Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lee Minho wasn’t just the star academic of the Faculty of Fine Arts, but of the entire Seoul National University. 

To students, he was like a god. His youth, sharply sculpted face reminiscent of a meticulously carved statue, model worthy athletic build, and the mysterious, almost demonic aura he radiated made him captivating in every sense. 

Contrary to his outward appearance, which seemed to carry a hint of ego, he had earned everyone’s respect through his humble personality. Still, despite his modesty, he was generally a difficult person to reach. 

Within the university boundaries, he formed sincere connections with his students, treating them with humility and understanding. But once those boundaries were crossed, he would immediately withdraw and adopt a distant demeanor. 

One of the biggest reasons for this was the immoral offers he occasionally received from some students. Lee Minho wasn’t there to look for trouble, he was there to practice his profession. 

Of course, he was aware of how he looked and the kind of aura he exuded. He had strong instincts, and thanks to them, he could analyze people easily and interpret their approaches to him with minimal error. 

He usually spent his time within his own faculty, but that didn’t mean he was unaware of the gossip circulating in others. 

His fellow academics often joked “You’re like the only rooster in a giant henhouse.” 

In addition to being the youngest academic (33) at the university, Minho was widely considered attractive by the majority of students. It didn’t matter if they were male or female everyone talked about him. 

Rumors about how he was in bed floated down the corridors, and dirty fantasies were conjured about him. Was he bothered by all this? I don’t think so. 

Raised in a conservative family, Lee Minho actually had some rather peculiar tastes. 

The rope his family had tied around his arms had first started to fray when he began university and moved to a different city. 

Everything he had never done before, he experienced for the first time during his university years. He inhaled that toxic smoke for the first time, burned his stomach with alcohol for the first time, and for the first time, completely lost control of his will. 

Throughout his childhood, he had been told that love was a curse that if he ever fell in love, God would punish him. 

Because of this, he grew up afraid of love and affection. That is, until he met a petite Italian girl with fiery red curls. 

The moment he saw her, his heart began beating to a different rhythm, his stomach clenched, his vision darkened, and his hands turned cold as ice. 

These strange emotions he experienced for the first time scared him at first. All of it made him think that maybe love really was cursed. 

But Minho wanted to sin, and he surrendered himself entirely to love. 

Their relationship, which would last just over two years in total, progressed in a sweet and passionate way. 

During this time, the red haired girl made Minho experience many firsts and played a major role in helping him open up to the outside world. 

She gave him the love he had long been deprived of and made him happier than he had ever been before. 

Minho, too, managed to hide his inexperience well and brought out the hidden, insatiable romantic inside him. 

He also experienced what he had always considered one of the greatest sins sexuality for the first time with the red haired girl. 

Right after their first time, he felt guilty and tried to restrain himself to prevent it from happening again. 

But in the end, he couldn’t resist the passion and found himself once again in the sinful arms of the red haired girl. Soon, this became a routine. 

Sin, regret, and sin again… After every pleasure filled sin, he would experience a deep inner conflict. 

On one side were the fragile values his family had taught him, and on the other, the scorching fire of his desires. 

Yet, in the middle of this inner conflict, Minho had found the missing piece of himself. His relationship with the red haired girl became a major turning point in his life. 

At the end of the second year, the red haired girl had to return to Italy due to family reasons. 

Their relationship continued for a while through social media, but unfortunately, the distance between them brought with it many negative consequences. 

Over time, their communication dwindled, and eventually, they decided to part ways for each other’s sake. This was the first time Minho’s heart had broken for a reason other than guilt. 

The absence of the red haired girl affected Minho deeply. No matter what he did, he couldn’t enjoy life, and wherever he went, he looked for traces of her. 

For months, he prayed to God for a miracle and waited for his red haired lover to return. But she never came back. 

During this period, Minho’s faith began to waver. He lost his trust in the religion he belonged to and began researching it and other religions through different sources. 

He gave up all the hobbies he’d taken up to distract himself. As he dug deeper into religion, it managed to occupy his mind, but it also brought him new questions and problems. 

He dissected every religion, every belief. He saw the opposite of everything he had been taught so far, and his mind grew increasingly confused. Before long, he no longer knew what he should or shouldn’t believe. 

There was only one thing all beliefs had in common: to live as a good and harmless human being. 

So, he decided to live without harming any living being and without breaking the rules designed to maintain social order. 

Thus, he left the religion he belonged to and began identifying as non religious. 

He stopped visiting the church he had gone to every week and ceased praying to the indifferent God who never listened. 

