I gripped the USB drive so tightly that the metal casing bit into my palm.

Memories from three months of sleepless nights and hard work flashed before my eyes—Walter Brooks revising plans on his laptop while sitting in a hospital waiting room, Claire Bennett's eyes red from crying over a single data error, and the pile of stomach medicine on Jason's desk…

I stormed out of the administrative office and headed straight for the CEO's office. With a kick, the heavy door slammed into the wall with a deafening crash.

The CEO, Dominic Thorne, jerked from fright and spilled coffee all over himself.

As I forced my anger down, I said, "Mr. Thorne, the admin says we have to bring our papers for printing. The Gyrfalcon Project's bidding deadline is tonight, and the proposal urgently needs printing… Are you going to do something about this or not?"

He was still rattled, but his expression darkened immediately. "Elliot, have you lost your mind? Rules are rules! I don't care if it's a 200-million-dollar deal or two billion; you follow my rules!"

I clenched my fists. "The nearest printing shop is over 13 miles away. There's no way we can make it in time!"

"That's a problem for you to solve," he said, regaining composure and taking a slow sip of the coffee. "As a project manager, you shouldn't lack such basic adaptability."

I looked at the half-smiling expression on his face and remembered Jason telling me that Dominic never wanted our team to have the Gyrfalcon Project. He wanted it for his brother-in-law and the sales director, Grant Sterling.

My eyes were red-rimmed as I dashed back to the administrative office and pleaded in a trembling voice, "Lydia… I'm begging you. Just think of it as a loan to me, alright? I'll pay you back double once the project bonus hits my bank account…"

She looked at me like I'd just told her the world's funniest joke. Leaning forward, she lowered her voice and replied, "Elliot, don't you get it yet? This isn't about papers."

She tapped her fingernails on the desk and smiled. "These are rules, and you… aren't important enough for me to break them."

Just then, my phone rang, and the caller ID "Harvey Cross from Deltis Group" started flashing on the screen.

I looked at Lydia's face, etched with contempt, then at the mountain of papers behind her, and thought of Dominic's arrogant face. A surge of searing heat rushed to my head.

After tapping on the answer button, I said in a terrifyingly calm voice, "Mr. Cross."

"Mr. Ward! Have you sent the file? All the judges are here, waiting for your proposal—"

"That 200-million-dollar contract," I interrupted and kept my eyes locked on Lydia as her expression froze. "We're pulling out."

There was a stunned cry from the other end of the line, but I'd already hung up.

The phone slipped from my hand and hit the marble floor with a sharp crack. The screen instantly shattered into fragments.

For a second, the entire office fell dead silent before Lydia bolted up from her chair like a cat whose tail had been stomped on.

"Elliot, have you lost your mind? That's a 200-million-dollar project, and you just walked away! Who gave you the nerve?"

She stormed around the desk, her high heels clicking aggressively until she was near and pointing fingers so close she nearly poked my face.

"You're just a low-level project manager, so don't flatter yourself! Believe me, I could have security throw you out right now!"

I bent down and slowly picked up my phone. The cracked screen reflected my distorted face.

"Are you deaf? Say something!" she snapped. Her chest heaved with rage, and her eyes shot daggers.

"Stop standing there like a statue! I'm telling you—you can't handle the fallout, so call Mr. Cross right now to tell him that it was a joke!"

When I remained unmoved, her voice turned shrill and mocking. "Oh, I get it now. You're doing this on purpose, aren't you? Are you using the project to threaten me just because I didn't give you paper? I never knew you were this childish, Elliot. This is pathetic!"

She circled me, looking me up and down with a sneer. "Before you throw a tantrum, at least know your place. What makes you think you're indispensable when the company works just fine without you? Let me tell you something—there are plenty of project managers out there like you!"

My phone started buzzing wildly again.

I stared back at Lydia, then suddenly laughed.

"What are you laughing at?" She flinched and let go of my arm like she'd been burned.

"I'm laughing at how pathetic you are," I said, enunciating each word. "You've spent so much time on your knees that you've forgotten how to stand up."

Trembling with rage, she raised her hand to slap me, but I caught her wrist midair and clenched it so hard she let out a sharp cry of pain.

"Let go! You loser! You're nothing without this company!" she shrieked.

On my phone screen, Jason's name kept flashing. The background was a happy photo of his family of three.

I could picture him and the rest of the team on the other end of the line, standing at the print shop and calling me over and over, waiting for the news of a hard-won victory.

Lydia noticed the caller ID, too. "Answer it! Why aren't you answering? Are you afraid of telling your team that you tanked their project out of spite, that you just cost them their jobs, and that their three months of work were for nothing?"

She stepped closer and lowered her voice to continue, "Take a good look at yourself, Elliot. You sold out your entire team for your pathetic little ego.

"How do you think they'll look at you when they find out their manager threw it all away over a pack of paper? Will they pity you or tear you apart?"

Her words twisted like a knife in my gut. She was right that I'd betrayed them.

But in the next second, the rage roared back, hotter than before.

I raised my head and locked eyes with her. "You're right. I'm a bastard."

Under her stunned gaze, I turned and delivered a brutal kick to the mountain of exclusive A4 paper boxes.

