The T1 facility feels hollow at this hour.
The overhead lights bathe the walls in a sterile glow, but they do little to push back the exhaustion weighing down the room. Shadows cling stubbornly to the corners, pooling beneath the chairs, stretching long and motionless against the polished floor. The air hangs heavy with fatigue, the kind that settles in your lungs and drags at your limbs.
A faint hum from the ventilation system is the only sound, punctuated by the occasional tap of fingers against a keyboard, the soft rustle of paper shifting, the barely-there sighs of men too tired to sleep, too restless to do nothing.
The usual scent of the facility, with its mix of freshly brewed coffee, the faint tang of energy drinks, and the lingering trace of disinfectant, has been overtaken by something stale. Cups of untouched coffee sit abandoned on the table, their contents long gone cold, the bitter scent curling in the air like a reminder of sleepless nights.
The strategy room, normally alive with debate, feels like a waiting room before bad news.
Coach Bengi sits hunched over at the head of the table, elbows braced against the smooth surface, fingers pressed into his temples. His eyes, dark with exhaustion, are locked onto a pile of medical reports, documents that should contain answers but don't. The same words, over and over, repeated in different ways but all meaning the same thing.
Nothing is wrong.
And yet, Faker has not woken up.
The weight of uncertainty presses down on them, silent and suffocating.
Across from Bengi, Sky scrolls through his phone, his sharp eyes scanning yet another email from management. Beside him, Tom does the same, his fingers flicking absently over the screen, though his face remains unreadable.
"When will Faker be back?"
The question looms in every message, every conversation. An expectation disguised as concern. As if sheer insistence could will their captain back into consciousness.
No one has an answer.
The pressure builds, an invisible force tightening its grip around the room.
Keria finally exhales sharply, the sound loud in the stillness. His fingers rake through his disheveled hair, a frustrated movement. "They don't get it." His voice is low but edged with frustration, his usual calm cracking under the weight of it all. "They keep asking us when he'll wake up, like we can just… flip a switch."
Oner leans against the wall, arms crossed tight over his chest. His posture is tense, his jaw clenched, his fingers digging into the fabric of his sleeves. His voice is quieter but no less strained. "To them, it's just exhaustion. Burnout. Another player under too much pressure." His gaze flicks to the medical files on the table. "They don't know."
They can't know.
Zeus is seated beside Gumayusi, his phone still in his hands. The screen casts a faint glow over his face, illuminating the tightness in his expression, the slight crease in his brow. His thumb hovers over the last conversation he had with Faker, as if waiting for a new message to appear. As if rereading their old messages might reveal something he missed.
His voice is quiet when he speaks. "Even we don't know." His fingers tighten around his phone. "That's the worst part."
A beat of silence follows, heavy and unbroken.
Bengi exhales, long and slow, rubbing his temples. His voice is rough, worn down from too many sleepless nights, too many dead ends. "All we can do is wait."
Keria lets out a quiet, bitter laugh, shaking his head. "And hope that's enough?"
No one answers.
The tension lingers, pressing into the space between them. Each of them is waiting for something, anything, to change. But there is no certainty. No logic to unravel. No gameplay strategy that will lead them to victory.
Just silence.
Just Faker, unmoving.
Oner's fingers twitch against his arm, restless energy coiling in his gut. His gaze flickers toward the door before he finally pushes himself off the wall, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off an invisible weight.
His voice is firm when he speaks. "I need to go somewhere."
Bengi looks up, tired eyes narrowing slightly. "Where?"
Oner doesn't hesitate. "Hoapsa Temple."
Zeus lifts his head, frowning slightly. He studies Oner for a moment, then—without a word—stands from his chair. He doesn't need to ask why.
He already knows.
"I'll go with you."
Bengi watches them both, gaze unreadable. There's a flicker of something in his expression, but it disappears just as quickly. He exhales through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck.
He could tell them to stay. To rest. To let this go for now. But he doesn't.
Then, from the other side of the table, Keria stretches, rolling his shoulders with an exaggerated sigh. "I need air," he mutters. "I'm going to hike Inwangsan."
Gumayusi glances at him, then nods, slipping his phone into his pocket. "I'll tag along."
Oner reaches into his pocket, pulling out his car keys. The small metal jingle cuts through the silence, an unspoken declaration.
It's almost dawn and they are leaving.
Bengi watches them, exhaustion pulling at his features, but he doesn't argue. Maybe space is what they need. Maybe stepping away from the walls that feel too close, from the questions without answers, is the only thing they can do.
"Go." His voice is quiet. "Just… be careful."
None of them say it aloud, but they all understand. This isn't just about clearing their heads. It is more about finding answers.
The door closes behind them, their footsteps fading down the hall but the silence that remains is heavier than before.
And Faker remains unmoving, locked in a battle no one else can see.
**
"You think I'll grow fangs? Or horns?"
Gumayusi's voice cuts through the quiet hum of Oner's forest green 2022 Mercedes AMG GT 63 engine, but his usual playful tone is absent. His fingers tap anxiously against his thigh, restless energy coiling beneath his skin. He doesn't look at their resident jungler, whose hands remain steady on the wheel, nor at Zeus, who watches him with unreadable patience. His gaze stays on the city beyond the glass, drawn to the things only he can now see.
