The silence in the conservatory was oppressive, thick as the night that had settled over the city. Ji-hoon's mind spun, his thoughts disjointed, a swirling mess of fragments, fear, and the echo of his mother's voice. He didn't know how long he had been sitting there, but the pain in his back and legs told him it had been too long. The room was cold, the kind of cold that sank into your bones, and yet, the presence of someone—or something—had made him feel hot with anxiety. He could feel his pulse thumping in his ears, a steady reminder that whatever was lurking in the shadows wasn't just a figment of his imagination.
The door to Room 214 creaked, the sound sharp and jarring in the quiet. Ji-hoon flinched, his head snapping in its direction. For a moment, he thought it was Hye-jin, or maybe Joon-won, coming to check on him. But no—this was different. This was a presence that felt too heavy, too familiar, too dangerous.
His fingers curled into fists, and his breath quickened. The door opened slowly, as if whoever was on the other side wanted to savor the moment. And then, through the small crack, he heard it—a soft, melodic sound. A violin.
The faint, trembling notes cut through the stillness like a knife. Ji-hoon's heart skipped a beat, and he could almost feel the bow gliding across the strings, the vibration of the music reverberating through his bones. But it wasn't just the music that made him freeze. It was the fact that the sound was coming from within the room.
He knew that sound. He knew that violin.
It was Hye-jin's.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and his senses went into overdrive. He could feel the presence in the room now—someone else was here, someone who had been waiting for the perfect moment to make their move. He tried to steady himself, tried to push down the panic rising in his chest, but his fingers were already twitching with fear, instinct pulling him toward the door.
Before he could get to his feet, the music grew louder, more intense. The bow moved faster now, slicing through the air with frenetic energy. The sound was sharp, discordant, like a warning. He recognized the pattern—it was off. It wasn't the music Hye-jin had played before. This wasn't the delicate, controlled beauty he'd always known. This was a violent, chaotic kind of music—wild, unpredictable. His skin prickled.
And then, the violin stopped.
There was a long, eerie silence, and for a brief, terrifying moment, Ji-hoon thought he might have imagined it all. His heart pounded in his chest, and his hands were slick with sweat. He reached out, feeling his way along the piano's edge, trying to steady himself.
Breathe, Ji-hoon, he told himself. You've survived worse than this.
But the moment he tried to calm his breathing, the violin's strings screamed to life once more, louder this time, the sound reverberating through the walls and shaking the floor beneath him. His hands instinctively shot up to cover his ears, but it didn't help. The music crawled under his skin, stabbing into his skull, gnawing at his nerves.
There was something wrong.
Something was wrong with Hye-jin.
He didn't know how he knew—he couldn't explain it—but he knew. She was in danger. He could feel it. The music wasn't just a melody—it was a warning. A call for help.
Without thinking, he shoved himself toward the door, his feet stumbling as he reached for the handle. But just as his hand brushed against the cold metal, it slammed open with a force that sent him crashing backward.
A figure stood in the doorway, their body silhouetted against the harsh lights of the hallway. Ji-hoon froze, his breath catching in his throat as his heart skipped a beat. The figure was tall, almost looming, their face obscured by shadows, but the scent—that scent—was unmistakable.
The cologne.
Ji-hoon's blood ran cold, his mouth dry as he tried to make sense of the moment. He couldn't see their face, couldn't see their intentions, but he knew who it was.
The man who had killed his mother.
The man who had haunted his dreams, whose presence had clawed its way back into his waking life.
"You…" Ji-hoon's voice was hoarse, raw from disuse. His hands trembled at his sides as he stood frozen in the doorway, unable to move.
The man didn't speak at first. Instead, he took a step forward, the floor creaking beneath his boots. Ji-hoon could hear the faint rustle of fabric as the man moved closer, and he instinctively took a step back.
"Do you remember now?" the man finally asked, his voice low, cold.
Ji-hoon's breath caught. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as the room seemed to spin. He couldn't tell if it was the adrenaline, the terror, or the haunting familiarity of the voice that made him stagger, but he couldn't fight the sense that he was about to collapse under the weight of it all.
The man took another step, his figure finally coming into full view. He was wearing a dark, expensive suit, his face still hidden by the shadows. Ji-hoon's breath hitched as he realized how close the man was now, how dangerously close to the threshold of the room.
"You remember," the man continued, his tone almost playful now, a twisted edge to it.
Ji-hoon's mind raced, but his body was frozen.
He was there.
The man was here.
The realization crashed into him like a tidal wave, and his heart thundered as his legs buckled beneath him. His hands instinctively shot out to brace himself against the doorframe, but it didn't matter.
The man had come for him.
And now, there was nowhere left to run.
The violin's music had stopped. The silence was suffocating. The man was right there, just an arm's length away, his presence a heavy weight on Ji-hoon's shoulders.
"Do you remember me?" The man's voice was close now, closer than ever.
Ji-hoon wanted to scream, wanted to fight, but his voice was stuck in his throat. He couldn't move. The fear held him in place, like the cold hand of death itself.
He couldn't remember. But he knew.
The sound of the violin had been his warning.
And now, it was too late.
"Yoon Si-wan?" Ji-hoon whispered, his voice breaking the heavy silence like a fragile thread snapping under pressure. His heart pounded so hard he could feel it in his throat, and the chill of terror was creeping down his spine.
There was a long, suffocating pause. For a moment, Ji-hoon thought he hadn't heard right. The man in front of him didn't move, didn't even breathe. It was as though the air had thickened, locking them both in a moment of impossible tension.
Then, the man spoke, his voice low and thick with an unsettling calmness that made Ji-hoon's skin crawl.
"He's away for a while."