The boxes collapsed with a crash. Sheets of crisp white paper spilled out like an avalanche and buried half the administrative office.

Lydia screamed, her heel catching as she stumbled back and fell awkwardly into the pile.

In the middle of the paper storm, I bent down and picked up my phone with the cracked screen. Then, I looked at her pale face and said, "Here's your paper. Tell Mr. Thorne that I'm done serving in this dump."

With that, I returned to the project department, gripping my cracked phone. Lydia's words "you sold out your entire team" echoed in my mind.

The moment I opened the door, every pair of eyes in the room locked on me.

Jason was the first to rush over. "Elliot, the print shop—"

His words died in his throat as his eyes fell on my empty hands and the raw, dangerous expression on my face that they'd never seen before.

"Where's the proposal?" Walter abruptly stood up, his chair scraping harshly against the floor.

I opened my mouth. The words "we're pulling out" were heavy on my tongue, but I couldn't force them out.

Claire timidly asked, "Elliot… did something happen?"

When I looked at them, three months of grueling hard work came crashing over me all at once—the sleepless nights, the endless fights over revisions, and the red, exhausted eyes…

"The administrative office…" My throat tightened as I spat out the next words. "They wouldn't give us paper."

For a moment, there was dead silence before a snort came from the corner of the office, followed by murmurs rising like a tide.

"No paper? What bullshit excuse is that?"

"A 200-million-dollar project held down by a pack of paper? You've got to be kidding me!"

"Elliot, are you messing with us right now?"

Jason gawked at me in disbelief. "Did you pull out just because of a pack of paper? After three months of hard work…"

His words felt like a physical slap on my face.

Walter took a deep breath and clenched his fists so tight his knuckles paled. "Elliot, I know you took some heat, but you're the project manager, so you're responsible for the team. One decision you made threw away months of our work!"

"I—"

I wanted to explain that it wasn't just about paper; it was about dignity and being humiliated. But when I looked at the tired, anxious looks on their faces, the words stuck in my throat.

Walter was right. In the eyes of the team, I was just a hothead who trashed everyone's livelihood out of spite.

The thought sent a fresh wave of rage crashing through me. I swept the file rack off the desk, sending papers flying everywhere like confetti.

"Responsible?" I pointed toward the administrative office, and my voice rose sharply as I roared, "How the hell am I supposed to be responsible?

"They pointed in our faces, called us low-level trash, and said we weren't even worthy of using the company's paper! Was I supposed to get on my knees and beg for her charity?"

The office went dead silent. Everyone looked at me in shock, paralyzed by my outburst.

I stood there, chest heaving. I scanned their pale faces as I spat the words through gritted teeth, "We're not submitting the bid! If you still want to work with me, stay. If you think I'm reckless and screwed this up, you can walk out right now. No hard feelings!"

With that, I kicked a chair out of my way and stormed to my desk to shove my belongings into a cardboard box.

The office was dead quiet, and no one moved.

A few seconds later, Jason walked over. His eyes were red-rimmed as he silently picked up a box to start packing.

Walter ripped the project timeline off the wall, crumpled it, and tossed it into his box. Then, he grabbed the half-dead plant on his desk and shoved it in, too.

As I watched them, the anger and resentment boiling in my chest slowly began to settle.

I packed the last of my belongings and picked up the box before taking one last look at the place where I'd given three years of my life. The awards on the wall and photos of us working until dawn now looked like a bad joke.

"Let's go," I said. My voice was completely calm now. "I know a co-working space in the south city that stays open all night."

I led the way out of the project department and stepped over the mess with my footsteps echoing down the empty hallway, leaving the humiliation behind.

From here on out, I was carving my own path.

…

The night air hit my face as I stepped out of the office building, carrying the cardboard box.

Jason caught up to me and asked, "Elliot, are we just gonna give up that 200-million-dollar project?"

"Of course not! But we're going to win it standing on our own two feet!" I said, sliding my box into the trunk of a cab.

Saying it out loud lifted the weight that had been pressing on my chest all night.

Walter looked back at the lit-up office building and sighed. "So, what's our plan?"

"We start our own thing." I opened the car door.

In the car, I took out my cracked phone and sent Harvey a voice note. "Mr. Cross, I've left the company and taken the entire team with me.

"I have the Gyrfalcon Projects with me. If you're still interested, I'll be at the bidding meeting tomorrow morning with the proposal myself."

Jason sucked in a breath. "That's bold!"

I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes. "We're betting on the fact that he knows quality when he sees it."

Three seconds later, the phone buzzed with a reply from Harvey. "See you at 9:00 am."

"Holy shit!" Jason slapped his thigh.

Walter finally cracked a smile. "Hardcore."

As I got out of the car, I noticed Lydia posting "paper conservation notices" in the work group chat. I let out a cold laugh and tagged everyone.

"I, Elliot Ward, have officially resigned. All core technology and intellectual property for the Gyrfalcon Project belong to me and have no legal ties to the former company. Also, enjoy your paper."

With that, I resolutely left every single work group chat.

After pushing open the door to the co-working space, I turned to my team and announced, "From now on, we play by our own rules."