Ji-hoon sat at the edge of his bed, his fingers nervously tracing the edge of the worn-out sheet as his mind raced. The last few days had been a blur of silent anger and a gnawing sense of helplessness. Each time he closed his eyes, the haunting image of his mother's face, pale and still, flashed before him. The memories of that night—her screams, the cold silence that followed—haunted him in ways he could no longer ignore.
Joon-won's words still echoed in his mind. The piece of information he had uncovered, the clue that might finally lead to the person responsible for his mother's death, was something Ji-hoon had been waiting for, without even realizing how desperate he'd become. Joon-won had said it so casually, as if it were nothing, but Ji-hoon knew that what his friend had revealed could change everything.
"They're not just after you," Joon-won had said, his voice low, filled with a mixture of concern and something darker. "There's someone else. Someone connected to her death. Someone who might still be pulling the strings."
Ji-hoon had stood frozen, the weight of those words settling into his chest like a stone. The killer, the one who had taken everything from him, was still out there—somewhere in the shadows. And now Ji-hoon knew that he wasn't just fighting to find his mother's killer. He was fighting to stop a larger game from being played, one that had cost him his mother's life and left him scarred beyond recognition.
It had been two days since that conversation, and Ji-hoon had made up his mind. He couldn't wait any longer. He couldn't allow himself to remain passive in this game. He would act, and he would act decisively.
He had reached out to the only people who could help him—a group of assassins who had been in the business for years. They were skilled, efficient, and deadly. But Ji-hoon needed more than just that. He needed them to be prepared, more prepared than they had ever been before. These weren't just any people they were going after. These were the people who had taken his mother's life, and Ji-hoon would not rest until they paid for what they had done.
The assassins arrived at his secluded hideout early the next morning. They were all dressed in black tactical gear, their faces obscured by masks that hid their identities. Ji-hoon couldn't see their eyes, but he could feel their cold precision in the way they moved.
Joon-won stood beside him, eyes narrowed with concern but offering no objections. Ji-hoon could see the unease in his friend's posture—he didn't want this for Ji-hoon, didn't want him to go down this path of violence and revenge. But Ji-hoon knew there was no other way. He couldn't be the same helpless person he had been all these years. He had to take control.
"These are the best," Ji-hoon said, his voice steady but filled with an intensity that almost made it hard to speak. "But they need to be sharper. Faster. Stronger."
Joon-won raised an eyebrow, but Ji-hoon didn't wait for a response. He had already made the decision, and there was no turning back.
For the next two weeks, Ji-hoon personally oversaw their training, pushing them to their limits in ways they hadn't expected. His demands were relentless, harsher than anything they had ever endured. He didn't just want them to learn how to kill. He wanted them to be unstoppable. He wanted them to be as cold as the world had been to him and his mother.
They ran miles each day, their bodies drenched in sweat and their muscles sore from the constant strain. Ji-hoon made sure they were pushed to the brink of exhaustion, watching them carefully, scrutinizing every movement. The physical demands were grueling, but Ji-hoon wasn't satisfied. He wanted them to be able to think, move, and react instinctively. He wanted them to be more than just weapons—they had to be masters of their own bodies, their minds, their souls.
As the days passed, Ji-hoon felt the shift in the air. The tension was palpable as the assassins began to move with a fluidity, a precision that made them terrifying. Ji-hoon, despite his blind eyes, could feel the change in the way they held themselves. There was a newfound discipline, an edge that hadn't been there before. He knew they were ready.
The night before the strike, Ji-hoon stood in the middle of his training room, the glow of the moon streaming through the small window. He was alone. The other assassins were resting, preparing for the mission ahead. But Ji-hoon couldn't sleep. He had spent too many years waiting, too many years trying to piece together the broken parts of his life. Tomorrow would be the beginning of something new, something final.
His mind drifted to the people he was about to send them after. They had been involved in his mother's death, either directly or indirectly. He didn't know all the names, but he had learned enough through whispers and careful research. The ones he had targeted—he could feel them in his bones. They had betrayed him, stolen everything from him, and now they would pay the price.
He would make sure of it.
At dawn, the assassins gathered in the dimly lit hallway, their faces masked, their gear ready. Ji-hoon gave them a final nod, a silent command that set everything in motion. Without another word, they filed out of the room and into the night, each of them heading toward a different target, armed with the training Ji-hoon had so meticulously crafted.
Ji-hoon didn't stay to watch. He couldn't. He wasn't the one who would carry out the final act. He was the one who would make sure the world knew that there were consequences for the kind of evil that had taken his mother away. But as the assassins disappeared into the night, Ji-hoon felt a strange sense of relief wash over him. This was it. The end of the road.
The following day was quiet. Too quiet. Ji-hoon waited, the anticipation gnawing at him like a hungry beast. His mind raced, but he held his ground.
When Joon-won returned, his face was unreadable. Ji-hoon didn't need to ask. The moment Joon-won stepped into the room, the silence spoke louder than words ever could.
"They're dead," Joon-won said, his voice low, hollow. "Every last one of them."
