The door to Taekyun's room slid open with a violent crash. Beom Seok stood silhouetted in the doorway, his chest heaving from his run up the mountain paths, Master Hwang a calm but grim shadow behind him.
The scene that greeted them was one of pure nightmare.
Rinwoo lay deathly pale and unconscious on the futon, a stark, bloody cloth pressed beneath his nose. Taekyun was hunched over him, a cheap, outdated cell phone pressed to his ear, his voice a broken, frantic whisper. "Hello? Is anyone there? Please... I need an ambulance... my... my husband is..." The line was dead, nothing but static. They were nine hours from the nearest city, and he was begging a ghost for help.
For a single, suspended second, the world froze.
Then, Beom Seok erupted.
A guttural roar tore from his throat as he crossed the room in two long strides. He didn't see a man; he saw a predator over its fallen prey. His hands, strong from years of labor, shot out and grabbed Taekyun by the collar of his dirty, blood-stained shirt, hauling him bodily away from Rinwoo and slamming him back against the wall.
"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?!" Beom Seok screamed, his face inches from Taekyun's, his eyes wild with a protective fury that bordered on madness. Spittle flew from his lips. "You bastard! You filth! What did you say to him? What did you DO?"
He shook Taekyun hard, the other man's head knocking against the wall with a dull thud. Taekyun offered no resistance. His body was limp, his eyes vacant and fixed on Rinwoo's still form. The phone clattered to the floor.
"I... I didn't..." Taekyun's voice was a hollow whisper, stripped of everything. "He just... he fell. There was blood..."
"Liar!" Beom Seok shrieked, shaking him again. "He was fine before! He was getting stronger! And then you come here, and now he's like this! His nose was bleeding again, wasn't it? Because of you! It's always because of you!"
He drew a fist back, his entire body trembling with the need to inflict pain, to smash the face of the man who had caused all this suffering.
"Beom Seok."
Master Hwang's voice was not loud, but it cut through the violence in the room like a blade. He had moved silently to Rinwoo's side, his ancient, gnarled fingers already checking his grandson's pulse at his neck, his other hand gently removing the bloody cloth.
Beom Seok froze, his fist still clenched, his chest heaving. Tears of rage and fear now mixed with the fury in his eyes. "Master... look at him... he's..."
"I see," Master Hwang said, his voice low and impossibly calm, though his eyes held a deep, simmering storm. He looked from Rinwoo's pallid face to Taekyun, pinned against the wall. "Release him."
"But—!"
"Release him."
The command was final. With a sound of pure anguish, Beom Seok shoved Taekyun away in disgust, letting him slump to the floor like a discarded sack. He immediately rushed to the other side of the futon, kneeling and taking Rinwoo's cold hand in both of his, his shoulders shaking.
Master Hwang's gaze settled on Taekyun, who knelt on the floor, head bowed, his breathing ragged. The old monk's eyes saw everything—the scattered food, the tray on the floor, the utter devastation on both men's faces, the fresh blood.
"Tell me," Master Hwang said, his voice dangerously quiet. "What words were spoken in this room that were sharp enough to make my grandson's soul bleed?"
Taekyun looked up, his eyes meeting the old man's. There was no lie he could tell, no excuse he could make. The truth was written in Rinwoo's unconsciousness, in the blood on his own shirt, in the echoing silence where his own heart used to be.
"He told me to be gone," Taekyun whispered, the confession tearing from a place of utter ruin. "And I... I begged him to let me be the dirt beneath his feet instead."
The room was silent, save for Beom Seok's choked sobs. In that single, heartbreaking sentence, Master Hwang understood the entire, tragic exchange. The final, desperate rejection. And the even more desperate, futile plea that had shattered the last of Rinwoo's fragile defenses.
He looked down at his grandson, gently wiping a stray trickle of blood from his lip.
"The body can only bear what the heart can no longer hold," the old monk murmured, a profound sorrow in his timeless eyes.
NEXT DAY..
The air in the wedding hall was thick with the cloying scent of lilies and the low, polished hum of string quartets. Crystal gleamed under chandeliers, and everywhere there were smiles—tight, practiced, and utterly false. It was a perfect Lee family event: beautiful, extravagant, and hollow to its core.
