Adian's decision was already made.
The resignation letter in his hand felt lighter than the weight it would soon lift from his shoulders. Each step into the Zonic Group's headquarters echoed with finality. The marble floors gleamed beneath the fluorescent lights, as polished and cold as the reputation he was leaving behind.
He placed the envelope on the receptionist's desk with a polite nod, turning toward the elevator.
He barely made it to the silver doors before a voice sliced through the quiet lobby.
"Mr. Adian."
It was the assistant—expression unreadable, tone clipped.
"Mr. Anderson wants to see you. Now."
⸻
Moments later, Adian stood in the director's spacious office. The blinds were half-closed, slicing the sunlight into sharp, uneven stripes across the desk. The faint hum of the air conditioner filled the silence.
Mr. Anderson leaned back in his leather chair, the resignation letter already opened in his hands. His expression was a careful mix of disbelief and wounded pride, like a man staring at a betrayal he hadn't seen coming.
"After everything we've done for you—" he began, voice heavy with accusation. "Raising you to the spotlight, making your name known… and this is how you repay us? Leaving, just because you found something better? We were the ones who gave you the name you have today, Adian."
Adian's gaze was steady, his voice calm but unyielding.
"Sir, when I first joined, we signed a three-year agreement. After that, I had the choice to renew or move on. I have honored that agreement to the letter."
Mr. Anderson's brow tightened, eyes narrowing.
"And with all due respect," Adian continued, "you didn't make me who I am. I was the one who built the Zonic Group into what it is today. I appreciate that you accepted me when I was a newcomer, but my position was earned—through my talent, my sacrifices, and my sleepless nights. Claiming sole credit for my success is unfair… and wrong."
The words weren't shouted, but they landed like blows—measured, precise, and impossible to deflect.
Mr. Anderson's grip on the paper whitened his knuckles.
"So you accuse me of lying? Of twisting the truth?"
"I'm saying," Adian replied evenly, "that if you refuse my resignation after I have served you with efficiency, accuracy, and loyalty for three full years… and if you insist on painting me as ungrateful—then yes. We will meet in court. That's not a threat. It's simply the truth."
Silence fell.
For the first time, Mr. Anderson's confidence faltered. A flicker of something—doubt, maybe—crossed his face. Finally, with a dry chuckle, he reached for his pen.
"I've been in this industry for a very long time, Adian. I don't get into trouble, and I won't let you be the one to ruin my reputation. Time will tell who made the right choice."
He signed the resignation letter, slid it across the desk, and leaned back as though dismissing a chapter of his own life.
Adian took the paper, gave a polite nod, and left without another word. Behind him, the office felt heavier, not lighter—like the air itself was reluctant to move on.
⸻
By the next morning, the news had detonated.
Adian's departure from the Zonic Group dominated headlines. Hashtags swirled across every platform: #ZonicFall, #AdianMovesOn, #UngratefulOrIndependent.
The public was split.
Some praised him:
"He deserves better! Zonic was holding him back. This is the smartest move of his career."
Others condemned him:
"Typical—forgetting the people who helped him when he had nothing. Just chasing bigger paychecks."
Clips of his early performances under Zonic resurfaced, side-by-side with recent independent work—every frame dissected, debated, and memed. Online forums turned into battlefields of opinion.
Outside his apartment, reporters swarmed like vultures, waiting for a statement. Inside industry circles, analysts whispered about which powerhouse company had lured him away. Rumors bred faster than facts: secret offers, midnight negotiations, betrayal.
But Adian stayed silent.
While the world argued over him, he sat in his living room, coffee in hand, staring out the window. To anyone else, it was just another quiet morning.
To him, it was the first sunrise of a future he had chosen.
And no amount of noise would make him turn back.
The war had only just begun—
and this time, Adian chose the battlefield.