Things went wrong faster than Gary expected.

Not instantly. Not catastrophically. Just enough to confirm what everyone else had been trying to tell him. Pain spiked in sharp, unmistakable ways. Blood appeared where it shouldn’t. Panic followed close behind.

Gary sat on the bathroom floor, heart racing, the smell of antiseptic suddenly overwhelming. This wasn’t something he could manage with grit or optimism. This was consequence.

The realisation landed hard: he’d crossed from stubbornness into danger.

Calling for help now felt different. Desperate. Late. Necessary.

What followed depended on how far he pushed it. In some versions, Gary survived with lasting damage — a missing tooth, a permanent reminder etched into his smile. In others, he made it through on pure luck, dignity completely stripped away, story becoming something he’d never live down.

Either way, the fantasy of control was gone.

Gary lay back against the cold tiles, breathing shallowly, understanding at last that some lines couldn’t be uncrossed.

The story ended here, one way or another. Not with growth. Not with romance. But with consequence.

What kind depended on how badly he’d insisted on being right.

Survive with lasting damage → Page 110

Survive through chaos and humiliation → Page 111