Siwan's body was shaking, his skin turning cold as he gasped for breath. His hands gripped the edges of the table, knuckles turning white as his mind struggled to comprehend what was happening. The wine, the meal—it was all a blur now, his vision blurring as if his senses were being stripped from him, one by one. He tried to stand again, but his legs felt weak, trembling beneath him. His breath was shallow, desperate, each inhale coming more strained than the last. Panic started to set in as he realized something was wrong—terribly wrong.
Ji-hoon, on the other hand, watched him with calm detachment. His gaze was cold, unmoving, as though the scene unfolding before him was simply another chapter in a book he had long since finished reading. Siwan's fear, his confusion—it all tasted sweet to Ji-hoon, sweeter than any victory he could have imagined. Siwan had been the one to rob him of everything—his mother, his sanity, his peace. Now, Ji-hoon was in control, and it felt as though everything he had endured had led to this exact moment.
Siwan's voice trembled as he spoke, panic creeping into every syllable. "W-what did you do to me?" he croaked, his once confident demeanor completely shattered. His eyes darted around the room, trying to focus on something—anything—but the world was spinning out of control. His vision was blurry, his senses were betraying him, and his body was fighting against him. He felt weak, vulnerable in a way he had never experienced before.
"You've always been blind, Siwan," Ji-hoon said quietly, his voice low and almost mocking. "Not in the way you think. Not in the way of the eyes." He leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering as he looked directly into Siwan's panicked, confused eyes. "You've been blind to everything—everything that mattered. To the people you hurt. To the lives you destroyed. And now, the blindfold is finally being removed."
Siwan's breathing quickened as he clutched his chest, feeling his heart race in his chest, but the sensation wasn't just from fear. The poison was doing its work, gradually numbing his limbs, his muscles stiffening, his throat tightening. He could taste something bitter, metallic on his tongue, and he swallowed hard, hoping it would go away. But it didn't. It only grew worse. His stomach churned, and his vision swam as if the world itself were slipping away from him.
"W-what's happening?" Siwan gasped, his voice barely a whisper now. "I can't… I can't see straight. What did you do? What is this?"
"You really don't get it, do you?" Ji-hoon asked, his voice still calm but laced with something darker now. "You thought you were untouchable. That no one could ever make you pay for what you did. But you're wrong. You were blind, Siwan. You couldn't see the consequences of your actions. And now... you will. Slowly."
Siwan's eyes widened as realization hit him like a freight train. His body was failing him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The poison was spreading, coursing through his veins, and there was nothing—no amount of money, no power—he could use to undo it. He was powerless now, utterly at the mercy of Ji-hoon.
Ji-hoon stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. He walked toward Siwan, the air thick with tension, every step a reminder of how close he was to the end. He stopped just in front of Siwan, who was now hunched over, his breathing ragged, his face contorted with pain.
"This is what it feels like, Siwan," Ji-hoon whispered, kneeling down beside him. "This is what it feels like to be powerless. To be at the mercy of someone else. The way you left me... the way you left my mother."
Siwan's eyes fluttered, struggling to stay open, his head lolling to one side as if he couldn't control it. His lips parted, but he couldn't form words anymore—his body was betraying him, and he knew there was no way out. He tried to lift his hand, but it felt like lead, useless, and heavy. Desperation surged through him, and in the back of his mind, he finally understood. The blindfold was off. He could see it now—what Ji-hoon had planned. He had known from the very beginning. Ji-hoon was not going to let him go.
The realization was too much. Siwan's body trembled violently, and he let out a ragged, choking cough, his breath coming in shallow gasps. His vision was starting to fade, the room becoming darker, the edges of everything blurring together. His mind struggled to hold on to some sense of clarity, but it was slipping away. He could feel it. He could feel his life, his strength, draining from him with every second that passed. And through it all, Ji-hoon watched him—calm, composed, like a man observing the aftermath of a battle he had won.
Ji-hoon reached out, gently brushing Siwan's hair back from his forehead, a stark contrast to the violence of the moment. His fingers were cold, precise, and his expression unreadable as he leaned closer.
"You thought you could take everything from me," Ji-hoon murmured softly, almost to himself, as he gazed down at the man before him. "But in the end, it's always been me. I'm the one who gets the last word."
Siwan's breathing was becoming slower now, weaker, the poison working its magic with cruel precision. His chest heaved, but it was no use. His head fell forward, and he slumped, unable to hold himself up any longer. He was too far gone.
Ji-hoon stood back up, taking a long, steady breath, his eyes fixed on Siwan's limp form. He could feel the weight of what he had done, but it wasn't a weight of guilt—it was the weight of finality. He had done what he needed to do. He had taken everything from Siwan, and now, there was nothing left.
The storm outside continued to rage, but Ji-hoon felt a strange peace settle over him as he looked down at the man who had caused him so much pain. The blindfold was gone. And Siwan, the one who had once seen everything, was now blind in the only way that mattered.
"Goodbye, Siwan," Ji-hoon whispered, his voice barely audible over the storm. "May you finally understand what it feels like to be left in the dark."
The room was quiet, the storm outside now nothing more than a dull murmur against the walls. Ji-hoon had left. His footsteps faded into the distance, leaving behind only the stillness of what had transpired. The once confident, ruthless Siwan lay motionless, a twisted portrait of someone who had been brought to the brink of death. His skin was pale, his breathing shallow and erratic. His body was a prisoner to the poison that had surged through his veins, and for all the power he had once held, he was now nothing more than a dying man.