The rope tied to his wrists was wearing thinner by the day, and slowly, it was beginning to snap. 

To build a new life, he joined various school clubs, made new friends, and expanded his social circle. 

He didn’t lie, he was successful, he never judged anyone, and he respected all opinions. Wherever he went, he quickly became everyone’s favorite. 

However, as his environment changed and he grew older, he developed new habits and interests. He began to explore different aspects of sexuality. 

He started having relationships not only with women but also with men. Sometimes he was on top, sometimes on the bottom. He discovered relationship techniques that involved sadism and masochism. 

He didn’t enjoy being submissive, but he definitely took pleasure in being the one in control. For a while, he was interested in group relationships, but eventually, he found them meaningless and returned to monogamy. 

Though he sometimes felt guilty, he no longer gave in to that guilt. After all, he wasn’t hurting anyone. He was simply living out his desires with people who thought the same way he did. 

But as he aged, he began to lose interest in women and was drawn more toward men. When the weight of his repression overwhelmed him, he completely gave up being on the bottom. 

When he graduated, he didn’t want to return home or fall back under his family’s pressure. He had tasted freedom, and there was no going back. 

When he got accepted into a master’s program, he was happier than ever before. His family hadn’t even wanted him to go to university, but Minho kept extending his education as long as he could. 

While he continued his graduate studies, his family kept presenting him with potential brides. 

Minho, however, didn’t like any of the candidates and rejected them all with convincing excuses. 

He didn’t seriously consider any of the girls, he simply made up fake reasons that he could present to his family. 

Fortunately, by the time he began his doctoral studies, this matter was resolved and his mother stopped insisting. 

When he was appointed as a lecturer at Busan University, the rope tied around his wrists finally snapped. 

He was now completely free from his family’s suffocating and heavy expectations. He had drawn his own path and started living by his own rules. 

Throughout his student years, he had only spent the money he earned from part time jobs and never touched the money sent by his family. 

This was a clear sign of his determination to maintain his independence. In his first year as an academic, he worked multiple jobs and saved money. 

At the end of the year, he sent all the money he had saved to his family, and this was the final step he took to completely sever ties with them. 

He filed a court petition to change his first and last name. He was no longer Know Rhino, he was Lee Minho. This change was a bold but powerful step to completely break away from his past and live under a new identity. 

In the middle of his second year as an academic, he applied to Seoul University and was accepted immediately. 

By his third year, he secured a permanent position there and began working at the university. In no time, he became the talk of the school. Among the students, he turned into something of a legend. 

Like every other day, today there were several envelopes waiting in his office. These envelopes had been pushed through the gap under the door. 

After picking them up from the floor, he closed his office door and placed his bag and the envelopes on his desk. 

He took off his jacket, hung it on the coat rack, and sank into his chair to relax a bit. 

But his priority wasn’t the envelopes it was his work. After checking all the work related emails, he began opening the envelopes. 

He couldn’t say he was curious about their contents because most of them were filled with stale love confessions. 

Still, he opened all of them. Because one out of every ten envelopes would contain something different and that difference intrigued him. 

He threw away the love letters but carefully kept the others. When he opened the last envelope, distinctively colored, he once again encountered that now-familiar, perfectly written cursive handwriting. 

“Cauterized and atrophied, this is my unbecoming.” 

He read the line written in red ink on white paper once. Then he stood up and walked over to the cabinet. 

He took a box from inside and returned to his desk. He pulled out the papers from the box and lined them up. 

“I lost myself into the night.” 

It had all started with this sentence. At first, he had dismissed this meaningless sentence and thrown the paper away. 

But when he came across the same paper again the next day, he felt a sense of curiosity and decided to keep the crumpled note. 

The following week, another phrase was hidden among the love letters. 

“And I flew higher, than I had ever, but I still felt small." 

In the third week, another envelope arrived hidden between the boring love letters, and another sentence was added to the list. 

“I clipped my wings and fell from flight, to open water and floated farther away from myself." 

With the third note, Minho understood that these words weren’t just ordinary things. 

He numbered all three papers in the order they arrived and placed them into an empty box. 

These words were like fragments of a mysterious story, and Minho was curious to see how it would continue. 

As he reread the papers in the box over and over again, he wished he could figure out who had written them each time. 

To Minho, these lines directly revealed someone’s inner world. 

Or perhaps they were a clue to help him find something he had lost within himself, something he hadn’t yet realized his second turning point. 

Or maybe it was nothing more than the time wasting moves of a simple, meaningless game. 