Ji-hoon nodded slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. It wasn't a victory, not really. But it was the price they had to pay. The people who had wronged him and his mother were no longer a threat.
But Ji-hoon wasn't done. Not yet. There was still a darkness inside him that needed to be confronted, a past that demanded to be reckoned with. And as long as that darkness remained, he would never be truly free.
Tomorrow, the curtain would fall, but Ji-hoon knew that the end of this act was only the beginning of a far more dangerous game.
The next day, Ji-hoon awoke to an unsettling stillness in the air. The light that crept through the blinds seemed somehow different, as though the day itself was holding its breath. He hadn't slept much, despite the fatigue that weighed on him like a heavy cloak. His thoughts were a whirlwind, spinning faster than he could grasp, the faces of those he had sent his assassins after replaying in his mind.
His heart beat heavily in his chest, each thud a reminder of the life he had lost, the revenge he had set into motion. He had done what was necessary, or so he told himself. But now, in the quiet of the early morning, the weight of it all felt heavier. The vengeance was done, the people who had been part of his mother's death were gone, but what had it really accomplished? Would it bring his mother back? Would it fill the emptiness that gnawed at him every night, when the silence felt too loud?
Ji-hoon stood by the window, listening to the world outside. It was too calm. The silence felt unnatural, as if the world was waiting for something to happen. And then, the phone rang, cutting through the stillness with its shrill tone. Ji-hoon's heart skipped a beat as he reached for it, the dread building in his chest.
"Ji-hoon," Joon-won's voice came through, strained, almost breathless. "You need to come. Now."
Ji-hoon's grip tightened around the phone. "What's happened?"
"It's... it's them," Joon-won's voice cracked. "The ones you sent us after. They're all dead. And it looks like... it looks like it's not just us. It's all over the city."
Ji-hoon's stomach churned as his mind raced. Dead? How? His assassins were efficient, but he had never expected them to leave anything behind. He had trusted them, trained them to be flawless, but even the best made mistakes. Or had someone else found them first?
"I'm on my way," Ji-hoon said, his voice steady despite the storm of thoughts in his head. He hung up the phone and grabbed his jacket, his body moving on autopilot as his thoughts spiraled into the worst possibilities.
Joon-won met him outside, his face drawn with exhaustion, eyes wide with disbelief. He had barely slept, the shock of what had happened still evident in his demeanor.
"They were found this morning," Joon-won said, leading Ji-hoon to a car. "And it wasn't just their bodies. There were messages—warnings, or threats, I don't know. You need to see for yourself."
Ji-hoon nodded, his jaw tight. He had prepared himself for some form of retaliation, but this? This was something else. The killers he had sent out had been trained to be invisible, to leave no trace. They had been trained to make sure their work was done with precision. But someone had found them. Someone had made sure their work didn't go unnoticed.
The drive through the city felt too long. Ji-hoon's mind raced, replaying everything he had done, every step he had taken in the last few days. What had gone wrong? Was it a trap? Had his actions drawn the attention of someone even more dangerous than he'd anticipated?
When they arrived at the scene, the street was lined with police cars, yellow tape blocking off the area. Ji-hoon's senses heightened as he stepped out of the car, the air thick with the smell of decay and something else—something metallic that made his stomach twist.
Joon-won led him to the building where the assassins had been stationed. It was an abandoned warehouse, one of many that dotted the city's industrial district. The building was eerily quiet now, its glass windows shattered, the entrance door hanging loosely on its hinges.
Inside, the sight that greeted Ji-hoon was nothing like he had imagined. The assassins' bodies were sprawled out on the floor, their expressions frozen in fear, their weapons still clutched in their hands as if they had been ready to fight until the very end. But they hadn't fought. They had been slaughtered.
The walls were splattered with blood, dark and thick, painting the floor in a grim, chaotic pattern. But what truly caught Ji-hoon's attention was the message that had been scrawled across the far wall in the blood of one of his assassins. It was simple, but it hit him like a punch to the gut:
"You cannot kill what is already dead."
The words sent a chill down his spine. He could feel them in his bones, the weight of the threat, the knowledge that someone had been watching all along, even before he had made his move. Someone had anticipated his every step, and now they were sending a clear message: you are not in control.
Ji-hoon's fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms as his heart thundered in his chest. His mother's killer—or killers—had outsmarted him. They had known he would come for them, and they had made sure he would never reach them. They had killed his assassins and left their bodies as a warning, a cruel reminder that this was not just about revenge—it was about something far more dangerous.
"What does it mean?" Ji-hoon whispered, his voice hoarse, barely audible even to himself. "What does it mean that they're dead? Who did this?"
Joon-won stood beside him, his face pale. "I don't know," he muttered, shaking his head. "But it's not over, Ji-hoon. It's just beginning."
Ji-hoon turned away from the gruesome scene, his mind whirling as his heart pounded in his chest. He had failed. The revenge he had so carefully planned had been thwarted by an unseen enemy—someone who had known his every move, every intention. And now, it was clear: whoever they were, they were playing a game he had only just begun to understand.
And in this game, the stakes were much higher than he could have ever anticipated.