Ji-hoon stood in front of the cracked mirror, the reflection staring back at him like an echo of something he barely recognized. His face was a shadow of the person he had once been—hollowed out, raw, with sharp edges that only deepened with every passing day. He barely remembered the last time he had looked at himself this closely, and the man who stared back at him now felt alien.
He wasn't the person who had once played music with passion, with love. He wasn't the carefree boy who had found comfort in the sound of a piano, lost in the melodies that had once brought him peace. Now, he was nothing more than a broken soul—a pawn in Si-wan's twisted game.
The reflection was distorted, fractured by the cracks in the glass. And yet, Ji-hoon couldn't look away. It was as if the shards that ran through the mirror were cutting into his very soul, breaking apart everything he had once believed about himself.
He couldn't afford to feel sorry for himself now. The time for that had passed long ago. But every emotion, every ounce of pain, threatened to rise to the surface in a violent eruption, clawing its way up from the depths of his chest.
He clenched his fists at his sides, grinding his teeth together as he turned away from the mirror. There was no time for reflection anymore. The game was almost over, and Si-wan was playing his last cards.
The door to the small practice room creaked open, and Ji-hoon didn't need to look to know who it was. He could feel her presence even before she stepped inside.
"Ji-hoon," Seol-ah's voice was soft, almost fragile. She had been following him for days now, but every time he turned a corner, she was there—watching, waiting. It wasn't just guilt anymore. It was something deeper, something more desperate.
He didn't respond at first. Instead, he reached for the piano, his fingers grazing the cool keys as he sat down. The room seemed to shift as the familiar sound of his touch on the ivory keys filled the air. The vibrations of the notes reverberated in his chest, grounding him, calming the wild storm in his mind.
But even as he played, he couldn't escape the tension. The unspoken words between him and Seol-ah were more suffocating than any silence he had ever known.
She approached cautiously, as if afraid he might break if she got too close. "I'm sorry, Ji-hoon," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I didn't know what else to do. You wouldn't have believed me. You wouldn't have understood."
Ji-hoon stopped playing, his fingers hovering over the keys as he turned to look at her. The expression in his eyes was colder than anything she had ever seen. "What could I possibly understand? All you've done is lie to me. You let me walk into this, blind and clueless. And now, when it's too late, you want to apologize?" His voice was low, shaking with a mix of fury and anguish.
"I had no choice," Seol-ah whispered, her eyes welling up with tears. "I had to protect you. Si-wan is dangerous. You don't understand what he's capable of—what he's already done. If I had told you everything from the start, you wouldn't have believed me. You would've walked straight into his trap."
Ji-hoon stood up suddenly, his chair scraping against the floor. He took a step toward her, his eyes burning with something dark. "And what about now, Seol-ah? Do you think I'm still too stupid to see what's going on? I'm not the same person I was before all this. Do you really think you can protect me? Or is this all just another lie? Another excuse for why you couldn't tell me the truth when I needed it most?"
Seol-ah trembled, stepping back as if the weight of his words were too much to bear. "I didn't want to drag you into it," she said, her voice cracking. "I didn't want you to become part of his game. But now—now it's too late. You're already in it. And I can't stop it."
Ji-hoon's gaze softened for a fraction of a second. There was no use in trying to deny the truth. Seol-ah had been right. He was already in it—trapped in a game that had no rules, no mercy. And Si-wan? He was playing the role of the master manipulator, pulling strings from the shadows.
A new wave of frustration washed over Ji-hoon, but this time, it wasn't directed at Seol-ah. It was at himself. At the choices he had made. Every step he had taken had led him here—to this moment, where everything was about to come to a head.
"Si-wan thinks he's untouchable," Ji-hoon said, his voice tight with emotion. "But he's wrong. He's not as clever as he thinks. I'll make sure of that. I'm going to bring him down. I'm going to make him pay for everything he's done."
Seol-ah looked at him, her face pale with fear. "You don't know what he'll do to you if you go after him. He's ruthless, Ji-hoon. He's not going to let you walk away from this. Please, I—" Her voice faltered as she reached out to him, her hand trembling.
Ji-hoon stepped back, his expression hardening again. "I don't care. This ends now."
Without another word, he walked toward the door, each step echoing like a drumbeat in the silence that followed. He could feel Seol-ah's gaze on his back, the weight of her concern pressing down on him, but he refused to turn around. There was nothing left to say, nothing left to feel.
All that mattered now was getting to Si-wan before Si-wan got to him. And with that thought, Ji-hoon stepped out into the darkness, leaving behind the remnants of the life he had known.
The game had begun. And this time, there would be no going back, not now, not ever. Easily.
Ji-hoon's steps were slow at first, deliberate, the weight of his resolve sinking in as he made his way through the dimly lit hall. Each footfall felt like a step further away from the man he had been before—before all the manipulation, all the lies, before Si-wan's twisted grip had suffocated every ounce of light he had left.
