Ji-hoon's steps were unsteady, his body still healing from the brutal reminder that the world could be as cold as it was unforgiving. But the physical pain was easier to deal with. The weight of what he had discovered, however—what he had uncovered about his mother, about the lies that had been spun around him—was another matter entirely.
He stood at the entrance of the conservatory, the place that had once been a sanctuary, a sacred hall of music and memories. Now, it was a prison of secrets, and Ji-hoon was about to face it head-on. His fingers gripped the handle of the door, the cool metal biting into his palm as he steeled himself for what was beyond.
The conservatory was quiet, the kind of silence that weighed heavily, like it was holding its breath. As he walked through the halls, his cane tapping rhythmically against the floor, Ji-hoon couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching him. It wasn't just the echo of his footsteps or the stillness of the air; it was deeper than that. There was something in the walls, something that had been buried for too long. His mother's death, the betrayal, the faces he had yet to confront.
Every corner he turned felt like a dead end. The faint scent of aged wood and dust clung to the air, a reminder of the past, and of everything he had lost. He stopped by a window, the sound of raindrops tapping against the glass. For a moment, he let himself breathe, letting the sound of the rain fill the spaces in his mind, calming the storm that had taken root there.
But even in this moment of quiet, Ji-hoon couldn't escape the flood of memories that came rushing back. His mother's laughter, the warmth of her touch, the sound of her piano filling the house with life. Those memories had been his anchor, his reason for holding on when the world felt like it was slipping through his fingers. And now, they were tainted. The truth had seeped into them like poison, turning everything he had believed in into a cruel lie.
It was all Siwan's doing.
The realization had hit him like a punch to the gut. The more he uncovered, the more he learned about the twisted relationship his mother had had with Siwan, the more he realized the extent of the betrayal. Siwan had been a part of their lives long before Ji-hoon had ever known. His charm, his calculated moves, had all been part of the game. But now Ji-hoon knew the real reason behind it all. His mother's sacrifice, her ultimate act of love and protection, had been for him—and for that, she had paid the ultimate price.
His hand trembled as he pressed it to the glass, his fingers cold against the window pane. He could hear the whispers in his mind, the unanswered questions that had been echoing for years. What had she known? What had she seen? How much had she been willing to endure to protect him from the darkness that had taken root in their lives?
The answers were hidden somewhere in this conservatory, locked away in a place he couldn't yet reach. But he would.
He had no choice now. There was nothing left but the pursuit of truth, and the pursuit of vengeance.
With newfound determination, Ji-hoon turned away from the window and continued his journey down the hall. He knew where to go. The hidden room, the place his mother had spent countless hours working. The one she had left behind after her death. The one that held the answers he was desperately searching for.
As he reached the door, he felt a cold shiver run down his spine. It wasn't the chill of the rain outside, nor the draft that swept through the hall. It was something else—a presence. A sensation that someone was waiting for him on the other side. Ji-hoon's grip tightened on his cane, his knuckles white as he slowly reached for the doorknob.
The door creaked open, and Ji-hoon stepped inside. The room was small but filled with the ghosts of the past. Old sheet music, yellowed with age, was scattered across the desk. The piano in the corner was covered in a layer of dust, its once-beautiful surface now a mere shadow of what it had been. Ji-hoon moved towards the desk, his hand brushing over the papers as he tried to focus.
But then, something caught his attention.
A piece of paper, tucked beneath a stack of music sheets. He reached for it, carefully unfolding it with trembling hands. As he read the words, his breath caught in his throat. It was a letter. A letter from his mother.
The words were delicate, written in her elegant handwriting, but they were also filled with an urgency that sent a chill down his spine.
"Siwan has been lying to you. Everything you know about him—everything you think you know—is a lie. He is not who he appears to be. He has been playing a dangerous game, and I fear that you are caught in the middle of it."
The letter went on, detailing his mother's fears, her suspicions about Siwan's true intentions, and the sacrifices she had made to protect him. The more Ji-hoon read, the more he felt a sense of betrayal, a sharp sting in his chest. How had she kept this from him? How had she hidden the truth for so long?
Tears welled up in his eyes as he finished the letter. His mother had known. She had known everything, and yet she had still chosen to protect him, to keep him safe even if it meant sacrificing herself in the process. The weight of her love, her protection, was too much to bear. Ji-hoon felt like he was drowning in it, suffocating beneath the burden of what she had done for him.
He wiped the tears from his eyes, trying to steady his breath. There was no time to grieve, no time to mourn. His mother had given him the tools he needed to fight, to uncover the truth and bring justice to those who had wronged her.
But as Ji-hoon stood in that room, surrounded by the remnants of his mother's life, he realized that the fight wasn't just about revenge anymore. It was about honoring her memory. It was about ensuring that her sacrifice wasn't in vain.
With a final glance at the letter, Ji-hoon folded it carefully and tucked it into his coat pocket. He knew what he had to do now. The conservatory's secrets had been laid bare, and the path ahead was clear. The truth was within his reach, and nothing—not even the darkness that had taken his mother—was going to stop him from finding it.
Ji-hoon stood there for a long moment, the silence of the room pressing in on him. The weight of his mother's words hung heavy in the air, each syllable seeming to pulse with the urgency and sorrow she had felt in the last moments of her life. He had always believed his mother's love was his shield—an impenetrable barrier against the harsh world. But now, as he read the letter, he realized it was more than that. It had been a weapon, a weapon she had used to protect him from a truth far more dangerous than he had ever known.
