The night air outside Ji-hoon's apartment felt cold and sharp, biting at his skin as he stepped out into the street. The city was still alive, as always, but the hum of activity seemed distant, like an off-key note that didn't quite belong to the symphony of his thoughts. Every step he took was heavy, as if the weight of everything — the threats, the lies, and the bitter tang of betrayal — was settling deeper into his chest.
Joon-won walked beside him, the silence between them a tangible thing, neither of them able to break it. Words felt futile in this moment. There was nothing left to say. Their plan was set, their course chosen, but the unknowns stretched out before them, limitless and suffocating. And in Ji-hoon's mind, one thought loomed above all others:
Would they be able to stop her before it was too late?
As they walked through the familiar streets of the city, the dim glow of the streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement, Ji-hoon felt an odd sense of detachment. The air was thick with the remnants of a storm that had passed through earlier in the evening, the damp scent of earth and rain lingering in the air like the final notes of a requiem. His mind replayed the last few days, the sequence of events like the pieces of a puzzle he was trying to put together. But each new piece seemed to make the image more unclear, more fragmented.
So-hee's face kept coming back to him — her expression twisted, almost delighted, as if she had known all along how this would play out. That look she had given him when he first confronted her, the same one she had worn when she had made it clear that there was no escape from her game.
Every part of him wanted to destroy it — to take that look, that fear and satisfaction in her eyes, and rip it apart. But at the same time, he knew it wasn't that simple. No matter how much he hated her, no matter how much he wished he could walk away from everything, there was one undeniable fact that kept him rooted to the very core of this madness:
She wasn't done yet.
As they approached the music conservatory, Ji-hoon's heart began to beat faster. The place where it all began. The place where his mother had once stood, where her presence had shaped the man he had become. And now it was the place where he was to face the woman who had shattered everything. Where he would have to confront So-hee, the one who had orchestrated it all.
It wasn't just a confrontation. It was a final reckoning.
The conservatory loomed before them, its tall columns and ornate windows making it look like a relic of an older time. In some ways, it was. It had always been a symbol of his mother's legacy, a place where music was supposed to transcend the darkness of the world. But for Ji-hoon, it had become a prison. A place where the echoes of his past were trapped, where the weight of every missed note and broken promise hung in the air like a ghost. A place where he had never fully escaped.
They entered through the back door, a quiet side entrance that Joon-won had insisted on using for the element of surprise. The halls were silent, too silent, and the smell of old wood and polished floors clung to the air. Ji-hoon's footsteps echoed softly as he made his way deeper into the building, his heart pounding in his chest.
The hallway stretched before him, the walls adorned with framed photographs of past concerts and performances. Music, once a thing of beauty and harmony, now felt like an echo of despair. The stillness was suffocating, as if the very walls were holding their breath, waiting for something to break the silence.
Joon-won paused for a moment, his hand resting lightly on Ji-hoon's shoulder. "Are you ready for this?" he asked, his voice low but firm.
Ji-hoon didn't respond immediately. He could feel the weight of the question pressing on him, but it was a question that didn't need answering. No one was ever truly ready for something like this.
Instead, he gave Joon-won a tight, almost imperceptible nod.
They continued down the hallway, moving as quietly as possible, their shadows stretching out in front of them, blending into the dark. Every step felt like a countdown, like they were getting closer to the final act of something far larger than either of them could fully understand.
Ji-hoon had always thought of music as something pure — something capable of transcending everything. It had been his sanctuary, his escape from a world that never seemed to make sense. But now, as they neared the practice rooms where So-hee had most likely set up her trap, he couldn't help but feel that music had betrayed him.
The sound of a door creaking open echoed in the silence, followed by the soft scrape of footsteps. Ji-hoon tensed, his fingers instinctively gripping the strap of his piano case. He wasn't sure what he was expecting. He couldn't even be sure of what he was feeling anymore. All he knew was that this was the moment. Everything had been leading to this, and there was no going back now.
The door to one of the practice rooms slowly swung open, and a figure emerged from the shadows. Ji-hoon's breath caught in his throat as he recognized her immediately.
So-hee.
Her expression was unreadable, but there was something about the way she stood in the doorway — like a predator watching her prey. Her eyes met his, cold and calculating, and for a moment, Ji-hoon could feel the air between them thickening, pulling tighter.
"You came," So-hee said softly, almost with a note of surprise. "I didn't think you would."
Ji-hoon didn't reply. There was nothing to say to her. Nothing that could ever bridge the gap between them. She had made sure of that long ago.
"What do you want from me, So-hee?" Ji-hoon's voice was low, but the words felt like they cut through the space between them, heavy with meaning.
So-hee smiled, a small, almost amused smile, but there was a flicker of something darker in her eyes. "What do I want?" she repeated, stepping closer. "I think you already know."
Ji-hoon felt a shiver run down his spine. His mind raced, trying to piece together what she was really after. But he didn't have time to think. He couldn't afford to let her control the narrative anymore.
"What happens now?" Joon-won's voice was sharp, his eyes fixed on So-hee as he stepped forward, a protective instinct rising in him.
So-hee's gaze flicked to Joon-won briefly, and then she laughed softly, almost mockingly. "What happens now? I suppose that's up to you, isn't it?"
