The air in the apartment building was thick and silent, broken only by the uneasy stirrings within the small, dimly lit home of Ajin. Her mother had been causing a commotion again-a familiar, drunken despair that echoed through the thin walls.
In the small, cramped bedroom, Ajin's father lay, a study in willful ignorance. He had gone through the motions earlier, a futile attempt to pacify the woman he was clearly weary of. "At first, he tried to calm my mom down, but eventually he gave up and went to sleep," Ajin would later recall, the memory a flat, dull certainty.
A deep crimson glow illuminated the enclosed stairwell, casting the ascent in a menacing shadow. A figure, silhouetted against the weak light, struggled at the top landing, a dark, bulky weight in their arms. This was the grim tableau that played out unseen by Ajin, a silent, terrible drama of an ending.
Suddenly, a sharp, dreadful sound sliced through the suffocating quiet.
"Hey dad, what was that sound just now-?" Ajin's voice, small and fearful, broke the stillness in their apartment. She stood framed in the doorway, her young face marked with an adhesive bandage on her forehead and a faint bruise beneath her eye, a testament to the hardship that was her daily life. Her eyes widened, focusing on something unseen, her small hand pointing tentatively.
Authors pov :
The next moments were a blur of cold panic and terrifying clarity. Ajin's father, a man with a heavy-lidded, weary face, stood over a dark form crumpled at the bottom of the stairs. Blood, a shocking splash of red, stained the concrete. Lying on her back, the woman's eyes-Ajin's mother-were wide and unfocused, a raw, deep red rimming the whites, a picture of tearful, final terror. The last thing she might have seen was the cold, impassive face of the man who was now speaking, his words cutting through her final moments.
He knelt, his movements chillingly deliberate, and reached for her feet. "Alright, her shoes are on, and now..." he muttered, adjusting the worn sandals on the lifeless feet. He pulled back, his face contorting into a cold, frightening smirk. "...it's time to say goodbye."
Then, the terrible, accusing thought erupted from Ajin, a silent shriek in the desolate space of the stairwell.
"NO WAY..."
Her eyes traced the impossible, harrowing length of the climb.
"DID YOU THROW HER DOWN THE STAIRS...?"
Chapter 3: The Threat
The father's reaction was immediate, his voice a low, fierce command meant to quash all resistance, all doubt. He bent down, his voice dropping to a gravelly, menacing whisper as he spoke to the terrified girl.
"LISTEN TO ME, AJIN," he hissed, his eyes sharp and unforgiving. "YOUR MOM FELL DOWN THE STAIRS."
He needed her to believe it, to repeat it, to internalize the lie until it became a hard, protective shell around their shared secret. His sandals were visible next to the still, pale foot of the woman who was now nothing more than a victim.
"SHE GOT DRUNK AND TRIPPED..." he insisted, his voice hardening, his eyes wide and compelling as he fixed his gaze on his daughter. "SHE DID THIS TO HERSELF. YOU GOT THAT?"
Then, the final, vicious twist of the knife: the unveiling of his motive, the cold-blooded calculation behind the violence.
"YOU WERE SICK OF HER TOO, WEREN'T YOU?" he accused, his own weariness fueling his justification. "I'LL FIND YOU A NEW, BETTER MOM."
He spoke of the future with a casual cruelty, his words dripping with a self-serving promise of a better life bought with the silence of his daughter.
"THE NEW WOMAN I'VE BEEN SEEING IS LOADED. WE WON'T HAVE TO LIVE IN THIS DUMP ANYMORE." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the dingy hallway. "SHE HAS A SON ABOUT YOUR AGE..."
His tone shifted once more, the false promise replaced by a chilling ultimatum, his hands now empty, the dark work complete. Lying near the body was one of the victim's sandals.
"IF YOU DON'T WANT TO END UP LIKE YOUR MOTHER..." he whispered, his eyes boring into his daughter's terrified face. "...YOU'D BETTER DO WHATEVER I TELL YOU..."
Outside, the harsh light of day broke over the scene, now swarming with the quiet commotion of the police. Yellow caution tape-a ribbon of bright finality-ran across the stairwell entrance. Blood spatter, a gruesome stain, lay near the tape.
