The PUBG ban and the tears on VTVcab: Himass and TanVuu tell the story of the day their lives stopped

In the VTVcab studio, the two chairs were placed right next to each other. Himass and TanVuu sat down, trying to force a smile for the host. But the moment the camera started rolling, their faces broke apart. Himass lowered his head and wiped his tears. TanVuu managed to say a few words before his voice gave out. Two PUBG players crying on national television was not an image Vietnamese esports fans were used to seeing. In the PUBG scene, they had once been the ones who travelled the farthest, who were spoken of as symbols of a generation of Vietnamese players stepping onto the international stage. According to what the two players shared in the interview, everything began with an incident at the PUBG Asia Stars 2026 tournament. Nobody in the interview provided details about exactly what happened. But the consequence was clear: KRAFTON, the publisher of PUBG PC, issued a global competition ban to both Himass and TanVuu. They were no longer allowed to attend any PUBG tournament anywhere in the world. For a professional player, that ban feels like an iron door slamming shut behind them. Himass said that as soon as the incident occurred, Anyone's Legend – the organization that managed him – asked him not to speak publicly and not to intervene by himself, but to let the organization handle it. That is a standard procedure in many professional esports teams. After that, Anyone's Legend submitted an appeal to the publisher along with information intended to protect the player. The response, however, was not what they could call positive. TanVuu found himself in a similar situation. The Expendables, the organisation managing him, submitted an appeal in the hope of protecting its player. The result was not what they had expected. Right after that, The Expendables decided to disband its entire PUBG roster. The fact that an organization would dissolve an entire division just because two players received a ban is not something we see everyday. It shows how heavy the disciplinary penalty was, and it shows how fragile the PUBG ecosystem in Vietnam is. When an organization no longer believes in the possibility of a successful appeal, they choose to walk away. That makes this story no longer just about the fate of two individuals. It becomes a question about transparency in tournament governance. The two players also revealed the future plans that the ban had cut off. Himass said that before the incident, he planned to compete alongside his teammate Taikonn until the end of this year, and only then would he think about retirement. TanVuu was different. He still wanted to compete for about two more years to enjoy the remaining time he had with esports. One of them was already standing at the threshold of the end. The other still wanted to extend the journey. The ban hit both of them equally, without asking who was ready to leave and who was not ready to stop. The most important answer came when the host asked: if the ban were lifted, would they return to PUBG? Both Himass and TanVuu answered very decisively: no. That decision left many fans stunned, because the community had spent so much time and energy collecting signatures to request a review of the disciplinary decision. Yet the people at the centre of it all were now saying no to the very door that had just been opened. They did not want to return to a place that had made them cry on television, a place where they had invested their entire youth and all their life plans. That is the detail easiest to miss, but it says the most. When a player says he does not want to come back even if the ban is lifted, it means the injury has already overcome the desire to compete. For Himass, stepping back into ordinary life was something he had already considered. But for TanVuu, those two years were the road he wanted to walk to the end. The ban took away something more valuable than titles: the right to decide the moment of his own departure. During the interview, Himass also shared that if he had to live without esports, he might have to drive Grab to make a living. TanVuu said he planned to switch to business and online selling. These are very real and ordinary images, far removed from the glamour of the stage or the exhausting training sessions before major tournaments. No organization paid them after the ban. No contract remained intact. Two players who once represented Vietnamese PUBG on the international stage must now think about driving a ride-hailing car or selling goods online to continue their lives. In response to the case, the community showed a rare reaction. More than 4.1 million signatures were collected to ask the publisher to clarify the handling of the case. That number is far beyond any petition ever seen in Vietnamese esports. The Korean Game Users Association also spoke up officially, asking the PUBG PC publisher to explain the way the Asia Star incident was handled. The fact that an organisation from outside the border of Vietnam questioned the process of a publisher based in South Korea shows this was no longer just the private story of two Vietnamese players. The two players also thanked PewPew – regarded as a senior figure in the Vietnamese gaming community – and all the fans who had accompanied them during this time. They remembered those who signed their names, who wrote messages, who posted articles, who kept mentioning their names on social media. In the middle of the disciplinary storm, those were the only arms stretched out toward them. But exactly inside that wave of sympathy, one question was left behind: what evidence did KRAFTON base its ban on? AL and TE both said they submitted appeals with information protecting their players, but received no positive response. Neither organization released the details of the incident. The players cried, but they did not describe what had actually happened at the tournament. This does not mean they were wrong. This also does not mean they were right. It means the story was still being told from only one side. If there was truly a mistake, the publisher's silence is worrying. If there was truly a violation, the way the two players were embraced by the public as victims is also a crack in esports culture. Because a disciplinary system without transparency leaves every future player in an unstable position. They would compete without knowing where the boundaries lie. They would watch two seniors cry on television and wonder if they might be next. That is more frightening than any ban. However, inside the pain of Himass and TanVuu, there was still a very Vietnamese light. The community did not wait for professionals to speak. They launched a million-signature campaign on their own. Young players see that and understand that they are not alone. An esports scene may lack financial power, infrastructure, and even social recognition. But if its players know how to stand together in the hardest moment, that scene still has a reason to survive. The story of Himass and TanVuu did not begin with a beautiful mechanical outplay, and it did not end with a trophy. It started from an incident nobody explained, went through tears on television, and stopped at the door of ordinary life. Some disciplinary cases will be reviewed, but some wounds will not. When the two players said no to the invitation to come back, they closed the final chapter of a journey themselves. Fans may feel regret, but nobody can blame them. The wound they carried after the ban is the only thing that was never written in any rulebook. Looking at the whole case, the biggest question is not whether Himass and TanVuu will return. The biggest question is whether publishers will learn the lesson from the way they handled a disciplinary ruling. In esports, power is often highly centralised in the publisher. They create the tournament, they make the rules, and they make the judgement. When all of those roles belong to a single entity, transparency matters even more. Without transparency, every penalty is not just a punishment for a behaviour. It can become a crack of distrust so wide that players turn away. More than 4.1 million signatures were not solely to save two people. It was the message from a generation of gamers who are exhausted by decisions that are never explained. They want the publisher to explain why their players were banned from global competition. They want to know how the appeal process works. And they want to believe that their voice can change something. If there is only a ban and no answer, this case will leave a bitter legacy for Vietnamese PUBG. Himass and TanVuu have said they will not return to PUBG. But that does not mean they disappear. They have created an image that many generations of Vietnamese players will remember: two young men crying on television, talking about driving Grab, talking about selling goods online, but still thanking the community for standing by them. In an industry built on victories, they showed that losing can also be a way to know who truly loves you. Their sobs on VTVcab may not save their careers, but they touched so many people. And sometimes, esports also needs such moments to remind everyone that behind each avatar is not just a number, but a human being.