Chapter 94;- When It Was Just Music

The tension between Ji-hoon and Siwan had been building for months, and now, it was impossible to ignore any longer. The night had arrived—the final confrontation. There was no turning back.

Ji-hoon stood in the shadow of the dimly lit concert hall, his breathing shallow, his hands clenched tightly into fists at his sides. The pounding of his heart echoed in his ears, but he could no longer afford to feel the weight of fear. Not tonight. Not when everything had led to this. Siwan was just ahead, preparing for the final performance, blissfully unaware of the storm that was about to hit him.

It was just music. That's how it had started, after all. Music had once been the thing that connected them, the bond they shared like an invisible thread, weaving through their lives, uniting them in a shared passion for sound, for beauty, for art. But now, music had become the battleground—the thing that would decide who would survive and who would fall.

Ji-hoon adjusted the blindfold that still hung from his eyes, more symbolic now than necessary. His other senses had become sharper, more in tune with the world around him. The sound of footsteps ahead of him, the shuffle of clothing, the creak of an old floorboard, the faintest of breaths—these were the things that guided him now. Siwan's presence was unmistakable. He could feel it in the air, the heat of his body radiating like a distant sun, as though the very atmosphere shifted to accommodate the hatred that thrummed between them.

Ji-hoon moved forward, his hands steady as they brushed the back of the piano keys in the darkness. The coolness of the instrument soothed him, grounding him as his mind raced. He had prepared for this. He had studied every note, every rhythm, and every subtle inflection that could give him an edge. This wasn't just a fight of strength or skill—it was a battle of wills, a test of who could hold onto their sanity long enough to emerge victorious.

And tonight, it would end.

The moment Siwan stepped into the spotlight, Ji-hoon could hear the shift in the room. The air crackled with tension, the audience oblivious to the violence that was about to unfold in the wings. Siwan stood tall, his fingers poised over the piano, the familiar smugness on his face as he prepared to perform. His gaze swept the crowd with arrogance, as if they were nothing more than puppets waiting for his command.

But Ji-hoon knew better. The smugness was just a mask. Beneath it lay fear—a fear that Siwan had buried so deeply that he no longer recognized it as his own. It was fear that Ji-hoon would finally expose him for the monster he truly was. And Ji-hoon would take full advantage of it.

The first note rang out—a sharp, resonant chord that cut through the silence like a blade. Siwan's performance was flawless, as expected. He was a master of his craft, and in any other circumstance, Ji-hoon might have admired his precision, his ability to manipulate sound. But tonight, the music was no longer beautiful. It was a weapon, and Ji-hoon would use it to destroy him.

As Siwan continued to play, Ji-hoon made his move, stepping silently toward the stage. His every step was calculated, deliberate. He could feel the vibrations of the music, each note resonating in his chest, a rhythmic heartbeat that pulsed through him, urging him forward.

Siwan's back was to him, completely unaware. Ji-hoon's hand found the edge of the grand piano, gripping it tightly as he leaned in, his fingers tracing the cold wood. The room seemed to pulse with a low, thrumming energy, a symphony of violence building in the shadows.

And then, without warning, Ji-hoon lunged.

His fist connected with the back of Siwan's chair, knocking it over with a deafening crash. The music stopped abruptly, and Siwan spun around, his eyes wide with shock. But Ji-hoon was already moving, his body propelled by the same fury that had been smoldering in his chest for so long.

"You think you can just play your way out of this?" Ji-hoon hissed, his voice cold, cutting through the stunned silence. "You're not just a pianist anymore, Siwan. You're a murderer."

Siwan's face twisted into a snarl as he recovered from the surprise, his hands raised defensively. "You're insane, Ji-hoon! You don't understand. This is all for you! I did it for us!"

"You did it for yourself," Ji-hoon spat, advancing on him, his fist swinging once more. "You killed her for your own gain, for your own twisted desires. I won't let you get away with it."

Siwan dodged the punch with unnatural speed, stepping back as Ji-hoon's fist sliced through the air. The confrontation had escalated far beyond words. Now, it was all about raw, primal instinct. The violence that had been building for so long was finally spilling out into the open, and there was no holding it back.

