
He hoped the next time they met, it would be in a hospital room—
Not another accident scene.
-
The ambulance disappeared into the night.
No one moved for several seconds.
It was the rescue commander who finally broke the silence.
"You should head to the hospital."
KRX's manager nodded numbly.
"Right..."
One by one, the players climbed into another team vehicle that had arrived after the accident. None of them spoke.
GE's players looked toward Hector.
He didn't hesitate.
"We're going too."
His players nodded immediately.
There wasn't even a discussion.
No one wanted to go back to the hotel.
-
The emergency department was already waiting.
The ambulance pulled into the trauma bay with police escorts clearing the entrance.
As soon as the rear doors opened—
"Male, mid-forties," one paramedic reported while pushing the stretcher through the automatic doors.
"High-speed motor vehicle collision."
"Prolonged entrapment."
"Suspected unstable pelvic fracture."
"Internal hemorrhage."
"Bilateral leg fractures."
"Patient became briefly responsive during transport."
The trauma team took over seamlessly.
Doctors surrounded the stretcher.
Nurses attached new monitors.
Another physician performed a rapid ultrasound.
The room became a blur of movement.
KRX's players could only watch from beyond the doors.
One doctor stepped outside only long enough to address them.
"Who's the patient's legal emergency contact?"
The manager stepped forward immediately.
"I am."
The doctor nodded.
"Your coach has multiple serious injuries."
He spoke calmly, but there was no hiding the urgency.
"The pelvic fractures are our greatest concern."
He pointed briefly toward the trauma bay.
"We're also seeing signs of internal bleeding."
One of the players' faces went pale.
The doctor continued.
"He needs emergency surgery immediately."
No one interrupted.
"There isn't time to wait."
The manager swallowed.
"...Please."
"Do whatever you have to."
The doctor gave a reassuring nod.
"We will."
Without another word, he disappeared back through the doors.
Seconds later, the surgical team rushed termi toward the operating suite.
The automatic doors closed behind them.
Leaving everyone else behind.
-
Hospitals had a strange kind of silence.
Machines beeped.
Footsteps echoed.
People spoke quietly.
But time itself seemed to stop.
The waiting room gradually filled.
KRX's players sat together.
Some stared at the floor.
Others clasped their hands so tightly their knuckles had turned white.
No one touched the untouched cups of water someone had brought them.
Across from them sat GE.
No one complained about the uncomfortable chairs.
No one looked at their phones.
Even the normally energetic players remained unusually quiet.
Hector watched both teams for a long moment before quietly stepping into the hallway.
He pulled out his phone.
There were responsibilities that couldn't wait.
He called the VCT tournament officials first.
"This is Hector Rosario."
He listened briefly.
"Yes."
"There was an accident involving KRX."
A pause.
"Our match responsibilities will need to be adjusted."
Another pause.
"No, this isn't speculation."
He glanced toward the operating room corridor.
"I'm calling from the hospital."
His voice remained steady as he explained everything that had happened.
The official on the other end immediately assured him they would coordinate with Riot and the participating organizations.
His next calls were to Global Esports management.
Then KRX's organization.
He repeated the details each time.
No embellishment.
No unnecessary emotion.
Only the facts.
Before ending the final call, he added one request.
"...Don't contact the players right now."
A brief silence.
"They're exactly where they need to be."
He lowered the phone.
"...I'll handle updates."
The reply came almost immediately.
"Understood."
The line disconnected.
Hector stood in the hallway for another moment.
Then quietly returned to the waiting room.
-
The atmosphere hadn't changed.
If anything...
It had grown heavier.
One of KRX's younger players rubbed his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time.
"I keep thinking..."
He stopped.
Another teammate looked at him.
"What?"
"...If we'd taken a different road."
No one answered.
"If we'd left five minutes earlier..."
"...Or later."
Another player quietly shook his head.
"We don't know."
"But what if—"
"There isn't a what if."
The words came from Hector.
Every head turned toward him.
He walked over slowly before sitting in the empty chair beside them.
"You'll drive yourselves apart thinking like that."
Silence.
"The accident already happened."
His voice remained calm.
"You can't rewrite it."
One player clenched his fists.
"...Coach told us to get out."
"I know."
"We listened."
"I know."
"It feels wrong."
Hector nodded.
"It probably always will."
The room became quiet again.
Then he continued.
"But your coach made a decision."
"He decided all of you would survive."
"If you'd stayed..."
