The night air was a sharp contrast to the oppressive heat inside the theater. It was cool, fresh with a bite that seemed to penetrate Ji-hoon's skin as he stumbled away from the wreckage. His body was sore, trembling from the shock of what had just happened. The fire had taken everything. The stage, the crowd, the memories, all consumed by the flames.
Ji-hoon couldn't process it. His mind was a jagged puzzle of confusion and rage, each piece falling into place too quickly, yet leaving him with nothing but holes. Hye-jin was still by his side, pulling him away from the chaos, but her presence felt distant now. The crackling of the fire seemed so far away, yet so present, echoing in his bones. The sense of loss was overwhelming, but worse than that—was the knowledge that none of this was an accident. It had all been planned.
He could feel the fire's smoke in his throat, taste the bitterness of it on his tongue, but more than that, he could feel the anger. It bubbled under his skin, gnawing at him with every breath. His thoughts kept circling back to Si-wan. The fire hadn't just been a performance, it had been a statement. Si-wan had burned everything—every part of Ji-hoon's life, his music, the people around him, all reduced to ash.
Hye-jin's grip on his arm tightened as she guided him further away from the wreckage, her steps quick but careful. Her voice was a distant hum in his ears, but Ji-hoon barely heard her. His thoughts were racing, each one spiraling into another, faster and faster. His heart pounded in his chest, his blood racing with adrenaline.
"Ji-hoon," Hye-jin's voice cut through his fog of anger and panic. "Are you alright? We need to get out of here."
She was leading him, but his legs felt like lead. The air was too thin, the weight of it crushing him, and all he could hear was the crackle of the flames and his own breathing. The world around him seemed to blur as the chaos of the fire faded into the background. But no matter how far he walked, it didn't feel like enough. He needed to get away from it all. Needed to escape.
"I should have known," Ji-hoon muttered under his breath. His voice was hoarse, raw from the smoke. "I should have seen it coming."
"Don't," Hye-jin said firmly. "You couldn't have known. Nobody could have predicted this."
But Ji-hoon wasn't listening. He was too deep in his thoughts, the puzzle pieces slipping into place faster than he could understand them. Si-wan had orchestrated everything, right down to the fire. The destruction, the chaos, the pain—it was all part of his plan. But why? What was the endgame? Why burn everything to the ground?
And then it hit him.
Si-wan hadn't just been trying to destroy the theater. He'd been trying to destroy Ji-hoon.
The realization was like ice water dumped over his head. It sent a chill through his spine, freezing the blood in his veins. Everything he'd worked for, everything he'd fought for, had been a lie. He hadn't been a pianist in Si-wan's game; he'd been a puppet. Every note, every performance, every victory had been controlled. And in the end, Si-wan had made sure it would all burn.
Hye-jin's hand on his arm snapped him back to the present. She was trying to guide him through the darkened streets now, her voice rising with urgency. "Ji-hoon, we have to keep moving. You're not thinking clearly."
"I'm not thinking clearly?" he repeated, his voice rising, sharp with anger. "You don't understand. This was never about me playing the piano. It was about him making sure I'd burn with everything else. He wanted me to die in that fire."
Her eyes widened, but she didn't argue. She just held on tighter, pulling him along faster. She understood. There was no need for further explanation. They both knew what Si-wan was capable of. But what did Ji-hoon do now? How could he ever undo the destruction Si-wan had wrought?
Suddenly, everything felt like it was closing in on him again. The air, the night, the city itself—it felt too small, too suffocating. And he had no answers, no clarity. Only one thought consumed him:
I will make him pay for this. I will make him regret ever crossing me.
They reached the edge of the city, away from the wreckage of the theater, but Ji-hoon couldn't stop. His body was shaking with adrenaline, his mind racing, his heart pounding against his ribs. He was moving too fast, his steps too uneven, too erratic. His senses were overloaded. He couldn't hear anything except the rush of blood in his ears, the sharp breaths in his chest, and the burning, bitter rage that pulsed through him.
