The darkness in the room seemed to deepen with each passing second, a thick blanket that smothered Ji-hoon's mind. He stood there, his fingers trembling, his heart racing. The familiar hum of the piano, the one that had always been his refuge, now felt like a distant memory. The sounds of the world outside, the everyday noise that usually drowned out his thoughts, now faded away, leaving only the unsettling silence between him and Si-wan.
Ji-hoon felt the cold creeping into his bones, the chill of the room somehow matching the chill in his heart. Everything felt wrong. The walls felt like they were closing in, pressing against him, threatening to crush him. He wanted to scream, to break free of the weight of the past that had finally caught up with him, but the words wouldn't come. All he could do was stand there, his thoughts swirling like a storm he couldn't control.
Si-wan, standing opposite him, was quiet now. His usual calm, his unnerving composure, was gone. There was something different in his eyes, something that Ji-hoon couldn't quite place. It was a glint of something—regret? Maybe. Or was it satisfaction? A sense of finality, like everything was coming to an end, one way or another.
"I didn't want it to end like this, Ji-hoon," Si-wan's voice broke through the silence, soft but unmistakable. "But this is the way it had to be. I never wanted you to suffer. I never wanted you to feel the weight of what your mother did."
Ji-hoon flinched at the mention of his mother. The wound that had been reopening with each new revelation, each new piece of the puzzle, felt fresh again. His mother's face appeared in his mind, that face that he had spent years cherishing, mourning. Now it was tainted, corrupted by the truth Si-wan had uncovered. She had been a part of this twisted game, a pawn in a war that had only just begun.
"You lie," Ji-hoon spat, his voice hoarse. "You've always lied. You killed her, Si-wan. You killed my mother. All of this… everything that's happened, it's because of you."
Si-wan shook his head slowly, as though Ji-hoon's words didn't hold any weight. He looked almost sorrowful, but Ji-hoon could see the truth in his eyes. There was no guilt there. Only a coldness that cut deeper than any blade.
"I never wanted to hurt you, Ji-hoon," Si-wan said quietly, as if trying to reason with him. "But you've got to understand. Your mother was part of something bigger. She was never just the woman you thought she was."
The words stung. They dug into Ji-hoon's chest, twisting like a knife. For so long, he had believed his mother was a saint, someone who had only ever wanted to protect him, to shield him from the horrors of the world. But now, Si-wan was telling him something else—something far darker.
"You're wrong," Ji-hoon whispered, the words barely audible. He didn't want to believe it. He couldn't. He couldn't bear the thought that everything he had known about his mother had been a lie. He couldn't accept that the woman he had adored and mourned could have been involved in something so monstrous.
Si-wan stepped closer, his expression unreadable, and placed a hand on Ji-hoon's shoulder. Ji-hoon wanted to pull away, to rip himself from Si-wan's grasp, but he couldn't move. His body felt heavy, weighed down by the gravity of the moment.
"Think, Ji-hoon," Si-wan said, his voice low and almost soothing. "What do you really know about your mother? What do you really know about the people who were around her? About the choices she made? About the things she had to do, to protect you?"
Ji-hoon's head spun, the words spinning around in his mind like a cyclone. His mother, a woman he had thought was pure and unblemished, had been hiding secrets from him. And now, the truth was slowly unraveling, piece by piece, and he couldn't stop it. He couldn't stop the wave of betrayal, of grief, that was crashing over him.
"You're lying," Ji-hoon repeated, though the conviction in his voice was starting to waver. The doubt was creeping in, the realization that maybe—just maybe—Si-wan wasn't lying.
"I'm not lying, Ji-hoon," Si-wan said softly, his voice almost a whisper. "I'm giving you the truth. Your mother did everything she could to protect you. But sometimes, even the best intentions lead to destruction. You're part of that destruction, Ji-hoon. And now you'll have to choose: Will you live in the light, or will you embrace the darkness that's always been there?"
The words hit Ji-hoon like a punch to the gut. He wanted to fight back, to scream, to tear the truth apart and throw it away. But he couldn't. The truth was too heavy, too real. And with each passing second, he was realizing something even more terrifying: his whole life, everything he had known, had been a lie.
The silence stretched on, suffocating and thick. The air between them crackled with tension, as though the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for Ji-hoon to make a choice. But there was no choice. Not really. He was already too far gone, already too deep in the web that Si-wan had spun.
And then, just as Ji-hoon was about to speak, to shout, to demand answers, the lights flickered.
The sudden flash of light and then the complete darkness sent a shock through him. For a moment, everything was pitch black. His eyes, so accustomed to the absence of light, couldn't adjust fast enough. He stood still, his breath shallow, his mind racing. The flickering lights seemed like a sign, a warning from the universe, a signal that everything was about to change.
When the lights finally returned, Ji-hoon's heart sank. The room was the same, but everything felt different. The air was thick with the weight of the truth. And for the first time in his life, Ji-hoon understood what it meant to be truly alone.
Si-wan stood there, his expression unreadable, watching him with those cold, calculating eyes. Ji-hoon wanted to lash out, to hurt him, but the rage inside him was gone. Now there was only emptiness. The silence between them was deafening, and Ji-hoon realized that it wasn't just the world around him that had gone dark—it was his own soul. The light had flickered, and now it was gone.
"You've already made your choice," Si-wan said softly, his voice almost a whisper. "You just don't know it yet."
The words hung in the air like a curse, and Ji-hoon stood there, frozen, unable to move, unable to speak. The room felt colder now, the shadows deeper. The flicker of light that had come and gone was a symbol, a harbinger of the darkness that was closing in.