"MURMUR... POLICE LINE... MURMUR..." the voices of the officers and neighbors were a low, indistinct hum.
A group of somber onlookers-men, women, and a few children-stood clustered near the curb as the woman's body was zipped into a black bag and placed on a gurney. Ajin stood among them, a small, pale figure, her face vacant, watching the final removal of her mother.
Later, in a sterile room, perhaps at the station or a social worker's office, Ajin sat for an interview. Her face was still bruised, still bearing the fresh adhesive bandage on her forehead, but her expression was one of exhausted control.
The interviewer's question was stark and simple, focused on the moment of discovery.
"Q. YOU SAID YOU WERE THE FIRST PERSON TO FIND YOUR MOTHER. DID YOU NOTICE ANYONE STRANGE NEARBY THE STAIRS?"
Ajin had learned her lesson. The lie had taken root, the fear acting as a powerful fertilizer. She repeated the prescribed truth, the one that would keep her safe, the one her father had forced upon her.
"A. NO... I DIDN'T SEE ANYONE ELSE. MY MOM WAS LYING THERE ALL BY HERSELF."
After the rehearsed answer, the weight of the moment, the trauma, and the lie finally became too much. Her composure cracked, and the fragile girl reappeared.
"I THINK I'M HAVING A REALLY HARD TIME TALKING ABOUT THIS..." she murmured, her voice barely a whisper, her eyes pleading. "COULD WE PLEASE STOP THIS INTERVIEW...?"
And so the story stopped, sealed not by closure or justice, but by a child's fear and a father's deadly secret.
The grand, new life Ajin's father had promised began not with comfort, but with a new set of rules delivered with the same cold threat. Standing before the stately, closed wooden doors of their new home, he gripped his daughter's arm, his voice a low, hard demand.
"If you act like a brat in front of her, you're gonna get it. Be polite, say hello, and stay quiet. Don't touch anything that isn't yours. You got that?"
Ajin, her small frame dwarfed by the heavy backpack, whispered a defeated "Yes..." The trauma of the last few days had stripped her of any fight; obedience was now her only shield.
A Fateful Meeting
The doors opened to a brightly lit, elegant entryway, marked by a shining, ornate chandelier. A woman, dressed in a soft pink dress, stood there, a practiced warmth radiating from her. Next to her was her son.
"WELCOME, AJIN!" the woman greeted her, stepping forward with an air of gracious enthusiasm. "I've heard so much about you. I'm excited to get to know you." She gestured to the quiet boy at her side, a child with pale, slightly flushed cheeks and wide, hesitant eyes. "Oh, this is Junseo. Say hello."
Junseo, held close by his mother's arm, managed only a quiet gaze toward the girl.
Ajin, her demeanor unnervingly calm, stepped forward. She was dressed in a simple floral dress, a stark contrast to the trauma she'd just endured, making her appear like a doll forced into a new, unfamiliar setting.
"Hi... My name is Ajin," she said, a small, polite smile on her face. Her eyes, however, seemed to search for something in the boy's expression. "What was your name again?"
The question seemed to catch the boy off guard. He mumbled, his cheeks growing pinker. "It's... ...J-Junseo." He paused, took a deep breath, and stated his full name with an effort to sound brave: "MY NAME IS JUNSEO YUN."
This was the beginning of their new, blended family-a structure built on a foundation of wealth, ambition, and a shared, terrible secret that only two people truly knew.
Seventeen Years Later
The cityscape was a blur of towering buildings, blaring "BEEP BEEP" of traffic, and the insistent "HOOOOONK" of car horns. Seventeen years had passed since the murder, the lie, and the fateful meeting.
The small, bruised girl who once trembled in the dark stairwell was
now a woman of dazzling public renown: Baek A Jin. Her face, poised and beautiful, was plastered on a massive billboard high above the traffic.
News headlines flashed by, tracking her stratospheric rise:
"ACTRESS AJIN BAEK IS BELOVED BY THE ADVERTISEMENT INDUSTRY"
"ACTRESS AJIN BAEK SWEEPS UP THE #1 SPOT IN THE BRAND VALUE RANKINGS"
"A-LIST ACTOR, AJIN BAEK AIMS FOR A TRIPLE CROWN ACHIEVEMENT AT THE FILM AWARDS!"