In the heart of the opulence, sequestered in a groom's waiting room that was larger than most apartments, Lee Taemin sat.
He was a statue dressed in a bespoke white tuxedo. His hands, resting on his knees, were perfectly still. His face, which usually held a rebellious spark or a mischievous grin, was a smooth, emotionless mask. His stylists had fussed over him for hours, sculpting his hair, perfecting his makeup, turning him into the pristine, picture-perfect groom. They had all left now, murmuring congratulations, oblivious to the corpse they had just prettied up.
When the door clicked shut, leaving him in silence, a tiny, almost imperceptible shudder went through him.
Slowly, as if moving through deep water, he unclenched his right hand.
Tucked in his sweating palm was a small, unassuming bottle. No label. He had bought it from a shabby pharmacy on the way here, paying in cash, not meeting the cashier's eyes. Sleeping pills. A whole, full bottle.
He stared at the white plastic, his vision blurring. This wasn't a dramatic plan. It wasn't a cry for help. It was a simple, logical exit strategy. A final act of control in a life that had been wrested from him.
He could hear the muffled sounds of the gathering crowd—the rustle of silk, the clink of champagne flutes, the murmur of hundreds of voices weaving a web of congratulations around the prison he was about to enter. Each sound was a nail hammering his coffin shut.
He thought of Juwon. Of Juwon's voice, soft and loving in the dark. Of Juwon's face, pale and devastated, telling him, The lie that had broken the last of his will. The lie he had to believe, because the truth—that Juwon had sacrificed their love to save him—was a pain too immense to bear.
He thought of Nayeon, his sweet, kind friend, waiting in her own room in a gown of white, believing she was about to start a life with her childhood crush. He was about to ruin her life, too. He was a poison, just like his father. Just like the curse said.
His fingers tightened around the bottle. The plastic crackled softly.
It would be so easy. A handful of pills. A swallow of the expensive whiskey on the sidebar. He could just… go to sleep. He wouldn't have to walk down that aisle. He wouldn't have to say vows that were a blasphemy against his own heart. He wouldn't have to see the hope in Nayeon's eyes slowly die when she realized her husband's soul was a million miles away, buried with another man.
He wouldn't have to live in a world where Park Juwon was no longer his.
A single, hot tear escaped, tracing a path through the carefully applied foundation on his cheek. It fell onto the back of his hand, a dark spot on his skin.
He didn't wipe it away.
He just sat there, a beautiful, broken prince in a gilded cage, holding the key to his own final escape in the palm of his hand, wondering if he had the courage to turn it.
The world had narrowed to the small white pills in his palm. They were his escape. His freedom. The only way to silence the agonizing scream that had been building in his chest since Juwon had walked away. He brought his hand to his mouth, the faint, chalky scent of the pills filling his senses.
The door flew open.
"Taemin, the photographer is—"
Mingyu's cheerful voice died in his throat. His eyes, usually crinkled with laughter, widened in horror. He took in the scene in a single, devastating snapshot: his best friend, dressed for a wedding he never wanted, a bottle of pills clutched in one hand, a handful of death on its way to his lips.
Time seemed to fracture.
"NO!"
The roar was raw, tearing from Mingyu's chest. He wasn't a businessman in that moment; he was a missile of pure, protective instinct. He lunged across the room, his hand striking out like a viper, smacking Taemin's wrist with a sharp crack.
The pills exploded into the air, a shower of tiny white dots scattering across the pristine carpet like morbid confetti. The empty bottle clattered into a corner.
"What are you doing?!" Mingyu screamed, his voice cracking. He grabbed Taemin by the shoulders, shaking him hard. "Are you insane?! Look at me! LOOK AT ME!"
Taemin's head lolled back, his eyes empty, devoid of the vibrant light that had always defined him. "Why, Mingyu?" he whispered, the sound hollow. "Why did you stop me? There's nothing left."
"Don't you say that!" Mingyu's grip tightened, his knuckles white. "Don't you ever say that! What about your life? What about your dreams?"
