The final note still hung in the air, a fragile wisp of sound lingering long after Ji-hoon's fingers had lifted from the piano keys. The applause had not died down yet, but it was drowned out by the pulse of his own heartbeat in his ears. The room was alive, vibrant with emotion, the energy of the audience reverberating through the floor, the walls, his chest. It was as though the world itself had exhaled in unison with his performance.
But something was wrong.
He couldn't quite place it at first. A flicker of movement from the corner of his eye—a shadow? He turned sharply, and his breath caught in his throat.
Flames.
At first, it was subtle, a trickle of smoke curling from the far side of the stage. Ji-hoon blinked, his mind struggling to catch up with the sight. The air felt thick, like it was suddenly harder to breathe, and the warm sensation on his skin made his pulse quicken.
The sound of the applause began to fade into a low hum, replaced by the crackling of fire. It was creeping, creeping from the curtains, leaping across the stage with an eerie grace. The fire spread quickly, its heat scorching the stage lights, casting a hellish glow across the set. Ji-hoon's stomach churned.
"Fire!" someone screamed from the wings.
And just like that, the world erupted into chaos.
Panic swept through the theater, a wave of noise and frantic movement. The audience's clapping turned to shouts, gasps, and desperate cries as the fire surged higher. A moment ago, everything had seemed calm, contained—performance done, the applause, the satisfaction of completion. But now, the world had been upended. It felt as though the very air was being swallowed by the flames, thick and suffocating, tearing at the fragile reality Ji-hoon had just momentarily found.
"Get out of here!" someone shouted, though Ji-hoon couldn't tell from where.
He froze, rooted to the spot in confusion. His blind eyes couldn't see the inferno, but the smoke, the heat, the sound—it was unmistakable. He could feel the intense pressure of it, could feel the shift in the atmosphere around him. It was not just the fire—it was the fear. The pure, unadulterated terror that gripped every person in the theater.
His fingers trembled as he stood up, trying to make sense of the world around him, but the voices were muffled, distant. He tried to find the edge of the piano, but it felt like the whole stage had shifted, like the floor itself was buckling beneath him. The heat from the flames prickled at his skin, a sting he could feel even through the thick air.
"Ji-hoon!"
It was Hye-jin's voice.
He turned toward the sound, but his heart was hammering in his chest. He couldn't see her, couldn't even hear her clearly over the roar of the fire. But there was something in her voice that struck him—fear, desperation. He needed to move.
"Where are you?!" Hye-jin called again, the panic unmistakable.
"Here," Ji-hoon managed to say, his voice thin and strained. He reached out, trying to find her, but the smoke made it hard to focus. The air was thick, burning his lungs, suffocating him with each breath.
"Don't move!" Hye-jin shouted, but her voice was barely audible above the din.
She was close. He could feel her, sense her presence, the rhythm of her breathing as she came toward him. His hands groped desperately through the smoke, fingers searching for anything familiar—anything to hold onto.
The crackling of the fire grew louder, more intense. His heart raced, faster now, pulsing in his chest as if trying to match the heat that was spreading.
And then, without warning, the stage lights exploded. A series of sharp cracks split the air, and Ji-hoon instinctively flinched back, his body jerking with the force of the sound. The blast of heat that followed was instantaneous, burning into his skin, igniting every nerve in his body. The flames were out of control now, wild and frantic, swirling around the stage like a beast.
Hye-jin's voice reached him again, but it was frantic, drowned out by the crackling fire. She was yelling, but Ji-hoon couldn't make out the words. All he could hear was the fire. It roared as it devoured the stage, the curtains disintegrating in seconds, the set crumbling into a smoldering ruin.
It felt as though the world had narrowed to the fire, to the heat, to the intensity of everything he had been running from. In that moment, the stage, the piano, the music—it all became irrelevant. All that mattered was surviving.
"Ji-hoon!" Hye-jin's voice broke through the madness. He could feel her now, her hands on his arm, tugging him toward her, pulling him with strength he hadn't realized she had.
The fire was consuming everything, and yet he felt an odd sense of calm. It wasn't the flames or the panic that caused it—it was the sheer clarity of the moment. The world, the fear, the chaos, it all faded into the background. All that was left was the fact that he wasn't alone. Hye-jin was there.
The heat, though, it was still unbearable. Ji-hoon could feel the sting of it, each step feeling heavier than the last as they moved together, their bodies navigating the darkened stage. He couldn't see, couldn't make sense of the path, but Hye-jin's grip was steady. She was guiding him.
"Just keep moving!" she cried, her voice cracking with urgency.
The smell of burning wood, of singed fabric, mixed with the metallic scent of smoke and sweat. It made Ji-hoon's throat tighten, his heart beating in his ears. But there was something else now. A shift. Something in the air.
And then, just as they reached the edge of the stage, a loud crash—something heavy falling, crumbling. The wall near the side of the stage buckled, and part of the set collapsed into the crowd.
There was no time left. No more moments to hesitate. The entire structure was coming apart.
Hye-jin screamed, dragging him forward with an intensity he couldn't have imagined.
"Stay with me, Ji-hoon!" she shouted, her breath ragged, her grip never loosening. "Stay with me!"
The last sound he heard before everything erupted into chaos was the desperate cry of his name. Then, the world went black.
