The city was still, wrapped in a cold, eerie silence that sent a shiver down Ji-hoon's spine as he stepped out into the night. The darkness wrapped around him like a heavy blanket, and for a moment, he felt the familiar, comforting emptiness of his blindness. It was a strange feeling, almost as if the world itself had gone mute. The usual sounds—the hum of traffic, the distant chatter of people—were absent, swallowed up by the overwhelming weight of what had just occurred. But even in the darkness, Ji-hoon felt a strange clarity, a sharpness to his senses that made everything around him feel more tangible.
He could still hear his mother's voice in his mind, even though it was a shadow of the real thing. A distant echo, one he had been trying to forget but could never truly escape. It haunted him, and he knew it always would. But now, he had something else to focus on. The truth that had been hidden from him for so long was finally laid bare, and with it, a new mission—one that involved tearing down the walls Si-wan had carefully constructed for years.
Joon-won had left him with the uncomfortable feeling of an unfinished conversation, one that had brought too many emotions to the surface too quickly. He had learned too much, too fast. His mother's death, Si-wan's betrayal, the secrets that had been kept from him—all of it weighed heavily on him as he walked through the streets, the night air cold against his skin.
"Si-wan," Ji-hoon muttered under his breath. He clenched his fists, the rage building inside him again, more intense than ever before. Every time he said that name, it felt like a curse, like a poison that sank deeper into his bones. He couldn't stand it anymore. He couldn't stand knowing that Si-wan had been the one to destroy his world. His mother had sacrificed everything for him, and in the end, it had all been for nothing.
The sound of a distant violin interrupted his thoughts. It was faint at first, barely a whisper in the night, but then it grew louder, clearer. A melody that carried with it a strange sense of nostalgia, one that Ji-hoon could recognize even though he had never heard it played by anyone but his mother. It was the lullaby she used to sing to him when he was younger, the one that had always calmed him when the world felt too overwhelming. The violin echoed through the streets, a mournful tune that seemed to carry all the grief and sadness Ji-hoon had felt in the months since her death.
He froze, his heart skipping a beat. The sound wasn't coming from a distance, not from some hidden speaker or someone playing on the street. It was real, and it was coming from somewhere nearby. His instincts told him to follow it, to find the source of the sound that seemed to call to him in a way that was both familiar and haunting.
With each step, the music grew louder, more pronounced, pulling him closer. His breath quickened, his pulse racing as he moved toward the source. He could feel the vibrations in the ground, the subtle hum of the violin strings vibrating through the earth, urging him onward. The music was guiding him, leading him down a path he had never taken before. A path that was leading him closer to the truth, closer to the one man who had caused all of this pain.
The air around him grew colder as he walked deeper into the alleyway. The moonlight barely reached the narrow passage, leaving the world around him shrouded in darkness. He stumbled slightly as he navigated the uneven cobblestones, but his ears were focused solely on the music. It was impossible to ignore, as though it were pulling him forward with a force he couldn't resist.
When he turned the corner, he saw him.
Si-wan.
The man was standing there, his back turned to Ji-hoon, playing the violin with a grace that was almost too perfect. The way he moved with the instrument, the way he made it sing, made it look like he had never stopped playing. It was as if the music was a part of him, something so integral to his being that it defined who he was.
Ji-hoon's breath caught in his throat, a mix of rage and disbelief flooding his chest. He had found him. He had found the man who had killed his mother, the one who had betrayed him in ways he couldn't even begin to comprehend.
Si-wan didn't turn around, didn't acknowledge Ji-hoon's presence. He just kept playing, his fingers moving deftly across the strings, the music flowing through him with an almost eerie fluidity. The tune was the same lullaby that had once comforted Ji-hoon in his darkest moments. The same lullaby his mother had played for him, the one she had played just before everything changed.
"You think you can erase everything you've done?" Ji-hoon's voice was low, trembling with the weight of his emotions. He could feel the anger building up again, the desire for retribution that threatened to explode at any moment. "You think you can hide behind your music and forget what you did?"
Finally, Si-wan stopped playing. He didn't even flinch as Ji-hoon spoke. He simply lowered the violin, his face still turned away from him.
"It's not that simple, Ji-hoon," Si-wan said softly, his voice carrying a calmness that made Ji-hoon's blood boil. "You're angry. I understand. But there's more to this than you realize. Your mother… she knew what would happen. She knew the price she had to pay. And she made that choice. For you."
Ji-hoon's fists tightened, his whole body shaking with the effort of controlling himself. "Don't you dare talk about my mother like you understand her," he spat, his voice thick with emotion. "She never would've chosen this. She never would've chosen to die for your sick, twisted game."
Si-wan's voice softened, as if he were speaking to a child, as if trying to soothe Ji-hoon's rage. "You're wrong, Ji-hoon. She knew what I would do, and she accepted it. She was the one who pushed me to this point, who made me make the decisions I did. You see, she was always willing to sacrifice everything for you."
The words hit Ji-hoon like a slap to the face. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. His mother had always been the one person in his life who had been there for him, who had loved him unconditionally, even when the world had turned its back on him. To think that she had willingly walked into the trap Si-wan had set for her… it was too much.
"You lie!" Ji-hoon shouted, his voice breaking. "You're nothing but a monster. You used her. You used both of us."
Si-wan's expression remained unchanged. "Maybe. But sometimes, the only way to save someone is to make them see the truth. Your mother understood that. She was stronger than you give her credit for."
Ji-hoon took a step forward, his anger overwhelming him. "You'll pay for what you did. For everything. I swear it."
For a long moment, Si-wan didn't respond. He simply stood there, his eyes focused on the violin in his hands, the strings now silent. Finally, he spoke again, his voice calm, almost detached.
