The dim lighting of the backstage area felt suffocating. The faint sounds of chatter, the rustling of fabric, the tap of high heels against the cold concrete floor—everything seemed distant, muffled, as if the world was a step removed from reality. Ji-hoon stood still, his cane gripped tightly in his hand. His fingers brushed over its surface with a practiced motion, feeling the familiar contours, the familiar weight. He didn't need to see the stage anymore to know what was happening. He could feel it. He could hear it. Every tremor in the air, every beat of the music reverberated inside him.
His sightless eyes stared ahead, though they saw nothing. The world was dark, silent, except for the ever-present hum of his own heartbeat.
He could hear the footsteps getting closer. The shuffle of shoes against the floor. A deep breath, followed by a soft exhale. Someone was there. Someone who had been watching him for a while now, but Ji-hoon didn't need to turn around to know who it was. He had an uncanny sense, one that didn't rely on sight, that told him when someone was near, when they were watching him.
It was the sound of the approaching footfalls that made his body stiffen, as if the tension in the air was too thick to ignore. A shadow in the corner of his mind fluttered. His body bristled with that same sense of danger, like a sixth sense warning him of something darker, something unspoken.
"Are you still trying to convince yourself that everything's fine?" A voice, soft but cutting, broke the silence.
Ji-hoon didn't flinch. His lips twitched, but he didn't smile. His voice came out low, almost drowned by the noise around them. "I don't need convincing."
The figure in front of him remained quiet for a moment, then spoke again. "You always said you didn't need anyone's help. But now… now you're just running away, pretending that none of this matters."
Ji-hoon's grip on the cane tightened, his fingers digging into its shaft. "I'm not running away," he said, his tone cold, sharp. He could almost hear the person's eyes narrowing in response, could feel the way they tensed, waiting for him to say more.
But Ji-hoon had nothing else to offer. His silence was deliberate. There were no more words to be said. What could he say? What could he do to make them understand? The past had already happened, the choices already made, and no matter how hard he tried to move forward, there would always be shadows following him.
"Do you think you're fooling anyone?" The voice continued, this time a little louder, almost as if it were coming from all directions at once. "Do you think that if you hide in the dark, you'll be safe from the consequences? From yourself?"
Ji-hoon inhaled deeply, his head tilting back as if he were taking in the air around him, trying to steady his nerves. "I don't need your judgment."
He could hear the other person take a step closer, and the sound of fabric rustling confirmed they were standing just inches away. He knew who it was. He could feel them, feel the way they were watching him, even though he couldn't see. He didn't need to see to know what they looked like, what their presence meant.
"Maybe I'm not judging you." The voice softened slightly, becoming almost gentle. "But someone has to, Ji-hoon. You can't live in the shadows forever."
Ji-hoon didn't respond. What was there to say? He had done what he had to do. He had walked this path with purpose, with conviction. Every step he took, no matter how painful or unforgiving, was his own decision. His choices, his consequences.
But that didn't stop the whispers from following him.
"Why are you here?" Ji-hoon finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper. The words felt strange, foreign on his tongue, but he didn't care.
There was a long pause before the voice responded, but when it did, it was softer, almost too quiet to catch. "I was hoping you'd listen to me. To reason."
Ji-hoon's lip curled into something resembling a smirk. "Reason? After everything? I don't think you understand what's at stake anymore."
The person moved again, this time circling behind him, their footsteps eerily silent as they approached from his blind spot. The presence of their figure felt like an almost tangible weight, pressing down on him. He could almost feel the quiet uncertainty radiating from them as they stopped behind him. But he remained motionless, the world dark, yet strangely clear.
"Do you even remember who you were before all of this?" the voice asked, now so close that it sent a chill down his spine.
Ji-hoon's fingers trembled for a brief moment. The memories of his past were a blur—a distant echo of a life that no longer felt like his own. His mother's soft voice, the sound of her playing the piano, the warmth of the world before it had been swallowed by grief and rage. Those memories felt like another lifetime, another version of himself. But there was no room for those thoughts now. No room for weakness.
"I remember enough," Ji-hoon said, his voice low and steady. "I remember what I need to."
The figure behind him shifted, their breath coming out in a shaky exhale. Ji-hoon knew they were torn, their words heavy with concern, yet they couldn't stop themselves from pushing. They couldn't stop trying to break through to him, to bring him back from the edge.
"Ji-hoon, listen to me," they urged, stepping forward again, almost as if trying to reach him. "You're not beyond redemption. You don't have to do this."
Ji-hoon clenched his jaw, feeling the familiar surge of frustration flood his chest. He was so tired of hearing these words. So tired of the pleas, the reasoning. Everyone kept telling him that there was another way, that he could be saved from the darkness inside him. But no one understood. No one knew what he had been through. What Si-wan had taken from him.
"I'm beyond redemption," Ji-hoon murmured, his voice thick with bitter conviction. "And I've made my peace with it."
The silence between them grew heavy, almost suffocating. Ji-hoon could feel the air shift, like the weight of the conversation had changed, had taken a new, darker turn.
"I'm not afraid anymore," he added, his words deliberate, his voice even colder. "Afraid of what might happen next. Afraid of what I have to do to make this stop."
The person behind him remained still. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, they spoke, almost as if afraid to hear themselves. "What happens when you've lost everything, Ji-hoon? What happens when you realize that there's no one left to save you?"
Ji-hoon smiled, a cold, humorless smile. "It's too late for that."
The voice behind him fell silent, and for a long moment, Ji-hoon stood there in the darkness, feeling the weight of his choices. Feeling the pull of what was inevitable, what was already set in motion.
