The sun had set hours ago, but the night felt like it had only just begun. Ji-hoon paced around the apartment, unable to settle, the storm of emotions in his mind refusing to abate. The day had been a whirlwind of confrontations, lies, and revelations, each one more crushing than the last. But it was the latest discovery—the PR Puppet—that had left him numb with fury.
The man who had been controlling the narrative around his mother's death, manipulating the media and the public to spin a tale that would hide the truth, was someone Ji-hoon had never expected. Choi Sun-woo. The PR officer, the one person Ji-hoon had thought was simply an observer in the background, had been at the center of it all.
It wasn't just the role he played in covering up the events that led to his mother's death that infuriated Ji-hoon; it was the way Sun-woo had orchestrated everything with such precision, playing the media like a puppet master. He had constructed a lie so grand, so detailed, that it had taken years for Ji-hoon to start unraveling it. And now, the man's true involvement was staring him in the face.
Ji-hoon's mind flashed to the moment he first learned about Sun-woo's connection to everything—the night he had spoken to Seol-ah, her desperate confession lingering in the air. He had felt the walls closing in around him as she had revealed that Sun-woo had been the mastermind behind the clean-up operation after his mother's death. His role, of course, was far deeper than that. The truth of what Sun-woo had done—manipulating public opinion, using his mother's death to shift the tides of power in a different direction—was a betrayal on an unimaginable scale.
The rage that had been building in Ji-hoon ever since had reached its peak, and now, there was only one thing on his mind: revenge. He could no longer stand to be the passive victim in this twisted game of power and manipulation. If Sun-woo had orchestrated the PR facade, he would make sure the truth came to light.
Ji-hoon was not the same man he had been before. The blindness that had once confined him had become his strength, his ability to see things others couldn't. His mind worked faster, sharper now that it had been awakened to the web of lies surrounding him. And the realization of his own power—his ability to manipulate the narrative in his own way—had made him feel something he hadn't felt in a long time: control.
It was late, and the city outside was quiet, but Ji-hoon was far from ready to sleep. His mind whirred with plans, schemes, and thoughts of what Sun-woo's next move might be. He had a few options. The first—finding Sun-woo and confronting him directly—felt too dangerous. The PR man was far too slick, too well-connected. Confronting him head-on would be a risky move, and Ji-hoon knew better than to underestimate the people who hid behind polished smiles and carefully crafted personas. Sun-woo could have his entire life turned upside down, but he had also mastered the art of spinning things in his favor.
The second option involved using the very tools Sun-woo had once used to manipulate the narrative against him. Ji-hoon had become proficient in reading people's emotions, their intentions, their weaknesses. And he knew Sun-woo well enough to predict how he would respond to certain actions. But more importantly, Ji-hoon understood the media—the very channels Sun-woo had once controlled. The problem was, Ji-hoon had no direct access to the media himself. He couldn't just post a statement or go to the press with his side of the story. He needed a different route.
That was when the idea hit him. The third option: manipulation. He didn't need to confront Sun-woo directly to bring him down. All he needed was leverage.
Ji-hoon's mind immediately went to Seol-ah. She had been at the center of so much of this—her confession had revealed so much, but she also held knowledge that could be valuable in this game. She had worked with Sun-woo long enough to understand his tactics, and she had secrets of her own. If Ji-hoon could find a way to extract the rest of her knowledge about Sun-woo—about his methods, his lies, his connections—he could use that as a weapon against him.
But Ji-hoon wasn't sure if Seol-ah would cooperate. Her role in everything was complicated, and he knew better than to assume that she was a purely sympathetic ally. She had betrayed him once before by withholding the truth, and now, with her role in the unfolding mess, Ji-hoon wasn't sure where her loyalties truly lay.
He sighed, rubbing his temples. Every step he took felt like a gamble, a move in a game he didn't fully understand. But what other choice did he have? There was no way he could continue to sit idly by while Sun-woo manipulated everything around him. The lies, the hidden truths, the silence—it had all been too much for him to ignore. And now, he had to act.
Ji-hoon's fingers gripped the edge of the counter as his thoughts swirled. His hand was shaking, but it wasn't from fear. It was from the anger that had been bubbling beneath the surface for so long. The anger that had been ignited by his mother's death, by the betrayal of people he had once trusted. It was a fire that burned deep in his chest, and it threatened to consume him if he didn't release it in some way.
His mind returned to Sun-woo. The man who had pulled the strings behind the scenes, who had watched the world dance to his tune, controlling every public moment of his mother's death. Ji-hoon could almost hear Sun-woo's voice in his head—the smooth, practiced tone of someone who had perfected the art of deception. And Ji-hoon realized then, with a clarity that struck him like lightning, that he couldn't let Sun-woo win. Not again. Not after everything.
The plan was taking shape in his mind. He didn't need to confront Sun-woo directly—he needed to make him realize that the game was up. Ji-hoon would take the truth back from Sun-woo and make him squirm, make him sweat. He would expose him to the world and tear down the facade that had been carefully constructed.
But Ji-hoon needed one more thing: evidence. He needed proof, something concrete that would tie Sun-woo to the lies and manipulation. He needed to find the documents, the recordings, or the emails that would prove everything he suspected. It was a long shot, but Ji-hoon had become skilled at navigating the darker corners of the world. And he was willing to do whatever it took to bring Sun-woo's empire crashing down.
