The rain fell relentlessly, its cold fingers lashing at Ji-hoon's face as he walked through the alley, drenched and exhausted. His body ached in ways it hadn't before—every muscle tensed, every bone bruised from the violent confrontations, the endless struggle against Siwan's machinations. But this wasn't the end. No, it wasn't even close. He still had one thing left to do. One thing he had been avoiding, holding back, waiting for the right moment.
He pulled his phone out of his soaked jacket, dialing the number he knew by heart. The ringing on the other end felt like an eternity. The tension in his chest grew with each passing second. But then the voice answered.
"Police Department, how can I help you?"
"I need to speak with someone in charge." Ji-hoon's voice was cold, steady. It didn't tremble, even though the weight of everything he had to say nearly crushed him.
"Who is this?" the officer asked, his tone growing cautious.
"I'm Ji-hoon. Ryu Ji-hoon." The name sounded so hollow in his mouth, the words foreign. It was as if the person he used to be no longer existed. Not entirely, anyway.
"Ryu Ji-hoon... the pianist?"
"That's the one," Ji-hoon replied, clenching his fist as a surge of anger rose within him. The blood, the betrayal, the lies—he couldn't keep it inside any longer.
"We need to speak in person," the officer said quickly, his voice rising slightly with a mix of urgency and professionalism. "Where are you now?"
"Follow the sirens." Ji-hoon hung up the phone. He couldn't wait any longer. It was time to make his confession, to make sure Siwan would never manipulate anyone again. Not after everything he had done.
He moved toward the main road, the sound of sirens growing louder with each passing second. His steps were slow but deliberate, his every movement a calculated effort. He couldn't allow himself to break down now, not with everything at stake. He had lost too much already. His body was covered in bruises, his mind fogged by the violence, but this... This was the final piece. He had to finish it.
As he reached the road, the flashing lights of the police cars bathed the area in a sickly red glow. Uniformed officers surrounded the area, their radios crackling with static. The smell of burning rubber and wet asphalt filled the air. But none of it mattered. Not anymore.
A squad car screeched to a halt in front of him, and the door swung open. "Mr. Ryu, you need to come with us," the officer said, his face hardened by the weight of the situation.
Ji-hoon didn't answer immediately. Instead, he scanned the scene, eyes flickering over the officers, the flashing lights. The world felt like it was spinning, everything disjointed and out of place. But there was no turning back. He had already made his choice.
"You need to listen to me," Ji-hoon finally said, his voice low but forceful. "Siwan... He's the one behind everything. The murder of my mother. The lies. The manipulation. All of it."
The officer's eyes narrowed, skepticism written across his face. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm not lying." Ji-hoon's voice grew stronger, filled with a conviction he hadn't known he was capable of. "Siwan is the one who killed my mother. He's the one who framed me. He's been orchestrating everything from behind the scenes."
The officer took a step back, his hand instinctively going to his holster as if unsure of what to make of Ji-hoon's outburst. "You need to calm down. This isn't the time for—"
"No." Ji-hoon's fists clenched, the rage rising in his chest like wildfire. "You don't understand. You have no idea what he's done. You have no idea what he's capable of." His breath was heavy now, his entire body shaking with adrenaline. "I know what I'm saying. I've seen the proof. The recordings. The files. He set me up. I'm not the one who killed her. It was Siwan. And I have everything you need to prove it."
The officer paused, then nodded at his partner. "Call for backup," he ordered, his voice steady but wary. "We need to take him in, get him into a safe place. If he's telling the truth, we need to act fast."
Ji-hoon was led to the back of a police car, his mind racing with thoughts of Siwan. What would he do when he found out? He couldn't imagine the fury that would burn behind Siwan's eyes when the truth finally came to light. But it didn't matter. None of it mattered anymore. For the first time in a long time, Ji-hoon felt like he was in control.
As the car sped through the streets, Ji-hoon looked out the window, the blur of neon lights and rain-soaked pavement flashing by. Everything was moving so fast, but he felt strangely calm. The anger, the fear, the guilt—it all seemed to fall away as he focused on the task ahead. He was so close now. So close to ending everything.
"Do you have the evidence?" The officer's voice broke through Ji-hoon's thoughts, pulling him back to the present.
Ji-hoon nodded. "Yes," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's all in the file. The recordings, the emails... Everything he's been hiding. It's all there."
The officer reached for the file, his hands trembling as he opened it. The contents spilled out before him, the proof of Siwan's betrayal laid bare. Ji-hoon could hear the officer's sharp intake of breath as he read through the documents, his eyes widening with each new revelation. "This... This is huge," he muttered, staring at Ji-hoon with a mix of disbelief and awe.
"It doesn't matter anymore," Ji-hoon said bitterly. "Siwan won't stop. He'll try to erase everything, make it all go away. But I won't let him. I won't let him get away with this. Not after everything he's done."
The officer closed the file slowly, his face grim. "We'll take care of this. You've done the right thing by coming forward, Mr. Ryu. But we need you to stay calm. We need you to help us catch him. He's dangerous."
Ji-hoon didn't respond. He wasn't thinking about Siwan anymore. He wasn't thinking about the game or the fight that had consumed him for so long. He was thinking about his mother. About the woman he had loved and lost. The one who had been taken from him before he even had a chance to say goodbye.
The car pulled to a stop in front of the police station, and Ji-hoon was ushered inside. The officers worked quickly, securing the evidence, organizing the files, and setting up a team to track down Siwan. But Ji-hoon didn't care about the plan. He didn't care about what came next. He only cared about one thing: making sure Siwan would never hurt anyone again.
