Chapter 83;- The Night Of Lights Out

The silence in the theater felt like a presence of its own, thick and suffocating. The audience was gone, the applause long over, and the last of the staff had trickled out, leaving only the faint hum of the lights overhead. Everything was still. Everything felt like it had been frozen in time.

Ji-hoon sat on the edge of the stage, his fingers resting on the worn wood, feeling the vibrations of the empty space. The performance had ended. The trap had been set. And Si-wan was dead.

He couldn't remember the exact moment the poison had taken effect on Si-wan—one minute he was standing, the next he was slumped over, gasping for breath like a fish out of water. It had been slow, methodical. Ji-hoon had been prepared for the worst, but now that it had happened, he felt a strange emptiness. The way his chest felt hollow, like a piece of him had been carved out.

Everything that had led to this moment—the endless nights of planning, the careful execution of the poison, the growing sense of dread as he waited for the final outcome—had been for this. To see Si-wan fall. To see the life drain from the person who had destroyed everything he cared about. And yet, it felt like a hollow victory.

A door creaked open from backstage, and Ji-hoon's head snapped toward it, his senses sharpening. A figure stepped into the light, silhouette sharp against the darkness. It was a familiar one—Hye-jin. Her presence, always comforting, felt like a contradiction in this moment.

"Ji-hoon," she said softly, her voice breaking the tension in the air. She took a step closer, then another, her eyes never leaving him. She could see the turmoil etched into his features, the deep conflict that had begun to fester within him.

He didn't respond at first. His eyes lingered on the empty stage before him, and then on Hye-jin. She was one of the few people who had never judged him, never questioned the things he did to survive.

"I—" Hye-jin hesitated, as though weighing her words carefully. She knelt down beside him, her fingers brushing his arm lightly. "I know what you did. But you don't have to carry this alone."

Ji-hoon's eyes flicked toward her, the weight of her gaze making his throat tighten. "I killed him," he said, the words barely audible. It wasn't a confession—it was a statement of fact, one that had been hanging in the air between them for so long. "I killed Si-wan, and for what?"

Hye-jin's face softened, and she placed her hand on his. "You didn't kill him for nothing, Ji-hoon. You did it because he deserved it. You did it because he never gave you any other choice."

But there was no comfort in her words. Ji-hoon could feel the emptiness spread, consuming him like a growing shadow. "It doesn't feel that way," he said, his voice breaking. "It doesn't feel like anything. It feels like... like I've just opened up a hole in myself, and now there's nothing left to fill it."

Hye-jin didn't pull away. Instead, she sat beside him in silence, her presence grounding him in a way he hadn't realized he needed. The silence between them stretched long and heavy, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was a shared understanding, a mutual recognition of the deep pain that had brought them both to this moment.

"We've all been broken by him," she said quietly. "But you're not broken, Ji-hoon. You're still standing. And I'm here. I'm still here, even if it feels like everything else is falling apart."

A bitter laugh escaped Ji-hoon, his hands clenching into fists. "But what if it's too late? What if I'm too far gone to fix?"

"You're not too far gone." Hye-jin's words were steady, unwavering. "You've been through hell. But you're still breathing. And that's what matters."

Ji-hoon turned his head toward her, his vision blurred. "I don't feel like I'm breathing. I feel like I'm suffocating under everything I've done."

For a moment, Hye-jin said nothing. She simply leaned her shoulder against his, her presence a quiet reassurance. She knew what it felt like to carry the weight of things you couldn't undo. She knew the pain of feeling like you were stuck in a place you couldn't escape.

"You're not alone in this," she finally said, her voice almost a whisper. "And you don't have to carry it alone. You've got people who care about you. People who will help you find your way back."

Ji-hoon felt a lump rise in his throat. He didn't deserve this kindness. Not after everything. Not after what he had done. But Hye-jin was right. He wasn't alone. Even in the aftermath of the destruction he had caused, there were still people who would stand by him.

He closed his eyes, trying to push the heaviness in his chest away. The adrenaline from the confrontation had worn off, leaving him with a raw, aching emptiness. But as Hye-jin's hand remained on his, steady and constant, something shifted within him. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way out of this darkness. Maybe he could still find a way to move forward.

"I don't know how to fix this," Ji-hoon admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I don't want to be the person I was before. I don't want to keep hurting people. I don't want to keep hiding."

Hye-jin gave him a soft, understanding smile. "Then don't. You're not alone, Ji-hoon. We'll face this together."

For the first time in what felt like forever, Ji-hoon felt a flicker of something inside him that wasn't anger or despair. It was hope, tentative but real. And maybe that was enough to keep going. Maybe it was enough to start again.

The stage before them was empty now, a stark contrast to the chaos that had unfolded just hours earlier. The lights that had once illuminated the theater were dim, casting long shadows across the room. But Ji-hoon knew that the darkness didn't have to define him. There was still time. Still room to choose something different.