"EVERY TEENAGER'S ROLE MODEL, AJIN BAEK'S POPULARITY IS ENDLESS"
She was a star, flawless and untouchable. A poster celebrating her "SIXTH DEBUT ANNIVERSARY" advertised a fan meeting, featuring Ajin holding a single red rose.
The Unseen Man
In a dimly lit room, away from the city lights and the roar of the crowd, a man sat slouched in a chair, staring at a laptop. The light from the screen illuminated his weary, somber face. It was Junseo Yun.
A headline, far more personal than any celebrity ranking, dominated the laptop screen: "[EXCLUSIVE] AJIN BAEK CONFIRMS RUMORS SHE IS DATING A CHAEBOL WITH 'PLANS TO MARRY SOON'"
Junseo leaned back, the weight of the news a physical pressure on his chest.
He saw the poster of Ajin, the rose, the elegant woman she had become, all reflected in the window. The girl who once asked his name shyly was now a beacon of success, preparing to join one of the country's most powerful families.
The Final Message
His phone vibrated on the dark surface of his desk: "BZZZ". An email notification appeared, followed almost immediately by a text message. Junseo picked up the phone. The message was brief and devastating.
"I'm getting married soon."
He stared at the screen, his expression unreadable-a mixture of cold resolve and deep pain.
Then, a new set of messages arrived, cutting off any chance of dialogue or confrontation. The sender was listed as Ajin Baek.
"My management will be announcing it to the public," the message read.
"I can't turn back now."
"I want it all. Don't get in my way."
A final, cold notification sealed the conversation: "Ajin Baek has left the chat."
Junseo remained seated in the quiet room, holding the phone, his jaw clenched, his eyes dark. He was no longer the shy, blushing boy. He was a man holding the knowledge of a brutal crime and the terrifying weight of a shared past with a woman who had just commanded him to disappear from her glittering new life. The fragile peace they had maintained for seventeen years had just shattered.
This scene focuses on Junseo's actions and Ajin's public life. Since the prompt asks for a novel expansion from Ajin's perspective, I will integrate her viewpoint into the grand spectacle of the awards ceremony while Junseo sets his plan in motion.
Chapter 6: The Unraveling Hour
Junseo's Calculated Strike
In a sterile, fluorescent-lit office, Junseo Yun stood hunched over the phone, a marker clutched in his hand near a whiteboard covered with planning notes. His voice was calm, a chilling counterpoint to the nervous tremor in the voice on the other end of the line.
"Please proceed with the broadcast as planned," Junseo instructed, his eyes fixed on some unseen point on the wall.
The voice on the phone hesitated, laced with trepidation. "Mister Yun... you do know that... the Film Awards ceremony will be live at the same time as our broadcast, right?"
Junseo knew. That was precisely the point. His gaze drifted to a large, black and white photograph of Ajin Baek tacked up near the board. She was poised and beautiful in the image.
"Ajin Baek is a nominee for the Best Actress award," the voice continued, stating the obvious. "A lot of people think that she will receive the award."
Junseo said nothing, instead reaching for the marker. He drew a harsh, dark 'X' across the face of the stunning actress, a brutal act of condemnation on the glossy paper. A single, ominous red tack sat precisely over her head like a bullseye.
He finally spoke, his voice low, a promise of devastation. "Yes, I know. I think it'll be better this way."
He was planning to not only destroy her career but to utterly redefine her memory in the public eye.
"I would like people to remember..." he paused, looking at the crossed-out image, the beautiful mask she wore. "...Ajin's last moments... as her most beautiful, radiant self."
His intent was clear: the ultimate public sacrifice. He would let her achieve her greatest triumph before tearing it all down. His project, his vengeance, now had a title, displayed in stark black and white on a promotional screen: Dear X.
Ajin's Final Ascent
The atmosphere was a dizzying rush of light and noise. This was it-the 52nd Yejong Film Awards. This was the moment she had worked for, lied for, sacrificed for. Ajin Baek, in a breathtaking, sparkling white gown, stepped onto the crimson expanse of the red carpet.
The crowd erupted.
"YOU'RE SO BEAUTIFUL!"
"OH MY GOSH!!"
"AAHHH!! PLEASE LOOK OVER HERE!"
"AJIN!"
