The night was thick with an unsettling quiet. Ji-hoon could feel it in the air, a weight that settled deep in his chest, pressing against him as though it was trying to force the air out of his lungs. Every corner of the conservatory seemed to hum with an eerie stillness, broken only by the faint rustling of trees outside, their branches scraping against the windows like fingers trying to get in.
He sat alone in the dark room, his fingers lightly tracing the edge of the piano keys, the silence almost deafening. His thoughts spiraled. Memories of his mother, of her gentle touch, her laughter, her lullaby... It had all been so long ago, yet the sound of her voice was as vivid as ever in his mind.
It had been years since he had allowed himself to remember the song she used to sing to him as a child. The lullaby. The melody so soft, so sweet, that it would seep into the very marrow of his bones, wrapping around his heart and making it impossible to stay awake. She used to hum it as she rocked him to sleep, her voice a balm against the darkness that always seemed to follow him.
But tonight, it was different. Tonight, the lullaby no longer felt like comfort. Instead, it felt like a haunting.
Ji-hoon's fingers hovered over the keys, the faintest tremor running through them as the memory of that song—a song he could never quite forget—floated to the surface of his mind. He could almost hear it, feel it echoing in the deepest parts of his memory, so close he could almost touch it.
La la la... la la la...
It wasn't just a song. It was a warning. A warning that his mother had left behind. But what was it warning him about? Why couldn't he shake the feeling that the lullaby wasn't just a lullaby anymore? That it was a message, a code—something he needed to decipher before it was too late.
And then, there was the scent of it again. That familiar cologne. It had followed him here, just like it had followed him the night of the recital. The scent of that man—Si-wan. The scent of betrayal.
Ji-hoon's pulse quickened, his fingers pressing harder against the keys, creating a discordant sound that sliced through the silence. The fragrance was so strong now, he could almost taste it. It felt like the air was thick with it, curling into his senses like a threat.
His mind flashed back to the moment at the recital, when Si-wan had stepped into his life again. The smooth, calculated way he had approached him, the cold confidence that dripped from his every word. Si-wan was hiding something, Ji-hoon was certain of it. But what?
The melody of the lullaby began to play in his head again, repeating over and over, a loop that he couldn't escape. La la la... la la la...
His eyes snapped open, but it wasn't Hye-jin's voice that snapped him from his trance this time. It was the door. The faint creak of it opening, slow and deliberate, just enough for someone to slip inside without making a sound.
Ji-hoon's muscles tensed instinctively. His heart pounded in his chest, every sense on high alert. He reached for his cane, feeling the cold metal against his palm, the smooth surface offering him some small semblance of control in an otherwise chaotic world.
"Who's there?" Ji-hoon's voice was steady, but his pulse betrayed him, hammering against his ribs.
There was a pause, too long to be natural. Then, a voice, low and familiar, broke the silence. "It's just me."
The hairs on the back of Ji-hoon's neck prickled. The voice belonged to Joon-won, his manager, his best friend. But something in the tone of the voice was off, something that sent a chill through him. There was a strange hesitation in Joon-won's words, an edge of something Ji-hoon couldn't place.
Ji-hoon didn't let his guard down. Not anymore. "What are you doing here, Joon-won?" he asked, his grip tightening on the cane.
"I came to check on you," Joon-won replied, his voice softer now, almost apologetic. "After... what happened earlier. I didn't want you to be alone."
Ji-hoon heard the shuffle of feet as Joon-won moved closer, the sound of him taking slow, measured steps. But there was something else—something that didn't sit right. The way Joon-won moved, the way he spoke—it was all too controlled, too careful.
Ji-hoon's instincts flared, and for the first time in a long while, he felt the familiar rush of adrenaline. Something was wrong. His best friend—his brother—was hiding something.
"Don't come any closer," Ji-hoon said sharply, his voice cutting through the air. "What are you really doing here?"
There was a moment of silence, thick and heavy. Then Joon-won's voice came, low and almost menacing. "You don't understand, Ji-hoon. You never have."
