The rain beat against the windows, creating a steady, rhythmic sound that seemed to echo the pounding in Ji-hoon's chest. He sat in his room, the dark space filled with memories and shadows that clung to the corners of his mind. The knife he had used so many times before lay on the desk in front of him, its blade gleaming in the dim light from his desk lamp. It was still coated with blood, the deep red staining the metal in a way that seemed almost permanent, like it had fused with the weapon itself.
Ji-hoon couldn't stop staring at it. The knife had become a part of him, a symbol of everything he had done to try to exact justice for his mother. But now, as he looked at it, he wondered if it had become a part of something darker. The blood on the blade wasn't just from those who had been involved in his mother's death—it felt like it had seeped into him too.
His mind wandered back to that night. The night that had started it all. The night that had set him on this path of vengeance, this spiral into darkness.
It had been a quiet evening when everything had changed. Ji-hoon had been practicing his music, the sound of the piano filling the room as his fingers glided over the keys. It was a peaceful night, one that felt almost too perfect. His mother had been in the kitchen, humming softly to herself as she prepared dinner. He could still hear her voice, even now, though it had been years since he last heard it.
But then, the doorbell had rung.
Ji-hoon didn't remember much after that. He remembered the sudden tension that had filled the air, the way his mother's voice had faltered when she answered the door. He remembered the unfamiliar man who had stood on the doorstep, his face obscured by the shadows, a figure that Ji-hoon would never forget. The man had spoken in a calm, almost soothing voice, but there had been something dangerous in the way he spoke, something that had sent a chill down Ji-hoon's spine.
And then, everything had gone dark.
When Ji-hoon woke up, the house had been eerily quiet. The silence was deafening. The air felt thick with something he couldn't quite place. He had stumbled through the halls, calling for his mother, but there was no answer. The house felt wrong, as if it had been hollowed out.
It wasn't until he reached the living room that he found her.
His mother had been lying on the floor, her body lifeless, her eyes wide open in shock. Ji-hoon's breath had caught in his throat as he dropped to his knees beside her, his hands trembling as he reached out to touch her. But it was too late. She was gone.
The authorities had come soon after, but the investigation had been slow, inefficient. There had been no leads, no suspects, and no real answers. The case had quickly gone cold, buried under layers of bureaucracy and apathy. But Ji-hoon knew. He knew that someone had taken her life. Someone who had known exactly what they were doing.
That's when the darkness had truly consumed him. The rage, the need for justice, had become a constant companion. And with it, the desire to make those responsible pay.
But now, as he sat there, staring at the knife and remembering the night his world had shattered, Ji-hoon couldn't shake the feeling that there was something he had missed. Something important. Something that had slipped through his fingers without him realizing it at the time.
The sound of the door creaking open pulled him from his thoughts. He turned, his heart racing, expecting to see Hye-jin or Joon-won, maybe even someone from his past. But the figure that stepped into the room wasn't anyone he recognized.
She was young, no older than him, with long dark hair that framed her face in a way that seemed almost surreal. Her eyes, however, were what caught Ji-hoon's attention the most—dark, wide eyes that seemed to shimmer with a mix of fear and sadness. She didn't speak at first. She just stood there, looking at him with an expression that was almost too familiar, as if she had known him all along.
"Who are you?" Ji-hoon asked, his voice low and uncertain, his grip tightening around the knife instinctively.
The girl didn't answer right away. Instead, she took a tentative step forward, her eyes scanning the room as if searching for something. Ji-hoon felt a strange pull in his chest, as though he were being drawn to her, but he couldn't quite understand why.
"You don't remember me, do you?" she finally said, her voice soft but tinged with an unmistakable sense of urgency.
Ji-hoon narrowed his eyes, trying to make sense of her words. "Should I?" he asked, his heart pounding in his chest. "Who are you? Why are you here?"
The girl's gaze softened, and for a moment, Ji-hoon thought he saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes. "I'm the girl from that night," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
The words sent a shock through Ji-hoon's body, and for a split second, the room seemed to spin. "The girl from that night?" he repeated, his mind racing. "What do you mean? What night?"
She stepped closer, her feet silent against the floor, as if she were moving in slow motion. "The night your mother died," she said, her words cutting through the air like a knife. "I was there. I saw everything."
Ji-hoon's heart skipped a beat, and his breath caught in his throat. He had never seen this girl before in his life. But now, as she spoke, something deep within him stirred—an old memory, something buried under years of grief and anger.
"I don't understand," Ji-hoon said, his voice shaking. "Who are you? How do you know?"
The girl's face twisted in sorrow, and for a moment, Ji-hoon thought he saw a tear slip down her cheek. "I couldn't stop it," she whispered, her voice full of regret. "But I can help you now. I can show you the truth. The real truth about what happened that night."
Ji-hoon's head was spinning. His thoughts were a blur of confusion and disbelief. How could this girl know? How could she have been there? The pieces of the puzzle were starting to shift in his mind, but they didn't fit together yet.
"Please," she said, her voice pleading. "Let me help you. I know what happened. I know who did it."
Ji-hoon's heart beat louder in his chest, the desire for the truth burning inside him like a wildfire. But the fear, the uncertainty, held him back. "How can I trust you?" he asked, his voice trembling with doubt. "How do I know you're not lying? How do I know you're not just another part of the game they've been playing with me?"
The girl took another step forward, her eyes filled with an emotion that Ji-hoon couldn't quite place. "Because," she said, her voice barely a whisper, "I'm the one who saw him that night. I'm the one who saw Siwan."
The world seemed to stop as Ji-hoon's mind reeled. Siwan. The name that had haunted him for so long. The man who had been at the center of it all. The one who had taken everything from him.