Siwan's hand shot out, grabbing a nearby music stand and swinging it toward Ji-hoon's head. The force of the impact sent a jolt through Ji-hoon's body, but he twisted away just in time, the metal stand grazing the side of his face. He growled in frustration, blood dripping from the scratch on his cheek, but there was no pain, only the overwhelming need for revenge.

He moved faster now, his legs pumping, his body a blur of motion. He knew the layout of the stage, the positions of every instrument and every piece of equipment. He used that knowledge to his advantage, staying just out of Siwan's reach, drawing him in.

"You think you can run from me, Siwan?" Ji-hoon taunted, his voice low and dangerous. "You think this is some game?"

Siwan's eyes flashed with rage, but there was something else there now—fear. Real fear. Ji-hoon had him cornered. He could see it in his posture, the way Siwan's breathing had become ragged, the way his movements had slowed.

But Siwan wasn't about to give up. He lunged at Ji-hoon, knocking him to the ground with a violent shove. The sound of their bodies colliding with the floor echoed through the hall, but Ji-hoon wasn't done yet. He fought back with everything he had, his fists flying, his body twisting, each movement fueled by pure fury.

"Die," Ji-hoon gritted through clenched teeth, his every strike landing with the weight of a thousand unspoken words. "Die for what you've done."

The world around them blurred as their fight continued, each moment an explosion of sound, of violence, of pent-up rage unleashed. Music had been the thing that connected them, but now, it was the thing that would tear them apart. No more false pretenses, no more pretending. Only this fight—this final battle.

The grand piano, still standing in the center of the stage, suddenly became a weapon. Ji-hoon shoved it toward Siwan, knocking it onto its side with a crash. The strings inside the instrument screamed in protest, a haunting, dissonant note that resonated with the chaos that had overtaken the room.

Siwan stumbled back, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You're insane," he muttered, his voice trembling.

Ji-hoon didn't answer. He didn't need to. His fists, his rage, and the truth he had uncovered spoke louder than any words ever could.

This was it. The final piece had fallen into place. Music had been the weapon, but now, it was the battlefield. And Siwan's final performance was coming to a bloody, violent end.

The chaos on stage escalated as Ji-hoon's blind rage took control. The piano had already been knocked over, its strings twisted and mangled, its once-majestic voice reduced to an agonized cry of brokenness. The room was thick with the scent of sweat, metal, and tension, every inch of it vibrating with the palpable energy of impending violence.

Siwan, despite the fear that flickered in his eyes, refused to back down. His hand gripped the sharp edge of a broken piano key, a jagged shard that gleamed in the dim light. His breath was heavy, quick, as he stood hunched, calculating the next move. The final performance had transformed into something far more primal—a fight to the death, a clash of egos that had gone far beyond a simple contest of skill.

Ji-hoon's heart thundered in his chest. His mind was clouded with thoughts of his mother—her face, her smile, the way she used to hum along to the sound of a piano. That was supposed to be their bond, the music, the harmony. But now, Siwan had corrupted it all. He'd taken everything from Ji-hoon, from them both. And tonight, he was going to make sure Siwan understood the price of what he had done.

"Do you really think you can destroy me?" Siwan spat, his voice full of venom, his eyes flickering with the kind of arrogance that had defined him for so long. He took a step forward, ready to lunge, but Ji-hoon was faster.

In one swift motion, Ji-hoon grabbed a nearby chair, swinging it at Siwan with all the strength he had left. The heavy wood connected with Siwan's shoulder with a sickening crack. Siwan stumbled back, a howl of pain escaping his lips, but he didn't fall. He barely seemed to flinch.

With a roar, Siwan retaliated, throwing the jagged shard of the piano key in Ji-hoon's direction. Ji-hoon barely had time to react, his heart pounding as the shard sliced through the air, grazing his arm. The pain was sharp, sudden, but he pushed it aside. This fight wasn't about pain. It was about survival.