The air in the corridor was thick, as if it had absorbed the tension of the past few days, and it clung to him with every step. He didn't know where he was going, didn't care. His thoughts were a whirlwind of anger, confusion, and something deeper—something colder that froze him at his core.
Si-wan had thought he was in control. He had played this game with such twisted confidence, expecting Ji-hoon to be nothing more than a pawn. But now Ji-hoon knew the rules, understood the stakes, and he was done being a spectator. The game had shifted.
His fingers twitched as he walked, the desire to play, to feel the piano keys beneath his fingertips, gnawing at him. He wanted to drown out the noise in his head, the growing chaos. But he couldn't. There was no place for music now. Not in this war.
The plan had been set in motion. The confrontation was inevitable. He knew exactly what he had to do. But the weight of it, the consequences—it weighed on him more than he cared to admit. Si-wan wasn't just some villain in a story anymore. He was a person. He was flesh and blood, just like Ji-hoon. And Ji-hoon knew that when the dust settled, there would be no going back. No second chances.
As he rounded the corner, the sudden sound of footsteps behind him made him freeze. He had almost forgotten about Seol-ah, but the soft, hurried steps confirmed that she was still following him, still trying to hold onto him, even as he walked deeper into the abyss.
"Ji-hoon, stop," she called out, her voice trembling with desperation. "Please. You're going to get yourself killed."
Her words sliced through the tension in his chest, and for a moment, he considered stopping, turning back. He wanted to, wanted to believe there was still a chance for something good to come from all of this. But it wasn't that simple.
"No," he whispered, his voice barely audible. He turned to face her, his eyes cold, the hardness in his gaze sharper than ever. "You don't understand. You didn't see what he did. What he took from me. I'm not just doing this for me. I'm doing it for everyone he's hurt. Everyone he's destroyed."
Seol-ah stepped closer, her eyes pleading. "Ji-hoon, I know you're angry. I know you're hurt, but—"
"No." His voice was louder now, louder than it had been in days, louder than it should have been. His chest was tight, his heart pounding. "You don't understand. He's not just some person to be saved. He's the monster who's been pulling the strings all along. And I'm done being his victim."
Seol-ah reached out, her hand trembling as she touched his arm. "I'm trying to stop you from making the same mistake I made. You don't have to do this. You don't have to let him turn you into the thing you hate."
For a brief moment, Ji-hoon felt something inside him flicker. Something fragile, like the last dying ember of a fire. It threatened to break him, to make him reconsider, to make him see reason. But then he remembered Si-wan's smile—the cold, empty smile that never reached his eyes, the smile of a man who had no soul.
"Don't you get it, Seol-ah?" Ji-hoon said, his voice growing softer, but no less firm. "He's already done it. He's already turned me into this. I'm not walking away from this. I'm not letting him get away with it."
Seol-ah's lips trembled as she searched his face for any sign of the Ji-hoon she once knew. The boy who had loved music, who had cared about the world, who had trusted people. But he was gone now, replaced by someone who had seen too much, who had been hurt too deeply.
She stepped back, her expression torn. "I can't stop you, can I?"
Ji-hoon didn't answer. His silence was all she needed.
Without another word, she turned and walked away, her footsteps fading into the distance. Ji-hoon stayed where he was, watching her go, his heart torn between the anger that drove him forward and the ache of the person he used to be.
But there was no going back. He couldn't save himself now. All he could do was keep moving, keep pressing forward, even as every fiber of his being screamed at him to stop.
He reached the end of the hall and stopped in front of the door, the one that led into Si-wan's office. The room beyond was cold, dark, the air heavy with the stench of secrets and lies. He knew Si-wan was in there, waiting for him—waiting for the confrontation he had been expecting.
Ji-hoon pushed the door open with a slow, deliberate motion. It creaked in protest, as if the room itself was warning him not to step inside. But he did anyway.
The room was exactly as he had imagined. Dimly lit, the shadows clinging to every corner. Si-wan was sitting behind the desk, his face hidden in the darkness. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, but Ji-hoon could feel the tension radiating from him. Si-wan had been waiting for this moment, just as Ji-hoon had.
"Well, well," Si-wan said, his voice smooth and mocking, "you finally decided to show up."
Ji-hoon didn't respond at first. He stood there, staring at Si-wan, his chest rising and falling with every breath, the weight of the moment pressing down on him.
"I'm not here to talk," Ji-hoon said, his voice low but steady. "I'm here to end this."
Si-wan chuckled softly, the sound sending a chill down Ji-hoon's spine. "End it? You think you can end it? You think you can defeat me, Ji-hoon?"
"I don't think. I know."
And with that, everything shifted. The final act had begun.