The echo of footsteps reverberated through the narrow alleyway, the air thick with tension as Ji-hoon and Joon-won moved in perfect synchronization. They had tracked down their target, the scent of death hanging heavy in the air. Ji-hoon's heightened senses, though limited by his blindness, were honed from years of being attuned to every minute detail around him. The rustle of a distant wind, the scrape of shoes against stone—every sound, every movement was noted. There was no room for error.
The scent that permeated the night air wasn't just that of decay, but of something more sinister—something Ji-hoon had learned to recognize all too well. Blood. Murder. The stench of those who had taken his mother from him. This was not the first time he had felt the weight of vengeance, but tonight, everything felt different. More dangerous. More urgent.
"Ji-hoon," Joon-won's voice was low but sharp, "they're close. We need to move fast."
Ji-hoon nodded, his senses prickling with anticipation. They had done their homework. The people who were responsible for his mother's death were scattered, hidden in the dark corners of the city, running scared. But that didn't matter to Ji-hoon. He had been waiting for this moment for too long. No more hiding. No more running. Tonight, he was going to make them pay.
The two men turned the corner, their bodies tense, ready for whatever lay ahead. And then they saw him. The man who had been the catalyst for everything, the one who had helped orchestrate his mother's murder. A figure cloaked in darkness, standing at the entrance of a building that seemed as though it had been abandoned for years.
"I've been expecting you," the man said, his voice cold and mocking.
Ji-hoon's heart beat faster, his fingers twitching as he gripped the handle of the knife he had strapped to his side. He had trained for this moment—his body was a machine, ready to strike with precision, his anger boiling beneath the surface, threatening to consume him.
"I don't have time for games," Ji-hoon's voice was steady, but there was a fire in it that was unmistakable. "You're going to pay for what you did."
The man smirked, stepping forward. "You think you can stop me? You think you can take down someone like me?"
The words hit Ji-hoon like a punch to the gut. He had heard this before. Time and time again, people had underestimated him, thought that his blindness made him weak. But they were wrong. He had spent his whole life training, pushing himself to the limits, and now he was more than ready.
Without warning, Ji-hoon lunged forward, his body moving faster than the man could react. The blade of his knife flashed in the dim light, cutting through the air with deadly precision. But the man was quick—too quick. He dodged, narrowly avoiding the strike, and then retaliated with a series of swift punches, each one aimed at Ji-hoon's vital points.
Ji-hoon blocked one, dodged another, but the impact of the blows sent jolts of pain through his body. He gritted his teeth, refusing to show any weakness. The man's fighting style was erratic, unpredictable, but Ji-hoon's body had become a weapon in itself, responding to each move before his mind could even process it.
With a grunt, Ji-hoon twisted, using his opponent's momentum against him. He pushed the man back with a well-placed strike to the chest, sending him stumbling. The man's eyes narrowed, his anger flaring. This was no longer just a fight. This was personal.
"You think you're the only one who's suffered?" the man hissed, wiping blood from his lip. "Your mother's death was a necessity. She was a liability."
Ji-hoon's breath caught in his throat. The words hit him like a physical blow, but he didn't allow it to distract him. He couldn't afford to be weak. Not now.
"I'll make you regret every word you've ever said," Ji-hoon growled, and with that, he charged again, his knife flashing as he slashed at the man's arm, cutting deep.
The man screamed in pain, his body recoiling, but he quickly recovered, pulling out a gun from beneath his coat. Ji-hoon's heart raced, but his training kicked in. Without hesitation, he lunged forward, closing the gap between them before the man could fire. The sound of a gunshot rang out, but the bullet missed, striking the building behind him instead.
Ji-hoon didn't stop. He knew the gun was a threat, but he couldn't let it dictate the pace of the fight. He was faster. He was stronger. The man was out of his element. Ji-hoon had prepared for this moment for years, training his body, his instincts, to be sharp, to be precise.
The man struggled to maintain his balance, but Ji-hoon was relentless. With a swift kick, he knocked the gun from the man's hand, sending it skittering across the ground. He was on top of the man in an instant, pinning him to the ground with a brutal force that left the man gasping for air.
"This is where it ends," Ji-hoon spat, his voice dripping with hatred. "This is where you pay."
The man looked up at him, fear flickering in his eyes for the first time. Ji-hoon could see the realization dawn on him—he had underestimated the blind pianist, and now it was too late.
Before the man could say anything else, Ji-hoon drove the knife into his chest, the blade sinking deep into the heart of the man who had taken so much from him. The man's body jerked once, twice, before falling still beneath him.
Ji-hoon stood over him, chest heaving, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving a heavy sense of exhaustion in its wake. But he didn't feel relief. There was no satisfaction in the man's death. It was just another piece of the puzzle, another step in a never-ending cycle of violence that had come to define his life.
Joon-won approached cautiously, his face grim as he surveyed the scene. "It's done," he said quietly. "But there's more. There are others."
Ji-hoon nodded, wiping the blood from his knife before sheathing it. "I know. But this... this was necessary. Every one of them will pay."
The words felt hollow even as they left his lips. The man who had just died was only one of many. And yet, despite the violence, despite the justice, there was no closure. There was no end to the pain that had driven Ji-hoon this far.
As the two men walked away from the body, Ji-hoon couldn't shake the feeling that he was becoming something different—something darker. He had taken a life tonight. And while it had been justified, while it had been necessary, the reality of what that meant was sinking in.
The scent of murder still lingered in the air, but Ji-hoon knew that it would never leave him. He had crossed a line, and there was no going back.
But even as the darkness closed in, he felt an unshakable determination. He would find them all. He would make them pay. No matter the cost.
