The air was thick with an unsettling stillness as Ji-hoon stood in the heart of the city, the harsh lights from distant streetlamps casting long, dark shadows. He felt more like a specter than a man—drifting in the void between the world of the living and the realm of vengeance. Everything around him seemed distant, unreal. The familiar sounds of the city—the honking horns, the distant chatter of late-night passersby—felt muffled, as though they were happening on the other side of a thick glass wall.
He wasn't sure how long he had been walking, but the ache in his legs and the cold creeping into his bones told him it had been too long. The fire that had once fueled him seemed to flicker and die with each passing second. His thoughts were clouded, no longer driven solely by the desire for vengeance. Instead, there was something darker growing within him, something that gnawed at him with increasing intensity. The justice he sought didn't seem so clear anymore. Was it even justice? Or had he already crossed a line, one he couldn't return from?
He could still hear the sound of Hye-jin's voice in his mind, a whisper of reason in the storm of his thoughts. "Don't do this, Ji-hoon. It's not too late. You can still choose the right path."
But the right path had been lost the moment Si-wan had orchestrated the destruction of his world. No, Ji-hoon had no choice. He had already stepped into the darkness, and there was no turning back. Si-wan had taken everything from him, and now Ji-hoon would take it all back in a way that only someone with nothing left to lose could.
His fingers brushed over the familiar surface of his cane, a tool he had once depended on to navigate the world with ease. But now, it felt like a weapon—a symbol of his blindness, yes, but also a reminder of how far he had fallen. He could no longer see the world with his eyes, but he felt everything. The emptiness. The rage. The need for vengeance.
The city seemed quieter now, as though it was holding its breath. It knew something was coming. Something terrible. But what choice did Ji-hoon have?
He had learned to trust his other senses—the soft echo of his footsteps against the pavement, the faint rustling of leaves in the wind, the smell of damp earth, and the scent of cologne in the air. That particular scent—the one that always seemed to linger wherever Si-wan went—was haunting him now. Every corner he turned, every person he passed, he half-expected to see Si-wan's cold, calculating gaze staring back at him. The man had been a part of his life for far too long, and now he was the center of Ji-hoon's obsession.
It wasn't just about revenge anymore. It was about justice. About righting the wrongs that Si-wan had inflicted on him and everyone around him. But there was no clear line between right and wrong anymore. The law had failed him, the system had failed him, and he had no faith left in anything that called itself justice. In his world, justice wasn't a system—it was a personal reckoning. And that reckoning would come at Si-wan's expense.
Ji-hoon came to a stop outside a familiar building, its outline blurry against the night sky. He could feel the vibrations of the city in the ground beneath his feet, a pulse that matched his own. His breath came quicker now, his chest tightening as he reached out, gripping the cane tightly in his hand. The building before him was a place of business—a grand, imposing structure that had always seemed out of reach, even when he had sight. But now it was the site of his reckoning. The final confrontation.
The doors were open, as though welcoming him into the belly of the beast. And yet, there was no fear in Ji-hoon's heart. Only a strange sense of calm, as if the universe itself was guiding him to this very moment. Every step he took was one closer to his goal. Si-wan would pay.
As he stepped inside, he could hear the faint hum of conversation, the soft clinking of glasses, the rustle of fabric. The sound of life continuing on, unaware of the storm that was about to hit.
He knew Si-wan would be here. Somewhere in the dark corners of the building. But Ji-hoon didn't need to see him to find him. He could hear him in the distant murmur of the crowd, in the faint scent of his cologne that seemed to stick to the walls like an oppressive cloud. Si-wan was here, and Ji-hoon would make him face the consequences of his actions.
The air felt heavy in the building, like a suffocating weight pressing down on Ji-hoon's chest. The tension hung thick in the space, as though everything were waiting for something to happen. He could feel the sweat trickling down his neck, his heart thudding faster with every step he took.
He reached the stairs, the soft creak of the steps underfoot the only sound that broke the eerie quiet. He was close now. So close.
His mind replayed the events that had led him here, the pieces of the puzzle that had slowly fallen into place over time. The fire. The threats. The lies. All of it had been carefully orchestrated by Si-wan, the man who had never cared about anyone except himself. Ji-hoon's thoughts swirled with the memories, but there was no room for doubt now. There was only the feeling of cold certainty—Si-wan was the architect of his misery, and tonight, Ji-hoon would be the one to bring it all crashing down.
The door at the top of the stairs opened with a soft click, revealing a spacious room filled with shadows. In the center, standing under a lone light, was Si-wan. His back was turned, and Ji-hoon could feel the distance between them closing, the space filling with a sense of inevitability.
Si-wan hadn't heard him yet. He wasn't ready for this confrontation. But Ji-hoon didn't need him to be. It wasn't about surprise. It wasn't about strategy. It was about making Si-wan understand the depth of what he had done.
"You should've stayed away," Ji-hoon's voice was quiet, but it carried an undeniable weight.
Si-wan froze, his shoulders tensing. Then, slowly, he turned, his eyes narrowing as he took in the figure standing in the doorway. "Ji-hoon," he said, his voice like smooth, poisoned honey. "I should've known you'd come here. But it's too late now."
Ji-hoon took a step forward, every nerve in his body alive with the intensity of the moment. "Too late?" he repeated softly, almost to himself. "It's never too late, Si-wan. Not for justice."
And as the words left his lips, the room seemed to grow colder, as if the universe itself was holding its breath.
This was it. The final moment.
"Justice?" Si-wan scoffed, his gaze shifting with disdain. "You think you can bring justice to this mess? You're blind, Ji-hoon. Both literally and figuratively. You'll never see what I've done. You'll never understand why I did it."
