The silence in the room was deafening. Ji-hoon could hear his heartbeat echoing in his ears, the rhythmic pounding a constant reminder of the storm raging within him. He sat stiffly in the chair, the weight of the interview pressing down on him like a thousand-pound stone. His hands trembled at his sides, betraying the calm he was desperately trying to project.
It had been days since Si-wan's revelation—the confession that shook Ji-hoon to his core. The feeling of betrayal still lingered in the air like a thick fog, and no matter how hard Ji-hoon tried, he couldn't shake the sense that everything he thought he knew was unraveling before his eyes. Si-wan's words haunted him, twisting in his mind, pulling at the fragile threads of his sanity. "I'll finish what we started. Once and for all."
But that wasn't the only thing on Ji-hoon's mind. The interview. The one he had agreed to do with a journalist who, until now, he had trusted. It was supposed to be a simple discussion about his music, his career, his journey as a pianist. It was supposed to be a chance to regain some control over the narrative of his life, to push away the shadows of the past and focus on the future.
But that wasn't how it had gone.
He had walked into the office of the journalist, Nam Woo-jin, expecting a professional, straightforward conversation. Woo-jin had been friendly, almost too friendly. His questions were gentle at first, inquiries about Ji-hoon's music, his influences, his inspirations. But as the conversation progressed, something had shifted. There was an edge to Woo-jin's questions, a hidden agenda lurking beneath his calm exterior.
"Tell me about your mother, Ji-hoon," Woo-jin had asked, his voice laced with curiosity.
At first, Ji-hoon had hesitated, the memories of her still raw and painful. But it was a harmless question, or so he had thought. So he had answered, speaking of her love for music, her dedication to the piano, and the way she had shaped his life. It was a simple recounting of the woman who had been his everything.
But then Woo-jin's tone had shifted, and Ji-hoon had known, deep down, that he was being led into dangerous territory.
"I've heard rumors, Ji-hoon," Woo-jin had continued, his eyes narrowing just slightly. "Rumors about the circumstances surrounding her death. They say she wasn't just murdered, that there was something more to it. Something darker."
The words had hit Ji-hoon like a punch to the stomach. He had frozen, his mind scrambling to process what Woo-jin had just implied. His mother's death—there had always been something about it that didn't add up, but to hear it spoken aloud, as though it were a known fact, was like a blow to the chest.
"What do you mean?" Ji-hoon had asked, trying to mask the panic in his voice.
"Let's just say there are theories," Woo-jin had replied, his smile thin and calculating. "Theories that point to more than just a random act of violence. Some believe it was personal, Ji-hoon. Very personal."
The room had suddenly felt smaller, suffocating. Ji-hoon had felt the walls closing in on him as his thoughts began to race. Si-wan's words echoed in his mind, and his breath had quickened, his heart pounding in his chest.
Had Woo-jin known something? Had he been working with Si-wan all along?
"I don't know what you're talking about," Ji-hoon had managed, his voice tight with unease. "My mother's death was a tragedy, but it wasn't some grand conspiracy. It was—"
"Was it really?" Woo-jin had interrupted, his eyes gleaming with a predatory interest. "You're telling me you don't find it strange that your mother was killed, and yet, no one has ever been arrested? No one has ever been held accountable? No one ever even seemed to investigate the case thoroughly."
Ji-hoon's breath had caught in his throat, the room suddenly spinning around him. He had wanted to stand up and walk out, to leave this interview and never look back, but he couldn't. He couldn't tear himself away from the man sitting across from him, the man who had just brought his mother's death into the light once again.
"It was a random act of violence," Ji-hoon had said, though the words felt empty, like they were coming from someone else. "There's nothing more to it."
But Woo-jin hadn't been convinced. "You can lie to yourself, Ji-hoon. But the truth is, people don't just die for no reason. Not like this. And when there's no investigation, no closure… don't you think that leaves room for the story to be twisted? For people to speculate? For theories to grow?"
The words had lingered in the air, a heavy weight pressing down on Ji-hoon's chest. He had wanted to argue, to shout, to deny everything Woo-jin was implying, but he couldn't. Deep down, he knew Woo-jin was right. His mother's death had never felt like a random act. It had always felt deliberate, like something or someone had been pulling strings, and he had been too naive to see it.
The interview had spiraled from there. Woo-jin had asked questions that dug deeper into the past, prodding at the raw, painful memories Ji-hoon had spent years burying. Every answer Ji-hoon had given only seemed to feed Woo-jin's hunger, making the journalist more determined to uncover the truth, no matter how much it hurt.
Ji-hoon had tried to stop the interview, to leave, but Woo-jin had insisted, his words becoming more pointed, more accusatory. And in that moment, Ji-hoon had felt trapped, backed into a corner with no way out. Every answer he gave seemed to make things worse, and before he knew it, he had said too much.
The interview had ended, but the damage was done. Ji-hoon knew that Woo-jin had enough to tear apart his carefully constructed facade. He had given the journalist everything he needed—more than he had realized—allowing the secrets of his past to slip through his fingers like sand.