As they took him into a small, sterile room, Ji-hoon stared at the walls, the fluorescent lights above casting a cold glow over everything. It was a moment of quiet before the storm. He could feel it in his bones. The fight wasn't over. Not yet. But for the first time in years, Ji-hoon felt like he was on the right side of it.
"I've said what I needed to say," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "Now let's finish this."
Siwan sat in the cold, sterile interrogation room, his hands cuffed to the metal chair. His body was sore, bruised, but he held onto his composure, the last shred of control he had over the situation. He had been questioned for hours, hours that felt like days, each moment a torture of its own. But he wasn't going to break. Not yet. He had always been the one pulling the strings, always in control. And even now, with the walls closing in around him, he was still holding onto that illusion of power.
The door to the room opened with a sharp, grating sound, and two officers entered, their faces grim and unsympathetic. Behind them, another officer dragged a chair and set it down in front of Siwan, locking eyes with him.
"Siwan," the officer began, his voice low but full of authority, "you've been lying to us from the start. You've been manipulating the facts, hiding evidence, framing Ji-hoon for something he didn't do."
Siwan smirked, his lips curling slightly. "You don't know anything," he sneered. "You can't prove anything. All you have are your assumptions."
The officer, a tall man with a scar running down the side of his neck, stepped closer. "We have more than assumptions, Siwan. We have evidence. And we know what you've been up to."
"Evidence? What evidence? You have nothing."
Siwan's voice grew more confident, but the slight tremor in his hands gave him away. He was nervous. The pressure was getting to him. He could feel it, creeping under his skin. They knew something. They had to.
But the officer wasn't done. "We know you killed Ji-hoon's mother. We know you framed him. And now it's time for you to tell the truth."
Siwan's eyes narrowed, his pupils dilating with a mix of anger and fear. "You don't know anything. You're just like him," he hissed, referring to Ji-hoon, "a broken piece of trash trying to blame everything on someone else."
"You're lying to yourself," the officer responded, his voice now sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife. "You've been running from the truth for years, but it's caught up with you now. And you'll have to face it, one way or another."
Another officer entered the room, carrying a metal case. Siwan's eyes flickered to it, panic creeping into his chest. He had heard stories about the things that went on in these rooms, heard about how people broke under the pressure. But he wasn't going to break. Not yet.
The officer who had been speaking to him turned to the other one and nodded. The other officer opened the case, revealing a set of tools. Siwan's breath hitched, but he quickly composed himself, trying to mask the fear that was bubbling beneath the surface.
"What is this?" Siwan demanded, his voice shaking now. "What are you going to do with that?"
"Something you'll understand soon enough," the officer replied coolly. He grabbed one of the tools—a small, serrated knife—and stepped toward Siwan.
Siwan's heart raced as the officer came closer, the knife gleaming under the harsh light above. He was still trying to maintain his composure, but his body betrayed him, tension running through his every limb.
"I'm not going to talk," Siwan spat, trying to hold onto his pride, but his voice cracked under the pressure.
The officer didn't respond. He simply set the knife on the table, its cold steel glinting ominously in the light.
"You don't have to talk," the officer said, his voice low and deliberate. "But we'll find a way to make you speak."
Siwan clenched his fists, his knuckles white with the force of his grip. He wasn't going to give them the satisfaction. He wasn't going to let them win.
But the officer wasn't backing down. He gestured to the other officer, and within moments, they were on him, pinning him down to the chair. Siwan struggled, but their grip was too strong, too tight. They were not letting him go.
The officer with the knife stepped forward again, his movements slow and methodical. Siwan could feel his pulse racing, the sweat gathering on his brow. He was terrified, more terrified than he had ever been in his life. But he wouldn't show it. He couldn't show it.
"Tell us what we need to know," the officer said, his voice colder now, more threatening. "Tell us where the evidence is, who helped you, and what your plans were."
Siwan clenched his teeth, but his mind was racing. He knew they were closing in. They had him cornered. The lies he had told, the manipulation he had used—it was all coming to an end. And he could feel the walls crashing down around him.
"You're not going to break me," Siwan spat defiantly, his voice shaking but still full of venom.
The officer didn't flinch. "You don't have a choice."
Without warning, the officer slashed the air with the knife, grazing Siwan's cheek. He flinched as the cold steel made contact, but it wasn't deep enough to cause any significant damage. Still, the sharp pain made Siwan gasp, his body tensing in response.
"You think you're in control, don't you?" the officer asked, his voice soft but dangerous. "You think you've got this all figured out. But you don't. You're at the end of the road now."
Siwan could feel the blood trickling down his face, a sharp sting where the knife had cut. The humiliation, the fear—it was all building inside him. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but he couldn't. His arms were still restrained, his body held firm by the officers.
"I told you, I'm not talking," Siwan gritted out, his voice strained.
The officer took a step back, his expression unchanged. "We'll see about that." He gestured to the other officer, who immediately moved to grab something else from the metal case.
Siwan's mind raced. What would they do next? What was going to happen to him? For the first time in his life, Siwan wasn't sure he could control the situation. He wasn't sure he could talk his way out of this one.
He was trapped.
The officers continued their silent, methodical work, closing in on him with a precision that made Siwan's blood run cold. Every second felt like an eternity, every breath harder to take.
And for the first time, he was beginning to doubt whether his lies, his manipulations, would be enough to save him.