"Dreams?" A broken, ghost of a laugh escaped Taemin's lips. "He was my dream. And he's gone. He told me it was all a mess. So what's the point? To live as a ghost in my own life? To make Nayeon miserable? To fulfill this cursed destiny? I'd rather be nothing."
Mingyu stared at the shell of his best friend, and the last of his resolve to stay out of it, to respect Juwon's terrible sacrifice, shattered into a million pieces. He couldn't stand by and watch the curse win by having Taemin take his own life.
He released Taemin's shoulders, his own hands trembling. He knelt, picking up one of the scattered pills, holding it between his thumb and forefinger.
"You think this is the answer?" Mingyu's voice dropped to a fierce, urgent whisper. "You think this is bravery? This is what the curse wants, you fool! It wants you broken. It wants you to give up."
He crushed the pill, letting the dust fall to the floor.
"I was wrong. I thought... I thought I should respect his decision. I thought he was saving you." He looked Taemin straight in the eyes, his own filling with tears. "But he's killing you. And I won't let him. I won't let either of you be this stupid."
Taemin's vacant eyes flickered with a faint, painful confusion. "What... what are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about Juwon," Mingyu said, his voice thick with emotion. "We talked about you before he left you. Don't think he never loved you. He carved out his own heart. He believes the curse will kill you if you don't marry your fated match. He left you to save your life, you idiot!"
The words hit Taemin like a physical blow. He recoiled, a gasp finally breaking through his numbness. "No... he said..."
"He lied!" Mingyu cried, grabbing Taemin's hands, holding them tightly. "He lied to you because he loves you more than he loves himself. And you... you were going to make his sacrifice meaningless. You were going to let his heartbreak be for nothing."
Mingyu stood up, pulling Taemin to his feet with a sudden, determined strength. He looked at the wedding tuxedo, at the scattered pills, and made his choice.
"I can't watch this anymore. I don't care about the curse. I don't care about fate. I care about my best friend." He began to unbutton the expensive white tuxedo jacket with frantic hands.
"W-what are you doing"?
"To hell!" Mingyu yelled, tears now streaming down his face freely. "Let the world burn! Let the curse try and take you! But it will have to go through me, and it will have to go through him first."
He finally got the jacket off and threw it onto the floor, onto the scattered pills.
"I'm bringing Juwon back," Mingyu vowed, his voice trembling but unwavering. "I won't be able to take you out because of security but I'm sure, I can ruin this wedding so Mr Jeon take her daughter and leave. I'm going to find him, and I'm going to drag him here by his collar if I have to. And I'm going to make him see that a life without you isn't a life worth saving." He cupped Taemin's face, forcing him to listen. "You are not dying today, Taemin. You are going to fight. Do you hear me? You are going to fight for your love."
The sterile, antiseptic air of the private hospital room was thick with a silence more oppressive than any argument. Rinwoo lay in the bed, unnervingly still, an IV drip attached to his arm. His pallor was a stark contrast to the white sheets.
On one side of the bed sat Beom Seok, his posture rigid, his fists clenched on his knees. On the other, stood Taekyun, still in his dirt-stained clothes from the shrine, looking utterly out of place and hollowed out with fear.
The door opened and the doctor, a middle-aged woman with a kind but weary face, entered with a chart.
"Any change?" Taekyun's voice was rough with desperation, cutting through the quiet.
"None yet," the doctor said softly, her gaze moving between the two tense men. "We've stabilized his vitals. He's severely dehydrated and exhausted, but physically, there's no immediate danger."
"Then why won't he wake up?" Beom Seok demanded, his voice tight.
The doctor sighed, closing the chart. "Because the body can only process so much. We've run the tests. The nosebleeds, the fainting, the hallucinations he's been experiencing... there is no physiological cause. No tumor, no vascular abnormality."
Taekyun's breath hitched. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying," the doctor explained gently but firmly, "that his symptoms are psychosomatic. They are a physical manifestation of extreme psychological distress. His body is literally shutting down because his mind can no longer cope."
Beom Seok shot to his feet, his chair scraping loudly. He pointed a trembling finger at Taekyun. "You see? You hear that? It's you! You're the 'extreme psychological distress'! You did this to him!"
Taekyun flinched as if struck, but didn't deny it. He couldn't.