FLASH. FLASH. FLASH. The relentless barrage of camera lights was blinding, transforming the reality around her into a dazzling, ethereal dream. Every click reinforced her status, her power, the successful construction of her perfect life.
The new life her father promised wasn't a choice; it was a cage Ajin had gilded with gold. She didn't just play the role of a successful actress; she became the role. She had to be perfect, because she was built on a lie, and perfection was the only thing that could keep the foundation from cracking.
She moved with grace, every smile, every wave, a practiced choreography of stardom. A close-up revealed her flawless makeup, the subtle hint of pink on her lips, the glittering diamond earrings that caught the light-the complete, pristine product of "JOB: ACTRESS."
A thought flickered through her mind, sharp and cold, even as she basked in the adoration: They don't know me. They see the trophy, the flawless façade. That's exactly how it must stay.
A brief, stark text summary appeared beneath her image on a monitor, detailing a quiet truth only she, Junseo, and perhaps one or two doctors knew: "REMARKS: HAS A NEUROLOGICAL CONDITION THAT IS SAID TO AFFECT APPROXIMATELY 4% OF THE HUMAN POPULATION." It was a ghost of a fact, buried beneath the glamour, a weakness she fiercely guarded.
She posed again, her foot-encased in a dazzling, glitter-covered pump-perfectly placed on the carpet. The silver shoe, sparkling with a thousand captured lights, was an undeniable symbol of the wealth and glory she now commanded. She had climbed out of the darkness of that old, poor life and now stood at the very top, her feet shod in diamonds.
She knew Junseo was out there. She had sent the message: Don't get in my way. She had to cut him off, sever the last, living thread to the life she buried under a mound of lies and fame. He was the secret keeper, the only one who could truly expose the terrifying, brutal reality of her past. She had gambled that her threat, her power, and her sheer will to win, would keep him silent.
She had no idea that her ex-stepbrother, the quiet boy she'd met that first day, wasn't trying to stop her ascent-he was simply waiting for the peak.
The announcer's voice boomed over the speakers, preparing to announce the winner of Best Actress. Ajin smiled, her eyes locked on the prize, utterly unaware that at that very moment, a dark, broadcast signal was preparing to launch, a missile aimed directly at the heart of her glorious, fraudulent life. Her triumph was about to become the prelude to her utter destruction.
The camera flashes dimmed, and the lights of the theater focused on the stage. The moment of truth was here. Do you want to know what happens to Ajin next, or are you curious about the "neurological condition" mentioned in the remarks?

The lights were blinding. The sheer volume of the applause was a physical wave, washing over me, affirming my success, my existence, the glorious culmination of seventeen years of tireless performance. This was it. The presenter was opening the envelope for the Best Actress award at the 52nd Yejong Film Awards. I could feel the weight of the invisible crown settling on my head.
My whole body, encased in the elegant sheath of the white gown and the shimmering silver pumps, was a picture of poised anticipation. This is what I risked everything for. This is what makes the past irrelevant. The cheers of the crowd were a symphony of validation. "AJIN! YOU'RE SO BEAUTIFUL!" they screamed. I was no longer the bruised, frightened girl in the stairwell; I was an A-list icon.
My smile was perfect, a professional work of art, but behind it, my mind was racing. I had dismissed Junseo with those final, cold messages, sending him back into the shadows where he belonged. He was a threat, a loose end, a key to the cheap, bloody lock I'd thrown away years ago. I had to believe my power, my untouchable status, would silence him forever.
Suddenly, a strange shift happened. The noise of the theater didn't fade, but it changed. A dissonant murmur started to ripple through the crowd, like static interference disrupting a clear signal. People weren't just looking at me now; they were looking at their phones, at the massive screens backstage that were supposed to be showing a commercial break.
Then, the main screens, which were displaying the official award graphics, glitched. The ornate logo of the Film Awards shimmered and was abruptly replaced by a stark, unsettling graphic: 'Dear X.'
Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through my professional composure. No. This isn't part of the show.
On the screen, my name flashed:
NAME: AJIN BAEK. JOB: ACTRESS.
But then, the lower third displayed an unnerving remark, one that only a handful of people in the entire world knew about:
REMARKS: HAS A NEUROLOGICAL CONDITION THAT IS SAID TO AFFECT APPROXIMATELY 4% OF THE HUMAN POPULATION.