Ji-hoon's grip tightened on his cane, his pulse quickening. "I don't need to see, Si-wan," he said, his voice low and steady. "Because I feel everything. And I'll make sure you feel it too."
And in that moment, as their eyes met across the room, Ji-hoon knew that this would be the end. It had to be.
The room seemed to close in around them, the oppressive silence amplifying every breath, every heartbeat. Ji-hoon could hear the faint tremor in Si-wan's voice, the subtle shift in his stance as he processed Ji-hoon's words. There was no fear in Ji-hoon's own heart. He was past fear now. There was only a grim sense of finality, a sharp clarity cutting through the haze of his emotions. The scent of Si-wan's cologne clung to the air, and Ji-hoon inhaled deeply, letting the familiar odor anchor him.
"You can't do this," Si-wan said, his tone dripping with disbelief, as if he still couldn't fathom the depth of Ji-hoon's resolve. "You think you're some kind of hero? That you can just walk in here and decide to... end this?"
"End it?" Ji-hoon's lips curled into a bitter smile. "This has been ending long before tonight, Si-wan. You just didn't know it."
Si-wan's eyes narrowed, his lips parting as if to say something else, but he hesitated. Ji-hoon could sense his unease, the way Si-wan was trying to read the room, to gauge his next move. The man was always calculating, always playing a game of mental chess. But tonight, the board had changed, and Ji-hoon wasn't interested in playing by Si-wan's rules anymore.
"I've already lost everything," Ji-hoon continued, his voice steady but raw with emotion. "You took my sight, my sanity, my peace of mind. But I'm not like you, Si-wan. I'm not like the people you destroy and leave behind. I'm not a puppet, to be used and cast aside when I no longer serve a purpose."
A flicker of something—whether it was guilt or something darker—crossed Si-wan's face for just a moment, but it was gone before Ji-hoon could catch it. Instead, Si-wan's expression hardened, and he took a step forward, closing the distance between them. Ji-hoon's senses sharpened. He could hear the light scrape of Si-wan's shoes on the floor, the soft, controlled rhythm of his breathing. He could feel the subtle shift in the air, the faintest tremor that Si-wan could not hide.
"You're right about one thing," Si-wan said quietly, his voice laced with venom. "You've lost everything. And now you're going to lose yourself too. You think you can kill me and walk away from this? You think you can destroy me without destroying yourself in the process?"
Ji-hoon felt the words like a physical blow. It wasn't just what Si-wan said, but how he said it—the cold confidence, the smugness that seemed to ooze from every syllable. Si-wan was testing him, trying to provoke him into a mistake. Trying to make him doubt.
But Ji-hoon didn't doubt. Not anymore. He had lost too much, and tonight, Si-wan would pay for every single thing he had taken from him.
"No, I won't walk away from this," Ji-hoon replied, his voice steady but carrying an edge that made Si-wan pause. "But neither will you."
He took another step forward, the sound of his cane tapping sharply against the ground punctuating the thick silence. His mind raced, each thought and emotion jumbled together in a cacophony that nearly drowned out the beating of his heart. Every step he took toward Si-wan felt like an eternity. He could feel the presence of the man in front of him, could almost sense the shifting of his body language as the tension between them thickened.
Si-wan's lips curled into a smirk, though there was no real amusement in it. "You really think you can stop me, Ji-hoon? You're blind. You're nothing without your eyes."
"I may not be able to see," Ji-hoon said, his tone low and fierce, "but I've learned to hear everything you never said. And tonight, I hear the sound of your downfall."
A sudden, almost unnatural stillness settled over the room. The air was thick with unspoken words, and both men stood locked in their moment of reckoning, neither willing to back down.
For the first time in years, Ji-hoon felt truly in control. Not of his sight, not of his circumstances, but of his own fate. The world had taken so much from him, but now he would take something back. He had thought long and hard about how this night would play out, and the more he thought about it, the clearer it became: He would not let Si-wan destroy him. Not anymore.
The sound of Si-wan's breath was the only thing that reached Ji-hoon's ears now. He could feel the shift in the atmosphere, the subtle way the tension hung between them like a live wire, ready to snap. Si-wan's calm demeanor faltered for just a fraction of a second, and Ji-hoon was acutely aware of it.
He could hear Si-wan shifting, preparing to strike. A soft intake of breath, followed by the faintest click of a shoe on the floor. Ji-hoon's hand tightened around his cane, feeling the familiar weight of it, but there was nothing familiar about what came next.
"You've already lost," Si-wan said coldly, almost as though he were trying to convince himself. "You won't get away with this. You think you can just walk in here, play the victim, and—"
Before Si-wan could finish his sentence, Ji-hoon took action. In one fluid motion, he swung his cane, not with force, but with precision. It was a calculated move, born of necessity.
He didn't need to see Si-wan's reaction to know it had worked. The sharp intake of breath, the sudden shift in the air—it all told him everything. Si-wan had been caught off guard.
Ji-hoon's heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline coursing through him as he moved quickly, using his heightened senses to track Si-wan's every movement. The scent of cologne grew stronger, and the sound of Si-wan's ragged breathing filled his ears, signaling that the man was faltering.
"You're not in control anymore," Ji-hoon said, his voice low, but strong. "You never were."
Si-wan's voice cracked with disbelief. "You don't get it, Ji-hoon. You've lost. You're nothing without me."
Ji-hoon shook his head, his hand gripping his cane tighter. "I never needed you. You just made me think I did."
The room grew colder as the realization settled in. For once, Ji-hoon was no longer the victim. Tonight, Si-wan would be the one to face the consequences of his actions, and Ji-hoon wasn't going to stop until he did.
And with that, Ji-hoon stepped forward once again.