"The constant, severe stress," the doctor continued, her tone clinical yet compassionate, "has spiked his blood pressure, leading to the epistaxis. The fainting is a vasovagal response, likely triggered by acute anxiety or a traumatic flashback. And the hallucinations... the 'shadows' he sees... are a common symptom of Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. His mind is trapped in a cycle of reliving his past trauma, to the point where his perception of reality is fractured."
She looked directly at Taekyun, her gaze piercing. "The brain, under that much strain, can create very real physical symptoms. It's his psyche's way of screaming for a respite that his conscious mind can't grant itself. He has been carrying a burden far too heavy for far too long."
A broken sob escaped Taekyun. He stumbled back, bracing himself against the wall. "I... I didn't know... I didn't understand..."
"You didn't want to understand!" Beom Seok roared, advancing on him. "You were too busy with your mistress and your company to see that you were killing him slowly every single day! You broke his heart, and now you've broken his mind! He was getting better at the shrine! He was starting to heal! And you came back and destroyed him all over again!"
"He told me to be gone!" Taekyun cried out, his own composure shattering. "What was I supposed to do?!"
"YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO OBEY!" Beom Seok yelled, shoving Taekyun hard against the wall. "You were supposed to listen to him for once in your miserable life! Your presence is a toxin to him! Can't you see that? The doctor just told you—your very existence near him is making him sick!"
The doctor stepped between them, her voice sharp. "Gentlemen! This is not helping my patient. He needs peace. He needs a safe environment, free from the sources of his trauma."
The words hung in the air, a final, devastating verdict.
Free from the sources of his trauma.
Taekyun looked over at Rinwoo's still form, the truth finally, horrifyingly clear. His love, his desperation, his pleas—they weren't medicine. They were just another strain, another trigger. He was the human embodiment of the pain Rinwoo's mind was trying to escape.
Beom Seok saw the realization dawn on Taekyun's face, and his fury morphed into a cold, grim satisfaction. "You finally get it, don't you? The most loving thing you can do for him now," he spat, each word a dagger, "is to disappear."
Taekyun's legs gave way. He slid down the wall, collapsing onto the cold hospital floor, his face in his hands. There were no more words, no more pleas. Just the silent, suffocating understanding that he was the disease, and for Rinwoo to have any chance at life, the disease had to be eradicated.
The doctor watched Taekyun crumble to the floor, a profound pity in her eyes. She had seen this before—the moment a person realizes they are the source of someone else's suffering. It was a special kind of hell.
She knelt down, not to comfort him, but to deliver a truth he could no longer avoid. Her voice was soft, but every word landed with the weight of a tombstone.
"Mr. Lee," she began, "the human mind and body are resilient, but they have their limits. Rinwoo-ssi has been operating far beyond his for a long time. What you see now—the collapse—is his system declaring a final ceasefire."
She glanced at the still figure in the bed. "If he is forced back into the environment that caused this, or if the psychological pressure continues, it will get worse. The nosebleeds could become more frequent, more severe. The fainting spells could lead to a serious fall and a physical injury. His immune system will weaken, making him susceptible to illnesses he would normally fight off."
She took a slow breath, her gaze returning to Taekyun's shattered one. "But the mind... that is the greater concern. The hallucinations could become more vivid, more terrifying. He could develop crippling agoraphobia, a fear of leaving his room. He could lose the ability to distinguish between memory and reality entirely, trapped in a waking nightmare of his past trauma. His mind, to protect itself, could simply... decide not to come back. We call it a psychogenic coma. Or worse, the despair could become so absolute that he simply... gives up. The will to live can be extinguished."
A ragged, broken sound was torn from Taekyun's throat. Beom Seok stood frozen by the bed, his anger momentarily eclipsed by a cold, gripping fear.
"What does he need?" Taekyun whispered, the question a plea for a miracle he knew he couldn't provide.
"He needs what his soul has been screaming for," the doctor said. "Absolute peace. A sanctuary. He needs to be removed from all triggers, all reminders of his pain. He needs intensive therapy to process the betrayal, the neglect, the profound loneliness. He needs to feel, in his bones, that he is safe. That no one can hurt him anymore."
