The stage was still shrouded in a haze of destruction, the aftermath of the battle playing out like the closing act of a grim symphony. Ji-hoon stood over Siwan, his breath ragged, sweat staining his clothes, his heart pounding in his chest. The fight had taken everything from him—his strength, his clarity, and perhaps even his soul. But as the adrenaline ebbed, a strange stillness took its place, like the calm after a storm, though the air was far from peaceful.
Siwan lay on the ground, his face bruised and bloodied, his body too tired to move. For a moment, everything felt suspended in time, like the world was holding its breath, waiting for the next move.
Ji-hoon couldn't help but feel the weight of the silence around them. The sound of the crumpled piano, the broken shards of glass, and the distant hum of electricity cutting through the air were the only things that filled the space. Yet in the midst of all this destruction, something familiar lingered—something comforting, though twisted in its own way.
The air smelled like home.
It wasn't the fresh scent of a well-kept house or the warmth of a kitchen filled with the aroma of comfort food. No, this was the smell of something far more haunting. The scent of old books and faded memories, the scent of his mother's perfume, the faint trace of music she once played so beautifully that it seemed to dance in the air. It mixed with the metallic tang of blood, the sharpness of sweat, and the faint whiff of burned wood and broken dreams.
For a brief moment, Ji-hoon closed his eyes, trying to absorb it, to take in every single detail of this moment. It was his reality now—the fight, the violence, the scent of death hanging in the air. And yet, there was peace, too. The quiet aftermath of something that had been inevitable. A long time coming.
He stepped back from Siwan, his limbs stiff, his chest tight, as if the weight of the past had finally caught up with him. He thought of his mother again, of the lullabies she used to sing, of the way she would hold him when the nightmares came. He thought of the music that had once been a bridge between them, a language they both understood.
But that music was gone now. What remained was only the echo of it, haunting him like a ghost.
Hye-jin's voice cut through the stillness, soft but clear. "It's over, Ji-hoon."
He didn't answer at first, his eyes lingering on Siwan, who remained motionless on the floor. The blood had pooled around him, staining the ground in a cruel reminder of what had been done. Siwan was still breathing, barely, but he wouldn't get up again. Not for a long time.
"I know," Ji-hoon replied, his voice distant, almost empty.
Hye-jin approached, her steps cautious but sure. Her eyes swept over the wreckage of the stage, the pieces of shattered instruments, the broken remains of their past. She stopped beside Ji-hoon, her gaze falling on the wreckage of Siwan's body. "What now?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ji-hoon didn't look at her. Instead, he stared at Siwan, his mind trying to reconcile what had happened. He'd fought for so long, for so many years, for the truth, for justice. But now that it was over, there was a strange emptiness, like the final note of a song that had been played too many times. What was left for him now?
The fight had been brutal, and yet it had been necessary. He had to end it. He had to make Siwan pay for everything. The pain, the lies, the destruction. He had to take back what was stolen from him.
But as the adrenaline wore off, as the intensity of the moment faded, Ji-hoon felt himself unraveling. There was no victory here, no triumph. Just a hollow sense of finality.
"I don't know," Ji-hoon whispered, his voice cracking as he finally turned to Hye-jin. "I don't know what comes next."
Hye-jin gave him a sad, understanding look. "You don't have to have all the answers right now. Not everything needs to be figured out in this moment."
Ji-hoon looked down at the shattered remnants of the piano, the one thing that had always been a constant for him. Now, it was just a broken piece of metal and wood, an echo of a time when things had felt simpler.
"Can I go back?" he asked quietly, his words barely audible in the quiet room. "Can I go back to who I was before all this?"
Hye-jin's gaze softened, her voice steady. "You can never go back, Ji-hoon. But you can go forward. You can rebuild. It's not going to be easy, but you don't have to do it alone."
The weight of her words settled over him, heavy but true. There was no going back to the person he had been before all of this—the boy who once believed in the purity of music, who once thought everything could be fixed with a song. No. That person was gone. The innocence, the simplicity—it was all lost in the fight for justice, in the blood that had been spilled.
But perhaps, just perhaps, he could find a way forward. He could find a way to live in this new reality, where everything had been shattered but still somehow held together by the remnants of what was left.
Siwan's labored breathing continued in the background, but Ji-hoon didn't turn to look at him again. The fight was over. Siwan's reign had ended. And now, it was time for Ji-hoon to find his own path, to heal from the wounds of the past.
Hye-jin placed a hand on his shoulder, her grip firm yet gentle. "You don't have to do it all at once. Take it one step at a time."
Ji-hoon closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of her hand through the fabric of his shirt, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself to breathe. The music was gone, the violence was done, and the past couldn't be undone. But there was something new here, something fragile, something worth fighting for.
"Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to believe in something other than revenge. Something other than pain.
The sound of Siwan's breathing began to slow, and Ji-hoon's heart clenched. There was no victory in this moment, no catharsis, but there was a kind of peace. A peace that he hadn't felt in years.
It was the smell of home—broken, battered, and battered again, but still there.
The stage was still, the air thick with the remnants of violence. Ji-hoon stood there, muscles tense, his mind buzzing with the aftermath. But there was no time to savor the quiet or contemplate the peace. The faintest sound broke the silence—a soft scraping noise, like someone dragging themselves across the floor.
Siwan was still alive.
