The sunlight filtering through the thin curtains painted the apartment walls in soft, golden hues, but Ji-hoon barely noticed. His fingers drummed lightly against the windowsill, a nervous rhythm that echoed through the silence of the room. Joon-won was gone — out on another errand, running down leads, tracking anything that could help them uncover more about So-hee.
Ji-hoon didn't want to think about her, didn't want to acknowledge that she was still lingering in the dark corners of his life. But the truth was undeniable: she was the one constant in his world now. Like a dark cloud hanging low, waiting for the right moment to unleash its storm.
With a quiet sigh, Ji-hoon rose from the window and moved toward the small desk at the far end of the room. He hadn't touched his piano in days. The thought of playing had become a burden, a reminder of everything he couldn't escape. But today was different. His hands itched for the keys, as if the very act of playing might somehow soothe the storm inside him.
The lid creaked as he lifted it, revealing the ivory and ebony keys beneath. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the room fall away.
A soft, hesitant note escaped his fingers — a simple, delicate thing.
And then another, following it. They wove together like a whisper in the dark. The beginnings of a melody, simple and pure, like the first touch of a new dawn.
But just as quickly, something shifted. The light, airy notes that had begun to form something beautiful warped, twisted. The melody turned sour, discordant. His fingers stumbled over the keys, pressing them harder, more forcefully, as if trying to force out the pain that had lodged itself in his chest.
The music wasn't coming out right. It felt wrong. As if the piano itself was fighting against him.
He pulled his hands away sharply, breath catching in his throat.
Something was in the air. A suffocating heaviness that couldn't be ignored.
The door to the apartment opened slowly. Joon-won stepped inside, his expression tight. His eyes flicked over Ji-hoon, and for a moment, Ji-hoon could see the concern bubbling just beneath the surface. He had seen it enough times to know the signs — the slight furrow of Joon-won's brow, the clench of his jaw. His best friend was worried, and not just for their safety.
"Any updates?" Ji-hoon asked, his voice rough from the emotion he'd been trying to suppress.
Joon-won shook his head, his eyes scanning the room with a practiced unease. "Nothing solid. We've followed every lead we could think of, but it's all been a dead end."
"Then we wait," Ji-hoon said softly, looking down at the piano keys, his hands returning to the surface, though his fingers didn't move. They hovered over the black and white, restless.
Joon-won paused. "You're playing again?"
Ji-hoon let out a breath, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Trying to."
Joon-won studied him for a moment before taking a step closer. "Ji-hoon…" He hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he tried to choose his words carefully. "You're not letting this—" He motioned vaguely between them, his hand hovering between them like he was trying to grasp at the right thought. "—get to you, right?"
It was a question they had danced around since the first day of this mess. Since So-hee's obsession had become too much to ignore, too dangerous to dismiss. The idea that Ji-hoon might snap under the pressure. That the constant watching, the letters, the whispers from the shadows, might break him in ways they both feared.
"I'm fine," Ji-hoon lied. It came out easily, like a second skin. A layer he wrapped around himself because it was simpler than facing the truth.
But Joon-won wasn't fooled. Not anymore. His lips pressed together in a thin line, his gaze hardening. He took another step forward, his hand reaching out toward Ji-hoon. "You don't have to say it, Ji-hoon. But I need you to listen to me. We need to take this seriously. I don't care if it's you or me or anyone else—if she's out there, and we don't act fast enough—" He stopped himself, shaking his head, frustrated with his inability to say exactly what he meant. "She's dangerous. You know that."
Ji-hoon didn't respond at first. Instead, his fingers brushed the keys again, playing a soft, hesitant note. A slow, deliberate rise and fall of sound. Then another. His hands trembled as the music twisted, flowing in jagged edges, as if the very act of playing was becoming too much to bear.
"I know," he whispered finally, his voice soft, almost inaudible. "I just don't know how to stop it."
Joon-won didn't speak. He simply stood there, watching his friend, his best friend, the one who had always been composed and calm. Ji-hoon had always been the steady one — the one who played with such passion and precision, the one who faced everything with quiet determination. But now? Now he was a shadow of himself.
The tension in the room was unbearable.
And then, the sound of something falling to the floor shattered the stillness. Both men jumped, their heads whipping toward the source of the noise.
A small, black package lay in the middle of the floor. An envelope, carefully addressed to Ji-hoon, the handwriting unmistakable.
So-hee.
Ji-hoon swallowed hard. His throat felt dry, as if the air had turned thick and suffocating. He reached for the package without a word, his fingers trembling as they tore it open.
Inside, there was a small, intricately wrapped box, tied with a delicate silk ribbon. His pulse quickened. The sensation of dread crept down his spine.
"Don't open it," Joon-won said, his voice tight.
Ji-hoon ignored him, pulling the ribbon free and lifting the lid of the box. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the contents.
Inside was a single, pristine rose — its petals so perfectly red, so vivid, it looked almost unreal. But there was something else. Something that made Ji-hoon's heart race.
A small vial of liquid lay nestled beneath the rose, clear but deadly.
Joon-won cursed under his breath. "Poison. It's in the damn rose."
Ji-hoon froze, his eyes fixed on the vial. He had seen it before — this kind of poison. It was the same substance used by professional assassins, something that could kill with a single drop.
But there was something worse about this gift.
It wasn't just a threat.
It was a confession.
So-hee wanted him to know that she was always one step ahead. That she had poisoned the world around him without him even realizing it. That no one was safe. Not even his music.
It was a declaration of war.
And she was coming for him.
