Ji-eun stood at the threshold of the conservatory, the heavy doors before her like the divide between her past and the fragile possibility of her future. The place that had once been a sanctuary for her—where the melodies of violins and pianos filled the air like magic—now felt like a cage. Her heart raced as she clutched the envelope in her hands, the letter inside burning with the weight of truth.
Siwan was the killer. The man she had loved, the brother she had sworn to protect, was the murderer who had shattered their lives. She had known the signs, had sensed something in the air all along, but the final confirmation had come in a quiet whisper from the detective. It was Siwan's cologne—the scent that had lingered at the scene, mingling with the blood, giving away his guilt like an open wound.
But even as the truth sunk in, Ji-eun could not bring herself to hate him. She had been raised to believe that family meant everything, that blood tied you to your destiny. Siwan had always been her older brother, her protector in so many ways—though he had also been the architect of their shared torment. Now, standing at the threshold of this once-sacred place, Ji-eun felt a quiet, unbearable grief settle in her chest.
She had loved him. And yet, in that same love, she had to kill the illusion of him as a savior.
The past few days had been an endless spiral of confusion. The pieces of her memories, the conversations she had overheard, the strange gaps in Siwan's story—they all began to make sense now. She could no longer ignore the darkness she had once overlooked.
Ji-eun's fingers trembled as she glanced down at the letter again. It was addressed to Ji-hoon, but it was meant for both of them—the truth that had been buried for so long, wrapped in the guise of something much more sinister.
She stepped forward, the sound of her heels sharp against the marble floor, and approached the stage where she and Siwan had performed countless times as children. The music that had once felt like a unifying force now seemed like a distant echo—its beauty marred by the betrayal that had unfolded around her.
She had always admired Siwan's control, his ability to manipulate the world with a subtle smile or a well-placed word. He had used that power to control her, to shape her into something she was not, until she had become nothing more than an extension of his will. But now, she saw him for who he truly was. A man broken by his own desires, shackled by guilt, and driven by an insatiable need to maintain control.
Ji-eun closed her eyes, allowing the sounds of the empty room to wash over her—the faint hum of the fluorescent lights above, the distant murmur of voices outside. She had spent so many years in the shadows, clinging to the illusion of family, but now she was no longer blind to the truth.
Her breath hitched as she recalled the moment everything had shifted. She had known, deep down, that Siwan had crossed a line. The way he had looked at her, the way he had spoken with such cold detachment after the murder, had unsettled her. It wasn't just the loss of their mother that had changed him—it was something much darker, something inside him that had always been there, festering. She had been too naïve, too desperate to believe in the family she had once thought was untouchable.
Now, as she stood in the silence of the conservatory, she could no longer deny it. The guilt she had buried within herself for so long—her own complicity in his actions, her unwillingness to confront him—had been a weight pressing down on her. And in that weight, she had found the courage to face the truth, no matter how much it hurt.
The truth was not a balm. It was not a soft, forgiving whisper in the dark. It was raw, jagged, and unyielding. And as much as she wanted to protect Siwan, as much as she wanted to shield him from the consequences of his actions, she knew now that she had to let go.
She had to forgive herself before she could ever hope to forgive him.
Her fingers tightened around the envelope, and she took a deep breath. The decision had already been made. She would confront him, tell him that she knew. She would expose him for the monster he had become—no matter the cost. And then, she would walk away from the ashes of the family she had once dreamed of.
The silence of the room felt suffocating as Ji-eun moved toward the back door of the stage, where she knew Siwan would be waiting. His presence was like a shadow that always lingered, ever watchful, ever calculating. She had always been afraid of what would happen if she faced him directly, but now, that fear had dissolved into something far more potent—desire for the truth.
Every step she took toward him felt like a step toward her own redemption, toward reclaiming the pieces of herself that Siwan had stolen. But as she reached for the door handle, a flicker of doubt crept into her mind.
What if he lies? What if he tries to manipulate me again?
But no. She had already been manipulated for too long. This time, she would not falter.
The door creaked open, and Ji-eun stepped into the darkness of the hallway. The faint light from the stage illuminated the path before her, but she felt no comfort in its glow. The truth was waiting for her in the darkness.
As she walked, her mind replayed the last conversation she had had with Siwan. His cold, detached words still echoed in her ears. "You won't understand, Ji-eun. You'll never understand the sacrifices I had to make."
But she had come to understand.
Now, all that remained was to face him. To demand answers. To finally break the chains that had bound her for so long.
Siwan was the killer, and Ji-eun would be the one to make him face the consequences of his actions.
The truth had a cost, and she was ready to pay it.
Ji-eun's steps quickened as she approached the familiar backstage area, where the tension in the air felt palpable, like the silence before a storm. The quiet hum of the stage lights buzzed around her, and every shadow seemed to stretch unnaturally, as though the walls themselves were alive with the memories of her past. The conservatory had once been a place of hope for her, but now, it felt like a tomb—cold, unforgiving, and full of lies.
