The Constitutional Court of Korea voted unanimously to remove President Yoon Suk Yeol from office, delivering a definitive verdict on Friday that punctuated months of political turmoil triggered by his short-lived martial law declaration on Dec. 3, 2024.

As interim Chief Justice Moon Hyung-bae began reading out the 8-0 decision at 11 a.m., tens of thousands of South Koreans fell silent across Seoul's divided protest sites. Smartphones shot upward to capture the moment as loudspeakers broadcast the verdict through streets where police buses formed barricades between opposing crowds.

"President Yoon Suk Yeol violated his duty as the nation's commander-in-chief when he sent troops to the National Assembly in December," Justice Moon said, his voice echoing across the capital. The martial law declaration had "broadly violated the citizens' rights and damaged the republic's order," he clarified.

Then came the pronouncement that sealed the president's fate: "In a unanimous vote, the court upholds the National Assembly's motion to impeach the president."

Near the Constitutional Court, just blocks apart but worlds away politically, South Koreans responded with emotions as divided as the nation itself. Anti-Yoon protesters erupted in jubilation, embracing one another with tears streaming down their faces. Many jumped up and down, pumping fists skyward as K-pop anthems — for some time a soundtrack to the progressive protests here — blasted from portable speakers.

"Into the New World" by Girls' Generation reverberated through the crowd as demonstrators linked arms and swayed. One protest leader seized a microphone to lead a triumphant chant: "We won!"

Meanwhile, supporters of the ousted president received the news with disbelief. At Jongno's Tapgol Park, a longtime gathering place of retirees who come to play the board game Go and get free meals from a soup kitchen, aged protesters clutching Korean flags sat motionless, some wiping tears. Others shouted profanities at the screens broadcasting the court's ruling.

"How can it be 8-0? They must have bribed the justices," cried a middle-aged woman near the presidential residence in Hannam-dong. Nearby, a cluster of protesters hung their heads in disappointment.

The nation's political divide was on stark display throughout the morning as throngs of protesters were gathering across Seoul. In some locations, the two sides occupied opposite ends of the same streets, emblematic of the stark polarization of South Korean politics in recent years.

Near Anguk Station in central Seoul, a group of anti-Yoon demonstrators had camped overnight, their ranks swelling by early morning. Rainbow flags waved alongside banners reading "Impeach the insurrectionist-in-chief" and "Democracy shall prevail," as speakers blared aespa's "Supernova" — another K-pop track widely adopted by the movement.

Barely a kilometer away at Tapgol Park, clusters of older Yoon supporters had gathered from the early morning. Many wore headbands supporting the president and carried South Korean flags, a symbol of conservative protests. Some confronted passersby, calling them "commies" and demanding to know their political affiliations.

Meanwhile, the scene at Gwanghwamun, Seoul's central boulevard traditionally used for mass demonstrations, was surprisingly sparsely populated after firebrand evangelical pastor Jun Kwang-hoon relocated his pro-Yoon rally to Hannam-dong the previous night. Large screens were installed nonetheless, displaying live feeds from other protest sites.

By 10 a.m., the area around the presidential residence in Hannam-dong had become a study in contrasts. Police in riot gear created buffer zones between opposing crowds positioned just hundreds of meters apart. Reporters passed through multiple ID checkpoints to access the secured perimeter where the sides gathered in anticipation.

When the court's ruling began streaming live, a profound hush descended across both sides of the divide. The crowd listened as the Constitutional Court methodically dismissed, one by one, all points raised by Yoon's defense — from claims of presidential immunity to questions about procedural technicalities.

The reaction to the verdict played out like a real-time illustration of the nation's political schism. At the anti-Yoon rally sites, celebration erupted instantly. Kwon Oh-hyeok, head of Candle Action, a civic group that has led anti-Yoon rallies in recent years, addressed the jubilant crowd near the Constitutional Court: "We stand at a new starting line today. We've proven that the people are the true owners of this republic. Let's fight on to build a new democratic government!"

A former Marine in his 40s among the anti-Yoon protesters took a more pointed approach. "Now that the Yoon regime has been decapitated, it's time to dissolve the People Power Party as an unconstitutional insurrectionist party," he exclaimed. "We can't let up now."

Particularly emotional was the mother of a victim of the 2022 Itaewon crowd crush disaster, which had become a rallying point for Yoon's critics. "We didn't give up, and we won," she said. "But this dismissal is just the beginning. Now we can finally begin proper mourning for our loved ones."

By noon, anti-Yoon demonstrators had begun marching westward from around the Constitutional Court toward Gyeongbokgung, singing along to aespa's "Whiplash" as they moved through the streets.

For weeks, pro-Yoon speakers had invoked the "right to resist" and warned of massive demonstrations should the court rule against the president. Their rhetoric stoked fears of potential unrest, with some even suggesting that South Korea could face a civil crisis if Yoon were removed.

However, the response from Yoon's supporters remained restrained. While some protesters had run-ins with police — one was arrested for breaking a police bus window near the Constitutional Court — most expressed their anger through shouts and tears. Small clusters of protesters lingered, their heated exchanges with police officers occasionally escalating into shouting matches before subsiding again.

Near the presidential residence in Hannam-dong, Kim Kyung-hee, 54, stood clutching a Korean flag, tears welling in her eyes. "We need to resist like during the April 19 Revolution," she said, referring to the 1960 student uprising that led to President Syngman Rhee’s resignation.

"I cannot accept the court's decision. The real issue is election fraud. Yoon should have received more votes, and other elections have been rigged too," she said, vowing to remain at the protest all day and attend a planned demonstration at Gwanghwamun the following day.

A group of four middle-aged women confronted police officers, saying: "Wake up! You're becoming Lee Jae-myung's dogs," referring to the opposition leader widely considered a front-runner in the upcoming presidential election. "If Lee becomes president, we could be imprisoned like in Hong Kong."

The feared explosion of violence did not materialize. Even the Rev. Jun, whose fiery rhetoric had riled up crowds for months and who, earlier in the morning, had urged resistance, struck an unexpectedly conciliatory tone after the ruling.

"Millions should gather at Gwanghwamun by 1 p.m. tomorrow," he told the crowd in Yongsan. "But we absolutely must not fight with the police. If we get hit, we take it. We must follow the law to pass down a free republic to future generations."

By early afternoon, many pro-Yoon demonstrators across Seoul had left the protest sites, even as debate broke out among those who remained about whether to stay or go home.

At Tapgol Park, the crowd had thinned considerably, while small clusters of supporters near the Constitutional Court huddled in conversation and weighed their options.

Hundreds of Yoon's supporters in front of the War Memorial of Korea in Yongsan, just across the street from the presidential office, began dispersing by noon. A woman in her 60s, who requested anonymity, said with visible frustration, "I've been coming out here for four months now, rain or snow. I'm about ready to pass out."

Accusing the media of bias, she added,"I don't accept this ruling, but I'll keep showing up at protests. This isn't a country our kids can live in anymore."

In a symbolic gesture marking the end of Yoon's presidency, government officials lowered the flag bearing the presidential emblem — the image of two phoenixes rising over Korea's national flower — from the presidential office building in Yongsan.

The Korea Herald reporters Kim Jae-heun, Park Yuna, Jie Ye-eun, Park Jun-hee, Lee Si-jin, Hwang Dong-hee, Lee Jung-joo and No Kyung-min contributed to this report.