(1) I lost myself into the night. 

(2) And I flew higher, than I had ever, but I still felt small. 

(3) I clipped my wings and fell from flight, to open water and floated farther away from myself. 

(4) L♡M 

(5) And I swam in the wakes of imposters just to feel what it's like to pretend. 

(6) There's no dreams in the waves, only monsters. 

(7) And the monsters are my only friends. 

(8) L♡M 

(9) They're all that I was and never could be. 

(10) Eyes in the dead still water. 

(11) Tried but it pushed back harder. 

(12) L♡M 

(13) Cauterized and atrophied, this is my unbecoming. 

Minho numbered the new paper and placed it beside the others. As he returned the box to the cabinet, he was now certain these lines belonged to a song. 

But he made no effort to look it up. What mattered to him was that the lines were being completed, step by step. 

Each new note was like a piece of an entertaining puzzle, and Minho genuinely enjoyed solving it. 

Still, the desire to find this mysterious student slowly gnawed at him, silently consuming him from within. 

After receiving the second heart note, his curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he had tried briefly to discover who was sending them. But unfortunately, he’d found nothing concrete. 

Not even the hidden camera he’d placed outside his door, tucked into the flowerpot beside it, had provided the slightest clue. 

No student who came to his door carried a black envelope. 

These words, written in red ink on white paper, arrived sealed in a black envelope with a red wax stamp. 

The seal bore an hourglass symbol. Such fine details only made everything more mysterious. 

But Minho wasn’t taking any chances he didn’t overlook the other envelopes he received either. 

Who knew, maybe the mysterious student would try a different envelope one day, test the waters, and start a new game. 

Minho, considering the sender might slip by unnoticed, observed everyone who slipped envelopes under his door for a while. 

He even compared that elegant handwriting he admired to the writing on students exam papers. But he found no match. And that, honestly, surprised him. 

Only one real possibility remained, the person sending these letters was a student from another department. 

But that thought brought with it a new illogic how did the black envelope even make it into his office? 

This question kept circling Minho’s mind, sometimes growing so intense it gave him headaches. 

He formed countless theories, but none gave a satisfying answer. 

The sender must have been using some hidden method Minho had yet to uncover. Or perhaps there was an even deeper mystery at play. 

Minho had to admit this mysterious student thrilled him. 

This was certainly not an ordinary admirer. After all, they had taken a very different path to catch his attention and had succeeded in breaking through his strict boundaries. Their method was truly admirable. 

This kind of confession was something Minho had never experienced. It left him both surprised and spellbound. 

Usually, students would approach him directly, offering cliché love confessions or trying desperately to flirt. 

But this one… this one had chosen a completely different strategy. They’d sparked Minho’s curiosity and drawn him into their game. 

Minho was determined to solve the mystery and uncover the student's identity. 

No matter how long it took, it wouldn't stop him. For now, he didn’t plan on breaking the rules of the game. He would be patient, even if it took months he wouldn’t leave the game. 

After all, Minho was in love with art and his mysterious rival was trying to strike him through his greatest love, art itself. 

Minho could wait for such a death.

Chapter Text

Sunlight streamed through the wide studio’s windows, refracting through crystal sun catchers and scattering into a kaleidoscope of colors on the walls. 

Thanks to the sun catchers, the white walls transformed into a canvas, where light and shadows blended together to create a dazzling scene. 

A soft melody from Minho’s favorite classical music playlist echoed through the studio. 

Accompanying the music were the sounds of brushes gliding across canvases, pencils sketching on paper, and the light clinking of art tools in students hands. 

Each sound joined the others without disturbing the studio’s peaceful atmosphere like flawless notes of a symphony. There could be no melody more fitting for an art class. 

No matter how bright and warm it was outside, the inside of the studio felt cool. That coolness perfectly matched today’s drawing theme loneliness. 

Outside, life was flowing. People talked, laughed, even argued. Even in bad moments, everyone was somehow connected. 

But inside, amidst the studio’s calm, everyone seemed trapped in their own inner world. Loneliness followed them like a shadow it was in their minds. 

The only person you could talk to was your inner voice, and most of the time, even that wasn’t much help. 

Minho had been watching Jisung’s work for a while. His eyes were drawn to the harsh transitions on the student’s paper. 

Furrowing his brows slightly, he leaned toward the desk and said in a low but sharp tone “Your transitions are too harsh, Jisung.” 

Jisung flinched, nearly dropping his pencil. Minho reached for another pencil on the table and moved toward an empty corner of the page. 