"Then come and take it, Ji-hoon," he said, the challenge hanging in the air between them. "Come and take the truth if you can."
The challenge was set. The two of them stood there in the silence of the night, their futures hanging in the balance, the weight of their pasts pushing them toward a confrontation neither of them could avoid.
Ji-hoon stood frozen, his body trembling with a mix of fear and fury. Si-wan's words echoed in his mind like a haunting melody that he couldn't shake, an unnerving challenge that seemed to call out from the shadows. He wanted to lunge at him, to tear him apart, to make him pay for what he had done. But there was a deep, sickening realization growing in Ji-hoon's chest, a gnawing feeling that made him hesitate for just a moment.
Si-wan was right about one thing—he had been in the dark for far too long. His mother's death, the lies, the twisted game that Si-wan had orchestrated, it had all been hidden from him for so many years. But now, in the midst of his rage, Ji-hoon was beginning to understand something far more terrible than he had ever imagined. The truth that he had been running from, the truth that had always been just out of his grasp, was finally within reach.
"Your mother…" Si-wan said softly, as though he could feel the storm brewing inside Ji-hoon. "She never wanted you to suffer. She made sure you would be safe, no matter the cost."
The words twisted in Ji-hoon's gut, and he could feel the old wounds in his heart reopening. The mother he had loved and lost was no longer just a memory. She was a part of this, a part of the story that was still unfolding before him. Her love, her sacrifices—everything that had driven her, everything that had led to her death—was now coming into focus.
"I don't want to hear it," Ji-hoon growled, his voice low, almost growling with the weight of his fury. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his nails digging into the palms of his hands, but the physical pain did nothing to quell the storm brewing inside him. "You killed her, Si-wan. You took her life. You used her."
Si-wan let out a soft sigh, as if the weight of Ji-hoon's words were a small burden to bear. He lowered the violin, his fingers resting on the strings, and for a moment, there was silence between them, as thick as the night itself.
"Did I?" Si-wan asked, his voice almost calm, too calm. "You see, Ji-hoon, everything I did… it was for you. Your mother knew that too. She understood the price she had to pay. The world doesn't work the way you think it does. It never has."
Ji-hoon took a step forward, but his feet felt like they were cemented to the ground. His breath was shallow, his heart pounding in his chest as if the world itself were closing in around him. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion, rage, and hurt. How could Si-wan say those words so casually? How could he stand there and act as if his mother's death was part of some greater plan?
"Everything?" Ji-hoon spat. "Everything she did, she did for me? Don't you dare try to paint yourself as some kind of savior. You're a murderer. A coward. You've always been."
Si-wan's gaze flickered briefly toward Ji-hoon, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he stepped forward, closing the distance between them. His eyes were cold, calculating, as though he were studying Ji-hoon with an unsettling intensity.
"You're angry," Si-wan said, his voice now low, almost coaxing. "I understand that. But anger doesn't solve anything. It blinds you. Your mother knew that. She was willing to sacrifice herself for your future. Can you say the same about yourself, Ji-hoon?"
The words hit Ji-hoon harder than he expected. They were a bitter reminder of everything he had lost, of everything his mother had been willing to give up for him. The weight of her sacrifice was a burden that he had never truly understood. He had always thought of her death as something senseless, something unfair, but now, in this moment, the layers of meaning began to peel away, revealing a terrible truth.
"You think I don't know what sacrifice is?" Ji-hoon's voice was shaking, his words edged with pain. "You think I don't see the cost of what you've done? My mother… she loved me. She would've never chosen this path, Si-wan. Not for me. Not for anyone."
Si-wan's lips curled into a faint smile, a cruel, almost pitying expression that sent a chill down Ji-hoon's spine.
"Ah, Ji-hoon…" Si-wan's voice softened, a hint of regret slipping into his tone. "You've always been blind, haven't you? Not just physically, but emotionally. Your mother was a beautiful woman, but she wasn't infallible. She made her choices. She chose the path that led us here, that led to this moment."
Ji-hoon felt the anger swell again, boiling to the surface like a volcano ready to erupt. His fists clenched tighter, the pain in his hands a welcome distraction from the ache in his chest.
"I don't care what you say," Ji-hoon hissed, his voice rising with every word. "You're the one who's blind, Si-wan. You're the one who's been lying to yourself all this time. My mother would never have sacrificed her life for someone like you. You… you took her from me."
Si-wan's expression faltered, just for a second, and Ji-hoon saw it—saw the flicker of something behind Si-wan's eyes. It was subtle, but it was there. Regret? Guilt? For the briefest moment, Ji-hoon wondered if Si-wan truly understood the depth of what he had done, but the thought was gone as quickly as it had come.
Without warning, Si-wan reached out, his hand landing on Ji-hoon's shoulder with a heavy, almost possessive grip. Ji-hoon flinched, but he didn't pull away. He couldn't. His rage had clouded his judgment, but now, as Si-wan's hand rested on him, the world felt too still, too tense, as though the very air itself was waiting for something to break.
"Ji-hoon," Si-wan said, his voice low and almost sympathetic. "You'll never truly understand what your mother did for you, not until it's too late."
The words were like a knife to Ji-hoon's chest, twisting the pain deeper. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears, the familiar ache of loss seeping through him again. For a moment, he didn't know whether to lash out, to scream, or to collapse. He was so tired, so broken, and every word that left Si-wan's lips was a reminder of everything he had lost.
"I will make you pay for this," Ji-hoon said, his voice barely a whisper, but filled with a dangerous intensity. "You'll never get away with this. You'll never get away with what you've done."
Si-wan didn't respond right away. Instead, he took a step back, his gaze steady and cold, almost as though he were waiting for Ji-hoon to come to some kind of realization. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke again.
"You're wrong, Ji-hoon," Si-wan said softly. "I already have."