He didn't finish.
He didn't have to.
The players understood.
A different voice spoke up.
"...He's going to wake up, right?"
Hector looked toward the operating room doors.
His answer came after a long pause.
"...He's stubborn."
A few players looked at him.
"He argued with me over a fist-bump for five months."
One of GE's players let out a tiny, involuntary laugh.
Another quickly covered his mouth.
Even one of KRX's players managed the smallest smile.
"He held onto that grudge longer than some people hold onto championship trophies."
A quiet snort escaped someone in the back.
Hector continued, deliberately keeping his tone light.
"So..."
"If anyone's too stubborn to lose an argument with life..."
"...it's him."
The smiles didn't last long.
But they were there.
For a moment.
That was enough.
GE's players quietly joined in.
One of them handed bottled water to the KRX roster.
Another disappeared for a few minutes before returning with sandwiches from the hospital café.
"You should eat."
"No appetite."
"I know."
"...Eat anyway."
No one argued.
Not because they wanted to.
Because someone had remembered to take care of them.
The same way their own coach always had.
Hours slipped by.
The clock crept past midnight.
Then one.
Then two.
Every time footsteps echoed down the hallway, heads lifted hopefully.
Every time, it was someone else.
A nurse.
Another family.
A janitor.
Not the person they were waiting for.
Fatigue settled over the room.
Some players leaned against each other without sleeping.
Others stared silently at the operating room doors.
No one dared leave.
Then—
The doors opened.
A surgeon stepped into the hallway.
Still wearing surgical scrubs.
A surgical cap.
His face was lined with exhaustion.
For one suspended heartbeat—
The entire waiting room stood as one.
No one spoke.
No one breathed.
They simply waited for the first words that would decide everything.
-
The silence in the waiting room was absolute.
The surgeon looked at the faces gathered before him—players, coaches, managers, staff. Every one of them was waiting for the same thing.
One sentence.
One answer.
He slowly removed his surgical cap before speaking.
"...The surgery was successful."
For a moment, nobody reacted.
It was as though their exhausted minds needed time to process the words.
Then several shoulders visibly sagged.
One of KRX's players covered his face, letting out a shaky breath that sounded dangerously close to a sob.
The surgeon raised a hand.
"But..."
Every head lifted again.
"...Coach Seonho is not out of danger yet."
The relief that had just settled over the room became cautious once more.
"He lost a significant amount of blood before arriving here."
The surgeon spoke evenly, making sure everyone understood.
"We were able to stop the internal bleeding."
He paused briefly.
"And we've stabilized his pelvic fractures."
The manager closed his eyes in relief.
"However..."
The surgeon continued,
"...the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours are critical."
The room became still again.
"There is still a risk of complications."
"Infection."
"Additional bleeding."
"Organ stress following prolonged trauma."
He didn't try to sugarcoat anything.
"We'll be monitoring him continuously in the intensive care unit."
One of the players swallowed hard.
"...Will he wake up?"
The surgeon looked at him kindly.
"We don't know."
"It may take hours."
"It may take longer."
"It depends on how his body responds."
Another player quietly asked,
"...His legs?"
The surgeon nodded.
"Both sustained multiple fractures."
He folded his arms.
"Our orthopedic team temporarily stabilized them tonight."
"But he will require additional surgeries."
"Not immediately."
"We want his condition to become more stable first."
The manager nodded.
"I understand."
The surgeon looked around once more.
"You can see him."
Several players instinctively stepped forward.
"But only one visitor."
He raised a finger.
"For a few minutes."
"The ICU isn't a place for large groups."
The room fell silent.
Everyone looked at one another.
Who should go?
The manager glanced toward the players.
Before he could say anything—
One of the youngest members spoke.
"...Coach Frost."
The others looked at him.
"He should go first."
Another player nodded almost immediately.
"...Yeah."
"He was the last person Coach spoke to."
"He stayed with him."
"He..."
The player's voice caught.
"...He kept Coach awake."
Another teammate looked at Hector.
"I think..."
"...Coach would want that."
Hector blinked.
He hadn't expected that.
"You should go."
The manager smiled tiredly.
"We'll have time afterward."
Hector looked around the room.
Every single KRX player nodded.
Even his own players quietly encouraged him.
"Go, Coach."
After a long pause...
He inclined his head.
"...Thank you."
-
The intensive care unit was quiet.
Not silent.
Quiet.
The steady rhythm of heart monitors filled the room.