The tension in the room thickened. There was a palpable weight in the air, like something was about to snap.
Ji-hoon couldn't ignore the feeling anymore. Music had betrayed him. He had spent so much time thinking of it as a tool for beauty, for healing, but now he realized it had only been a mask for the darkness that had always been there.
"Now…" Ji-hoon finally said, his voice steady, though the weight of the moment was almost unbearable. "Now, I'm going to end this."
So-hee's smile faltered for a split second, but it was enough for Ji-hoon to notice. It was as though she had momentarily let her guard down, a flicker of uncertainty that she quickly smoothed over with another layer of calm detachment.
"You think it's that simple?" she asked, her voice low but edged with a sort of amusement. "You think you can just walk in here and end all of this?"
Her words hung in the air, heavy and mocking. The entire space seemed to shrink around Ji-hoon, the walls closing in, like the music that had once filled this place had become a trap, a noose around his neck. His hands, still gripping the piano case, trembled slightly, but he didn't let it show. Not yet.
"I don't think it's simple," Ji-hoon replied, his voice calm, almost detached. He wasn't sure if it was his resolve or the adrenaline coursing through him, but he could feel a sense of clarity cutting through the fog of uncertainty. "But it's the only option left."
So-hee tilted her head, regarding him with a strange mixture of pity and disdain. "You really believe that, don't you?" Her eyes flicked over to Joon-won, who had positioned himself slightly behind Ji-hoon, his posture tense, ready for anything. "You think I've been doing this for you? For your little 'redemption' arc?"
Joon-won's jaw clenched at the mention of the word 'redemption,' but he said nothing. His presence beside Ji-hoon was a silent promise of support, a reminder that they were no longer alone in this.
"I've been playing a game," So-hee continued, her voice dropping lower as she spoke, almost as if savoring the tension. "A game you've all been too blind to see. You think this is about you, Ji-hoon? About your mother? About the past?"
She took a step closer, her heels clicking sharply against the wooden floor, and for a moment, it felt like the air itself was vibrating with tension.
"No, Ji-hoon. It's not about any of that," she said softly, almost as though confiding in him. "It's about power. Control. You think you're the one holding the strings here, but you're wrong. You've been playing my game all along. From the very beginning."
Ji-hoon's heart skipped a beat, the words reverberating through his chest. "What are you talking about?" he demanded, his voice now edged with confusion, anger. His mind raced, trying to piece together what she was implying. Had all of this been a manipulation? Was this some twisted long game she had orchestrated from the start?
"You really don't get it, do you?" So-hee's smile returned, this time with a sharp, almost predatory edge. "You think you've been making your choices, that you've been in control of the narrative. But every step you've taken, every move you've made, has been exactly what I wanted."
Ji-hoon's chest tightened, a knot of dread settling in his stomach. The words she spoke weren't just threats — they were the truth. There had been moments, fleeting but undeniable, where he had felt like a pawn in someone else's game, but he had pushed those thoughts aside, convincing himself he was in control. Now, the reality hit him like a cold slap.
"Stop lying," Ji-hoon said through gritted teeth, his voice barely above a whisper but cutting through the tension. "You don't control me. You never have."
So-hee laughed softly, a sound that seemed too dark to belong to the woman standing before him. "Lying? I'm not lying. I'm showing you the truth. The truth you've been too blind to see." She stepped even closer, now standing inches from him. "You thought you could stop me. You thought you could find the answers. But I've always been one step ahead."
The room seemed to close in even more, the air growing thicker as the weight of her words settled on him. Was this it? Was he really just a player in her game? Was everything that had happened — his mother's death, the mystery, the fear — all part of her plan?
"I didn't ask for any of this," Ji-hoon said quietly, the frustration and confusion spilling over. "I didn't choose this."
So-hee's eyes softened for a moment, a flicker of something almost human in her expression. "No, Ji-hoon," she said in a quieter tone, as though trying to comfort him. "You didn't choose any of this. But you've played the role perfectly. You've become the instrument, and now you'll play the final note."
Her words hung in the air like a final sentence, the meaning of them sinking into Ji-hoon's bones. His body stiffened, the weight of her manipulation pressing on him from all sides.
"You want me to play the last note?" Ji-hoon's voice was low, barely a whisper. "Then you're going to have to make me."
A tense silence followed, the kind that felt like it would break at any moment, but neither of them moved. Ji-hoon could feel the rage simmering beneath the surface, but more than that, he felt something else — a sickening realization.
She wasn't just after him. She was after everyone.
And this wasn't just about revenge. This was about control. She wanted everything — his music, his mind, his very soul. She wanted to tear him apart, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but the echo of her voice in his head.
Joon-won's hand tightened on Ji-hoon's shoulder, grounding him. The feeling of his presence, unwavering and steady, was the only thing that kept Ji-hoon from completely losing himself in the chaos of the moment.
"You're not going to win," Ji-hoon said through gritted teeth, the words burning with defiance. "We'll stop you. No matter what it takes."
So-hee's smile was dark, almost too knowing. "We'll see about that, won't we?"
The finality of her words cut through the tension like a knife, and Ji-hoon knew that whatever came next, the game was no longer just hers to play. This was his fight now.