But beneath the surface, something stirred. A pulse, weak but present, flickered within him. His body, though wrecked, was not entirely defeated. His hand twitched, then clenched, as if fighting against the poison that threatened to consume him. His mind, too, was working, struggling to keep him anchored to consciousness, fighting through the fog that clouded his thoughts.
Siwan's eyes fluttered open, the world around him still spinning, a haze of blurred shapes and distant sounds. His body felt foreign, disconnected, as though he were no longer fully a part of himself. But his mind—his mind was sharp. Even as his strength faltered, his thoughts raced. How had it come to this? How had Ji-hoon, that weak, broken boy, managed to bring him to this point?
The last thing he remembered was Ji-hoon's voice, low and cold, before everything had gone dark. He could still feel the remnants of the poison in his veins, each breath a battle, each moment dragging him deeper into the abyss. But there was something else too, something more. A lingering feeling that wouldn't let him rest, a gnawing sensation that the story wasn't over—that the end wasn't here, not yet.
Siwan's throat tightened as he struggled to sit up, his muscles trembling in protest. His hands shot out, grabbing the edge of the table, using the last reserves of his strength to pull himself upright. The pain was overwhelming, a sharp, burning sensation that coursed through his chest and limbs. He gasped, choking on his breath, but he refused to give in. Not yet.
His vision cleared just enough for him to make out the room around him. The light from the storm outside flickered through the windows, casting eerie shadows across the walls. Everything was still. Too still. Ji-hoon's absence was palpable, hanging in the air like an unsolved puzzle, a question unanswered.
The poison still worked its way through his system, but Siwan didn't give up. He knew that if he just found the strength to move, to reach out, he could still survive. He could still make it out of this, could still find a way to turn the tables.
He stumbled toward the door, dragging his body along, each step a struggle, each movement a reminder of just how close to death he had come. His mind, though clouded, was still focused. He could still hear Ji-hoon's words in his head, echoing over and over again. "You were blind, Siwan. You couldn't see the consequences."
Siwan gritted his teeth, forcing himself forward. He wasn't blind. He wasn't the one who had failed. No, Ji-hoon was wrong. He was the one who had the power. He was the one who would survive.
He reached the door, his fingers trembling as he gripped the handle. His mind was a blur, but there was one thing that was clear: he had to get out. He had to live. There was still so much more to be done, so much more to finish. He wasn't going to let Ji-hoon win. Not like this.
With a final push, Siwan wrenched the door open. The cold night air hit him like a slap in the face, but he barely felt it, his body so consumed with pain and adrenaline that everything else faded into the background. He took a step forward, his legs wobbling beneath him, but he refused to fall. He couldn't afford to fall.
The streets were eerily quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the wind. Siwan's breaths came in short, ragged bursts, and his chest felt as though it were on fire. But he couldn't stop now. Not when the end was so close, not when everything he had worked for was within his grasp.
His body screamed for rest, for relief, but Siwan ignored it. He focused on one thing—survival. He had to get away, had to disappear. There was no turning back now. The past was behind him, and the future was all that mattered. He would survive, and he would make Ji-hoon pay for everything.
The alleyway loomed in front of him, dark and foreboding. He stumbled toward it, his steps growing slower, heavier. His hand brushed against the cold brick wall, his mind too clouded to fully comprehend where he was going. But he kept moving. He had no choice. There was no stopping him now.
And then, it happened. The sound of footsteps behind him. Slow, deliberate, as if the person was taking their time to approach. Siwan's heart skipped a beat, his pulse racing. He couldn't—no, he wouldn't—let anyone find him now.
He turned around, his body faltering as he faced the figure emerging from the shadows. His vision was blurry, but he could make out the shape of a person, their features obscured by the darkness.
"Who's there?" Siwan's voice was weak, barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of his defiance. He wasn't done yet. Not by a long shot.
The figure didn't respond immediately. Instead, there was a faint, almost imperceptible movement, a shift in the air, before the voice finally came.
"It's not over yet, Siwan," the voice said, low and quiet, with a hint of something dark in it—something familiar.
Siwan's breath caught in his throat. He didn't recognize the voice, but it was somehow… haunting. He tried to focus, his mind struggling to piece together the puzzle, but the poison was still in his system, blurring his thoughts.
The figure stepped closer, and Siwan's heart pounded in his chest. He tried to summon the strength to fight, but his limbs were heavy, his body still betraying him. The figure reached out, and in the dim light, Siwan could just make out their face—familiar, yet unfamiliar.
He froze.
It was Ji-hoon. Or someone who looked like him. The resemblance was uncanny, the eyes the same—cold, unyielding. But it wasn't him. It couldn't be. Ji-hoon had left.
Siwan's mind spiraled, struggling to process what was happening, what he was seeing.
"W-who are you?" he gasped, the words barely escaping his lips.
The figure leaned in closer, their face just inches from his. "You never really knew who was pulling the strings, did you, Siwan?"
And in that moment, everything changed.
Siwan's world tilted, the ground beneath him shifting. Was this really over? Or was this just the beginning of something far worse than he could have ever imagined?