Ventilators hummed softly.
Medical pumps clicked every few seconds.
A nurse quietly led Hector inside.
"Just a few minutes."
"I understand."
She stepped away, giving him privacy.
Hector walked slowly toward the bed.
For a brief second...
He almost didn't recognize the man lying there.
The bruising along termi's face had darkened.
Bandages disappeared beneath the hospital blanket.
His legs were elevated and heavily immobilized.
Several IV lines ran into his arms.
The heart monitor displayed a slow, steady rhythm.
The ventilator assisted each careful breath.
It was difficult to reconcile this motionless figure with the coach who had stood confidently across the stage only hours earlier.
Hector stopped beside the bed.
He looked at him for a long time.
There were no cameras here.
No audience.
No rivalry.
Only two coaches.
One unconscious.
One grateful.
He gently rested a hand against the cold metal bed rail.
"...Hey."
No response.
"I figured..."
He let out a quiet breath.
"...I'd collect my debt early."
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"You still owe me that fist-bump."
The monitor continued its steady rhythm.
"I'll wait."
His voice softened.
"As long as it takes."
He remained there for another moment.
Then gave a small nod.
"...See you later."
He turned and quietly left the room.
-
The ICU doors slid shut behind him.
Every pair of eyes in the waiting room immediately found him.
"He's..."
Hector searched for the right word.
"...Resting."
No one asked anything else.
They understood.
The nurse stepped into the hallway.
"The next visitor."
Hector looked toward KRX's players.
"Go."
None of them moved.
Instead, they all looked at one another, silently deciding who should enter first.
Hector smiled faintly.
"You don't need me here."
They looked back at him.
"You've waited long enough."
One player bowed deeply.
"...Thank you, Coach."
Another followed.
Then another.
Soon, every member of KRX had quietly thanked him.
Not with grand speeches.
Just simple, sincere gratitude.
Hector accepted each bow with an awkward nod.
"...Take your time."
The players disappeared one by one toward the ICU.
Only after the last of them had gone inside did Hector turn toward his own team.
His players were still sitting where they'd been hours ago.
None of them had even considered leaving.
He looked at each of them.
"We should go back."
One player frowned.
"...Coach."
"They need this."
His players followed his gaze toward the ICU doors.
Understanding slowly dawned.
"This isn't our moment anymore."
Silence.
"They're family."
His voice remained gentle.
"Let's give them some space."
No one argued.
Not because they wanted to leave.
Because they knew he was right.
One player stood first.
Another stretched stiffly after hours in the waiting room.
"We're really going?"
Hector smiled tiredly.
"We're coming back tomorrow."
That answer seemed enough.
As they began walking toward the hospital exit, one player quietly muttered,
"...I don't think I'll be able to sleep."
Another nodded.
"Me neither."
Hector heard them.
He felt the same.
But exhaustion had a way of catching up eventually.
Outside, dawn was beginning to break.
The first rays of sunlight painted the hospital windows in pale gold.
Behind those walls...
KRX finally had the private moment they'd been waiting for.
And Hector could only hope that, when termi eventually opened his eyes—
He would find every one of his players exactly where he'd expect them to be.
Waiting.
-
By sunrise, the news had spread far beyond Seoul.
It started with eyewitness photos of the wrecked KRX team bus.
Then came videos of emergency vehicles lining the road.
Within an hour, speculation flooded social media.
Half an hour later, the speculation stopped.
KRX released a brief statement.
"Following a traffic accident involving our team vehicle, Head Coach Pyeon 'termi' Seonho underwent emergency surgery overnight. He is currently receiving treatment in the intensive care unit. All players and staff members, aside from Coach termi, sustained only minor injuries or were safely evacuated. We kindly ask for privacy for Coach termi, his family, and our players during this time."
It was concise.
Professional.
And enough to send the international Valorant community into stunned silence.
-
The first messages came from Korea.
Then Japan.
Southeast Asia.
China.
Europe.
North America.
Within hours, social media feeds that usually argued over agent compositions and roster moves were filled with only one topic.
#StayStrongTermi
Players who had spent years trying to defeat him posted messages of encouragement.
Former teammates shared old photographs from tournaments.
Coaches who rarely commented publicly offered quiet words of support.
Organizations across every region posted the same sentiment.
We're thinking of you.
Wishing Coach termi a full recovery.
Our thoughts are with KRX.
Fans created digital artwork depicting termi standing behind his players with the words "Coach, it's our turn to wait for you.