And now, the world would know.
Ji-hoon ran a shaky hand through his hair, his mind spinning with the consequences of what had just happened. He had allowed Woo-jin to ruin everything—the delicate balance he had tried to maintain in his life, the lies he had told himself, the hope he had clung to.
The truth was out now.
The weight of it pressed on him like a suffocating blanket. Every breath felt heavier than the last as Ji-hoon sat there in the dimly lit room, the faint hum of the air conditioning the only sound keeping him tethered to reality. His thoughts were a labyrinth, each twist and turn leading him further into a place he didn't want to go.
He had been so careful. So meticulous. But in that interview, with Woo-jin's probing questions and relentless pursuit of the truth, Ji-hoon had lost control. The pieces of his past, carefully buried and locked away, had been forced into the light, and there was no going back now.
Si-wan's face flashed in his mind again, that arrogant smirk, the eyes that seemed to know everything, that knew exactly how to twist the knife. Si-wan had always been there, lurking in the shadows, pulling strings, and now—now he was closer than ever to revealing everything.
Ji-hoon squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push away the image of his mother's face, her smile that once filled the room with warmth. He could still hear the sound of her playing the piano, so perfect, so full of love and light. But the day she had died… that day everything had changed.
He had spent years trying to put the pieces together, trying to make sense of the chaos that had shattered his life. The police had been useless, and the investigation had turned cold so quickly, it was almost as if they didn't care. But Ji-hoon knew better. He knew that someone had orchestrated her death, someone with power, someone who could hide behind a veil of innocence while pulling strings in the dark.
The journalist, Woo-jin, had been relentless, and despite his calm demeanor, Ji-hoon could sense the hunger in his eyes. He was obsessed with the idea of uncovering the truth. And now, Ji-hoon was afraid of what would come next. The story Woo-jin would write, the conclusions he would draw, the way he would twist the narrative to fit his own agenda.
Ji-hoon's phone buzzed on the table, the sudden noise breaking his train of thought. His heart skipped a beat as he glanced at the screen. The message was from Seo Joon-won, his closest friend, his rock in a world that seemed to be falling apart.
"Ji-hoon, where are you? I just saw the article. This is going to be bad. We need to talk."
The words on the screen blurred before Ji-hoon's eyes. His hands tightened into fists at his sides, frustration and fear rising up in his chest like a tidal wave. He should have expected this. He should have known that the interview wouldn't end with just a few probing questions—it would always spiral into something far worse.
He quickly typed a response. "I know. I need some time. I'll explain later." He didn't know why he bothered to send it. Joon-won already knew that everything was spiraling out of control. He could feel the impending storm on the horizon, and it was coming fast.
Ji-hoon stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. The walls of the room seemed to close in on him, the suffocating pressure of his thoughts closing in like a vice. He couldn't sit there any longer, couldn't let his mind run wild with all the worst possibilities. He needed to move. He needed to escape.
Grabbing his coat, he left the room without another glance at his phone. He didn't want to face the consequences of his actions. Not yet. But he knew they were coming. And when they did, they would hit hard.
The cold air outside slapped his face as he stepped into the street. The city felt foreign to him now, as though it had turned into something unrecognizable. Every person who passed by seemed like a potential threat, every shadow hiding a secret, every corner holding danger. His eyes darted from one face to another, but no one seemed to notice him. The world continued on, oblivious to the storm brewing inside him.
He walked aimlessly, trying to shake the thoughts that kept creeping into his mind. The article. Woo-jin. Si-wan. The revelation. His mother's death. It all felt like it was closing in on him, like there was no escape. Each step he took seemed to bring him closer to something he couldn't control, something dark and unforgiving.
And then, as if on cue, his phone buzzed again. This time it was a news alert. He didn't need to read the headline to know what it said. He could feel it, the chill running down his spine, the sense of dread filling his chest. The words, though, were impossible to ignore.
"Exclusive Interview with Ji-hoon: Secrets of a Blind Pianist and His Mother's Mysterious Death"
The words seemed to burn into his mind, each one sharper than the last. He clicked on the link, his hand shaking as he scrolled through the article. It was worse than he had imagined. Woo-jin had published everything—the details about his mother's death, the rumors, the speculation, the unsubstantiated theories. There was no mention of the music Ji-hoon had poured his soul into, no mention of the years of struggle and sacrifice. It was all just… darkness. His mother's death, his blindness, his struggle with the past.
But it was the final line that hit him the hardest:
"Despite the many theories surrounding Yoo Ara's death, one thing remains clear: Ryu Ji-hoon's past may not be as innocent as it seems."
The finality of those words felt like a blow to the chest. Ji-hoon's breath caught in his throat as the weight of the article settled in. This wasn't just an interview—it was a bombshell. A weapon aimed directly at him. It was a declaration of war.
He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't escape the feeling that everything he had worked so hard to protect had just been ripped open for the world to see. He stumbled to a nearby bench, collapsing onto it as his hands pressed against his temples. The world around him seemed to blur, his heart pounding in his chest as panic gripped him.
The truth was out.