He didn't turn around. He didn't need to see them anymore. The world could continue to crumble around him. He would stay right where he was. Lost in the shadows, but unbothered by the light.
"Get out," Ji-hoon said quietly, his voice thick with finality.
There was no response, only the sound of retreating footsteps, and then... nothing.
The backstage was quiet once again, save for the hum of distant conversations, the rattle of machinery in the background, and the faint sound of a single piano key, still ringing in the void of his silence.
And as Ji-hoon stood there, alone in the dark, he realized one thing: He had already chosen his path.
There was no turning back.
"Wait!" Ji-hoon said, his voice cutting through the silence, sharper than it had been before. His heart raced, the sound of it pounding in his ears like a drum. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, as if even the air around him knew that something important was about to happen.
The footsteps behind him faltered, then stopped altogether. The stillness stretched on, thick and suffocating, before the voice—the one that had been trying to reach him—responded, tinged with confusion.
"What is it, Ji-hoon?"
For the first time in what felt like forever, Ji-hoon felt the weight of the moment settle on his chest, pressing down on him in a way that made his throat tighten. His grip on his cane tightened as well, the wood digging into his palm, grounding him in a reality that was quickly slipping away from him. The words he had been holding back for so long felt like they were finally breaking free, clawing their way out of the dark corners of his mind.
"I—" Ji-hoon began, his voice faltering. He swallowed hard, trying to push the words past the knot in his throat. "I can't keep pretending that I'm not doing this because I'm scared. I'm terrified."
There was a pause, and for a moment, Ji-hoon wondered if the person behind him even heard him at all. But then, the soft, hesitant reply came. "What are you scared of?"
He took a shaky breath, the air filling his lungs with the sting of the unspoken truth. "I'm scared of what I'll become. If I really go through with this... If I kill him—if I let myself become the monster I've been pretending I'm not—there will be no coming back from it. And I can't… I can't live with myself if I go down that path."
The confession hit him harder than he expected. The weight of his own words seemed to hang in the air, suffocating him as the guilt settled deeper into his chest. He didn't want to be the kind of person who hurt others. He didn't want to be the monster that he'd been chasing for so long. But at the same time, he couldn't deny the dark, twisted pull in his gut—the hunger for revenge, the need to make Si-wan pay for everything he had done.
Behind him, there was a long silence, and Ji-hoon could feel the tension stretch between them like a taut wire, ready to snap. Finally, the voice spoke again, this time softer, almost fragile.
"You don't have to do this, Ji-hoon. You're not that person. You're still you."
The words were meant to comfort, but they only made the pain worse. How could they say that? How could anyone think he was still the person he used to be, when everything he had done—every choice, every decision—had led him to this moment?
"I don't know who I am anymore," Ji-hoon whispered, the rawness of his voice breaking through the silence. "I don't even know if I'm capable of being that person again. The person I was before… before all of this happened. I've already made my choice. There's no going back now."
A soft sound, almost like a sigh, filled the space between them. Ji-hoon could feel the presence behind him shift slightly, but they didn't say anything for a long moment. The world around them felt like it was on the edge of something, hanging in the balance, waiting for the inevitable to unfold.
"Is this really what you want?" the voice asked, finally breaking the silence. "Is this really the only way you can see to end this? By becoming everything you've hated? By becoming like him?"
The question echoed in Ji-hoon's mind, reverberating through the dark corners of his thoughts. He had been so sure, so certain that this was the only way—revenge, the only thing that would bring him peace. But now, standing here, in the quiet chaos of his own emotions, he wasn't so sure anymore. Was this really the answer? Was this really the way to find closure?
"I don't know," Ji-hoon whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of the doubt now rising inside him. "I don't know anymore."
There was another pause, longer this time, and Ji-hoon could feel the other person stepping closer to him, though he couldn't see them. But he could sense the hesitation in their movements, the unspoken concern that hung heavy in the air.
"You don't have to do this alone," they said softly, almost like a plea. "You don't have to walk down this path of darkness by yourself. We can stop it together."
Ji-hoon closed his eyes, the dark abyss of the world pressing in around him. The weight of the decision still hung on his shoulders, and yet, hearing those words—hearing someone tell him that he didn't have to do this alone—felt like a lifeline, fragile and tentative, but there nonetheless. Could he really do it? Could he turn away from the darkness that had consumed him, the vengeance that had driven him to this point?
"I'm not sure I can." Ji-hoon's voice was barely above a whisper, the words heavy with regret. "I've already gone too far. I've made my choices. And now… now I have to live with them."
But even as he said the words, even as he tried to convince himself that it was too late, something inside him shifted. The anger that had burned so hotly in his chest, the rage that had blinded him to everything else, seemed to waver, just for a moment. Could it be true? Could there still be a way out of this madness?
"Please," the voice urged again, the desperation clear in their tone. "Please don't let this be the end for you. You're worth more than this. You're not just a weapon, Ji-hoon. You're a person."
The weight of those words struck him like a blow to the chest, and Ji-hoon felt something inside him snap. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt something other than anger, other than pain. He felt the faint stirrings of hope, of possibility.
"I don't know if I can stop," Ji-hoon said, the words choking in his throat. "But I'll try."
The silence stretched again, but this time, it didn't feel so suffocating. There was a faint shift in the air, a subtle movement, as if the world was shifting, too. And for the first time, Ji-hoon felt like he might be able to find a way out of this darkness after all.
He wasn't sure what would happen next. But for the first time in a long time, he wasn't entirely alone.