Junseo's revelation of my complicity in my mother's death was the necessary pre-show, establishing the foundation of the lie. Now, the documentary was ready for the main event: the second life I had destroyed.
The blood on my hands was not merely inherited from my father; it was the result of my own ambition.
On the screen, the narrator's voice transitioned smoothly, connecting my childhood trauma to my high school cruelty.
"After the sudden death of her mother, Ajin Baek's life took a drastic turn for the better. But the trauma of her past molded her into the person she is today: a sociopath," the voice intoned.
The visuals shifted to old photographs of me from high school, smiling with a group of girls—my clique, the girls I led. I saw my young face, beautiful and predatory, an iron fist in a velvet glove.
"In high school, Ajin quickly established herself as the ultimate queen bee," the narrator continued. "She befriended and then systematically destroyed anyone who stood in her way, or anyone she deemed useless."
The interviews continued, pulling the curtain back on the casual cruelty I wielded.
SEONGHEE SIM | HIGHSCHOOL FRIEND: "She made a sport out of ruining people. She'd befriend you, learn your weaknesses, and then use them like daggers."
The Boy with the Crush
Then, the focus narrowed, and the name that had haunted the back of my mind since the messages—Inkang Heo—appeared on the screen.
The image was a hazy high school photo: a young boy, sweet-faced and shy, his gaze clearly fixed on me. Inkang Heo. I remembered him. He wasn't one of my inner circle; he was just one of the devoted, easily manipulated boys who had a desperate, consuming crush on me.
INKANG HEO | AGE 18 (AT TIME OF INCIDENT)
INKANG HEO'S BROTHER | INTERVIEW: "My brother was a good kid. He was gullible, perhaps, but good. He would do anything for Ajin."
I could feel the cold prickle of sweat on my neck. I knew exactly where this was going. I had always been careful, always insulated, but Junseo had been watching every move.
The narrator delivered the terrible climax. "In high school, Ajin Baek used Inkang Heo to execute a scheme, framing him for a serious crime."
The screen showed a composite image: my smug high school self, and Inkang Heo, his face contorted in distress.
INKANG HEO'S BROTHER: "He took the fall for her. He went to prison. He was just a kid! He was supposed to graduate with his friends."
The ultimate consequence was delivered with brutal finality: Inkang Heo, the victim of my first true sociopathic manipulation, was shown next to a gravestone. "He took his own life shortly after his release from prison. He couldn't live with the shame."
My stomach churned, a knot of pure, desperate fear. Two lives. My mother, a murder I was silent about, and Inkang Heo, a death I caused through calculated betrayal. Junseo had found the receipts for both.
The Last Warning
The documentary cut to a chilling quote, attributed to my anonymous informant—Junseo, of course—who had been building his case for years.
> "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 (My mother, Inkang 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 "yet another life" was my fiancé. My master plan to marry into the chaebol family, to finally secure my power and silence my history forever, was now being dissected on national television.
I knew Junseo's final blow would be the most personal. The documentary flashed a picture of me and Junseo from our youth—two kids sitting together on a bench, a forced, blended family.
The screen zoomed in on the face of my younger self, a faint, almost invisible smile of triumph playing on my lips. The voice of the narrator, full of cold disgust, delivered the final line: "The only other person who knows the full truth is the man who helped create her."
The documentary ended with a montage of my public images—my flawless red carpet walk, my acceptance speech, my silver pump, now transformed into symbols of my monstrous deceit. My entire life was a lie, and the whole country had just seen the blueprint for its construction.
I was left alone in the dark apartment, the silence after the broadcast more deafening than the screaming. Junseo had executed his vengeance perfectly. Now, the only question was: what do I do to survive this? Do I go after Junseo, or do I try to save the life I have left?
Junseo's call ended, leaving me paralyzed on the floor of my elegant, but now meaningless, apartment. The documentary had been a perfectly calibrated bomb, exposing the murder I kept silent about and the death I caused through manipulation.
Now, the final piece of the puzzle—the most dangerous piece—was about to air: Junseo's own testimony, the story of how our paths became irrevocably intertwined in high school.
