The silence in the room was almost unbearable, an oppressive force that settled over Ji-hoon like a heavy blanket. His heart thudded in his chest, the rhythm in his ears louder than the words he could no longer speak. It had been so long since he had allowed himself to truly think about her—the woman who had given him life, who had been taken from him in the most brutal way. His mother.
There were no words left for what he had lost. No tears, no anger, just an emptiness that had grown inside him, like a shadow that had been cast over his entire life. Her memory had been buried beneath so many layers of lies and betrayals. The truth about her death had been stolen from him, twisted, hidden beneath the mask of a family he could no longer trust.
The weight of everything he'd uncovered in the past few days crashed down on him. The revelation that Siwan, his closest friend—his brother in all but blood—had been the one to pull the strings, to tear their lives apart, had nearly broken him. But this, standing in front of the place where his mother had once been, felt like the final blow.
The room was dim, the only light coming from the single lamp that illuminated a small wooden table. On the table was a framed photograph of his mother, her gentle smile captured in the moment before everything had gone dark. Ji-hoon stared at it, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He didn't even know how to begin this conversation.
How did you begin to mourn someone you never had the chance to know? How did you begin to process a loss so profound, so destructive, that it left behind nothing but a shadow of what could have been?
He reached out, his fingers brushing the frame of the photo. It was cold, the glass smooth under his fingertips, but he could feel her presence as if she were still there, just beyond the reach of his grasp. His mother had always been there in the quietest moments, in the space between the notes, in the silence between breaths. She had been everything, and yet, she had been taken so violently, so carelessly.
The memory of her—the few that remained—was like a fading echo. He remembered the scent of her perfume, faint and floral, as she would sit with him while he played his piano. He remembered the softness of her voice, her gentle words of encouragement, the way she would smile when he hit the right note, the way her hands would smooth over his hair when he needed reassurance.
That was all he had now. A few fragments of her that he held on to with a desperation that gnawed at his soul.
"Why?" he whispered aloud, his voice barely a breath. "Why did you have to leave me like this?"
There was no answer, only the cold quiet that filled the room. And then, for the first time in years, the grief broke free. He had been so busy fighting, so focused on surviving, that he hadn't allowed himself the luxury of truly mourning her. He hadn't given himself the space to feel the loss, to face the ache in his chest, the hollow space where she used to be. The tears came unbidden, slow and heavy, as though they had been waiting for this moment to pour out.
Ji-hoon dropped to his knees before the photo, his hands shaking as he wiped his eyes, his breath ragged. He felt like he was drowning, as though the weight of everything—his mother's death, the lies that had covered it, Siwan's betrayal—had all converged in this single, fragile moment.
His mother had been his protector, his strength, and now, in the face of everything that had happened, he was alone. She had been taken from him by someone he had trusted, someone who had wormed their way into his life and destroyed everything in his path. The thought of Siwan's hand in her death made Ji-hoon's stomach turn, a sickening realization that the person he had once loved like a brother was capable of such cold, calculated cruelty.
"Why did you let him get away with it?" he whispered to the photograph. "Why did you leave me to face him alone?"
There was no answer. There would never be an answer. He had to accept that.
But even as the sorrow washed over him, a fire sparked deep inside. It was the same fire that had kept him going all these years, the one that had driven him to uncover the truth, the one that had fueled his fight for justice. The fire that had finally led him to this moment—this reckoning.
The truth was, he had never truly been alone. Not really. His mother had given him everything she could, even in her absence. Her love had been etched into every note he played, in every song he composed. It was in the music, in the rhythm of his heartbeat, in the memories of her voice that still whispered to him in the dark. She had shaped him into the man he was, and now, it was his turn to make sure that her death was not in vain.
His fingers brushed over the edges of the photograph, a new resolve hardening in his chest. He had known this moment would come. He had known that he couldn't walk away from the truth. Not now, not after everything that had happened. Not after Siwan had taken his mother from him and turned his entire world upside down.
"I'll make him pay," Ji-hoon said, his voice thick with determination. "I'll make him pay for everything."
And in that moment, with the memory of his mother's love still burning brightly in his heart, Ji-hoon knew that he would stop at nothing to ensure Siwan faced the consequences of his actions. His mother's death had been the catalyst for everything that had followed, and now, it would be the driving force behind his quest for justice. He would not rest until the truth was fully revealed, until Siwan could no longer hide behind his lies.
With a final, lingering touch to the photograph, Ji-hoon stood up, his heart heavy but resolute. It was time to end this. It was time to bring Siwan to justice, once and for all.
The final act had begun, and Ji-hoon would see it through to the end.
Ji-hoon stood still for a moment, his hands trembling at his sides as he stared at the photo of his mother. The room felt suffocating, every inch of the space weighed down by the grief he had been holding inside for so long. The air was thick with unanswered questions, with the ghosts of the past that had haunted him relentlessly. But now, the past was no longer a vague, distant memory. It was tangible, real, and suffocating, threatening to consume him completely.