She could hear Siwan's voice before she saw him, a low murmur of words she couldn't quite make out. He was somewhere close, lurking in the shadowy corners of the stage, his presence an all-encompassing force. He had always had a way of making her feel small, like a part of his world that he could control and discard at will.
The letter in her hands felt heavier with each passing second, the truth inside it threatening to tear through the fragile veneer of their relationship. She was no longer the innocent sister who had adored him from a distance. That person was gone, replaced by someone who knew too much. Someone who could no longer pretend.
She reached the door leading to the stage, her pulse racing in her ears. For a brief moment, she hesitated. What if confronting him was the wrong choice? What if, in doing so, she lost herself forever? The questions gnawed at her, but there was no turning back. She had already made the decision.
With a deep breath, she pushed the door open, the sound of its creaking hinges echoing through the stillness. The stage was empty, save for the scattered instruments and forgotten sheet music that littered the floor. In the center of it all, bathed in the soft, eerie glow of the overhead lights, stood Siwan. His back was turned, but she knew he could feel her presence, like a pull in the air between them.
"Ji-eun." His voice was smooth, controlled, but there was an edge to it, a hint of something darker lurking beneath the surface. "I didn't expect you to come."
She didn't respond immediately. She couldn't. Not yet. The weight of everything she had learned, everything she had uncovered, was too much to bear. The years of silence between them, the lies, the manipulation—it all hit her in that moment, and she realized just how much she had been holding in. How much she had been willing to ignore for the sake of preserving a false sense of family.
"Siwan," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. She could hear the tremor in her words, but she didn't care. She was beyond caring now. "It's over. I know what you did."
His posture stiffened, his shoulders tensing. He didn't turn around, but she could feel the change in the air, the way his body shifted as if preparing for something inevitable.
"You don't know anything," he replied, his voice cold and dismissive. "You've always been too naïve to understand. You were never supposed to know."
The bitterness in his words stung, but Ji-eun pushed through it. She stepped further into the room, her feet silent on the floor as she closed the gap between them. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, a steady rhythm that seemed to match the drum of the reality crashing down around her.
"No," she said, her voice growing stronger with each word. "I know exactly what happened. I know that you killed her. I know that you were the one who—"
"Stop!" Siwan finally spun around, his face twisted with anger. His eyes, usually calm and composed, were now wild, his pupils dilated as if he were trying to control something that was slipping from his grasp.
For the first time, Ji-eun saw him for what he truly was. Not the brother who had always protected her, not the boy who had once played the piano beside her in harmony. He was a man broken, consumed by his own darkness. And in that darkness, he had killed their mother.
"You don't know anything about me," he said through gritted teeth. "You think you understand, but you have no idea what it's like to carry the weight of everything. To make the decisions I've made, to sacrifice what I've sacrificed. You wouldn't understand."
Ji-eun felt a chill run down her spine as she realized the depth of his delusion. He still thought he was justified. Still believed that his actions, however monstrous, were somehow necessary.
"I understand," Ji-eun said, her voice steady now, no longer filled with fear or hesitation. "I understand that you killed her because you wanted to protect yourself. Because you couldn't bear the thought of losing your grip on everything. But what you don't understand, Siwan, is that you've already lost."
His eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a sneer. "Lost? You think I've lost? I've done everything for this family, Ji-eun. Everything! And you, you don't even know what it's like to—"
"I know what it's like to lose," Ji-eun interrupted, her words sharp like a blade. "I know what it's like to lose everything. To lose my mother. To lose the person I thought you were. But now, I'm not going to lose myself. Not because of you."
Silence hung between them, thick and suffocating. The tension in the air seemed to press down on her chest, but Ji-eun stood her ground. She could feel the tremors in her fingers, but they were not born of fear. They were born of something else—something stronger.
"I'm done hiding," Ji-eun continued, her voice quieter now, but filled with a kind of resolute finality. "I'm done pretending. You're going to pay for what you've done, Siwan. And I'm going to make sure of it."
A dark laugh escaped his lips, but it was hollow, empty. "You think you can stop me? You think anyone can? You're nothing, Ji-eun. You always were. And now you're just like them—weak, pathetic, and afraid."
Ji-eun shook her head, her gaze unwavering. "No. I'm not afraid of you anymore."
The words hung in the air, charged with a force that neither of them could deny. In that moment, Ji-eun knew what she had to do. It wasn't just about confronting Siwan. It was about confronting the truth she had buried deep within herself for far too long.
She had always been his sister, always in his shadow, but no longer. Not anymore. Now, she would be the one who held the power. She would be the one to take control of her own fate.
"You don't have to do this," Siwan said, his voice softer now, but still laced with venom. "You don't have to destroy everything we built. We can still fix this."
But Ji-eun knew there was no fixing it. There was no going back to what they had been. The illusion was shattered.
"No," Ji-eun said, her voice calm but firm. "It's already over."
And with that, she turned and walked away.