His hand danced across the paper in elegant motions as he began to explain the technique to his student. 

“In drawings like this, the angle you hold the pencil, the pressure you apply to the paper, and the speed of your movements are all important.” His voice was calm, yet authoritative. 

Jisung watched Minho’s hands intently as if trying to absorb a piece of his art into himself. His eyes were locked onto Minho’s every move. 

After adding a few more lines to the paper, Minho continued “You need to plan your steps ahead of time to smoothly transfer what you imagine in your head onto the page.” 

As he spoke on, his tone sharpened slightly, laced with a touch of mockery “As a third year student, you should already know this and be applying it with ease.” 

When Minho put the pencil down, Jisung looked up at him. Frowning slightly, he mumbled “I know… but when it comes to practice, I just can’t carry it out.” 

He was trying to hide the frustration building inside him, but not very successfully. 

Minho leaned on Jisung’s desk and crossed his arms in front of him. Locking eyes with his student, he asked “Are you having trouble focusing?” 

Jisung relaxed his furrowed brows slightly and replied “I think so… When I’m drawing, new ideas keep popping into my head, and I suddenly want to change what I’m working on or start over from scratch.” 

Minho nodded slightly, running his tongue along his upper lip before saying “Looks like your creative mind’s lost its balance.” 

He uncrossed his arms and picked up the pencil from the table, handing it back to Jisung. “Keep drawing, Jisung.” he commanded, then began pacing around the studio. 

Jisung took a deep breath and returned to his paper. His eyes wandered over his own lines, then to the details Minho had added. 

Even though he was doing everything right, those spontaneous ideas kept pulling him off course. It was making his drawings increasingly ordinary. 

Jisung’s talent for drawing was undeniable. He’d been immersed in art since childhood and had come a long way. 

But lately, his lack of focus had become a real obstacle. 

Minho had, of course, noticed this shift in Jisung. After all, Jisung was one of his standout students. 

While not the best in the department, Jisung was clearly more gifted than most of his classmates. 

His unique drawing techniques had always caught Minho’s eye. It was what set him apart from the others what made him special in Minho’s eyes. 

Twenty four year old Han Jisung was a third year student at Seoul University, a young artist who had spent much of his life wrestling with a feeling of inadequacy. 

Despite being successful in his studies, well liked in social circles, and striking in appearance, he constantly judged himself with the thought“I’m just not good enough.” 

That mindset dragged him into cycles of depression. He wanted to be the best at everything, but he couldn’t figure out how to make that happen. 

Jisung’s journey into art had begun with a drawing course at his dormitory. There, he discovered he had a natural talent and that discovery became a turning point for him. 

He eagerly joined every free drawing course available at his dorm and school. Over time, it was as if his entire life became centered around drawing he fell in love with art. 

He always carried a small notebook and a pencil with him. Wherever he felt free, he would draw, disconnecting from the outside world to focus on the page. 

Jisung’s art developed just like the passage of time sometimes slow, sometimes fast, but always vibrant and personal. His drawings, techniques, and ideas evolved into something new every day. 

Toward the end of middle school, he was known in his circles as “the best at drawing.” But high school proved to be more difficult. 

The prestigious high school he was admitted to, thanks to an art competition, was filled with students from higher social classes. 

Jisung, on the other hand, was the only child from a low income family, placed in a dormitory due to financial difficulties. The allowance provided by the state was laughably small. 

In high school, Jisung was both liked and bullied. But the affection of a few couldn't outweigh the cruel violence of many bullies. Jisung distanced himself from everything and focused on his art. 

He would draw even during other classes, and when he couldn't, he spent the rest of the lesson thinking about what he would draw later. 

He tried so hard to be different from everyone else. He drew until the tips of his fingers were raw, even pushing himself to the brink of temporary blindness. 

In the end, all that painful effort paid off, and he graduated as the top student of the art high school he attended. But even that title didn’t satisfy him. 

Because university was starting, and the thought of beginning everything from scratch made him anxious. 

The early semesters of university were quite challenging for Jisung, but this time everything progressed more normally. 

There was still competition, but at least there was no bullying anymore. Everyone minded their own business, and the students only exchanged lighthearted jabs now and then. 

Thanks to his unique techniques and friendly nature, Jisung quickly became one of the most well liked students in his class. In his courses, he was learning new and more comprehensive techniques from field experts. 

However, the academics didn’t particularly welcome the way Jisung interpreted those techniques in his own style. To them, having their art reimagined by a novice was unacceptable. 