Ji-hoon froze. The words were a knife, a cold betrayal that cut deep. "What do you mean?"
"You're too blind to see it," Joon-won continued, a strange edge creeping into his voice now. "You don't even realize what's been happening, do you?"
The door slammed shut behind him, and Ji-hoon's heart lurched as the room seemed to close in around him. He was no longer just alone with his thoughts. He was trapped.
Without thinking, Ji-hoon swung his cane, hearing the sharp snap of it cutting through the air as he aimed it in the direction of the voice. But Joon-won was quicker than he expected, stepping back just in time to avoid the blow.
"I don't want to hurt you," Ji-hoon said, his voice trembling. But his grip on the cane tightened, the weight of it anchoring him as the tension in the room grew unbearable.
"Then why are you so eager to fight me?" Joon-won's voice was closer now, too close. Ji-hoon could hear the subtle rustle of fabric as he shifted in the dark, his presence looming like a shadow.
"I'm not fighting you!" Ji-hoon's words were desperate now, but he knew deep down that the battle had already begun. The truth was slipping through his fingers, and the more he tried to grasp it, the further away it seemed to slip.
Joon-won stepped forward again, and this time, Ji-hoon didn't wait. He swung the cane again, but the moment he made contact with flesh, a cold laugh rang out, sending a shiver down his spine.
"You're too predictable, Ji-hoon," Joon-won said, the laughter laced with something dark, something unrecognizable. "You always were."
The impact of Ji-hoon's cane struck something solid, and he felt the sharp jolt of pain in his wrist as his hand was forced backward. His heart hammered in his chest as panic rose inside him. This wasn't the Joon-won he knew.
Suddenly, the lullaby—the song his mother used to sing to him—flooded his mind once more. La la la... la la la... It was like a veil, a memory rising from the depths of his consciousness. It felt like a warning, like a beacon in the dark.
But what was it warning him about?
Before he could think any further, Joon-won lunged, knocking the cane from his hand and forcing Ji-hoon backward. The air around him seemed to thicken with the weight of betrayal, his body colliding with the cold floor, the hard impact jolting him back to reality.
"Don't fight this, Ji-hoon," Joon-won hissed, his breath heavy and close. "You're not going to escape."
Ji-hoon could feel the air crackling around them. His mind raced, his heartbeat echoing in his ears, but he couldn't allow himself to panic. Not yet. Not until he knew what was going on.
This wasn't just a confrontation. This was something else. Something deeper. Something darker. And he had no idea how far this nightmare would go.
Ji-hoon's mind raced as his fingers instinctively reached for the piano keys, the only thing in the room that still felt familiar. The cold floor beneath him offered no comfort, and Joon-won's voice—lower now, more guttural—echoed in his ears, stirring a cold fear he hadn't felt in years. His heart thudded violently in his chest, each beat pulsing in his eardrums like a warning.
"I warned you, Ji-hoon. You always thought you were so clever," Joon-won continued, stepping closer, the sound of his footsteps deliberate, calculated. "But you never realized that some things are better left unknown."
Ji-hoon's breath hitched as the pressure in the air around him intensified. He could almost feel Joon-won's presence, hovering just a few inches away, his breath cold and rancid against Ji-hoon's skin. There was no escaping it. He was cornered, vulnerable in a way he hadn't been in years.
The piano, with its quiet dignity, still held some semblance of hope in his mind. If he could just reach it, if he could make some noise, maybe someone would hear. Maybe—just maybe—he could break through the fog of the nightmare Joon-won had pulled him into.
"Get away from me, Joon-won," Ji-hoon growled, his voice shaking with a mixture of defiance and fear. "What the hell do you want?"
The response came almost immediately, the words filled with malice and venom. "You're not in control anymore, Ji-hoon. None of us are. You think your mother's lullaby means something? It's just a song. Just a song your blind mind clings to because it's all you have left. But the truth, Ji-hoon—the truth is far darker than you could ever imagine."
