The dimly lit room felt colder than usual, as though the air itself had thickened with tension. Ji-hoon sat in the corner, his cane resting beside him, his mind far from the moment at hand. The past few weeks had been an overwhelming blur—each new revelation about his mother's death, about Siwan's role in it all, adding more weight to his already burdened heart. He had learned things that shattered his very understanding of the people he once trusted. And now, he found himself trying to piece together the fragments of truth that seemed to slip away each time he thought he had a grasp on them.
Tonight, he sat alone in a secluded café, his only company being the faint hum of the coffee machine in the back and the occasional murmur of distant voices. He hadn't planned to come here, but his thoughts had led him here nonetheless. It was late, the streets outside soaked from a recent rain, and the café was nearly empty, save for a few patrons sitting by the windows.
As Ji-hoon absentmindedly traced the rim of his coffee cup, he felt the weight of his own exhaustion. His life had become a never-ending search for answers—answers that seemed to evade him at every turn. And yet, in the midst of all the chaos, something else lingered in the background, something he couldn't ignore: a sensation of being watched.
At first, he dismissed it as paranoia. After everything that had happened, it was only natural for his mind to jump to conclusions. But the feeling persisted. Someone was watching him, studying him, in a way that felt more than just coincidental. Ji-hoon's senses, finely tuned by years of navigating a world of darkness, picked up on subtle cues—the soft shuffle of footsteps too close behind, the faint rustle of fabric against a chair. It was almost imperceptible, but it was enough to set his heart on edge.
He adjusted his position, leaning forward slightly as his fingers tightened around the handle of his cane. His thoughts raced, trying to recall every encounter, every strange occurrence that might point to who was responsible for this unsettling feeling.
And then it came—the voice. A soft, almost timid whisper that seemed to cut through the stillness of the café.
"Ji-hoon, is it really you?"
His body tensed at the sound. The voice was familiar, yet it sent a chill down his spine. He didn't need to see the person to know they were close. Too close. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he forced himself to remain calm.
"I didn't want to interrupt," the voice continued, closer now, a slight quiver in the words. "I just... I had to make sure it was really you."
Ji-hoon's pulse quickened. He didn't respond immediately, his mind swirling with confusion. There was something about the tone that unnerved him, something about the way the voice seemed to carry an undercurrent of obsession.
"Who's there?" Ji-hoon asked, his voice steady despite the tension in his chest. He wanted to seem composed, wanted to maintain control over the situation, but inside, his thoughts were spiraling. Who could it be? A fan? Someone who knew him from his past? His instincts screamed that something was off, but he couldn't quite place it.
A soft laugh followed, barely audible but laced with something unsettling. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I just... I couldn't help myself. I've been following you for so long, Ji-hoon."
The words hung in the air, and Ji-hoon's heart seemed to stop for a moment. Following him? He had heard of obsessive fans before, but this? This felt different. This felt dangerous.
"Who are you?" he asked again, his tone now sharper, more insistent. He stood up, gripping his cane with renewed purpose, his senses alert to any sound, any movement that might reveal the identity of the person who was so unnervingly close to him.
There was a pause, and then the voice replied, "I've been to all your recitals, all your performances. I've watched you grow, Ji-hoon. I know everything about you—your music, your life, your pain. I admire you so much."
Ji-hoon's stomach churned as the realization hit him. This wasn't just any fan. This was someone who had been obsessively tracking his every move, every performance, and now, they had found him here, in the quiet solitude of this café. The person's words were too familiar, too intimate. It was as if they had spent years studying him, learning every nuance of his existence.
"Please," Ji-hoon said, his voice barely a whisper, his heart hammering in his chest. "You're too close. I need you to step back."
But the person didn't move. Instead, they took a step forward, the sound of their shoes on the floor sending a wave of panic through Ji-hoon's body. His grip on his cane tightened as he prepared himself for whatever was coming next.
"I just want to be near you," the voice said, a pleading note creeping into it. "I just want to help you. I know what you've been through, Ji-hoon. I know your pain."
The words hit him like a slap, and Ji-hoon recoiled. He had heard this before. It wasn't about admiration—it wasn't about respect. It was about control. About someone seeing him not as a person, but as an object to be studied, to be consumed. The sense of violation was overwhelming, and for the first time in a long time, Ji-hoon felt truly afraid.
"You don't know anything about me," Ji-hoon said, his voice shaking with the effort to remain calm. "You don't know what I've been through, and you don't have the right to make assumptions about my life."
The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, the figure stepped closer, their presence now undeniable. Ji-hoon could hear the sound of their breath, shallow and uneven, just inches away.
"I'm sorry," the voice murmured, but the apology felt hollow, insincere. It was the kind of apology someone would make to get what they wanted, to push through the boundaries they had already crossed. "I just couldn't stay away. You've meant so much to me. And I—"
Before the person could finish, Ji-hoon swung his cane, the movement sharp and quick, the tip of the cane striking the floor with a force that reverberated through the café. The sound startled the figure, and for the first time, they hesitated.
"Stay back," Ji-hoon commanded, his voice low but full of authority. "I won't let you get any closer."