Joon-won moved to take the box from Ji-hoon's hands, but Ji-hoon recoiled, clutching it to his chest. The rose felt like a brand, burning through his fingers.
"She knows," Ji-hoon murmured, staring at the vial. "She knows I'm the one she's after."
Joon-won's face was a mask of frustration and anger, but beneath it, there was something else — fear. Fear for Ji-hoon. Fear for them both.
"We can't let her win," Joon-won said, his voice low and fierce. "We need to get ahead of her, Ji-hoon. Before she gets what she wants."
Ji-hoon didn't answer right away. He stared at the poison again, his hands shaking. The melody that had once been so pure now felt infected, corrupted. He had no idea how to stop it. How to stop her.
But he knew one thing.
So-hee wouldn't stop until she had him. Completely.
And if Ji-hoon wasn't careful, he'd become part of her deadly symphony.
The sunlight through the blinds grew dimmer as the hours passed, casting long shadows across Ji-hoon's apartment. The rose, still held tightly in his hands, seemed to pulse with an eerie glow under the low light. The silence between him and Joon-won thickened, each second stretching longer, heavier.
Joon-won watched his best friend, unsure of how to proceed. His instinct screamed at him to do something — to get Ji-hoon out of here, to move quickly before things escalated any further. But Ji-hoon was rooted in place, as if the weight of the rose was anchoring him to the spot, and nothing in this world could pull him away from the quiet storm brewing in his mind.
It wasn't just the vial of poison. It wasn't just So-hee's game of twisted love and obsession. It was the knowledge that she was always in control. She had always been in control, weaving her web slowly, methodically, until he was caught. He could feel it now in his bones — the cold press of inevitability, like a haunting refrain that repeated every time he thought he had escaped. No matter how many times he tried to break free, So-hee always found a way to draw him back in.
"Ji-hoon…" Joon-won's voice was soft, coaxing, but firm. "We need to get you out of here. This isn't just about you anymore."
But Ji-hoon didn't look up. His fingers stroked the edge of the rose, tracing its delicate petals as if it were something sacred, something far more meaningful than a simple threat. His gaze was locked on the vial, the clear liquid still ominously sitting beneath the bloom.
"I can't run from this anymore," Ji-hoon finally said, his voice flat, devoid of the sharpness it usually carried. There was no anger, no frustration in his words. Just a quiet resignation, a calm acceptance of the fact that this was it. He had been playing a game with So-hee, a game that neither of them had ever intended to lose.
"You're not running," Joon-won shot back, his voice rising, the edge of panic creeping into it. "But you can't face this alone either."
Ji-hoon closed his eyes for a moment, a long exhale slipping past his lips. His hand tightened around the rose. The thorns pricked at his skin, drawing blood. The sting was sharp, fleeting, but it felt like a reminder of the darkness creeping into his life — the blood that had already been spilled. How many people had already been touched by So-hee's twisted game? How many more would she destroy to get what she wanted?
"What do we do, Joon-won?" Ji-hoon's voice was barely a whisper, like the last shred of hope he had left was hanging on by a thread. "How do we stop her? How do we stop her when she's already won?"
Joon-won's chest tightened. He hadn't expected that question, not from Ji-hoon. His best friend, the one who had always carried them both through the worst moments, had always been the one with the answers, the one who never showed fear. But now? Now Ji-hoon was broken, and that terrified Joon-won more than anything.
"We fight," Joon-won said, more resolute than he felt. "We fight, Ji-hoon. And we make sure she never gets the satisfaction of seeing us crumble. We take her down before she gets the chance to finish what she started."
Ji-hoon's lips curled slightly at the edges, the faintest trace of a bitter smile. He nodded slowly, as if he were trying to gather his own will, to remind himself that he wasn't done yet. "Fight…" he murmured. "But we can't fight her without knowing everything. We need to know what she's planning. We need to know who's next."
Joon-won took a step forward, his eyes sharp, assessing. He had always been the one to act first, to take charge when everything seemed lost. But Ji-hoon was different now, broken in a way that Joon-won couldn't fix with just words or actions. The truth was, they didn't have much time. Every second that passed made So-hee's presence more tangible, more dangerous.
"We'll find her. We'll dig into everything, leave no stone unturned. We're not the only ones looking for her, Ji-hoon. The people who are tracking her — they have to know something. The police, the investigators, anyone who's connected to her. We find the cracks, and we expose them."
Ji-hoon's eyes flicked to Joon-won, a faint spark of something behind them. Maybe it was determination. Maybe it was the remnants of the old Ji-hoon — the one who wouldn't let anything slip through his fingers without leaving a trace.
He stood up slowly, carefully placing the rose back inside the box. His fingers trembled as he closed the lid, sealing it away for now. "And then what?" Ji-hoon's voice was quiet again, almost hesitant. "What happens when we finally face her? What happens when we reach the end of this… mess?"
Joon-won stepped closer, his hand reaching out to grip Ji-hoon's shoulder firmly. "Then we make sure she pays for every person she's hurt. For every life she's shattered."
But Ji-hoon couldn't bring himself to meet his friend's eyes. His gaze remained fixed on the box, his mind swirling with images of So-hee's twisted smile, her presence like a cold shadow that had haunted him from the very beginning.
There were too many questions, too many unknowns. What if she was already ahead of them? What if they were already walking into a trap? What if the final confrontation was nothing more than a sick game she had orchestrated just to see them fight over the pieces of her broken puzzle?
But in that moment, as he stood there with his friend beside him, Ji-hoon realized something.
He couldn't let her win. Not now. Not after everything she had put them through.
He would fight. Even if he had to destroy everything to do it.
He would fight.