He stared at the girl, his heart pounding, the pieces finally starting to fall into place.
The girl's words hung in the air like an unanswered question, her confession an almost unbearable weight in the stillness of the room. Siwan. The name twisted in Ji-hoon's mind, spreading a cold fury that coursed through his veins like ice water. His fingers tightened on the knife, though he didn't know whether he was ready to wield it or simply hold it for the false sense of control it gave him.
Siwan. He had known this name for so long, but hearing it from her—this stranger, this girl who had appeared out of nowhere—felt like a punch to the gut. The memory of that night, of his mother's death, rushed back to him in a flood of images. He saw her, lying motionless on the floor, her eyes staring up at him, wide and unblinking, a victim of something far darker than he could comprehend at the time.
"How do you know him?" Ji-hoon's voice was hoarse, as if the words themselves were a struggle to get out.
The girl's eyes lowered, a flicker of pain crossing her face before she looked back up at him. "I was there. I saw him. He... he was the one who killed your mother."
Ji-hoon felt a surge of heat in his chest. The anger was instant, boiling over, and for a moment, his vision blurred with rage. His fingers flexed around the knife's hilt as though it were a lifeline to something he could control, but the truth was—it was slipping further from his grasp the longer he stood there, frozen in a confrontation with his own grief.
"Why didn't you say anything?" His voice cracked, a crack of hurt creeping into his words. "Why didn't you help me? Why didn't you stop it?"
She flinched as though his words had physically struck her, her face contorting with guilt. "I couldn't. You don't understand. I wanted to, but I—"
"Then why come now?" His tone had turned sharp, brittle, almost accusing, but Ji-hoon couldn't stop it. It was as if the dam had finally broken, the years of pain and confusion and unanswered questions flooding through him all at once. He had been searching for answers, relentlessly hunting down those responsible for his mother's death, but now, with this girl standing before him, he wasn't sure if he even wanted the answers anymore. He didn't know if he was ready for them.
"I—I couldn't tell you before," she whispered, her voice trembling with something raw and vulnerable. "But now... now I can."
Ji-hoon's breath came faster, his heart pounding in his ears, a chaotic rhythm that matched his internal turmoil. He didn't know whether to feel relief or betrayal. Could he trust this girl? Could he believe her? She had just told him the one thing he had always feared, the thing he had never allowed himself to consider—Siwan was the one who had taken his mother's life. And he had known it all along.
But it was her next words that hit him harder than anything.
"I... I was the one who saw him leave," she continued, her voice barely audible. "I was the one who saw him, and I... I couldn't stop it. I couldn't even scream. He looked at me, Ji-hoon. He saw me, and I—" she choked on her words, her hands shaking as she wiped away the tears that had begun to fall. "I was just a child. I didn't know what to do. I was too scared."
Ji-hoon was frozen, his mind unable to process the flood of emotions that rushed over him. She had seen Siwan. She had seen him leave, the man who had been the cause of everything. He had stood there, just out of reach, like an evil specter that had haunted him in silence all these years.
But something else had changed within him. The anger, the rage, it had all been so easy before, so clear. But now, in the presence of this girl who had witnessed it, who had been there when it all unfolded, Ji-hoon felt the ground shift beneath him. He no longer felt like the hunter. He no longer felt like the one in control.
And that terrified him.
"I couldn't stop him," the girl whispered again, almost as if to herself, as if she was trying to absolve herself of guilt. "I wanted to. But I couldn't."
Ji-hoon took a step back, the room spinning around him. He couldn't look at her anymore. He couldn't stand there and listen to her apologies, to the useless words that did nothing to bring his mother back.
He had wanted revenge. He had wanted to punish those who had taken her life. But now, it felt like he was drowning in a sea of guilt and confusion, unsure of who the real enemy was.
"You don't know what it's like," Ji-hoon muttered, his voice raw and thick with pain. "You don't know what it's like to lose everything. To lose the one person you loved more than anything in this world."
The girl took a hesitant step closer, her eyes filled with sorrow, and though Ji-hoon had wanted to push her away, to tell her to leave, he found himself rooted to the spot. It was as if he were caught between the past and the present, unable to escape the weight of everything that had happened.
"I know," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I know more than you think. I know what it's like to watch someone you care about suffer and not be able to do anything about it."
She closed the distance between them, her hand reaching out, not to touch him, but to show him her own pain. Ji-hoon could see the tears now, the same ones he had seen in his own eyes for so many years.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. But you have to know the truth. I couldn't help you before, but I can now."
Ji-hoon's breath caught in his throat, the rawness of her words breaking through the wall he had built up around his heart. He had been so consumed by his need for vengeance, so focused on making those who had wronged him suffer, that he had never stopped to think about the people who had shared in his pain, the people who had been forced to watch from the sidelines. He had never allowed himself to see beyond his own grief.
The girl's eyes met his, and for the first time in years, Ji-hoon saw something other than his own reflection. He saw a person who had carried the same burden, who had lived with the same agony, the same weight of guilt and regret. And in that moment, he realized that he was not alone.
"I'm going to stop him," Ji-hoon said, his voice steady now, filled with a new determination. "I don't care what it takes. I'm going to stop him. For my mother."
The girl nodded, her face filled with an emotion Ji-hoon couldn't quite place—something like relief, or perhaps understanding. She didn't say anything, but in her eyes, Ji-hoon saw a silent promise. She would help him. She would help him uncover the truth, even if it meant facing the darkest parts of the past.
And as Ji-hoon turned away from her, a sense of finality settled in his chest. This was it. He had no choice now but to move forward, to confront Siwan, to end the nightmare that had haunted him for so long. The girl had shown him the way. Now, he would walk it.