There was a brief moment of stillness before the figure took a step back, the air between them thick with a tension that was almost palpable. Ji-hoon stood his ground, his body tense, every sense alert to the presence of the person before him. The figure didn't speak again, and the silence hung heavy in the room. Ji-hoon could feel the weight of the moment, the danger that had almost
Ji-hoon sat in the dimly lit apartment, his fingers brushing the edge of his piano's keys. The room was quiet, save for the occasional dripping sound from the rain outside. He had spent hours trying to compose himself, trying to make sense of everything that had happened. The past few days had been a blur of revelations, confusion, and anger. His entire world was crumbling, the lies and secrets piling up faster than he could process them. But through it all, there was one thing that gnawed at him more than anything else—the fan.
He had been aware of his fanbase for years, of course, but this was different. This one was different. From the very beginning, something about her presence had felt off. Im So-hee. Her obsession with him wasn't subtle. It had started innocuously enough—attending concerts, sending letters, and following him on social media. But then, it escalated. Gifts began to appear at his door, notes left on his car, and strange messages in his inbox. Ji-hoon couldn't ignore the creeping sense of dread that had slowly begun to gnaw at the back of his mind. But it wasn't until recently that he started to realize how far her obsession had gone.
Ji-hoon couldn't explain why he hadn't seen it sooner. Maybe it was because he had been so wrapped up in his own darkness, so focused on the mysteries surrounding his mother's death and Siwan's betrayal, that he hadn't noticed how dangerously close she had gotten. The realization was a gut punch, but it also sparked a deep sense of fear within him.
He'd been receiving her messages for weeks now, each one more intense than the last. At first, they had been harmless—admiration, praise, the usual words of a fan. But as time went on, the tone changed. She spoke of how she could "hear" his soul through his music, how they were connected in a way that no one else could understand. It was strange at first, but then it became unsettling. She spoke of his pain as if she had lived it herself, as if she knew him better than anyone else. And then came the last message, the one that sent a chill down his spine: "I'm waiting for you, Ji-hoon. I'll always be waiting for you."
He shivered at the thought, his fingers pausing over the keys as his mind wandered back to the strange occurrences surrounding her. He'd received a package just the other day—a small box wrapped in plain brown paper. Inside was a velvet ribbon, delicate and worn, with a note that simply read: "For when you remember."
What did she mean by that? What was she trying to tell him? His thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. He tensed, his muscles rigid, every nerve in his body on high alert. Who could it be? No one had visited him in days, and he hadn't ordered anything.
Cautiously, he stood and made his way to the door, his cane tapping rhythmically against the floor. When he opened it, he found no one standing on the other side. Instead, there was a single envelope lying on the ground. His heart skipped a beat as he bent down to pick it up. The envelope was unmarked, but as soon as he touched it, he could feel the faintest sense of familiarity. The texture of the paper, the weight, everything about it screamed of her.
He tore it open, and a folded piece of paper fell out. He opened it carefully, his hands trembling slightly as he read the message:
"I've always known, Ji-hoon. You don't need to look for answers anymore. You've always had the answers inside you."
The words hit him like a punch in the stomach. He could feel the heat rise in his face, his pulse quickening. This was it. This was the point of no return. She wasn't just some random fan. She had been watching him, studying him. She knew things about him that no one else did.
A cold shiver ran down his spine. This wasn't just admiration anymore. This was obsession. Dangerous obsession. And he had no idea how deep it went.
Ji-hoon's fingers tightened around the letter as his mind raced. He had been so focused on the other aspects of his life—the investigation, the betrayal, the darkness surrounding his mother's death—that he hadn't noticed the one thing that had been creeping up on him all along. Im So-hee was no longer just a fan. She was something much worse.
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud bang on the window. He froze, his heart hammering in his chest as he spun around, instinctively reaching for the cane. The sound was sharp, like a fist pounding against the glass. For a moment, he stood frozen, unsure of what to do. His senses were on edge, every muscle tense, waiting for whatever was coming next.
The knock came again, louder this time. And then another. He could feel the panic rising inside him, the air thick with the oppressive weight of impending danger. Without thinking, he hurried over to the window, trying to peer through the blinds. His heart nearly stopped when he saw her—Im So-hee, standing across the street, her gaze fixed on him with a wild, manic intensity.
He felt his breath catch in his throat. She was standing there, unblinking, watching him as though she were waiting for something. Waiting for him. And as their eyes met, something inside Ji-hoon snapped.
This wasn't just about music anymore. This wasn't about admiration or praise. Im So-hee had crossed a line, and there was no turning back.
He knew, without a doubt, that he was in danger.
His instincts kicked in, and he turned away from the window, grabbing his phone from the table. His hands were shaking as he dialed the number he'd been avoiding for days.
"Joon-won," Ji-hoon said, his voice trembling with urgency. "I need your help. Now."
Joon-won's voice came through the phone, low and concerned. "What's going on? What happened?"
"I've got a stalker," Ji-hoon said, his words rushed. "And she's not going to stop until she gets what she wants. You need to get here. Now."
He didn't wait for a response. He hung up and turned back to the window, his heart pounding in his chest. Im So-hee was still standing there, her expression unreadable. Ji-hoon's breath came in shallow gasps as he slowly backed away from the window.
Whatever happened next, he knew one thing for sure: he couldn't let her get any closer.