These restrictions that confined Jisung began to gradually dissolve in his third year, when an academic named Lee Minho was assigned to the department. 

Though Minho didn’t teach every class, in the ones he did, he allowed his students freedom. 

He didn’t interfere with their drawings, letting them find their own way when it came to technique. But whenever students got stuck, he was always there, gladly becoming their savior. 

Jisung was deeply affected by this new academic. He began to see him as a messiah, a savior. 

To Jisung, Lee Minho wasn’t just a professor. He was a god, a role model, a true artist. 

Under Minho’s guidance, he began to fill in the gaps he saw in his own art. He trusted Minho’s leadership and followed him without question. 

That dedication quickly bore fruit, and Jisung became one of Minho’s favorite students. 

Standing on the other side of the studio, Minho looked over at Jisung. He could sense the turmoil within his student. 

After all, he had walked the same path. Art could be suffocating, like a curse. 

The creative mind, while constantly producing new ideas, also pushed the artist to get lost in their own thoughts. 

Minho wanted to help Jisung escape that state. But first, Jisung had to untangle the chaos within himself. 

Trying to refocus, Jisung slowly began to move his pencil again. 

This time, he was trying something he’d never done before drawing with calm and patience. For someone as impatient as him, this was practically torture. 

But he needed to produce something good and deliver it to Minho by the end of the day. 

After checking on the other students in the studio, Minho returned to Jisung’s side. 

Seeing Jisung so focused, he smiled slightly and leaned one hand on his desk. 

Noticing Minho’s hand on the table, Jisung slowly lifted his gaze and looked into Minho’s face. 

In a low and gentle tone, Minho said “I can see you're still not fully focused, Jisung.” 

He placed his hand over Jisung’s and leaned in slightly “I’ll guide you. Let your hand go loose and commit what I do to memory.” 

Jisung’s throat tightened, his words got stuck. He swallowed with difficulty and turned his gaze back to the paper. His hand, under the warmth of Minho’s, felt like it was melting. 

As Minho’s strong scent filled his lungs, Jisung lost the last bit of focus he had left. 

His eyes wandered meaninglessly over the lines Minho had drawn, his mind growing more and more tangled. 

“Come to my place tonight, Jisung. Let me paint you with my own colors.” Minho said suddenly. 

Startled, Jisung dropped the pencil from between his fingers. His heart was pounding, and he struggled to breathe. 

“What’s wrong, Jisung?” Minho asked curiously. Jisung turned his head slightly and replied “I didn’t understand what you said, Mr. Lee.” 

“I said go over it again tonight at home, and if necessary, work on it with painting techniques.” Minho explained calmly. 

But Jisung was certain of what he had heard. Minho had invited him to his house. 

Trying not to show it, he gently pulled his hand out from under Minho’s and said “I’m not feeling well, Mr. Lee. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go to the restroom.” 

Minho nodded and straightened up, making room for Jisung to pass. Jisung quickly stood and hurried out of the studio. 

By the time he returned, the class had already ended. The studio was completely empty. He rushed in, gathered his belongings, and left for his next class. 

Meanwhile, Minho, after wrapping up the day’s final studio session, returned to his office. The pile of letters he had cleared just hours earlier had reappeared. 

And it was there again that black envelope with the red seal. 

He picked up the letters, closed the office door behind him, and sat down at his desk to open them one by one. 

After tearing up the usual love letters and feeding them into the shredder, it was time for the black envelope. He tore off the seal eagerly and read the words inside. 

"Knives in the backs of martyrs, lives in the burning fodder." 

He picked up the red pen on his desk and wrote the envelope number 14 at the bottom right corner of the paper. 

He took the box out of the cabinet and added the new sheet to the others. But just as he was about to put the box back, something caught his attention. 

He opened the lid and flipped the box over, causing the papers to scatter messily across his desk. 

As he hastily rearranged them, he scolded himself for not noticing this earlier. 

Once the sorting was complete, he scanned the pages with his eyes. After every three song lyrics, there was a heart symbol. Minho began to question the reason for this pattern. 

At first, he thought it might be a way of dividing the chorus or bridge sections of the song. 

He didn’t know the song, but having dabbled in music in the past, he could make an educated guess. 

But the first heart interrupted the lyrics awkwardly. The second and third did the same. Which meant his initial theory was invalid. 

When he decided to reread the lyrics from the beginning a few more times, he noticed something else. 

Looking closely, some words had been typed in a subtly different font, making them just a bit more pronounced. 