For years, he had lived in the shadow of her death, a death that had been disguised as a tragedy but was, in reality, a calculated murder. Siwan's murder of his mother had always been the shadow that loomed over him, but now, the truth was clear. It was no longer a whisper. It was a roar. And that roar demanded justice.
He couldn't go back. He couldn't ignore it any longer. His entire life, his every breath, had been consumed by the need for answers, by the unyielding question that had never let him go: Why? Why had she been taken? Why had Siwan done it?
The anger bubbled up again, hotter than before. It twisted and gnawed at him from the inside, a relentless ache that seemed to burn his very soul. He clenched his fists, the nails biting into his palms, trying to ground himself, to focus. But no matter how hard he tried, the image of Siwan's cold, calculating face kept resurfacing. His betrayal was as clear as a scar, etched into Ji-hoon's memory, and there would be no peace until it was removed.
Ji-hoon turned away from the photo and paced to the window, pressing his hand against the cold glass. Outside, the city was alive, oblivious to the turmoil that tore through him. The people moved through their lives, unaware of the storm brewing inside him, the storm he could no longer hold back. The anger, the pain, the betrayal—they were all swirling inside him like a tidal wave, threatening to break free at any moment.
His mind raced, images flashing before him: Siwan's smile, so warm and inviting; the gentle way he had always treated Ji-hoon; the trust that had once been so unshakable between them. And now, it was all a lie. Everything had been a lie.
How had it come to this?
Ji-hoon squeezed his eyes shut, fighting to push down the memories that threatened to overwhelm him. He had spent so long avoiding the truth, so long pretending that the past didn't matter. But now that truth had ripped through him like a blade. Siwan wasn't the brother he had once known. He was a monster. A killer.
And Ji-hoon couldn't let him get away with it.
The fury that had been smoldering in his chest burst to life with a force that left him breathless. The plan was set. There would be no more hesitation, no more waiting. He could feel the weight of the decision settling on his shoulders, a burden that was both terrifying and exhilarating. He had walked this path for so long, chasing the truth, seeking justice. And now, the moment had arrived.
He wasn't just going to bring Siwan to justice. He was going to make sure that Siwan would never be able to escape the consequences of what he had done. Ji-hoon would tear apart the carefully constructed façade Siwan had spent years building, exposing him for the murderer he truly was.
The room was quiet again, save for the sound of Ji-hoon's own breath. He turned back to face the photograph of his mother, her smile still frozen in time, an echo of the woman who had once held him in her arms. For a fleeting moment, he thought he could feel her presence again, a warmth that seemed to wrap around him, comforting him, reassuring him. But it was only a memory. A memory that would guide him, that would push him forward.
"I will make this right," Ji-hoon whispered to the empty room, his voice steady and cold. "I will make him pay."
With that, he turned away from the window and walked to the table, where his phone sat, silently waiting. He had already made the decision. Now, he would act. The plan would unfold, piece by piece, and Siwan would have nowhere to hide.
The phone buzzed in his hand, and for a split second, Ji-hoon hesitated. His fingers hovered over the screen, a rush of uncertainty flooding him. He had no idea what the next step would be, only that it had to be done. There was no turning back now.
His heart raced as he dialed the number that had been stored in his phone for so long. The contact was one he had kept close, knowing that this moment would come. He couldn't do this alone. He needed someone who understood the danger of what he was about to do, someone who wouldn't hesitate to help him finish this.
The phone rang, each passing second growing heavier with anticipation. Then, on the other end, the familiar voice of Seo Joon-won answered.
"Ji-hoon," Joon-won's voice was calm, steady, as if he'd known this call was coming. "What do you need?"
Ji-hoon's breath caught in his throat for a moment. He hadn't realized how much he had been holding in until now, until he finally allowed himself to speak the truth. "I need your help," Ji-hoon said, his voice low, barely above a whisper. "I need you to help me make sure Siwan pays for what he's done."
Joon-won was silent for a moment, and Ji-hoon could hear the wheels turning in his friend's mind.
"You know what you're asking, don't you?" Joon-won said, his voice a mixture of concern and understanding. "This isn't going to be easy. You don't know what he's capable of. We have to be smart."
"I know," Ji-hoon replied, his voice steady. "But he's not getting away with it. I can't let him."
Joon-won's sigh was audible over the line, heavy with the weight of the decision. "I'll help you," he said finally, his voice firm. "We'll bring him down together."
Ji-hoon closed his eyes, the weight of the decision finally sinking in. He had a plan. It would work. He had to believe that.
As he hung up the phone, Ji-hoon's resolve solidified. The truth had come to light, and now, there would be no more hiding. Siwan's time was up. He would face the consequences, no matter what it took.
"I will make this right," Ji-hoon repeated, his voice barely a whisper, but filled with a promise. And as he turned away from the photo of his mother, Ji-hoon knew that he would stop at nothing to make sure Siwan paid for what he had done.