His body had been through hell, but the bastard was clinging to life. Ji-hoon could feel his rage bubbling up again, like a storm ready to unleash. His fingers twitched, wanting to finish it all, but he restrained himself. Not yet.
He slowly turned around, eyes narrowing as he scanned the wreckage of the stage. The bloodstains on the floor, the broken pieces of instruments, the flickering lights—all of it was a testament to the war they had just fought.
"You're still breathing, Siwan?" Ji-hoon said, his voice cold, almost detached. He wanted to feel satisfaction, but all he could feel was the cold weight of exhaustion.
Siwan groaned, attempting to lift his head, his eyes still bloodshot and wild. "You think you've won?" His voice was hoarse, barely audible, but the venom in his words cut through the air like a knife.
Ji-hoon clenched his fists, the urge to finish him off pulling at him. But then something stopped him—a memory, fleeting and fragile, of a time before the madness. When it was just music. When everything had felt… pure. He shook his head, banishing the thought. It didn't matter anymore. Music was gone, and so was the life he had once known.
"You won't get away with this," Siwan spat, his lips curling into a grimace as he struggled to sit up, his hands trembling, blood dripping from his forehead.
Ji-hoon took a step closer, his boots crunching against the broken glass. "You already have." His voice was low, almost a whisper, but it held an icy certainty. "It's over for you."
But Siwan's eyes, despite the blood and the pain, burned with a maddened glint. His fingers clawed at the floor as he tried to push himself up, his body shaking with the effort. "You think you've destroyed everything? You're nothing but a puppet in a twisted game."
The anger that had simmered in Ji-hoon for so long flared again, but he fought to keep control. This wasn't just about revenge. He had to remember that. This wasn't just about killing Siwan—it was about ending a cycle. A cycle that had taken everything from him. And he wasn't going to let it continue.
Siwan's eyes darted around, frantic, looking for any way out. His breathing was shallow now, his movements slower, as if the fight had drained the last of his strength. But the desperation in his gaze remained.
"You think you're the hero here?" Siwan spat, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "You're just like me. No different."
The words cut deep, and for a moment, Ji-hoon felt something shift in him. But then he pushed the thought away. He wasn't like Siwan. He never would be. The blood on his hands wasn't just his to bear—it was a consequence of a world that had turned cruel. And Siwan was the symbol of that cruelty.
"Don't even try," Ji-hoon said coldly, stepping closer to him. "You're not getting out of here. This ends now."
Suddenly, Siwan made a last desperate move—his hand shot up, gripping a shard of glass from the broken instruments on the floor. With a guttural cry, he lunged at Ji-hoon, the glass shard aimed straight for his neck.
The movement was so fast, so unexpected, that Ji-hoon barely had time to react. He felt the cold sting of the shard grazing his skin before he managed to dodge to the side. The glass cut through the air with a terrifying shriek as Siwan's attack missed its mark.
But the force of Siwan's body slamming into him sent them both crashing to the ground. Ji-hoon's breath left him in a sharp rush, his vision spinning from the impact. The weight of Siwan's body on top of him was suffocating, but Ji-hoon pushed him off, managing to scramble back to his feet.
His heart was pounding, but he didn't hesitate. His body moved on instinct, fueled by pure rage. He kicked Siwan in the ribs, sending him sliding across the floor with a wet thud. Siwan coughed, blood splattering from his mouth as he struggled to sit up.
"You're still fighting?" Ji-hoon growled, his voice like gravel. His hands clenched into fists again, his knuckles white with the effort. "You're already dead."
Siwan's gaze never wavered. "You think this is over? You think you've won just because you're standing?"
Ji-hoon didn't answer. Instead, he moved, quick and precise. He grabbed the nearest broken chair leg, using it like a weapon. The blunt end slammed into Siwan's side, knocking the wind out of him with a sickening crack. Siwan's body jerked as he fell to the floor, the fight finally leaving him.
But even as Siwan lay there, defeated, Ji-hoon could feel the fury still coursing through him. The anger. The desperation. It didn't just end with Siwan's body—it never did. It never would. There was always something more.
Hye-jin stepped forward, her voice trembling but firm. "Ji-hoon, stop. It's over."
But Ji-hoon's eyes remained locked on Siwan. He was shaking now, his breath ragged, and his entire body felt like it was on fire. His grip on the chair leg tightened, the edges of his vision blurring with rage.
"I have to finish it," he muttered under his breath, his voice low and steady despite the storm building inside him.
Hye-jin reached out, grabbing his arm. "You've already done enough. He's not worth it."
Ji-hoon looked down at the broken body of Siwan, his pulse thundering in his ears. The air felt thick with tension, but a sudden wave of realization hit him.
This was it. This was the end. No more games. No more revenge.
Slowly, with a heavy sigh, Ji-hoon dropped the chair leg, letting it fall with a dull thud on the floor. The room was silent, save for the echo of their breaths and the distant hum of the broken lights.
He couldn't do it anymore.
Siwan had already taken enough. And it wasn't worth losing himself entirely in the process.
Hye-jin's hand on his arm was steady and reassuring, grounding him in the moment. "You did the right thing," she said softly.
Ji-hoon didn't respond at first, his eyes still locked on Siwan. But when he finally looked at Hye-jin, something shifted. A small, fragile hope flickered deep within him. It wasn't over. Not yet. But it would be someday.
The fight, the bloodshed, the violence—it was done. And now, it was time to rebuild.