Joon-won had never been one to pry into matters that didn't concern him, but as Ji-hoon's best friend and the person who had stood by him through every dark turn of his life, he couldn't help but feel that the moment had come. He had been looking for answers for so long, trying to help Ji-hoon find the closure he so desperately needed, and today, he had found something that could possibly lead them to it.
Ji-hoon had been quiet for days, retreating into himself as the weight of his mother's death, of the violence and chaos that had followed, continued to gnaw at him. It wasn't just the loss of his mother; it was the weight of the truth about what had happened, the revelations about Siwan and the lies, the endless cycle of revenge that had left him scarred and empty. He had been searching for peace, but every time he thought he might find it, the past would drag him back into the nightmare. It had become a cycle of destruction, and Ji-hoon had been caught in its grip for too long.
Joon-won wasn't sure what had possessed him to search through the old boxes and letters that had been gathering dust in Ji-hoon's room. He'd been looking for something—anything—that might bring Ji-hoon even the smallest bit of comfort. When he came across the letter, though, he hadn't expected it to hit him like a freight train. The handwriting was unmistakable, and as soon as he recognized it, his heart sank.
It was his mother's handwriting.
The letter had been tucked away in an old box, buried beneath layers of dust and forgotten memories. It wasn't the first time Joon-won had rifled through these boxes—he had done it countless times, looking for some remnant of Ji-hoon's life before the tragedy had struck. But this letter, this note, it felt different. It felt like a key to the final puzzle piece of Ji-hoon's past, the one thing he had never been able to understand.
Joon-won hadn't meant to read it, but as soon as he unfolded the yellowed paper, the words began to pull him in, demanding his attention.
To my dearest Ji-hoon,
I am writing this now, not because I want to say goodbye, but because I want to say that I'm sorry. I don't know what the future holds, and I don't know if I'll be able to protect you like I promised I would, but I want you to know that no matter what happens, you will always have my love. Even when I am not there to hold you, even when the world feels like it's falling apart around you, you are never alone.
You are stronger than you know. You will face things that no child should ever have to, but I believe in you. I believe in your strength, your music, and your ability to rise above the pain. Remember, my love, music is the language of the soul. Let it guide you when words fail.
I don't know how much longer I have, but I will do everything in my power to make sure that you are safe. If something happens to me, know that I will always be with you, in every note you play, in every song you sing. I will be with you in your heart, and nothing can take that away.
Please, Ji-hoon, be kind to yourself. Don't let the world make you forget who you are.
Yoo Ara
The words were like a blade to Joon-won's chest. He could feel the weight of them, the depth of her love for Ji-hoon, and the grief that had undoubtedly plagued her during her final days. It was clear that she had known something was coming, something terrible. The note was her final attempt to make sure Ji-hoon knew the truth, knew that she had loved him and always would. But it was also her way of preparing him for a world without her, a world that would soon swallow him whole.
Joon-won had to stop for a moment to catch his breath. The letter was too much—too personal, too raw. And yet, there was something inside him that felt compelled to share it with Ji-hoon, something that told him this was the moment when the truth needed to come to light.
He found Ji-hoon sitting in the corner of the room, staring blankly at the wall, his fingers lightly tapping on the armrest of his chair. The silence between them was heavy, filled with the tension of all the unspoken words, the things Ji-hoon had never said, and the things Joon-won had never dared to ask.
"Ji-hoon," Joon-won said, his voice breaking the silence. He hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to approach this. The letter, the truth—it all seemed too much, too overwhelming. But in the end, he couldn't keep it from him. "I found something."
Ji-hoon didn't move, didn't acknowledge his presence. Joon-won couldn't tell if he even heard him, but he continued anyway, pulling the letter from his pocket.
"It's a letter," Joon-won said quietly. "From your mother."
For the first time in days, Ji-hoon shifted in his seat, his fingers stilling. He turned his head slowly, his expression unreadable, his eyes shadowed with the weight of so many emotions. He stared at the letter in Joon-won's hands for a long moment before slowly reaching out to take it.
As Ji-hoon unfolded the letter, Joon-won could see the pain in his eyes, the sorrow that had been hidden beneath the surface for so long. Ji-hoon's hands trembled slightly as he began to read the words his mother had written, her final message to him.
Each word seemed to cut deeper, each sentence weighing heavier than the last. Joon-won watched as Ji-hoon's expression shifted, as his eyes glazed over with a mixture of grief and disbelief. When Ji-hoon finally finished reading, he didn't speak immediately. He just sat there, staring at the letter as though it were the only thing that mattered in the world.
Ji-hoon's voice was barely above a whisper. "She knew," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "She knew what was going to happen. She knew I would be alone."
Joon-won moved closer, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "She didn't want you to feel alone, Ji-hoon. She wanted you to know that she loved you. No matter what happened, she loved you."
A deep, ragged breath escaped Ji-hoon as he let the words sink in. He closed his eyes, his grip tightening on the letter. "I was never enough. Not for her. Not for anyone."
"You were enough," Joon-won said firmly. "You're enough, Ji-hoon. You always have been."
There was a long silence, the weight of everything that had been left unsaid hanging in the air between them. Finally, Ji-hoon let out a long, shaky breath. "I don't know how to keep going," he admitted. "But... I can't let her sacrifice be in vain. I can't let her think that I didn't try."
Joon-won nodded, his hand still on Ji-hoon's shoulder. "You're not alone. Not anymore. We'll figure it out together."