Ji-hoon's mind spun, the words sinking into him like a blade. Away for a while? Where had Si-wan gone? Why hadn't he been here, why hadn't anyone warned him? He wanted to shout, to demand answers, but the air was thick, too thick, and his breath seemed to get caught in his chest, preventing him from speaking.
The figure in front of him moved slightly, stepping into the light just enough for Ji-hoon to catch a glimpse of his features—sharp cheekbones, a square jaw, and eyes so dark they seemed to swallow the surrounding light. It wasn't much, just the faintest outline, but it was enough to make Ji-hoon's stomach turn. The cologne, the suffocatingly familiar scent of it, seemed to cling to the air like an invisible force. It made the world feel wrong, the edges of everything blurring as he stood there, frozen.
"You came here expecting a confrontation," the man continued, his voice smoother now, like velvet hiding something sharp beneath. "But you're not ready for what's coming next."
Ji-hoon's pulse quickened, and his throat tightened as he tried to back away, but his legs didn't respond. His mind screamed at him to run, to fight, to do something, but his body betrayed him. His feet felt like they were stuck to the floor, roots growing deep into the wood, binding him to the spot.
The man's lips twitched in what might have been a smirk, and then he stepped closer. Closer than Ji-hoon had thought possible. His breath was cold, sharp, almost like the air before a storm.
"You thought you could run," the man murmured, his eyes narrowing as he took another step forward. "You thought hiding in the dark would keep you safe. But I've been watching you, Ji-hoon. From the very beginning."
Ji-hoon could hear his heart pounding now, a frantic rhythm that filled his ears, drowning out everything else. He wanted to scream, but his body still wouldn't respond. The realization hit him like a freight train. This man—whoever he was—knew him. He knew everything. Every part of him.
"Why?" Ji-hoon managed to choke out. His voice was barely audible, a whisper carried away by the weight of the room's oppressive silence. "What do you want from me?"
The man didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket, and for a moment, Ji-hoon's breath caught in his chest. Was he going to—
But no, the man pulled out something else. Something that made Ji-hoon's stomach twist with dread.
A violin.
The instrument, black and polished, gleamed in the low light. Ji-hoon's mind spun for a second, his thoughts scrambling to process the sudden shift.
"I know what you're thinking," the man said softly, like he could read every thought running through Ji-hoon's head. "You're wondering why a violin. Why this." He raised the violin slightly, his fingers caressing the strings with a strange tenderness that made Ji-hoon's skin crawl.
"You know what it is, don't you?" The man's voice dropped even lower, the words hanging in the air like a cold breeze. "You've heard it before. You've heard her play."
Ji-hoon's breath stilled in his chest. His heart seemed to stop beating for a moment. He didn't need to ask who the man meant. His mind screamed her name, but the word wouldn't come out. Hye-jin.
The man's smirk deepened as he plucked a single string on the violin, the high-pitched note ringing through the space, sharp and clean. It echoed through the room, rattling Ji-hoon's nerves as the familiar sound of the string being pulled drew out more tension, more dread.
"Hye-jin," the man said quietly, almost too softly for Ji-hoon to catch, as if savoring the moment. "I wonder how she's doing... in the dark. How long do you think she'll last?"
Ji-hoon's stomach lurched. "What did you do to her?" he managed to spit out, his voice a strained hiss, now finally breaking free from the weight pressing on his chest. He felt a surge of fury, a surge of desperation. He couldn't let this man do anything to Hye-jin.
The man's grin grew wider, as if Ji-hoon's reaction was exactly what he wanted.
"Nothing yet," he said, the words dripping with an unsettling calmness. "But she's close. Very close."
The last word was like a sharp slap to Ji-hoon's senses. He was too far gone, his mind already unraveling with the implications of what was being said.
"You—" Ji-hoon started, but his voice cracked, fear knotting itself around his throat. He took a step forward, finally finding the courage to move, his body finally reacting to the instinct that screamed at him to act.
But the man was quicker. In an instant, he grabbed Ji-hoon by the wrist, his grip tight and unyielding, pulling him back before he could get any closer.
"You don't get to be the hero, Ji-hoon," the man growled, his voice a low snarl that sent a chill through Ji-hoon's spine. "Not anymore."
Ji-hoon fought against the grip, but the man's hand was like iron, unshakable. His pulse roared in his ears, his vision narrowing as the pressure on his wrist intensified.
The man stepped even closer, his face now mere inches from Ji-hoon's, and Ji-hoon could feel the cold, sharp edge of his presence. He could smell the cologne again, thick and suffocating, but there was something else now—a subtle hint of something metallic, something darker.
"I could end this right now, Ji-hoon," the man whispered. "But I don't think you're ready for it. Not yet. You'll have to wait."
Ji-hoon's teeth gritted together, a low growl building in his chest. The words came from somewhere deep within him—somewhere primal, driven by a need to survive.
"You're sick," he spat, the words sharp and venomous. "You're nothing."
The man's expression faltered for the briefest moment, an almost imperceptible flicker of irritation crossing his face. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by that cold, calculating smile that had haunted Ji-hoon's every nightmare.
"You should have stayed in the dark, Ji-hoon," he said. "But now, you're going to learn that there's no escape."
With that, the man released his grip on Ji-hoon's wrist, the action leaving Ji-hoon disoriented and stumbling back. He could barely keep his balance, his body shaking from the adrenaline, the terror, the realization that he wasn't in control of anything anymore.
The man took a final step back, the violin now resting against his shoulder, his fingers poised over the strings.
"Let's see if you're ready for what comes next," he murmured, before drawing the bow across the strings.
The sound was sharp, cruel. Like a warning.
And then, everything went black.