Ji-hoon's chest tightened. The feeling of betrayal was suffocating. His best friend, the person who had promised to protect him, was standing here, practically taunting him in the dark. He had been wrong about everything. About Joon-won. About the lullaby. About the path he had thought would bring him closure.
"Stop," Ji-hoon rasped, struggling to push himself off the floor, his hands brushing against the surface of the piano as he slowly made his way toward it. His fingers grazed the keys, the sharp, familiar pressure grounding him. He needed to stay calm. He needed to think.
But Joon-won was relentless, a shadow that seemed to grow heavier with each passing second. "You think your blindness is a curse? It's not. It's a gift. A way for you to truly see what you've been too scared to confront."
Ji-hoon's mind swirled with confusion. His head felt heavy, as though it was being pressed between two hands, squeezing the thoughts from him. He couldn't make sense of the words. The truth Joon-won spoke seemed wrong, twisted in a way that made him question everything he thought he knew. Was it all a lie?
"What truth, Joon-won?" Ji-hoon shouted, his voice rising in both anger and desperation. "What are you talking about? You're the one who's lying to me!"
He could feel Joon-won's laughter, low and almost sinister, vibrating in the air. The man's presence was like a cold fog, suffocating and invasive. "You're too late to stop it, Ji-hoon. I've already done what I needed to do."
The words crashed over him like a wave. His chest tightened, and his heart seemed to skip a beat as his mind churned in overdrive. Done what? What could Joon-won possibly have done?
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the room, causing Ji-hoon to jerk back, his senses screaming in alarm. He instinctively reached out, his fingers brushing the piano keys, but the notes came out wrong—sharp and dissonant, a clamor of confusion that matched the chaos building in his mind.
"You're not listening, Ji-hoon," Joon-won said, his voice now cold and detached, as though it had shifted from that of his old friend to something entirely unfamiliar. "The lullaby, the cologne, the lies—it's all connected. You've been chasing shadows, trying to find something that isn't there. Your mother's killer isn't the man you think it is. The truth is buried deep, and you've only scratched the surface."
Ji-hoon's mind recoiled at the thought. His mother's killer? He hadn't wanted to confront it—couldn't bring himself to—but now it felt like the truth was pushing through the cracks, a force too powerful to ignore.
Joon-won was almost beside him now, the sound of his breath coming in shallow bursts. "You'll never see it, Ji-hoon. You'll never be able to make sense of it. It was always in front of you." The words held a mocking edge. "You're blind to the truth, just like you've always been."
Ji-hoon's grip tightened on the piano, the smooth surface of the keys offering him some small semblance of comfort amidst the storm of confusion. He fought to regain control, to slow the chaos threatening to overwhelm him. But every breath, every thought felt tangled, impossible to decipher.
The lullaby.
He could hear it in his mind again—La la la... la la la...
The melody felt like a riddle, a puzzle wrapped in his mother's voice. He couldn't explain it, couldn't make sense of how something so pure had come to represent so much pain and confusion. The lullaby had been the one constant in his life, the one thing that had never left him, even in the darkest of times.
But now, it was no longer a lullaby of comfort. It was a reminder of everything he had lost. A reminder of the truth he didn't want to face.
And yet, the more Ji-hoon thought about it, the more the pieces began to fall into place. His mother's death. The cologne. Joon-won's strange behavior. It wasn't just coincidence. There was a connection here, something he had overlooked in his desperate search for answers.
But what was it?
"What have you done?" Ji-hoon whispered, the words catching in his throat as the realization hit him with sudden, terrible clarity. "You... you're involved in this, aren't you?"
Joon-won's silence hung in the air for a long moment. The weight of his words was like a storm, raging silently in the background. "I always have been," Joon-won finally replied, his voice distant and cold.
Ji-hoon's heart skipped. The truth was finally dawning on him, but it was a truth he wasn't ready to accept. His mind recoiled, rejecting it, but the pieces were too clear now to ignore. His best friend—his brother—had betrayed him in the worst way imaginable.
The lullaby began to play in his mind again, the notes swelling, haunting, suffocating. And in that moment, Ji-hoon knew there was no turning back.