Ji-hoon looked at the letter one last time, then slowly folded it, tucking it away in his pocket. He stood up, his posture still a little stiff, but there was something in his eyes now—a glimmer of determination, of resolve.
The note she had written, the last piece of her he would ever have, wasn't just a goodbye. It was a message, a final promise, that he would carry with him for the rest of his life. And in that moment, Ji-hoon knew that he would find a way to live up to her love, to honor the mother who had believed in him even when he couldn't believe in himself.
And perhaps, for the first time in a long while, he believed that there was still a chance for redemption.
Ji-hoon stared at the folded letter in his hand, still feeling the faint tremor in his fingers. The weight of his mother's words pressed down on him, a mixture of warmth and pain that coiled tightly in his chest. He had never fully realized how much he needed her words until now. The note had been a lifeline, a tether to the past, and yet, it had also brought a fresh wave of grief crashing over him. She had known. She had known he would suffer, and yet, she had hoped—hoped that he could rise above it, that music, the one thing they had shared, would be enough to carry him through the darkest moments of his life.
He glanced up at Joon-won, his eyes filled with a storm of emotions that he couldn't quite put into words. For years, Ji-hoon had been drowning in his own grief, trapped in a cycle of revenge and pain. But now, with the letter tucked safely in his pocket, something in him had shifted. He didn't know if it was the memories of his mother's love or the unbearable burden of the violence that had followed her death, but for the first time in a long while, Ji-hoon could see a path forward. Not a path of peace, but a path where he could finally stop running from the past.
Joon-won watched him silently, as if waiting for some kind of reaction, but Ji-hoon didn't speak immediately. The words from the letter still echoed in his mind. "You will always have my love." How could she say that to him, knowing the fate that awaited him? She had never given up on him, never stopped believing that he could make it through. Even when everything was crumbling around him, she had been his anchor.
Ji-hoon closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his own pain pressing against his ribs. I'm not alone, he thought. Not anymore. Joon-won had stood by him all this time, and for all the darkness that had consumed his life, there were still people who cared. His mother had cared. She had given him everything she could before she was taken from him, and now, it was time to stop pretending that he didn't matter.
"Joon-won," Ji-hoon's voice was hoarse, like a distant whisper, but there was a new strength behind it. He felt something stir in his chest, something that had been dormant for so long. "I can't let Siwan get away with it. I can't let him walk free after everything he's done."
Joon-won's expression softened, understanding the weight behind Ji-hoon's words. "I know," he said quietly. "We've been over this. But there's more to you than just revenge, Ji-hoon. You can't let him consume you, not like this."
"I know," Ji-hoon repeated, shaking his head slightly. "But I can't just let him go, either. I'll never forgive him for what he did to her." The words felt like a vow, a promise to his mother that he would make sure Siwan faced justice, no matter what the cost. His mind was clearer now, the haze of anger and grief slowly lifting, replaced by a singular, unwavering focus.
The thought of Siwan—of his cold smile, his smug confidence—made Ji-hoon's stomach twist with a familiar sense of fury. The man who had taken everything from him, from his mother, from everyone he had ever loved—he would never walk away unscathed. Ji-hoon knew that much.
Joon-won reached out, placing a hand on Ji-hoon's arm. "I'm not saying you shouldn't do what you need to do. Just... don't forget who you are in the process. You're still Ji-hoon, the one who used to lose himself in the music, who brought people together with just a single note." His voice was soft, but firm. "That's who you are. Not the man consumed by revenge. You're better than that."
The words hit Ji-hoon harder than he expected. He had allowed himself to be consumed by the darkness for so long that he had almost forgotten who he was before all of this—the quiet, talented boy with a passion for music that had once been his only escape. His mother had seen that in him. She had believed that he could rise above the pain, that his music could be his salvation. And he had lost sight of that.
"I'm not sure I can forgive him," Ji-hoon said, voice cracking. "I don't know how to live with that, with everything he's done. But maybe... maybe I can stop letting him control me."
Joon-won nodded, his hand still on Ji-hoon's shoulder. "That's all anyone can ask of you, Ji-hoon. You don't have to forgive him. You don't have to let him win. But you also don't have to let him take away the one thing you've got left. Your heart. Your music."
Ji-hoon stood up slowly, a sense of resolve settling in his chest. He could feel the weight of everything that had happened, but it no longer felt like it was dragging him down. It was a part of him, a part of his story, but it didn't have to define him forever. The fire of revenge still burned in him, yes, but it was no longer the only thing that fueled him. He still had something to fight for—his mother's love, the memory of everything she had sacrificed, the promise she had made him. And he had the chance to take it all back.
"I'll make it right," Ji-hoon said, more to himself than to Joon-won. "I don't know how, but I'll make sure he pays. I'll make sure no one else suffers because of him."
Joon-won gave him a small, understanding smile. "I'll be with you every step of the way. You're not alone in this, Ji-hoon. We're in this together."
The words hung in the air, heavier than anything that had been said before, and Ji-hoon felt a sense of peace settle over him—small, fleeting, but real. It wasn't a solution, not yet, but it was a start. The road ahead would be long, and the fight with Siwan was far from over. But Ji-hoon was no longer walking it alone. He had Joon-won by his side, and he had his mother's love to guide him.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Ji-hoon felt a glimmer of hope. It wasn't the kind of hope that promised peace. But it was the kind that reminded him he was still capable of feeling something other than rage.