“If photography is to be discussed on a serious level, it must be described in relation to death. […] Even if the person in the picture is still alive, it’s a moment of this subject’s existence that was photographed, and this moment is gone.”

— Roland Barthes

Kongdoo Monster pack up. There are no words, because words are for pain; death is silent. Silently they become reverse Moirai, each of them their own Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos. Every unplugging of a USB connector is an abhorrent shearing, the first corporeal proof of their termination from (LCK) existence. They wrap the cords of their expired fate around peripheral spindles.

One by one they file out of their booth. U Jun is the last to exit. At the doorway, he turns around and takes one final look at the gleaming stands. They will never play an LCK match at this stadium again. He hangs his head. The darkness and lights of the arena stretch out before him.