"You need to calm down, Ji-hoon." Hye-jin's voice broke through the chaos in his mind, but it didn't reach him. She sounded worried, but he was beyond that now. This wasn't just about survival anymore. It was about something deeper, something primal. He couldn't let it go. He couldn't let Si-wan get away with it.
"Where are we going?" he asked, his voice hollow. It didn't feel like he was asking her, it felt like he was asking the night itself, the world that seemed to be crumbling around him.
Hye-jin paused, a hand on his shoulder, her grip steady. "We're going to get help. We need to figure out how to get you to safety first. After that, we'll—"
"I'm not going to safety," Ji-hoon interrupted sharply. "I'm going after him. I'm going to find Si-wan, and I'm going to make him answer for what he's done."
Hye-jin's expression tightened, her face darkening with concern. "Ji-hoon, listen to me—"
"No," Ji-hoon cut her off, stepping away from her. "You don't understand. I don't care about safety anymore. I don't care about anything but ending this."
The words hung in the air, thick with the weight of what he was saying. He wasn't thinking clearly. He knew that. But the fire, the destruction, the betrayal—it was all too much. He couldn't let it go. Not when Si-wan was still out there, alive and untouched, while everything Ji-hoon had ever cared about had been reduced to ash.
Hye-jin stepped closer, her hand reaching out for him. "Ji-hoon, please. This isn't you. You've been through enough."
"I've been through enough?" He almost laughed, but it wasn't funny. It was raw, desperate. "This was never about me. It was always about him, about what he could control. I just... I need to make this stop. And the only way to do that is to make him pay. To make sure he knows what it feels like to lose everything."
Hye-jin didn't respond immediately. She seemed to be weighing his words, trying to understand the intensity behind them. Finally, she spoke, her voice quiet but firm. "You can't do this alone. Let's get help. Let's plan this out. You don't need to be a part of this destruction."
But Ji-hoon knew, deep down, that it was too late for help. The destruction had already begun. And he would be the one to finish it.
"Don't try to stop me, Hye-jin," he said, his voice hard, final. "I have to do this. I can't live with myself if I don't."
And with that, he turned, walking away, each step more determined than the last. The city stretched out before him, silent and dark, and all he could think about was how he was going to make sure Si-wan would never be able to destroy anything ever again.
Ji-hoon's thoughts were tangled in a furious web as he walked away from Hye-jin's outstretched hand. Each step felt like it took him farther from the world he once knew, and closer to something darker, something more dangerous. He could feel the weight of his own rage pulling him forward, the need for vengeance consuming every ounce of reason he had left. The fire was still burning in his mind, its crackling embers never far from his thoughts, scorching everything in their path.
The night felt colder now, despite the lingering heat from the flames that had destroyed everything. His skin prickled as if the shadows themselves were closing in, tightening their grip on him. It was strange, how the world seemed to shrink in moments like this—how a single person's obsession could twist everything around them until there was nothing but darkness left. But Si-wan had made this personal. He had turned Ji-hoon's life into a game, one where Ji-hoon had been nothing more than a pawn. And now, he would make sure that Si-wan understood what it meant to play with fire.
The streets were nearly deserted at this hour, the only sound being the hurried shuffle of his footsteps against the concrete. It was strange—Ji-hoon wasn't used to the quiet. The silence usually meant something was wrong. It was as though everything was holding its breath, waiting for something to snap. And he was the snapping point.
He paused for a moment at the intersection of two streets, his senses on edge. The city felt foreign now. It was supposed to be familiar, a place he had lived in for years, but now it seemed like an alien landscape—one he no longer recognized. He could almost feel the ghosts of his past lingering in the shadows, their voices whispering warnings he could not hear.
He didn't know how far he'd walked or for how long, but he knew one thing with certainty: he couldn't stop. He couldn't turn back.
Not now.