My breath hitched. My heart hammered against my ribs, a chaotic drum against the silence that had begun to creep over the theater. That fact-a closely guarded secret I feared would destroy my image of perfect stability-was just the beginning.
I knew with a sickening certainty whose doing this was. Junseo Yun was not just aiming to interrupt my life; he was aiming to obliterate it. He wasn't trying to stop me; he was waiting for me to stand on the highest pedestal before pulling the entire structure down.
The presenters looked bewildered. The audience was transfixed by the screens. The perfect, dazzling moment of my life had been hijacked. The camera flashes, which had only minutes ago celebrated my glamour, were now capturing the horrified realization dawning on my face.
He wanted people to remember Ajin's last moments... as her most beautiful, radiant self. Junseo was turning my triumph into a televised execution, using my peak moment to deliver the ultimate truth.
I stared at the screen, unable to move, my beautiful gown suddenly feeling like a shroud. The silent film of the past was about to play for the entire world. The lie was ending.
The broadcast has begun. Do you want to know what Junseo reveals next, or do you want a deeper look at the "neurological condition" that Ajin is so desperately hiding?
The booming voice of the presenter announcing the award was swallowed by the sudden, chilling dominance of the broadcast. The screen had been hijacked by a title card, its font jarringly intrusive against the elegance of the film awards: "IN-DEPTH DOCUMENTARY: DIM HEART - THE TWO FACES OF AN ACTRESS."
A ripple of sheer, paralyzing terror shot through me. This wasn't just a threat; this was Junseo pulling the pin.
The documentary began with a flashing, clinical text summary that landed like a punch: "SHE IS A SOCIOPATH." Then, the screen cut to a familiar interview setup, featuring a question that immediately set the tone for the brutal exposé: "Q. WHAT WAS AJIN LIKE?"
The broadcast featured a series of spliced interviews, showcasing the shocking duality of the public's perception of me.
First, the voices of my high school friends were heard over a graphic of a ringing cell phone, creating an auditory juxtaposition of my crafted image.
JaEO KIM | HIGHSCHOOL FRIEND: "She was quite famous in our high school. She was pretty, kind, and smart. Imagemaking? That's ridiculous. She's a genuine and kind person."
This was the narrative I had built-the popular, flawless girl, the one who was loved and talented. It was the truth of my performance.
But then, the narrative swung violently, showing the hidden, darker side that Junseo was ruthlessly exposing.
Seonghee SIM | HIGHSCHOOL FRIEND: Her face was stern, unforgiving. "She's evil. She's a demon in the guise of a human being."
The screen cut to interviews with people from later in my life, further painting the picture of a chilling manipulator.
The screen cut to interviews with people from later in my life, further painting the picture of a chilling manipulator.
YUSIK JO | FORMER COWORKER: He spoke of the devotion I effortlessly commanded.
"She was a great employee and our boss loved her. He was more worried about her than himself even when he was about to go to prison." I remember that man. He went to prison for me. Just another casualty.
Then came the voice of outright hatred.
INMO HEO | INKANG HEO'S BROTHER: Dressed in a dark cap, his eyes were burning with cold vengeance. "She didn't even come to my brother's funeral. She made a fool out of him.
She's a b*tch." Inkang Heo... another person I discarded when they were no longer useful. I felt nothing for his death, only annoyance at the potential fallout.
The contrast was staggering. The live feed of the award show flashed on the screen, showing me on the stage, the newly crowned BEST ACTRESS, my face a mask of composed fear, right as the documentary was labeling me a sociopath.
The immediate public reaction was explosive. My name, AJIN BAEK'S PAST, and the documentary title, DIM HEART, shot to the very top of the TRENDING SEARCHES.
The internet was melting down, caught between my moment of glory and this vicious, televised assassination.
Junseo timed this perfectly. He didn't just want to expose me; he wanted to destroy me at my absolute height, turning my greatest accomplishment into the backdrop for my public ruin.
Miles away, in her gilded cage of an office, CEO MIRI SEO of Long Star
Entertainment was in a state of righteous, powerful fury. The image of the plaque-"CEO'S OFFICE, LONG STAR ENTERTAINMENT"-was the only calm thing in the frame.