She paused, letting the words sink in. "He needs to be surrounded by people who offer unconditional support without demanding anything from him. People who don't see him as a broken thing to be fixed, but as a person to be gently accompanied on his own journey back to himself."
Her eyes held Taekyun's, not with malice, but with a devastating finality.
"Most of all," she said, her voice barely a whisper, "he needs the freedom to heal. And for some patients, that freedom... begins with the absence of the person who caused the wound."
The silence in the room was absolute. It was the sound of a death sentence.
Taekyun didn't cry. He didn't speak. He just stared at the floor, the doctor's words carving out everything inside him until he was just an empty shell.
He was the trigger. He was the reminder. He was the wound.
And the only thing left for him to give was his absence.
He slowly, painfully, pushed himself to his feet. His legs felt like lead. He didn't look at Rinwoo. He couldn't bear to.
He turned and walked towards the door, each step an eternity.
"Where are you going?" Beom Seok asked, his voice stripped of its earlier fury, now just tired and sad.
Taekyun stopped at the door, his hand on the frame. He didn't turn around.
"To do the only loving thing I have left to do," he said, his voice a hollow echo. "I'm going to make sure he never has to see me again."
And with that, he stepped out of the room, leaving the ghost of his love behind to haunt the space between him and the man he had destroyed.
The air in the wedding hall was a suffocating mix of perfume and anticipation. Under the vaulted ceiling, adorned with thousands of white flowers, the guests were a sea of smiling, oblivious faces.
At the altar, Lee Daon stood perfectly poised, his expression a mask of calm composure. But his knuckles were white where he gripped the ceremonial cushion holding the rings. His eyes, for a fleeting second, darted across the crowd, searching for a single person. He found him. Eunjae. Standing far at the back, near the great arched doors, as if ready to flee. Their eyes met across the vast distance, and in Eunjae's gaze, Daon saw no anger, only a deep, weary sorrow that seemed to age him. It was the look of someone who had already said goodbye. Daon's chest tightened, a sharp, painful spasm. He quickly looked away, the mask back in place.
Beside him, Lee Taemin was a statue of a different kind. He wasn't looking at the doors where his bride would enter. His entire body was angled toward a side entrance, the one that led from the parking lot. His fists were clenched at his sides, his jaw so tight it ached. He wasn't waiting for Nayeon. He was waiting for a miracle. His heart was a frantic drum against his ribs, a desperate, silent prayer. Come on, Mingyu. Bring him. Please.
---
Far from the opulent hall, the wind whipped through Park Juwon's hair as he clung to Mingyu on the back of Taemin's motorcycle. They had slipped out through a service entrance, a desperate escape staged by a furious Mingyu who had literally pulled Juwon from his room.
"This is insane, Mingyu! Turn back!" Juwon shouted over the roar of the engine, his arms locked around the other man's waist.
"The only insane thing is you thinking you could let him marry her!" Mingyu yelled back, not slowing down. "He had a bottle of pills, Juwon! A handful! He was going to kill himself at the altar!"
The words struck Juwon like a physical blow, stealing his breath. "What? No…"
"He was! I stopped him! Your 'noble sacrifice' was about to become his death sentence!" Mingyu's voice cracked with emotion. "You think the curse is what will kill him? It's you, Juwon! Your absence is what's going to destroy him!"
Tears streamed from Juwon's eyes, instantly drying in the wind. "I was trying to save him! My father… the curse… if he doesn't marry his fated match…"
"To hell with fate!" Mingyu roared, swerving around a corner. "Look at what fate has done to them! To all of you! It's a chain, and you're helping to lock it! Taemin doesn't need a fated match to live! He needs you to breathe!"
He glanced back, his eyes fierce in the rearview mirror. "So you can go back to your gilded cage and live a long, miserable life knowing you let the only person who ever truly mattered to you die. Or you can be a man, and you can fight for him! What's it going to be, Juwon? Are you his destiny, or are you just another coward?"
Juwon buried his face in Mingyu's back, the truth of the words shattering the last of his resolve. He had been a coward. He thought he was being selfless, but he was just passing his own fear onto Taemin. The image of Taemin, his vibrant, beautiful Taemin, with a handful of pills… it was a horror he could not abide.