The world around Ji-hoon was a blur of confusion and chaos. He couldn't see the fire, couldn't make out the faces of the people rushing past them, but he could feel the heat radiating against his skin, the oppressive weight of smoke filling his lungs. Hye-jin was still pulling him forward, her hands gripping his arm with an almost frantic urgency. Every step felt like a battle, the ground beneath him seeming to shift, the air too thick to breathe properly.
"Keep moving!" Hye-jin's voice was strained, but there was no mistaking the resolve in her tone. She wasn't going to stop. Neither was he.
They stumbled through the wreckage of the stage, navigating past falling debris, the sound of destruction all around them. Ji-hoon's heart was pounding in his chest, his pulse racing with every second. He could feel the intensity of the fire—knew, in his bones, that it was growing, spreading. But what frightened him more than the flames was the question that burned in his mind: Why was this happening?
The fire hadn't been an accident. It couldn't have been.
"Is it him?" The thought appeared in his mind like a ghost, lingering, unshakable. Si-wan. Of course, it had to be him. The twisted manipulation, the calculated destruction—nothing else made sense. Ji-hoon's teeth clenched. He was sure of it now. Si-wan had set the fire. He had made sure that this final performance—the one that had been supposed to set Ji-hoon free—would be nothing more than a funeral pyre. And Ji-hoon had been nothing but a pawn, dancing to the melody of Si-wan's sickening game.
Hye-jin tugged him forward again, breaking through his thoughts. "Ji-hoon, focus!" Her voice was firm now, sharper than before. "We're almost there. Don't let go of me."
The smoke was thickening by the second, swirling around them like a fog. Ji-hoon's breathing became more labored, the air heavy and stifling. The heat from the fire was unbearable, even though he could not see the flames themselves. It was like walking through an oven, the air pressing down on him, suffocating him with every breath.
But he didn't dare stop. He couldn't. Not when they were so close to escape.
A loud crash echoed from behind them, and Ji-hoon froze for a fraction of a second. The sound of something—someone—falling. A muffled scream. Then, a surge of footsteps—running, frantic, desperate.
"Ji-hoon!" Hye-jin's voice cut through the din of chaos, her grip tightening around his arm again. "We need to keep going. Don't look back. Don't—"
But it was too late.
A heavy weight slammed into Ji-hoon's chest, knocking him off balance. His feet flew out from under him, and for a terrifying moment, he was falling, his body flailing through the smoke and heat. Hye-jin cried out in alarm, her voice distorted by the noise, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was the cold grip of panic that seized his heart as he collided with the floor.
Something hard and unyielding hit his back. His head spun, his vision spinning in a kaleidoscope of fire and smoke, and for a moment, everything seemed to close in around him.
Hye-jin's voice was still calling his name, but it sounded distant now, muffled and unreachable. He was lying on the floor, disoriented, unable to move.
"Ji-hoon!" Her hands were on him again, pulling him upright, but it felt like a dream—slow, hazy. His limbs felt heavy, like they were made of lead. Every breath he took was a struggle, his chest tight with the intensity of the smoke and heat that surrounded him.
The fire was closing in. He could hear the crackle of the flames, the sound of wood and metal snapping under the pressure. The theater was falling apart, and he was at its heart.
"Come on!" Hye-jin's voice was like a lifeline, sharp and insistent. She was pulling him again, urging him forward, but Ji-hoon was numb, his body unresponsive to the urgency in her voice.
His hands fumbled, trying to grasp at something, anything to steady himself. His mind was still reeling from the chaos, the realization that the fire hadn't been a random accident, but a carefully orchestrated act of destruction.
Si-wan. It had to be him.
The fire, the plan, everything—it was all part of his twisted game.
The thought snapped Ji-hoon out of his daze, and suddenly, he was moving again, his body reacting to the adrenaline surging through his veins. Hye-jin's grip was still firm, guiding him through the wreckage, but the world was a blur. The flames were everywhere now, the heat unbearable, the smoke thickening with every step they took.
The sounds of the theater—the screams, the crashing, the crackling of the fire—were deafening. The audience was no longer just an audience. They were victims, caught in the same inferno, scrambling to escape. Ji-hoon could hear the distant wail of sirens, but it felt too far away. Too late.
Hye-jin pulled him forward again, and this time, Ji-hoon felt his feet moving with purpose. He had to get out. He had to survive. He couldn't let this be his end. Not after everything. Not after fighting so hard to get this far.
The air was growing hotter. Sweat dripped down his forehead, stinging his eyes. His heart thudded in his chest, every beat loud in his ears. He was so close to collapse, but he wouldn't let himself. Not now.
The heat was unbearable, but then, a door—an exit—appeared before him, barely visible through the smoke. A faint outline. A sliver of hope.
"Almost there," Hye-jin whispered, her voice strained but resolute.
But just as they reached the door, a loud, deafening crash echoed from behind them. Ji-hoon froze, his heart stopping for a moment. The fire was closer now. Too close.
"Hye-jin!" His voice cracked, raw with desperation. "Hurry!"
She didn't hesitate. With a final surge of strength, Hye-jin yanked him through the door, just as the entire stage behind them collapsed in a shower of flames and debris.
The world outside was dark, but cooler. The air was different. The smoke less oppressive. They were outside. They had made it.
But as Ji-hoon stumbled into the night, breathless and shaking, one thought consumed him, clearer than anything he had ever felt:
This wasn't over.
It had just begun.