SLAM!
Miri Seo's fist crashed down on her desk. "WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!!" she screamed into her phone. Her face was contorted with rage, her career dissolving in real-time.
"DO YOU EVEN HAVE A CONSCIENCE?! I KNOW YOU'RE DOING THIS FOR THE VIEWS..." she railed against the broadcast producer. "YOU JUST PUT HER ON THE CHOPPING BLOCK... AND PAINTED A TARGET ON HER BACK!!"
She spat her ultimate threat, her voice shaking with controlled violence. "HOW COULD YOU AIR THAT FILTH YOU CALL AN EPISODE... WHILE SHE'S ON THE NEXT CHANNEL RECEIVING AN AWARD?! HA...! WHAT?! OH, IT'LL DEFINITELY BE YOUR PROBLEM ONCE I GET IN TOUCH WITH OUR LAWYERS. AND I'M NOT GOING TO LET YOU GET AWAY WITH IT!!"
Her words were futile. The torrent had been released. Standing on that stage, with the crowd's whispers now sounding like hisses, I knew my life, the perfect, fabricated masterpiece I had constructed over two decades, was collapsing around me. The old life, the one I murdered on a flight of stairs, had finally come back for me, ushered in by the quiet boy who saw everything.
The initial shock has passed. Now that the truth of the two faces has been aired, what part of Ajin's history-her father's crime, or her "sociopathic" acts-do you think Junseo will reveal next to fully seal her fate?
The award felt impossibly heavy in my hand, an absurd symbol of a victory that had been instantly tainted. My acceptance speech dissolved into a panicked rush off the stage, the confused whispers of the crowd pursuing me like shadows.
I was no longer the Best Actress; I was the focus of a viral witch-hunt.
My manager, flustered and frantic, met me backstage. Before I could even demand what was happening, her phone was shoved into my ear.
"Screw the after party!! Tell her to come to the office immediately!!!" My CEO, Miri Seo, was screaming. The urgency in her voice sliced through the ringing in my ears. The awards were canceled. The triumph was meaningless.
The only thing that mattered was damage control.
I was bundled into a waiting SUV. The city lights blurred into streaks of fear as the driver sped away from the theater. I huddled in the back seat, my magnificent gown crumpled beneath me.
"We're trying to figure that out, but... we're having trouble since they filmed with such secrecy..." my manager muttered, trying to track down the source of the "Dim Heart" documentary. The screens in the car were useless, showing only my shattered reality.
Then, a new wave of cold dread washed over me. "Also, your boyfriend has been calling you while you were at the ceremony..."
My fiancé. The chaebol heir whose family wealth was my ultimate prize, my final, untouchable shield. If he was calling, it meant the documentary had reached his world. The lie was not just public now; it was personal.
"STOP THE CAR..." I gasped, my voice thin and raw.
"Huh?" the driver hesitated.
"HOOOOOOONK! JUST STOP THE DAMN CAR AND GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!!" I screamed, the control I had perfected for so long finally shattering. The car screeched to a halt under the high, yellow lights of a bridge. I didn't care about the CEO, the lawyers, or the contract. I had to face the true source of this devastation.
I grabbed my phone. My fingers trembled as I scrolled past the missed calls from my fiancé, past the endless stream of notifications, and landed on Junseo's number. I had to hear his voice, had to understand the scale of his vengeance.
I found myself back in my apartment, sitting alone in the dark, the German lieder-Du meine Seele, du mein Herz, du meine Wonne, o du mein Schmerz-playing softly from my speaker.
You, my soul, my heart, my joy, oh, my pain. The music felt like a cruel joke, a soundtrack to my demise.
I saw the interview transcript on my phone screen: "The following excerpt... is from an interview with our anonymous informant."
An anonymous informant?
As if... I scoffed, the word burning in my throat. I knew who the informant was. I could see the image of my high school friend Seonghee Sim calling me a "demon in the guise of a human being," but it was Junseo's face I saw behind her accusation.
I stared at my reflection in the dark screen, my hair long and disheveled, the beautiful actress now just a woman consumed by fear. "WHO COULD HAVE TIPPED THEM OFF...?" I whispered, the answer screaming in my mind.