He lifted his head, a new, fierce determination hardening his features.
"Faster, Mingyu," he said, his voice clear and strong now. "We can't be late."
---
Back in the wedding hall, the music began to change, swelling into the processional. The massive doors at the back began to swing open. A collective, soft gasp rippled through the crowd as Nayeon appeared, breathtakingly beautiful in her gown, a vision of innocence and hope.
Everyone looked at the bride.
Everyone except Taemin.
His eyes were still locked on the side door, his hope beginning to curdle into a devastating despair. The doors were opening. Nayeon was here. It was over.
He took a shuddering breath, the world starting to gray at the edges. He had run out of time.
The processional music swelled, a soaring, saccharine melody that made Taemin's stomach turn. Nayeon began her slow, graceful walk down the aisle on her father's arm. She was a vision of ethereal beauty, a perfect porcelain doll in a cascade of white silk. She smiled, a gentle, hopeful thing, but her eyes were fixed on Taemin, searching for a sign that wasn't there.
Taemin's world had narrowed to a single point: the empty, dark space of the side entrance. The hope in his chest was a dying ember. The officiant's voice was a distant drone.
"…and so, we gather here today to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony…"
He's not coming.
"…through sickness and in health…"
He's not coming.
"…do you, Lee Taemin, take Jeon Nayeon to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
The silence in the hall was absolute. Every eye was on him. He could feel his father's glare burning into the side of his head. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Nayeon's smile began to tremble.
And then, it happened.
BOOM.
The grand, ornate double doors at the front of the hall burst open with a sound like a gunshot, splintering at the lock.
A cloud of dust and exhaust fumes billowed into the pristine space. And there, silhouetted against the daylight, was a massive, gleaming motorcycle, its engine giving one final, defiant roar before sputtering into silence.
Perched on the bike, helmetless and wild-haired, were Mingyu and Juwon. Mingyu, with a manic, triumphant grin, kicked down the bike stand. "Told you we wouldn't be late!" he announced to the stunned congregation, as if he'd just arrived at a casual party.
The gasp from the crowd was a unified wave of shock.
"SECURITY!" Mr. Lee bellowed, his face a thunderous shade of purple, rising from his seat.
Daon's eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated shock. Beside him, Eunjae gasped and immediately tried to rush forward, a protective instinct taking over. But Daon's hand shot out, wrapping firmly around Eunjae's wrist.
"Eunjae, no," Daon hissed, pulling him back into the shadows of a pillar. His voice was tight with fear—not for the scandal, but for Eunjae. "My father is furious. Stay here. Don't get involved."
For once, Eunjae didn't fight him, his own heart hammering as he watched the scene unfold.
In the center of it all, time seemed to restart for Taemin. The dying ember in his chest exploded into a supernova.
He didn't run. He launched himself.
He vaulted over the floral arrangements at the altar, his white dress shoes skidding on the marble floor as he sprinted down the aisle, his eyes locked only on Juwon.
Juwon, who was stumbling off the bike, his eyes wide with panic and awe, taking in the chaos they had created. "Taemin, I—"
He didn't get to finish. Taemin crashed into him, his hands flying up to cup Juwon's face, and pulled him into a kiss that was anything but holy. It was desperate, passionate, and filled with four hundred years of pent-up longing against a curse. It was a declaration of war against fate itself.
The whispers and gasps turned into a roar of scandalized excitement.
And at the altar, Nayeon stood alone. She watched the kiss, and a single, perfect tear traced a path through her carefully applied makeup. But then, something miraculous happened. A small, genuine smile touched her lips. It was a smile of relief. Of understanding. She looked down at the simple, brilliant band on her finger. With a quiet, decisive motion, she slipped it off.
She held it out to her stunned father, who was staring in horror. "It was never my ring to wear, Appa," she said, her voice soft but clear. "It was always his."
The scene was a perfect, beautiful, heartbreaking chaos: a grinning Mingyu dusting off his jacket, a furious Mr. Lee screaming for security, a passionate kiss in a cloud of dust, and a bride at the altar, finally, gracefully, setting herself free.