Even people who had never supported KRX found themselves hoping for the same outcome.
Professional rivalries suddenly seemed insignificant.
-
Around mid-morning, Riot released an official announcement.
After consulting with KRX and the tournament organizers, all of the team's scheduled VCT matches would be postponed.
The statement emphasized that the health and well-being of the players and staff took priority over competition.
Replacement dates would be determined only after discussions with the organization.
No one complained.
If anything, players from other teams publicly agreed with the decision.
One captain wrote:
"Matches can wait. Recovery comes first."
Another simply posted a blue heart alongside KRX's logo.
Tournament officials also confirmed that counseling and logistical support would be made available for the affected players and staff.
Behind the scenes, several organizations quietly contacted KRX's management.
Some offered transportation.
Others offered temporary practice facilities once the team was ready.
A few simply asked one question.
"What do you need?"
No cameras.
No publicity.
Just professionals helping professionals.
-
Hector only glanced at the headlines once.
Then he put his phone away.
There wasn't much point in reading thousands of comments.
None of them would change what mattered.
Instead, he stopped at a nearby café before returning to the hospital.
"Excuse me," he told the employee behind the counter.
"I'll need quite a lot."
The employee smiled.
"Team breakfast?"
"...Something like that."
Nearly twenty minutes later, Hector walked out carrying several large paper bags balanced carefully in both hands.
Coffee.
Tea.
Rice porridge.
Sandwiches.
Fruit cups.
Bottled water.
Enough food for two teams and then some.
When he reached the hospital, one of GE's players, who had insisted on coming with him despite being told to rest, immediately hurried over.
"Coach, let me help."
Hector handed over two bags without protest.
"Thanks."
They entered the waiting area together.
Most of KRX's players were exactly where he'd left them.
Still wearing yesterday's clothes.
Some had fallen asleep sitting upright in plastic chairs.
One had a blanket draped awkwardly over his shoulders by a nurse sometime during the night.
Another rubbed tiredly at bloodshot eyes after waking.
No one had truly rested.
Hector quietly placed the bags on a nearby table.
"Breakfast."
Several heads turned.
"You should eat while it's still warm."
One player blinked in surprise.
"...Coach Frost."
"We're not hungry."
"I know."
He began unpacking containers anyway.
"Eat."
The tone wasn't harsh.
Just familiar.
It sounded remarkably like something termi himself would have said.
One of the younger players actually smiled.
"...Coach says that too."
"I figured."
Hector handed him a container of porridge.
"So don't make me repeat myself."
A few quiet laughs escaped around the room.
Small.
Tired.
But genuine.
One by one, the players accepted the food.
Not because their appetites had returned.
Because someone had taken the time to think about them.
Hector's own players helped distribute drinks and fruit without saying much.
There was no need for conversation.
Simple acts were enough.
-
After everyone had something to eat, Hector noticed several exhausted nurses emerging from the ICU corridor.
Their night shift was finally ending.
Dark circles rested beneath their eyes.
One nurse stretched her shoulders before letting out a quiet sigh.
Without thinking twice, Hector picked up another paper bag.
"Excuse me."
The nurses looked over.
"These are for you."
The oldest nurse blinked.
"...For us?"
"You've been here all night."
She glanced inside the bag.
Coffee.
Sandwiches.
Fresh fruit.
Her tired expression softened immediately.
"...You didn't have to."
"I know."
Hector smiled faintly.
"But thank you."
The nurses exchanged surprised looks.
One laughed quietly.
"I don't think anyone's ever bought breakfast for the night shift."
"They should."
Another nurse accepted a coffee with both hands.
"...We'll make sure Coach Seonho gets excellent care."
Hector shook his head gently.
"I already know you will."
The nurse looked at him for a moment before smiling.
"...We'll let the ICU team know you're here if there's any update."
"Thank you."
As the nurses headed toward the staff room, one of GE's players nudged another.
"Our coach..."
"...is kind of cool."
"Don't let him hear you say that."
"I heard it," Hector replied without turning around.
The waiting room, for the first time since the accident, felt just a little less heavy.
The worry remained.
The uncertainty remained.
But so did the quiet reminders that no one was carrying them alone.
Outside the ICU, the monitor lights continued blinking behind closed doors.
Inside, termi still hadn't woken.
But beyond those walls, an entire community—teammates, rivals, fans, doctors, and strangers alike—had quietly begun waiting with him.