Ji-hoon's mind was racing as he stood over the body of the man who had just taken his last breath. The stillness of the night was broken only by the sound of his shallow, labored breathing, each exhale trembling with a mixture of adrenaline and something darker—something like anger, but more consuming. He wiped the sweat from his brow, the bloodied knife still clutched tightly in his hand, trembling ever so slightly as he tried to steady himself.
But steadiness wasn't something Ji-hoon could grasp anymore. He had crossed a line, and now there was no turning back.
Joon-won stood behind him, looking down at the corpse with cold eyes, but there was a hint of something else—uncertainty. Maybe even regret. But Ji-hoon had no time to question the emotions of others. He couldn't afford it. His mind was too far gone. His body felt too alive, too fueled by the need for vengeance. It had become an addiction—a hunger that, no matter how much he fed it, only grew stronger.
"The rest will come soon," Joon-won said, his voice low, carrying a grim certainty. He took a step closer, his gaze never leaving the body.
Ji-hoon turned toward him slowly, his dark, unfocused eyes fixed on his friend. His senses felt like they were on fire. He could hear the rapid beat of his heart, the distant hum of a passing car, the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze. Every detail was so sharp, so clear. Yet, it didn't drown out the emptiness he felt inside. The void that had been with him for so long. The void that the blood of his enemies seemed to barely touch.
Ji-hoon's grip tightened on the knife as the thoughts swirled in his mind. "You said they're still out there," he muttered, his voice strained, as if he were talking to himself more than to Joon-won. His breath hitched for a moment, and he took a deep, shuddering inhale, trying to calm the storm within.
Joon-won nodded slowly. "They are. But don't let your guard down. It's not over."
Ji-hoon nodded absently, staring at the lifeless figure before him. He couldn't feel anything but the pounding in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears. He had expected some kind of closure, some sense of justice after the kill. But all he felt was the cold, uncomfortable weight of something else settling into his bones. A sense of dread. Like something worse was waiting just around the corner.
A sudden noise snapped Ji-hoon out of his trance—a faint shuffle of footsteps, an echoing breath that wasn't his own. His instincts kicked in, and without a moment's hesitation, he spun around, his hand already gripping the knife's hilt, prepared for another attack. But it wasn't an enemy.
A figure emerged from the shadows, a silhouette that Ji-hoon recognized instantly. It was Hye-jin.
Her wet hair clung to her face, and her eyes were wide, filled with something that could only be described as fear, mixed with sorrow. Her body trembled slightly, her raincoat soaking from the downpour that had begun while Ji-hoon and Joon-won were dealing with their business.
"Hye-jin?" Ji-hoon's voice softened for the first time in what felt like forever. She was the only person who had been a source of comfort in his increasingly fractured life. Yet, now, seeing her here, there was no comfort in her presence. Only a reminder of everything he was sacrificing in the pursuit of vengeance.
She took a hesitant step forward, eyes flicking to the dead body on the ground. She didn't flinch, though her lips trembled as she spoke. "Ji-hoon… what are you doing?"
The question hung heavy in the air, like a weight Ji-hoon couldn't bear to lift. His grip on the knife loosened ever so slightly, but his body was still rigid, tense. "I'm doing what I have to," he replied, his voice low and hoarse, as though the words themselves were made of ash.
She stepped closer, her hands trembling as she reached for him, as if to pull him away from the mess they were both drowning in. "No, Ji-hoon. This won't bring her back. This won't fix anything." Her words cut into him, and he almost recoiled. But he stayed frozen in place. "I know you're angry," Hye-jin continued, her voice breaking, "but you can't keep doing this."
Ji-hoon's world felt like it was spinning. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that the violence—the blood—wasn't the answer. But every fiber of his being screamed at him to keep going, to end it all, to rip the world apart and carve his mother's memory into it. He had been living in the darkness for so long, unable to see the truth, unable to understand how deep the damage had gone. But now, with every death he dealt, with every drop of blood he spilled, he thought he could feel the truth coming to him.
"I don't care about the truth," Ji-hoon spat, his voice rough and cracked. "I care about the justice I will make them face. My mother deserves that."
Hye-jin's hand fell back to her side, and she took another step forward, standing in front of him now, blocking his path. She wasn't afraid of him. There was no terror in her eyes. Only sorrow. And love. The kind of love that Ji-hoon wasn't sure he could ever accept.
"You're not seeing it, Ji-hoon. You're not seeing yourself," she said softly, almost pleadingly. "You've been consumed by it. You're becoming something else. And I won't lose you, too."
Her words hit him like a slap to the face. He recoiled slightly, not from her touch but from the weight of the truth she was speaking. He could feel the raw edge of his emotions, the gnawing emptiness at the pit of his stomach. The anger, the regret, the pain. It all fused together until he couldn't distinguish where one ended and the other began. And for the first time in what felt like years, Ji-hoon felt something break inside him.
He let out a shaky breath, his knuckles going white as he gripped the knife again, not in anger this time, but in confusion. His hands were shaking, his thoughts clouded, but beneath it all, there was an undeniable sorrow. He had never truly seen it before, but now, the weight of it all was crashing down on him.
"I… I don't know what to do anymore," Ji-hoon whispered, the vulnerability in his voice almost unrecognizable. "I don't know what's right."
Hye-jin stepped forward again, gently touching his arm, her voice steady and calm, a stark contrast to the chaos of his own mind. "You don't have to do it alone, Ji-hoon. You don't have to carry it all by yourself. You're not alone. You have people who care about you."
But Ji-hoon wasn't sure if that mattered anymore. The blood had stained him so deeply, so permanently, that he wasn't sure if he could ever be clean again.