And as the silence stretched on, Ji-hoon couldn't help but wonder if he would ever see the light again.
The room had grown colder, the once familiar sounds of the outside world now completely muffled as though the walls themselves had absorbed all the life around them. Ji-hoon stood motionless, the weight of Si-wan's words pressing heavily on his chest. His breath came in short, shallow gasps, the bitter taste of fear and confusion lingering in his mouth. What had he just learned? What had he just lost? His mind swirled in a dizzying spiral of betrayal, regret, and an insatiable hunger for answers.
Si-wan stood across from him, his features etched in a mask of calm, but there was something else there too—something more sinister, a glimmer of satisfaction in his cold eyes. The way he was watching Ji-hoon made the air feel thick, suffocating. The silence stretched between them, unbearable, almost as though it was waiting for Ji-hoon to break it, to scream, to lash out. But he couldn't. His body refused to move, his mind paralyzed by the knowledge that had only just begun to settle in.
"You were right," Si-wan's voice broke through the silence again, this time softer, almost as though he were speaking to himself. "Your mother's choices were always going to catch up to her. And now they're catching up to you." He paused, as if weighing his next words carefully. "You're a part of this, Ji-hoon. Whether you like it or not."
The words hit him like a physical blow. He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, the throb of anger and betrayal coiling tighter around his chest with each syllable. His mother, the woman he had adored, had been involved in this—this twisted web of lies, betrayal, and violence. He had spent his entire life believing that she was a saint, someone who had sacrificed everything for him. And now... now he was learning that the very sacrifice she had made—the one that had kept him safe—was the cause of her death. It was almost too much to bear.
Ji-hoon's mind raced. What had she been protecting him from? Who had she been protecting him from? And what had she been willing to do, to give up, to ensure his safety? The thought of his mother sacrificing everything—her life, her freedom, her very essence—for him made his stomach churn. The overwhelming sense of loss hit him like a tidal wave. He had never realized just how much she had given up, how much she had endured. And now, here he was, left in the ruins of the truth, trying to piece together the fragments of a past that was slipping further and further away.
"You can't be serious," Ji-hoon managed to croak, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. "You're telling me… she—she gave up everything for me? And you—" His throat tightened, a surge of fury flooding his chest. "You killed her. You killed my mother. She died for me, and you—"
Si-wan stepped closer, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I didn't kill her, Ji-hoon," he said, his voice almost too calm. "I didn't want to. But there are things in this world you don't understand. Things you've never had to face." His eyes flicked to the piano, and for a brief moment, Ji-hoon thought he saw something—regret? Perhaps. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the cold, calculating look that had always defined Si-wan. "She knew the price of what she was doing. She knew what would happen. She made her choice, just like you're going to have to make yours."
A heavy silence fell between them once more. Ji-hoon's heart pounded in his chest as he tried to make sense of it all. His mind was overwhelmed with the truth, but the more he tried to hold onto it, the more it slipped away, like water through his fingers. The pieces of the puzzle were scattered, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make them fit.
His fingers twitched at his sides, the urge to reach for something, anything, to steady himself growing stronger. His world had been turned upside down, his entire existence a lie. The woman he had mourned for so long, the woman who had raised him, who had protected him from the darkness of the world, had been just as lost as he was. The thought of her making those choices, of her being forced to live in a world where death and betrayal were the only options, made his stomach twist in disgust.
"You think she had a choice?" Ji-hoon finally managed, his voice low, filled with raw emotion. "You think she could choose this? Choose to die for me? For you?"
Si-wan's expression remained unchanged. He didn't flinch at Ji-hoon's outburst. Instead, he simply stared at him, as though he were waiting for Ji-hoon to come to some sort of revelation. And in that moment, Ji-hoon realized—he had been living in a world of illusions. Everything he had believed, everything he had clung to, was a lie. His mother had been a part of this twisted, dark world from the very beginning, and now, in the aftermath of her death, he was left to pick up the pieces.
"What's the point?" Ji-hoon whispered, his voice breaking. "What's the point of all of this? What am I supposed to do now?"
Si-wan's lips curled into a faint smile, but there was no warmth in it. Only emptiness. "Now you face the truth," he said simply. "Now you understand why things have turned out the way they have."
The words stung like acid, burning through Ji-hoon's soul. He had thought that the pain of losing his mother had been the worst thing he could feel. But now, he realized that the true agony was understanding the choices she had made, the sacrifices she had been forced to make—and the fact that he could never change any of it. He couldn't bring her back. He couldn't undo the damage that had been done. And most of all, he couldn't escape the truth.
The room seemed to close in on him, the walls pressing against him, suffocating him. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to do anything to escape this suffocating weight of reality. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, all he could do was stand there, motionless, the realization settling like a stone in his chest.
Si-wan's voice cut through the silence once again. "You're not alone in this, Ji-hoon," he said softly, though there was no comfort in his words. "You never were. This is your legacy now. Your choice."
Ji-hoon felt a shiver run down his spine. Legacy. Choice. What did they even mean anymore? What had his mother truly given up for him? And what was left of him now, in the wake of her death?
The flickering light seemed to mock him now, the dim glow casting shadows that danced along the walls, as though the room itself was alive with the ghosts of his past. And in that moment, Ji-hoon realized something else—there was no escape from this. No running away. He would have to face the truth, no matter how painful, no matter how much it tore him apart.
He closed his eyes, the tears that had been threatening to spill finally breaking free. They were silent, the only sound in the room the steady, almost rhythmic beat of his heart, pounding as though it, too, were trying to escape the pain. But there was no escape. Not anymore.
And as the darkness closed in around him, Ji-hoon knew one thing for sure: the light would never flicker again.