Then, the final, brutal paragraphs of the anonymous testimony appeared:
> SHE IS A SOCIOPATH.
> SHE SEES PEOPLE AS TOOLS AND WILL USE THEM AS A MEANS TO AN END.
> SHE HAS NEVER KILLED BEFORE, BUT SHE HAS THE BLOOD OF TWO PEOPLE (***** BAEK, ***** HEO) ON HER HANDS.
> SHE INTENTIONALLY AND METHODICALLY APPROACHES MEN SHE PLANS ON USING.
> SHE PLANS ON TAKING YET ANOTHER LIFE.
> HER NAME IS...
> ...AJIN BAEK.
>
The blood of two people. The first was my mother, pushed by my father, a crime I was complicit in through my silence.
The second, Inkang Heo, the poor man who went to prison for me and later died, a true casualty of my ambition. And the final life I plan on taking? They knew about the chaebol marriage. They knew I intended to bleed his family dry, taking everything.
My own face, haggard and fearful, was reflected in the phone. I finally dialed the only number that mattered.
"HELLO?" Junseo's voice, quiet and composed, answered the call.
I covered my mouth, tears of rage and betrayal streaming down my face. "JUNSEO..." I choked out the name, the man who had been my quiet shadow for seventeen years.
"...YOU BASTARD!"
I was trapped. Junseo had not only exposed the lie of my life, he had set the stage for the true crime to be revealed. He had waited, patient and cold, for the moment of my greatest triumph to strike.
What do you think Ajin will say to Junseo now that he has launched his attack, or would you like to know more about the two lives the informant claims she has blood on her hands for?
"JUNSEO... YOU BASTARD!" My voice was a raw, choked whisper, the German lieder mocking me with its sorrowful romance. I clutched the phone, my jaw tight with a primal mix of fury and fear.
His voice came back, calm, measured, and utterly devoid of emotion. "Let me guess. You saw the broadcast."
"Why are you doing this to me?" I demanded, the composure of 'Actress Ajin Baek' utterly dissolved. "Do you even know what you've done?!"
"I know exactly what I've done, Ajin," he replied, his tone like a blade. "Miss Seo won't be able to put out the fire this time. And your fiancé will undoubtedly break things off with you."
A wave of hot nausea hit me. The chaebol marriage-my ultimate goal, the impenetrable fortress I was building-was crumbling before the mortar had even set. "JUNSEO!!" I screamed his name, desperate now.
I stared at the image of myself on my phone, the former high school girl, clutching flowers, with a bandage over the bruises I'd learned to hide. I remembered the day I posed for that photo, just after my world changed forever. "What is it that you want from me?"
I pleaded, the question laced with venom. "How could you do this when... you know how hard I worked to get here?!"
I launched into the argument that always worked on others: the sheer volume of my effort. "You might be okay with throwing it down the drain... but I'm not!"
A small, chilling sound came from his end of the line-a quiet chuckle. "Ah, there's the Ajin I know..."
His voice hardened, every syllable a deliberate strike. "If you want to throw your life away, go ahead, but don't drag me down with you!!"
"We've been walking down the wrong path... for far too long," I insisted, trying to appeal to the phantom of the shared childhood trauma, the single thread that connected us.
"Let's stop... pretending," he cut me off, his voice soft again, but even more menacing.
I could see him in my mind: the pale, quiet boy who'd met me that first day, now the architect of my total ruin. He had stood by and watched me build this tower of lies, and only now, at the moment of my greatest height, was he pushing me off the ledge.
"I know you better than anyone because..." he paused, the silence stretching like a wire ready to snap. "...I turned you into the monster that you are."
"WHAT...?" I whispered, my world tilting. I thought I was the master manipulator, that I had survived and adapted. But his words struck a deep chord of truth I had desperately tried to silence.
My father had told me my mother "fell down the stairs," and that she "did this to herself". He had threatened me:
"If you don't end up like your mother... you'd better do whatever I tell you..." He created the silence that protected his crime. But Junseo was the one who taught me how to weaponize that silence, how to see the world as a game I had to win.
"Ajin," he said, his final words delivering the death blow.
"The only reason you think you worked hard is because you never had to live in the shadow of a murderer, constantly afraid he'd turn on you. Your father taught you to survive. I taught you how to thrive by making others fear you."