Without missing a beat, Ji-hoon surged forward, blind fury coursing through him, his fists flying. His left fist connected with Siwan's stomach, pushing the air from his lungs, but Siwan was relentless. With a snarl, he grabbed Ji-hoon by the collar, yanking him toward him and slamming his knee into Ji-hoon's ribs.

The impact sent a shockwave of agony through Ji-hoon's body, but he refused to give in. He twisted his body, using his opponent's momentum against him, and slammed Siwan's face into the ground. Siwan's head bounced off the floor, and for a moment, everything went still.

Ji-hoon stood over him, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face, his heart hammering in his ears. He could hear Siwan's ragged breaths, could feel the blood running down his own arm, but the adrenaline drowned everything else out.

For a brief moment, Ji-hoon considered ending it right there. He could snap Siwan's neck, silence his smirking mouth, and wipe the memory of his mother's killer off the face of the earth. The thought was tempting. But then, the image of her face flashed in Ji-hoon's mind—her smile, the way she had always believed in the good in people, how she had always told him to hold onto hope.

No. He couldn't kill him that way. Not like an animal. Not when the music still had power.

Siwan groaned beneath him, and Ji-hoon grabbed him by the collar, lifting him up, his voice low and dangerous. "You're not going to get away with it, Siwan. Not tonight. Not after everything you've done."

Siwan's eyes were full of hatred, his lips curled into a bitter sneer. "You think you're any different than me? You're just like me, Ji-hoon. You're consumed by the same rage, the same need for control. You'll never be free of it."

Ji-hoon's grip tightened. He didn't want to hear this. Didn't want to hear the lies anymore. This wasn't about who was better, who was more ruthless—it was about justice, it was about his mother, it was about the truth being exposed. He couldn't let Siwan keep walking away, unscathed, untouched by the carnage he'd caused.

"You're wrong," Ji-hoon said, his voice cutting through the tension. "I'm not like you. I'm not a monster."

But Siwan only laughed, a harsh, guttural sound that made Ji-hoon's blood boil. "You don't get it, do you?" he spat. "You've already become a monster the moment you decided to come after me. You're just as broken, just as twisted. There's no going back from this."

Ji-hoon's vision blurred with fury. But just before he could strike again, something in the distance caught his attention. There was a loud bang, the sound of shuffling footsteps. He turned his head, his heart skipping a beat.

In the shadows, there was movement—faint, like a ghost. A figure approached, but Ji-hoon didn't know if it was a friend or an enemy. His muscles tensed, ready for whatever came next. He couldn't afford to lose focus now. He couldn't let anything distract him from the man beneath him, the man who had taken everything from him.

The figure stepped closer, its outline becoming clearer in the dim light. It wasn't a stranger. It was Hye-jin. Her figure was steady, her expression tense but calm. She wasn't running toward him, nor was she retreating. She had come to watch.

"I told you to let go of it, Ji-hoon," she said softly, her voice carrying through the silence.

Ji-hoon's grip loosened for a fraction of a second. The faintest bit of hesitation gripped him, but he quickly shoved it away. He couldn't afford to think about that now. Not now.

"You don't understand," he whispered, barely audible.

But Hye-jin was right there, and her eyes were not filled with fear or judgment. They were calm, steady, like she had known all along what needed to be done. "This isn't about him anymore," she said, her voice steady but firm. "It's about you, Ji-hoon. You can't keep living in this storm. Don't let him win."

It was a moment of clarity, a breath amid the chaos. Ji-hoon's gaze flickered back down at Siwan, still struggling beneath him. He could feel the anger bubbling inside, the desire to see Siwan destroyed, but Hye-jin's words cut through the haze. Could he really let this rage define him? Was this truly the end, or was there more to this fight than just bloodshed?

The air between them crackled, tense and filled with raw emotion. Ji-hoon's grip on Siwan loosened, his hands trembling, not from fear, but from the weight of everything he had to let go of.

"I'm not a monster," Ji-hoon repeated, this time with conviction, his voice steady despite the chaos swirling around him. "But you... You'll be the one who doesn't walk out of here."

In one final motion, Ji-hoon lunged, and the world went dark as Siwan's screams echoed through the room. The final note of the performance had been struck, and there would be no encore.