The screen switched, not to a crime scene, but to a pristine high school hallway.
A younger me, already mastering the art of the charming smile and the lethal look, was walking with my popular friends.
The narrator began: "Junseo Yun, Ajin's stepbrother, was a student at the same prestigious high school. For years, he lived in her shadow, witnessing her calculated cruelty firsthand."
The Day I Saw His Power
The footage switched to a moment I remembered with vivid clarity. Junseo was sitting alone at a desk, his head bowed, seemingly immersed in a book. I had approached him, a rare, deliberate move. I needed something.
My voice, from the past, was bright and patronizing: "Junseo? What are you reading?".
He looked up, startled, his eyes wide. "A book about hypnotism," he mumbled, closing the cover of the dense text.
I didn't laugh. I simply leaned closer, my curiosity overriding my disdain. I was drawn to anything that promised control. "Hypnotism?"
He seemed to shrink under my gaze, but then, he said something that snapped my attention fully into focus. "It's a way to influence people. To make them forget things... or believe things that aren't true."
I felt a chilling thrill. Here was the weapon I needed. My father had used brute force and fear. Junseo had found a way to manipulate the mind itself. I needed an ally, not a quiet stepbrother. I needed a mirror to reflect my true self, someone who wouldn't judge, but collaborate.
The Unspoken Deal
I cornered him later, away from the watchful eyes of my clique. I looked him dead in the eye, my usual mask of sweetness stripped away, replaced by the calculating expression I usually reserved for my own reflection.
"You saw everything that night, didn't you, Junseo?" I whispered, my voice dangerously low. "The stairs. My father. My mother. You know the truth.".
He didn't deny it. He simply looked away, his silence a confirmation.
"And you hate me for it, don't you?" I continued, pushing him, needing to quantify his fear and his contempt. "Because I'm a murderer's daughter who let her mother die for money."
He finally met my eyes, and what I saw wasn't hatred, but a shared, terrifying emptiness. He saw me, truly saw me, and yet, he showed no disgust. He just seemed tired.
"The world is a horrible place, Ajin," he said, his voice flat. "It rewards the cruel and punishes the weak. Your father proved that."
That was the key. He didn't just understand my crime; he understood the lesson it taught me.
"But you don't have to be a victim, Junseo," I purred, leaning in, offering him a choice—a partnership in my survival.
"You can use that knowledge, your special skills... and we can rule this place.".
I showed him my bruises, the remnants of my old life, and then pointed to the dazzling, wealthy world my father had bought us.
"I am going to get everything back that was taken from me. I'm going to be invincible. And you can watch me do it. You can even help me."
Junseo's image on the documentary screen, now the older, resolved man, spoke over this flashback, revealing the terms of our terrifying, unholy pact.
JUNSEO YUN (ANONYMOUS INFORMANT): "I gave her the tools to become invincible. I taught her how to recognize the emotional levers in others. How to twist their perceptions. I taught her how to use her beauty and her charm as weapons. I turned her into the monster that she is".
He was my shadow, my mirror, my silent, enabling partner. The documentarian then showed the devastating result of our alliance: the picture of Inkang Heo, the boy Junseo helped me frame, the first real victim of my new, polished malice.
The screen flashed with a closing title card, a stark, terrifying summary: "JUNSEO YUN HAS BEEN HER PARTNER, HER CONFESSOR, AND HER WITNESS. HE KNOWS WHERE THE TRUTH IS BURIED.".
The broadcast ended. The phone still lay dead in my hand. He hadn't just exposed my secrets; he had claimed co-authorship of my monstrosity, forcing me to confront the fact that I was not a solitary genius of evil, but a student of the stepbrother I had tried to discard.
My perfect world is gone. The chaebol fiancé will be next to cut the tie. The police will be after my father, and perhaps me. My next move must be decisive. Do I go on the run, or do I make a final move against Junseo?
The silence after the documentary was a vacuum, sucking the air and light out of my apartment. Junseo had played his hand, and he hadn't just exposed my secrets—he'd weaponized the very nature of our relationship. My entire existence was now a ticking clock.