He stood still for a moment, breathing deeply as the weight of the task before him settled in. The thought of taking down a man as powerful as Sun-woo terrified him, but it also exhilarated him. It was no longer just about revenge. It was about reclaiming the truth. It was about forcing the world to see the lies for what they were.
Ji-hoon was done being a puppet in someone else's game. It was time for him to take control.
Ji-hoon's anger was a beast that had been lurking inside him for months, only now finally breaking free. It surged through him, hot and relentless, a force that made his hands tremble and his thoughts scatter. He had tried for so long to contain it—to rationalize his feelings, to bury them under a facade of calm, controlled indifference. But now, as he stood there in the middle of his apartment, feeling the heat of betrayal burning through his veins, it was impossible to ignore.
The truth was a thing he had fought against for so long. The lies, the manipulation, the carefully constructed narrative that had been fed to him from every angle—it all hurt. It had all hurt so deeply, chipping away at the fragile bits of hope he had once clung to. And Sun-woo, the puppet master, had been at the center of it all. The same man who had smiled that cold, calculated smile every time Ji-hoon had crossed paths with him. The same man who had been feeding him nothing but poison in the form of polished words and empty reassurances.
Ji-hoon slammed his fist into the countertop, his breath coming in short bursts. The sharp pain that shot through his knuckles did nothing to dull the fire inside him. If anything, it only made the rage burn hotter, sharper.
Sun-woo had been controlling the narrative surrounding his mother's death for years. The more Ji-hoon thought about it, the more it sickened him. How had he let it slip by unnoticed for so long? The small, telltale signs that had been there all along. The too-perfect public statement. The way everything had been swept under the rug, as though the truth didn't matter. He had been so focused on trying to put the pieces of his mother's death together, so determined to uncover the truth that he had ignored the puppet master behind it all.
It was a cruel irony. His mother had been taken from him so violently, so suddenly, and yet here was Sun-woo, smiling through the wreckage of her death, crafting a lie that would make everything look clean, neat, and tragic. Sun-woo had been the one to bury the truth, to hide the bloodied hands of the people who had pulled the strings. And for what? For power? For control over the story that had broken Ji-hoon's world apart?
Ji-hoon's mind flashed to that night in the interview room when he had learned the truth about Sun-woo's involvement. Seol-ah's confession had been a slow drip of revelations, each one more damning than the last. But it was the final piece—the confirmation of Sun-woo's role—that had made the ground slip out from beneath him. The very man he had trusted, the man who had always been there with a soothing word or a comforting smile, had been the one behind the curtain, pulling every string. And for what? To make sure his mother's death was forgotten, erased, wiped away by the public's fleeting attention.
It wasn't just anger anymore. It was something deeper, something darker—a burning need for justice that twisted in his chest and gripped his heart. The world had seen his mother as nothing more than a tragic casualty of a broken system, but she had been more than that. She had been a person—his mother—and someone had stolen her from him. And now, they had to pay for it.
His mind raced with possibilities, with plans of how to tear everything down. He didn't care about the consequences anymore. He didn't care about the risks. What was the point of living in a world full of lies, where people like Sun-woo could twist the truth and make it into whatever they wanted it to be? Ji-hoon had been blind once—physically, yes, but also in the way he had seen the world, the way he had allowed people like Sun-woo to pull the wool over his eyes.
Not anymore.
He paced back and forth, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the room. The idea had already begun to take shape in his mind. He didn't need to confront Sun-woo directly. No, that would be too simple. Ji-hoon wasn't interested in simple. He wanted something much more painful than a face-to-face confrontation. He wanted to make Sun-woo feel what he had felt for all these years: the suffocating weight of being controlled, the crushing burden of living in a lie, the torment of never knowing who was pulling the strings.
The media. He would use it. The one thing Sun-woo had thought he could control—the thing that had made him untouchable. But Ji-hoon was about to turn that tool back on him. If Sun-woo had been the master of the media, it was time for Ji-hoon to take it from him, to expose him for what he truly was.
He began to form a plan, piecing together the parts like an intricate puzzle. The media outlets, the reporters who had once been under Sun-woo's thumb, could be leveraged. It would take time, and it would take patience, but Ji-hoon knew what he had to do. He would turn the press into his weapon—make Sun-woo regret ever thinking he could control the narrative.
But there was one thing that gnawed at him, something he couldn't shake. Seol-ah. She was the one who had been in the thick of it, who had known everything about Sun-woo's schemes. Ji-hoon had relied on her before, but now, he wasn't sure if he could trust her. The betrayal she had caused him still stung, but there was no denying that she held the key to unlocking the final part of his plan.
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling up inside him. Could he really count on her? Would she side with him in this fight, or would she betray him again? The thought made his stomach turn. But he couldn't dwell on that now. He had to stay focused. He had to stay angry. He had to channel that rage into something useful.
The sound of his breathing filled the room, harsh and uneven, as his mind spun with plans and anger. The pieces were almost in place. The final confrontation was coming, and this time, Ji-hoon would not be the victim. He would be the one pulling the strings.