The phone went dead. I lowered it slowly, the dark screen reflecting a face stripped bare of its celebrity glamour-just a woman with a desperate, terrifying secret.
Junseo has declared his motives. The "Dim Heart" documentary has accused me of having the "blood of two people" on my hands. Which of those two incidents-the original murder that brought my family together, or the death of Inkang Heo-will Junseo reveal next?
Junseo's calm, final accusation-"I turned you into the monster that you are"-hit harder than my father's fist ever did. It was the truth behind the mask I wore for seventeen years, the horrifying secret I shared with the man who was now dismantling my life piece by piece.
He had hung up, leaving me alone with the chilling silence of my apartment and the ghost of the past. The "Dim Heart" documentary, the one Junseo had set in motion, now cut directly to the most damning footage: a stark, shadowy image of a stairwell.
The First Crime: My Mother
The voice of the narrator, cold and journalistic, began to speak over the visual of the red-carpet stairs I had just left, which now morphed into the blood-stained staircase of my childhood apartment.
The screen displayed a clinical question from a past interview, clearly the one I'd given years ago: "Q. YOU SAID YOU WERE THE FIRST PERSON TO FIND YOUR MOTHER. DID YOU NOTICE ANYONE STRANGE NEARBY THE STAIRS?".
My answer was a lie, a carefully constructed shield that had protected my father and bought me a new life: "A. NO... I DIDN'T SEE ANYONE ELSE. MY MOM WAS LYING THERE ALL BY HERSELF.".
The documentary shattered that lie. The scene shifted back to that night, a dark memory that played out for the world to see. A child's voice, my own voice from the past, echoed in the room: "HEY DAD, WHAT WAS THAT SOUND JUST NOW-?".
I saw the floor covered in blood, my mother's body crumpled at the foot of the stairs. Then, my father's face, a grotesque mask of false reassurance and threat, took up the entire screen.
"LISTEN TO ME, AJIN," he had hissed. "YOUR MOM FELL DOWN THE STAIRS. SHE GOT DRUNK AND TRIPPED... SHE DID THIS TO HERSELF, YOU GOT THAT?".
His words were a chisel, carving out my conscience, replacing it with a survival instinct.
Then came the ultimate ultimatum, the foundation of all my subsequent lies: "IF YOU DON'T WANT TO END UP LIKE YOUR MOTHER... YOU'D BETTER DO WHATEVER I TELL YOU...".
The scene of my father standing over my mother, putting on her shoes before declaring, "...IT'S TIME TO SAY GOODBYE," was broadcast in sickening detail. The police tape, the murmur of the crowd, the small, bewildered version of me standing next to my father as they carried the body away-it was all there.
The documentarian's focus shifted to my father's chilling motivation: "YOU WERE SICK OF HER TOO, WEREN'T YOU? I'LL FIND YOU A NEW, BETTER MOM. THE NEW WOMAN I'VE BEEN SEEING IS LOADED. SHE HAS A SON ABOUT YOUR AGE... WE WON'T HAVE TO LIVE IN THIS DUMP ANYMORE.".
That woman, of course, was Junseo's mother. The broadcast finally revealed the truth: I was a murderer's accomplice. I had traded my mother's life and the truth for a better one, and that better life was with Junseo and his wealthy family.
The Reckoning
I curled into a ball on my apartment floor, my elegant gown a mockery. My own childhood face, bruised and terrified, seemed to stare at me from the phone. This wasn't just a revelation; it was an explanation for the sociopath the world now knew me to be.
Junseo had not just pulled the trigger; he was explaining the bullet's trajectory, starting with the moment our lives first collided.
The television screen glowed with the image of a much younger me, standing at the door of my new, lavish home, being greeted by Junseo's mother and a shy boy named Junseo.
"MY NAME IS AJIN. WHAT WAS YOUR NAME AGAIN?". I had approached Junseo then as an innocent boy who was a means to an end. Now, the tables had violently turned.
Junseo had revealed the first piece of blood on my hands: my mother, a crime I was never charged with, but complicit in. The documentary was far from over.
Now that the truth about the origin of my new life is out, the only remaining mystery for the public is the second life I'm said to have ruined: Inkang Heo.