His hands shook as he folded the letter back into his pocket, pressing it against his chest as if it could somehow anchor him to the present. But nothing could prepare him for the truth he was about to face. He could feel the pull of it, like an invisible force dragging him toward something he couldn't escape. The words on the page were not just an explanation—they were a call to action.
Siwan had been lying to him. The man who had once been a mentor, a guide, a trusted figure in Ji-hoon's life, had been a part of the darkness that had consumed everything Ji-hoon had held dear. And it wasn't just about his mother. It was about him, about everything Siwan had done to manipulate and control him. The more Ji-hoon thought about it, the more he realized that Siwan's actions had shaped the course of his life, bending it in ways Ji-hoon had never imagined. He had been nothing but a pawn in a game far bigger than he could have ever understood.
The realization churned in Ji-hoon's stomach, a mix of anger and disbelief. He had been so blind, so naïve. How could he have not seen the signs? How had he been so foolish? The questions circled his mind, each one sharper than the last. He thought of the moments with Siwan—the words, the gestures, the subtle manipulations. They had all been lies. Every smile, every gesture of kindness, every moment he had trusted Siwan had been nothing but a façade. And now, with the weight of his mother's last confession on his shoulders, Ji-hoon couldn't shake the sense of betrayal that flooded through him.
But more than the betrayal, there was the overwhelming grief. The grief of knowing that his mother, the woman who had always been his rock, had carried this burden alone. She had known all along what Siwan was capable of, what he had done, and still, she had chosen to protect Ji-hoon. She had sacrificed herself to shield him from the truth, from the darkness that lurked just beyond their lives.
As Ji-hoon stood in the conservatory, the echoes of his mother's love reverberated through his chest, but they were tinged with sorrow. The love that had once felt like a blanket of safety now felt like an unbearable weight. She had given everything for him, and in return, he had failed her. He had been too blind, too consumed by his own world, to notice the dangers that surrounded him.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps outside the room. His heart skipped a beat. He wasn't alone. The conservatory had always been a place of solitude, a sanctuary where he could escape into the world of music, but now it felt like a trap. The walls, once comforting, now seemed to close in around him.
He quickly stepped away from the desk, his cane tapping softly against the floor as he moved toward the door. His pulse quickened. The door handle turned, and Ji-hoon's breath caught in his throat. Whoever it was, they were too close.
The door creaked open slowly, and Ji-hoon tensed, ready to confront whatever—or whoever—was waiting on the other side. But what he saw made him freeze.
Standing in the doorway was Ji-eun.
Her presence was like a shadow, her expression unreadable, but her eyes were filled with something that Ji-hoon couldn't quite place. Fear? Guilt? It was hard to say, but whatever it was, it made his blood run cold. Ji-eun had always been quiet, reserved, someone who had never seemed to be fully a part of the chaos that had surrounded Siwan. But now, in the dim light of the conservatory, Ji-hoon could see the weight of the years written across her face.
"Ji-hoon," she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. "I didn't expect you to be here."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Ji-hoon's mind raced, but he forced himself to focus. He had to keep his emotions in check. He had to know the truth.
"Why are you here?" he asked, his voice barely above a murmur. The words felt like they were being pulled from deep inside him, a part of him that still hoped for some kind of redemption, some kind of explanation that could make sense of all the pain.
Ji-eun hesitated before she stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Her hands were trembling as she clasped them together, her gaze avoiding Ji-hoon's.
"I needed to speak to you," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "There are things you don't know—things that only I can explain."
Ji-hoon's chest tightened. He could feel the knot in his throat as he tried to steady his breath. "Explain?" he repeated, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. "Explain what? After everything that's happened, after everything I've learned, you want to explain?"
Ji-eun's face contorted with something between guilt and sorrow. "I never wanted any of this to happen," she whispered, her voice breaking. "But Siwan... he made his choices, and I was too afraid to stop him. I didn't know what he was capable of."
Ji-hoon clenched his fists, a surge of anger coursing through him. "You didn't know?" he spat, his voice rising. "You were his sister! How could you not know? How could you not see what he was doing?"
The words hung in the air, thick with accusation. Ji-hoon didn't care anymore. The truth had already shattered everything he had once believed in. All that was left was the hollow ache of betrayal.
"I tried," Ji-eun said, her voice barely audible. "I tried to stop him. But I couldn't. Siwan—he's always been so... powerful. I thought if I just kept my distance, I could protect you from him. But I see now that I was wrong. I should have told you sooner. I should have never let you stay in the dark."
Ji-hoon's anger flared, but underneath it, there was a raw vulnerability, a hurt that he hadn't allowed himself to feel until now. He wanted to scream, to demand answers, to shake her until the truth spilled out. But instead, he just stood there, the weight of her confession pressing down on him, suffocating him.
"I don't know what to believe anymore," Ji-hoon whispered, his voice trembling. "I don't know who to trust. My whole life has been a lie."
Ji-eun reached out, her hand hovering in the air as if she were afraid to touch him. "You can trust me," she said softly. "I never wanted any of this. But I'll help you. I'll do whatever it takes to fix what we've broken."
Ji-hoon's mind was a whirlwind of confusion and anger. He didn't know if he could trust her. But in that moment, with the weight of his mother's sacrifice still heavy on his chest, he realized he had no other choice.
"I'll hold you to that," Ji-hoon said, his voice hardening. "But there's something I need to do first. Something that's been long overdue."