And as Hye-jin stayed beside him, silent and supportive, he realized that maybe, just maybe, he could find a way out of the shadows. Not alone. But with someone who cared.

Ji-hoon sat in the stillness of the theater, his fingers lightly grazing the edge of the stage. The sound of his breath, slow and deliberate, seemed to fill the empty space around him. His mind raced through fragments of the night: the tension of the final confrontation, the poison's slow toll on Si-wan's body, the way his hands had trembled as the life drained from the man who had tormented him for so long.

Hye-jin's presence beside him was a strange comfort. Her hand still rested on his arm, offering warmth he didn't know he needed until it was there. It wasn't that he didn't trust her; it was that he couldn't trust himself anymore. How could he? How could anyone who had made the choice to kill, to end a life with such cold deliberation, expect anyone to trust them?

"You're not a monster," Hye-jin said, her voice quiet but firm, as though she could read his every thought. "I know you're lost right now. But you're not the monster Si-wan made you out to be."

Ji-hoon's fingers curled into his palms, his nails pressing into his skin as though trying to anchor himself in the moment. "Maybe I am," he muttered under his breath. "Maybe I am exactly that."

Hye-jin didn't respond immediately. She simply sat next to him, the sound of her breath even and steady, as if she too was giving him space to figure out what he was feeling. There was something about her silence, her unwavering support, that made Ji-hoon want to scream, to cry, to beg for some kind of redemption that he didn't think he deserved.

The theater felt colder now, the walls echoing back his thoughts. The heavy silence between them felt less like peace and more like a suffocating weight. Ji-hoon shifted, moving to stand up, but Hye-jin's hand gently caught his wrist. She pulled him back, her grip strong but gentle.

"Don't run," she said quietly, the words laced with an emotion Ji-hoon couldn't quite name. "You've done enough running, Ji-hoon. You're not running away anymore. You're not running from this."

"I don't know how to face it," Ji-hoon replied hoarsely, his throat tight. His words were jagged, as though he were speaking through the cracks in his heart. "I don't know how to face any of it, Hye-jin."

Her gaze softened, and she leaned closer, her face now inches from his. "You don't have to face it all at once. Just take it one step at a time. One moment at a time. I'm right here with you."

Her words were like a lifeline, something to hold on to in the midst of a storm he had no idea how to navigate. He'd spent so long feeling like a puppet on strings, manipulated by Si-wan, by the circumstances, by his own past, that the idea of truly standing still and facing the consequences of his actions terrified him. What would be left of him once the dust settled? What would people see when the mask of revenge and anger he'd carefully built over the years finally cracked?

The light from the stage's dimmed bulbs barely reached them, casting long shadows across the room. But in that darkness, Ji-hoon felt something shift inside him. He was tired. Tired of fighting, tired of hiding, tired of letting his anger control him. The weight of his past had been dragging him down for so long, and now, in the presence of Hye-jin, he felt the tiniest bit of hope. The kind of hope that could only grow from understanding. From trust.

"I don't want to be this anymore," Ji-hoon whispered, his voice barely a breath. "I don't want to be the person who hurts others."

Hye-jin's hand tightened around his wrist, a silent promise. "Then don't be. You don't have to be."

Ji-hoon looked up at her, his eyes blurry with unshed tears. For a moment, he could see the future he could have—if he made the choice to move forward. If he chose to stop running. He could see the possibility of redemption, however small it might be. But even more than that, he could see Hye-jin there beside him, offering the strength he didn't know he had.

The sounds of the city outside the theater were muffled, distant. But inside, there was only this—this moment, where he was not a killer or a victim, but simply a man who had been broken and was now trying to heal.

"I don't know where to go from here," Ji-hoon admitted, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't know if I can ever fix this."

Hye-jin gave him a soft, knowing smile. "You don't have to know everything right now. Just take it one step at a time. We'll figure it out together."

There was something in her words, something in the way she spoke to him, that made Ji-hoon believe her. It wasn't some grand promise or a guarantee that everything would be okay, but it was enough. Enough for him to feel like he wasn't alone, that he had a chance to rebuild himself, to find a way out of the darkness that had consumed him for so long.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Ji-hoon felt a flicker of peace inside him. It was fragile, but it was there. And that was more than he could have ever hoped for.

"I don't know if I can forgive myself," Ji-hoon said quietly, his eyes fixed on the darkened stage.

Hye-jin's voice was steady as she replied, "Forgiveness is a journey. It doesn't happen all at once. But you're already on the right path. And I'll be here with you."

Ji-hoon let out a slow breath, the weight in his chest easing just a little. He wasn't sure what the future held, but for the first time, he felt like he could face it. He could move forward. Maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to make peace with the person he had been—and the person he was becoming.

The night felt different now. The theater wasn't just a place where he'd committed an act of violence. It was also a place where he had confronted the darkest parts of himself. And as the silence stretched on, Ji-hoon realized that he didn't have to walk this path alone. There was still time. And maybe, just maybe, there was still hope.