And so, Foca sat across from Kang Ian, Mika, and Jordan.
All three looked better than the night before—but only barely. Dark circles clung stubbornly under their eyes, the kind that no amount of sleep could erase. The kind earned through fear, shock, and too many thoughts left unchecked.
"First of all," Foca began, his voice steady but sincere, "I would like to sincerely apologize for what happened."
That alone stunned them.
"I promised you that your sensitive information would never be revealed to the world," he continued. "And yet, that is exactly what happened."
The room fell quiet.
For someone with his level of power and influence, Foca didn't deflect. He didn't rationalize. He didn't hide behind legal jargon or corporate distance. He owned it—fully, plainly.
It was… disarming.
"N-no, sir," Mika said quickly, voice still rough. "You don't have to apologize."
"Yeah," Kang Ian added, rubbing the back of his neck. "It wasn't within your control. No one expected something like this to even happen."
Jordan nodded so hard he nearly rattled his own skull.
"Thank you," Foca said softly, a faint smile touching his lips. "I appreciate your grace."
He paused, then leaned forward slightly.
"Now, the most important question first. Would any of you like to step away from the program and be with your families during this time? There will be no consequences if you choose to do so."
"I'll stay," Kang Ian answered immediately, no hesitation.
"Same," Mika nodded. "Though… I would like some time with my sister, if that's possible." He looked a little shy admitting it.
"Of course," Foca replied without missing a beat.
"I'll stay as well, Sir Foca," Jordan said politely, nodding again—still nodding, actually.
"I respect all of your decisions," Foca said, pride unmistakable in his eyes.
Then his expression sharpened—calm, but lethal.
"Now, onto something more serious."
All three straightened.
"As you are painfully aware, your former fellow trainees have committed acts that constitute serious legal violations. Bread Music will be pursuing legal action at the highest level available. Maximum penalties. This is not only to protect you, but to send a clear message—this company does not tolerate abuse, defamation, or exploitation of its people."
He let that settle.
"I would also like to ask if any of you wish to pursue individual legal action. If you do, Bread Music will support you fully—lawyers, documentation, expert witnesses. Everything. All I need is your consent."
Silence.
Mika exhaled slowly. "I… I'm really pissed," he admitted. "Like, really pissed. But part of me wonders if suing is the right thing. I don't know what they were going through when they did this."
Kang Ian nodded. "Same. We lived together—even briefly. I don't know if legal action would destroy them completely. Or if I'm just being naive."
"Not naive," Foca said gently. "Mature. Empathetic."
Then he turned to Jordan.
"And you?"
Jordan swallowed.
"I… I would like to sue," he said, voice steady this time. "Please."
There was resolve there now. Quiet, but immovable.
"My best friend is studying law," Jordan added, almost sheepishly. "He always tells me—'Sue every chance you get.'"
That did it.
Foca, Kang Ian, and Mika all burst out laughing at once, equal parts shocked and amused.
"Wise words," Foca said, recovering first.
"Yes, sir!" Jordan nodded enthusiastically. "So I consulted him, and he helped me make a list. Um—please wait."
He pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket.
Carefully unfolded it.
Cleared his throat.
And began reading with the seriousness of someone reciting sacred scripture.
"Okay so—my grocery list of legal claims includes:
• Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress
• Negligent Infliction of Emotional Distress
• Defamation of Character (Libel)
• Invasion of Privacy – Public Disclosure of Private Facts
• Breach of Confidentiality and NDA Violations
• Malicious Disclosure of Medical and Psychological Information
• Harassment and Targeted Abuse
• Disability-Based Discrimination
• Hate Speech and Use of Slurs Resulting in Harm
• False Light Claims—for portraying me in a way that's misleading and damaging
• Civil Conspiracy—since they coordinated the interview together
• Reckless Endangerment of Mental Health
• Interference with Prospective Economic Advantage—because this could affect my career
• Emotional Abuse Resulting in Physical Symptoms
• And… uh…" Jordan squinted. "Possibly Punitive Damages, sir."
He looked up.
Silence.
Mouths slightly open.
"…Wow," Mika finally breathed.
"If Jordan's suing," Kang Ian said, grinning despite himself, "then I am too."
"I second that," Mika nodded firmly.
"Then it is settled," Foca said, smiling—calm, controlled, and unmistakably dangerous in the most professional way possible. "Our legal team will take care of everything. You will not walk this road alone."
Jordan refolded his paper carefully, satisfied.
"Thank you, sir," he said politely. "My friend will be very proud of me."
****
Due to the ongoing situation, Foca made an executive decision.
The next evaluations were officially cancelled.
The announcement rippled through the island like a collective exhale. No rankings. No cameras. No pressure. Just time—time to breathe, to heal, to sleep without the dread of judgment looming over their heads.
For the other trainees, the article had hit hard as well. Even those not directly involved felt its aftershocks—anxiety, anger, fear, disbelief. And so it was made official: the fourth evaluations would be moved to the end of the month.
No one complained.
If anything, gratitude flooded the camp. For once, they were allowed to rest without guilt. To enjoy the island. To exist as people.
While the trainees recuperated, however, Foca, Luca, and Tuesday were doing anything but resting.
This was their war room era.
Meetings stacked on meetings. Calls that ran into the early hours of the morning. Legal documents thick enough to knock someone unconscious if dropped from a decent height.
And thus, the hurricane known as The Law™ began forming—its eye locked squarely on Akesh, Adel, and a handful of brain-rotted former trainees who had truly, profoundly fucked around.
And now?
They were about to find out.
When Bread Music's official statement went live—posted simultaneously on their website and all verified social media platforms—
The internet lost its goddamn mind.
@LegalEagle:
oof 😬 I would NOT want to be on the receiving end of those legal claims. I'd simply pass away.
@MoralOfTheStory:
Justice will be SERVED.
@RottenMango:
And we will be there to witness it firsthand. Thank you for inviting us to attend the court proceedings in person.
→ @Rumi:
WAIT WHAT?? You guys got invited?? How do I get an invite??
→→ @Yoyo:
Dude. The court proceedings will be televised. Just watch from home.
→→→ @Rumi:
but my immersion 😔
And then—out of absolutely fucking nowhere—
Akesh, Adel, and the other former trainees dropped a joint statement.
Three words.
"We are countersuing."
The internet experienced a collective brain aneurysm.
The laughter came first. Then the memes. Then the edits. Then the legal breakdown threads. Then the parody apology videos that weren't even apologies.
It spread like wildfire—global, merciless, and unstoppable.
When Tuesday saw the statement, she laughed so hard she actually lost balance and rolled onto the floor, clutching her stomach like she'd just been shot.
Foca and Luca stared at her like she'd finally snapped.
"Tuesday?" Luca said carefully. "You okay?"
She couldn't even answer. Just wheezed and pointed at her tablet.
When they read it—
Oh.
Oh no.
"They're—they're counter suing?" Tuesday choked out, tears streaming down her face. "HAHAHAHA—oh my god—HAHAHAHA—"
"I love it when they fight back," Foca said, leaning back in his chair, lips curling into a slow, dangerous smirk. "Gives me something to look forward to."
"Dude," Luca said between laughs, wiping tears from his eyes. "Go easy on them if possible."
"Go easy on them," Tuesday repeated weakly, immediately breaking into booming laughter again. "Oh my god—GO EASY—"
Her laughter echoed through the room.
Somewhere out there, Akesh and Adel thought they had made a bold move.
In reality?
They had just rang the dinner bell.