The figures moving along the sidewalks aren't all human.
Some flicker at the edges, like static on a broken screen. Others cast shadows too long, too sharp, stretching toward places they shouldn't. A woman walks past a streetlamp. For one terrifying second, Gumayusi sees the truth: her reflection is moving the wrong way.
His stomach turns.
He clenches his jaw, forcing himself to look away, but even in the car, there's no reprieve. The air feels different. It hums with energy, an unseen pulse that now thrums against his skin. Even the smell has changed. Less like leather and cologne, more like something sharper, something ancient.
A scent of something watching and waiting.
"How the hell am I supposed to live like this?" he mutters.
Silence stretches, thick and heavy. Then their resident toplaner speaks.
"What exactly are you seeing?"
Gumayusi exhales sharply, his hands balling into fists. "Everything." He swallows. "People who aren't people. Creatures walking the streets, pretending to be human. And you—" His gaze flicks between them, throat tight. "I see what you really are."
Oner glances at him through the rearview mirror, unreadable. "Welcome to our world."
Zeus leans back, the faint celestial glow that clings to him barely noticeable under the dim interior lights. "You're seeing things as they truly are. And that's an advantage, not a hindrance."
Gumayusi scoffs, shaking his head. "How? I don't even understand what I'm looking at most of the time."
Keria shifts slightly in the passenger seat, finally turning to face him. "It's okay, Minhyeung-sshi. We'll help you understand. The world you thought was fiction has always been real. You're just now able to see it." His voice is steady, reassuring. "Ask us anything."
Gumayusi hesitates before gesturing at Keria's arms. "Your tattoos. They cover your arms, your face. They move." His brow furrows. "I didn't even know you had them."
The genius monster smiles faintly. "Because you weren't meant to."
Gumayusi turns to Zeus next. "And you… you glow. It's like I'm looking at a star." Then, reluctantly, he looks at Oner. "While you… there's fire. It surrounds you, like a guardian beast." His voice drops lower. "Your shadow is different too. It moves on its own."
Oner hums in amusement. "Our nameless lady friend really did a number on you. She activated your inherent gift of perspicacity."
Gumayusi shakes his head. "This is insane." He leans back, pressing his fingers against his temple. "How am I supposed to help Sanghyueok-hyung when I can't even make sense of what I'm seeing?"
Zeus's voice remains steady. "You will."
Gumayusi laughs, but it's humorless. "How can you be so sure?"
Keria's smile lingers. "Because you've always adapted." His voice is gentle but firm. "Every time the meta shifts, every time the game changes, you adjust. This is just another meta."
The ubkillable botlaner stares at him, absorbing the words, and for a fleeting moment, they almost make sense. Then he exhales sharply, shaking his head. "That's the dumbest way to put it."
Oner smirks. "But it makes sense, doesn't it?"
Gumayusi doesn't answer. Instead, his gaze flicks back out the window, watching as the city begins to fade behind them. The urban sprawl gives way to open roads, the distant hills rolling against the early morning sky.
The world beyond Seoul is different.
The deeper they drive, the thinner the air feels, not because of a lack of oxygen but because of something unseen pressing against it. Out here, the line between natural and supernatural isn't just blurred, it doesn't exist.
The roads wind through the outskirts, past dense forests and sloping valleys where mist clings to the treetops. The neon signs and billboards vanish, replaced by the occasional shrine nestled among the greenery.
Everything feels ancient.
The scent of damp earth and pine seeps through the vents. The wind carries whispers, not just the rustling of leaves but something else, something older than language itself.
Up ahead, the car begins to slow.
The landscape changes again, the trees thinning as a steep incline rises before them. Inwangsan Mountain looms, dark and sprawling against the predawn sky.
"We're here," Oner announces, pulling to a stop.
The moment the engine cuts off, silence descends. Not the comforting kind. Not the peaceful kind.
The kind that listens.
Gumayusi exhales, unbuckling his seatbelt. He glances at Keria, who's already stepping out, stretching as he takes in the mountain's form. The early morning light casts long shadows across the ground, the air thick with the scent of soil and stone.
The owner of the rift rolls down the window slightly, watching them. "You got lucky, Minhyeung."
The botlaner raises an eyebrow. "How?"
He smirks. "I was this close to telling you you'd grow a beak."
Keria chuckles, and Zeus shakes his head with a smirk.
"You think this is funny?" The resident botlaner scowled
Oner leans his arm against the window, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "A little."
Gumayusi exhales through his nose, muttering something under his breath, but before he can throw a retort—
The god of thunder in the rift speaks. "Stay alert. This place isn't what it seems." His voice lacks its usual teasing warmth.
Keria meets his gaze, their silent exchange heavy with meaning. Then, with a slow nod, he gestures for Minhyeung to follow.
Said teammate hesitates for a second before stepping out.
The car's taillights cast a dim red glow as Oner pulls away, taking Zeus with him toward Hoapsa Temple.
They watched their teammates disappear into the winding road ahead.
Then, slowly, Gumayusi turns toward the looming mountain trail before him.
The air is different here. Thicker and heavier. It carries whispers. Faint ones. Ones he can almost understand now.
The other half of the botlane duo watches him for a moment before smiling faintly.
"Come." he urges, his voice quiet but firm. "I will be your guide today and introduce you to your new world."