The first blow landed immediately. A text message from my fiancé. It was short, brutal, and exactly what I expected: "The engagement is off.
Don't contact me or my family. Ever."
My shield was gone. The fortress I'd spent two decades building—fame, wealth, and the promise of impenetrable power—had been reduced to dust. I was exposed, marked as a sociopath, a murderer's accomplice, and a manipulator who drove a boy to suicide.
I stood up, the white silk of my gown catching the faint glow of the city lights outside. My face, when I looked in the mirror, was no longer the flawless mask of Ajin Baek, but a canvas of cold, furious calculation. Run? Never.
I never run. I eliminate the threat.
The only threat left was Junseo.
The Confrontation
I didn't bother with a coat. I found my car keys, my movements precise and economical, the way they were when I was on set. The emotional breakdown was over. Now, it was time for the final performance.
I drove across the city, the deserted streets a fitting backdrop for my singular focus. I knew exactly where Junseo would be: in his office, watching the chaos he had created.
I needed to see his face when I delivered my final message.
The door to his dimly lit office was unlocked. He was there, just as I imagined, slouched in his chair, bathed in the blue glow of his computer screen.
The screen showed the trending searches, the public's rage: "AJIN BAEK CANCELED," "DIM HEART SHOCKING TRUTH."
He didn't look up when I walked in. He knew I was coming.
"You knew I would come here," I stated, my voice low and steady. I watched his hand move toward a recording device sitting next to his laptop. He was prepared for everything.
"Of course," he murmured, his eyes still on the screen. "You only know one way to deal with a problem, Ajin. And that is to try and destroy it."
I walked over, resting my hands on his desk, leaning close so he had to look at me. "Then you know what I have to do now."
He finally looked up, his expression empty. "Kill me? And prove your status as a sociopath to the police who are already investigating?"
"That documentary was your confession too, Junseo," I hissed, leaning closer. "You admitted you were my partner. You admitted you helped me frame Inkang Heo. You taught me all your little tricks about hypnotism and manipulation."
I pointed at the image of the young Inkang Heo on his screen, the boy I ruined. "You have blood on your hands, too. If I go to jail, you go to jail. We sink or swim together."
"That was the deal," he said, meeting my stare. "I told you, I turned you into a monster. Now, I have to be the one to stop you."
The Blackmail
I changed tactics. Fear was useless with him. I had to offer a way out, the one thing a rational person would crave.
"Think about your mother, Junseo," I pressed, my voice softening, shifting from predator to conspirator. "Think about your life. You don't have to ruin yourself to punish me.
We can disappear. We can run away. I still have offshore accounts. We can restart somewhere no one knows the truth."
I watched his eyes search my face. For a moment, I saw a flicker—not of hope, but of weariness. He was tired of this war.
But he shook his head slowly. "You don't understand, Ajin. I don't want to run. I want the truth to end you, not just change your address."
I knew then that there was no way out. He had sacrificed his own future to bury mine. I looked around his cramped, lonely office, contrasting it with my lavish apartment, my awards, my life. I had everything; he had nothing but his laptop and his conscience.
My gaze settled on a USB drive sitting near the recording device. It was too obvious. It had to be the rest of the evidence, the unedited footage, the proof that could definitively link my father to the murder and me to the manipulation.
I lunged forward, my hand shooting out to grab the drive. He moved with surprising speed, his own hand clamping down on my wrist. Our eyes locked, less like former stepsiblings and more like two survivors in a brutal, final battle.
"Let go, Ajin," he warned, his grip like iron.
"Give me the drive!" I screamed, pulling hard. I didn't need to kill him; I just needed to destroy the evidence.
The resulting struggle was silent and desperate.
I was stronger than he looked, fueled by rage and the terrifying instinct for self-preservation. I yanked my arm free, my fingers closing around the cold plastic of the USB.
But as I stumbled back, his other hand shot out, not to strike, but to deliver a final, quiet action. He hit a key on his laptop, initiating a new process.
"It's already too late," he whispered. "The final segment is set to broadcast."