He thought of Hye-jin, her worried eyes, her pleas for him to reconsider. But the truth was, there was no other choice. There was no second option. Si-wan had destroyed everything Ji-hoon cared about, and there was no coming back from that. The stage, the music, the people he had once loved—it was all gone, reduced to nothing but rubble and ash. And that was because of Si-wan. The fire hadn't just been an accident. It had been planned, orchestrated with careful precision, and Ji-hoon knew it. The destruction had always been the goal. Si-wan had wanted to watch everything burn.
But what did that mean for Ji-hoon? Was he just a means to an end? A player in a game he hadn't even realized he was part of? Or was Si-wan simply so consumed by his own ambition that he would destroy everything in his path without a second thought?
The questions swirled in Ji-hoon's mind, but there were no answers. Not yet. He couldn't afford to think about it. Not until he found Si-wan.
A figure emerged from the corner of his eye, and Ji-hoon's senses immediately snapped to attention. He wasn't sure if it was instinct or pure paranoia, but something inside him told him he wasn't alone anymore. His grip tightened on the edge of the nearest building, his body going rigid as he stood perfectly still, listening.
The sound of footsteps grew louder, closer. His mind raced—was it a trap? Had Si-wan somehow found him already? But no, there was something different about the footsteps. They were lighter, more hesitant.
Hye-jin?
No. The footsteps didn't belong to her.
As the figure drew nearer, Ji-hoon's heart skipped a beat. He didn't know whether to confront the person or to hide, but as the figure came into the dim streetlight, Ji-hoon's pulse quickened. He knew this person.
It was Do-yoon. The technician.
Do-yoon had been there, in the shadows, watching everything unfold. He had been part of the crew that worked tirelessly to ensure the performance went off without a hitch. But Ji-hoon knew there was more to Do-yoon than met the eye. The man had always kept his distance, a quiet observer, rarely speaking unless necessary. But now, as Ji-hoon stood frozen in place, a chill ran through him. Something wasn't right.
"Ji-hoon," Do-yoon's voice was soft, but his words hit Ji-hoon like a stone. "I thought I'd find you here."
Ji-hoon didn't respond immediately. His body tensed further, as if instinctively preparing for something he couldn't quite name. "What do you want?" His voice was a low growl, rough from the adrenaline that coursed through his veins.
"I... I don't know if you should be out here alone," Do-yoon continued, his words measured. "It's not safe. Not after what happened."
Ji-hoon narrowed his eyes, studying the technician's face in the dim light. Do-yoon's features were difficult to make out, but Ji-hoon could see the anxiety in his eyes. He was shaking, slightly, but Ji-hoon couldn't tell if it was from fear or something else.
"Who are you really?" Ji-hoon asked, his voice sharp. "You're not just a technician. You've been watching me. Why? What do you know about Si-wan?"
Do-yoon hesitated for a moment, looking over his shoulder as though making sure no one else was around. His gaze flickered back to Ji-hoon, and for the first time, Ji-hoon saw something darker in his eyes. There was fear there, yes, but also a sort of guarded caution.
"Si-wan…" Do-yoon began, but then he stopped himself. "You don't understand. He's not just some rival. He's... he's dangerous, Ji-hoon. More dangerous than you realize."
"Stop playing games with me," Ji-hoon snapped. "I don't have time for this. I need to find him. I need to make him pay."
Do-yoon's expression softened, and he stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You don't understand, Ji-hoon. Si-wan doesn't play by the rules. He's been planning this for a long time, and what happened tonight... it's only the beginning."
Ji-hoon's mind raced. He'd known Si-wan was dangerous, but this? This was something more. A part of him had always known that Si-wan was more than a rival, but the reality of what he was hearing made his blood run cold.
"What are you saying?" Ji-hoon asked, his voice dangerously low.
Do-yoon stepped closer still, his voice barely a whisper. "Si-wan's not just after you. He's after everything. And if you go after him now, you'll be walking straight into his trap."
Ji-hoon's fists clenched at his sides. "I don't care. I'm already in the trap. He just doesn't know it yet."
And with that, Ji-hoon turned, walking away from Do-yoon, his mind set on the path ahead. The fire had taken everything from him, but it wasn't over yet. No, it was just beginning. He wasn't walking into a trap. He was setting one.