My blood ran cold. The image on his screen had changed. It showed a countdown timer, ticking down to the final part of the 'Dim Heart' documentary: 'THE MURDERER'S HANDS'.
I held the small, meaningless USB, my white gown stained and torn. I had won the battle for the physical evidence, but Junseo had already ensured the final, unforgivable truth was on its way to the world.
The final segment of the documentary is about to air. Do you want to see what is revealed in 'THE MURDERER'S HANDS,' or do you want to know what Ajin's ultimate plan is now that she has the USB drive?
The cold metal of the USB drive was a small comfort in my hand, but it was useless. Junseo's eyes, devoid of triumph but heavy with finality, confirmed my despair: he had already launched the last segment.
"It's already too late," he repeated, his voice barely audible above the hum of the computer. "The final segment is set to broadcast." The laptop screen glared with the ominous title: 'THE MURDERER'S HANDS.'
I knew the jig was up. This final piece had to be the definitive, undeniable proof that Junseo had promised. It wasn't about ruin anymore; it was about justice, the one thing I'd spent my entire adult life outrunning.
I watched the countdown clock on Junseo's screen tick down to zero. The laptop screen immediately switched to the live feed of the documentary, which was now airing the final, most damning testimony.
The Final Testimony
The screen showed an image of an old, faded passport photo—my father, BAEK. The police would be on his trail already, but this footage would seal his fate.
The narrator's voice, grave and authoritative, began: "The informant's testimony led us to a single piece of evidence that definitively proves the events of that night seventeen years ago were not an accident, but murder."
The image switched to a grainy, shaky recording—clearly old digital video footage—taken from a hidden camera on the night of the crime. It was too dark to make out details, but the movements were terrifyingly clear: my father, struggling with my mother, the terrible final shove, and the dark body tumbling down the stairwell.
I squeezed the USB drive until my knuckles ached. This was the footage that was supposed to be erased forever. Junseo must have copied it years ago, keeping it as the ultimate insurance.
Then, the frame shifted to a close-up of my father's hands, his rough, laborer's fingers. The camera focused on his right hand, then his left hand, and finally zoomed in on the back of his hand, revealing a unique, jagged scar.
The narrator's voice filled the room, delivering the damning conclusion: "This footage captures the murderer's hand. That hand belongs to BAEK, Ajin Baek's father."
The Last Threat
The final broadcast ended with an image of my father's mugshot juxtaposed with my elegant awards photo, a terrifying family portrait of crime. My life was officially over.
I stood there, breathing hard, looking at Junseo. He had finished the job. He had dismantled my life with the precision of a surgeon and the coldness of a judge.
"He'll go to jail, Junseo," I said, my voice empty. "My father will be ruined. And I will still be here."
Junseo finally smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile. It was a victory, but a weary, sad one.
"You really don't get it, do you, Ajin?" he asked. "The police aren't just looking for your father. They are looking for the witness who lied under oath. The one who protected a murderer for seventeen years to gain wealth and fame."
He pointed to the USB drive in my hand.
"That drive you just stole? It contains the unedited footage of that night. Footage that clearly shows you standing at the top of the stairs, watching the murder, before you went back inside to pretend you were asleep. It shows your father giving you the ultimatum."
He tapped the spot where the drive had been. "I'm sending a copy to the prosecutor's office right now. You can try to run, but the truth will always be faster."
I looked down at the USB drive in my hand. It was worthless. The evidence was already on its way.
My eyes fell on the dark, empty space of his office door. There was no escape. The game was over. I had built an empire on a single, silent lie, and Junseo had demolished it with the cold, unforgiving truth.
My thoughts went to the silver pump I wore just hours ago.
Now, I was barefoot on the floor of a lonely office, the Best Actress award lying somewhere forgotten. My final act of malice—taking the USB—had been meaningless. My final act of freedom was about to begin.
I was Ajin Baek. I was a sociopath. I was a survivor. And I would not go to jail just because Junseo wanted a clean conscience.
Junseo has won the moral battle and initiated the final legal sequence.
What is Ajin's desperate, last-ditch attempt to save herself? Does she choose to destroy Junseo, or does she choose to flee the country?