(1) I lost myself,
(2) I still felt small,
(3) I clipped my wings,
(4) L♡M
(5) Just to feel,
(6) Only Monsters,
(7) My only friends,
(8) L♡M
(9) Never could be,
(10) Dead still water,
(11) Pushed back,
(12) L♡M
(13) Cauterized,
(14) Burning fodder... 

When Minho listed the words written in the different font on a blank sheet, he nearly swallowed his tongue in shock. 

These sheets he’d always viewed as light hearted were now completely consuming his thoughts. 

The specially formatted words hidden within the lyrics deeply unsettled him. He stuffed the papers into his bag. 

Moving faster than usual, he left his office, then the school. After grabbing a quick meal at a restaurant on the way, he headed home. 

As he opened his front door, he heard a soft dragging sound a familiar one. As someone constantly handling paper, he was sure it came from a sheet. 

When he looked down, he saw another of those black envelopes he’d grown used to receiving every week. 

But this one didn’t seem to have fallen from the mail slot it looked deliberately placed. Envelopes tossed through the slot could never land that far in. 

Minho looked outside before closing the door, scanning the street. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He locked the door and bent down to pick up the envelope. 

The red seal stood out vividly against the black surface. Carefully, he broke it and pulled out the white sheet inside. The message was written in a font different from the others. 

"The curtain is lifting. Blind eyes will once again see all beauty... Just give it time." 

Minho’s heart started racing. A slow growing anxiety began to take hold. This was definitely not ordinary. 

In a low voice, he muttered into the empty room “Am I being threatened?” 

He wasn’t the paranoid type, but he now held in his hand what looked disturbingly like a threat. 

He flung the paper onto the floor and rushed to the kitchen. Grabbing a knife from the counter, he began a frantic search of the house. 

He opened every door, checked every corner. But the house was empty. 

Panic, fear, anxiety, curiosity all the emotions swirled together, overwhelming him. 

The sweet thrill he had felt for months vanished in an instant. The harmless envelopes once slipped under his office door had become toxic, now showing up at his home. 

He pulled out his phone and immediately opened his contacts. He called someone he hoped could help. 

As soon as the line connected, he asked “Hey Kwon, are you free?” 

He was pacing around the house, peering out windows as he spoke. 

Kwon responded positively “Yeah, is something wrong?” 

Minho took a deep breath and continued “Something happened today... Actually, it’s been happening for a while, but today it hit another level.” 

Though Kwon could hear the tension in his voice, he couldn’t quite understand what he meant. So he replied “Tell me everything step by step, Minho. I don’t get it.” 

Minho began to explain in detail “I’ve been receiving strange envelopes. They started off like love letters, but today’s... was different.” 

Kwon’s laughter echoed through the line. Minho hadn’t really been interested in relationships since the red haired girl. He always kept people at arm’s length. 

Still, he didn’t dwell on it. With a sigh, he went on “I still get regular love letters, but this one’s not like that at all. I’m honestly too tense to explain it properly. I need your professionalism.” 

When Kwon heard the seriousness in his voice, he said “Unless something urgent comes up, I’ll be at your place within half an hour.” Then he hung up. 

The hour that passed felt like a whole year to Minho. When Kwon finally stepped inside, he immediately noticed the worry on his face.
They moved to the living room and sat down together. Minho began recounting everything from the beginning. When he finished, Kwon asked “Can I see the envelopes?” 

Minho nodded and grabbed his bag. He took out all the envelopes and the notes he had written, then handed them over to Kwon. 

After reading through the papers carefully, Kwon frowned and said “Feels like you’ve got yourself an obsessive fan.” There was both seriousness and a hint of teasing in his voice. 

“In that case, you’ll have to help me find out who my obsessive fan is.” Minho replied. 

Kwon was a high ranking police officer perfectly suited for the situation. 

“I told you before, you should move to a safer neighborhood or at least install a security camera at home. This place is terrible.” Kwon said as he stood up. 

Minho slowly got to his feet as well, but Kwon held out a hand to stop him “You sit tight, Minho. I’ll grab a few things from the car.” 

Minho nodded, allowing him to leave. When Kwon returned, he was carrying a large bag. Curious, Minho asked “What’s all that?” 

Kwon responded while unzipping the bag “I’m going to check for fingerprints on the envelopes and around your home. Could be a footprint, a strand of hair plenty of possibilities.” 

He pulled out gloves, luminol, a UV light, a fingerprint kit, small plastic bags, everything he needed and got to work immediately. 

Being an experienced officer, Kwon examined every detail with great care. Minho, though, still wasn’t quite used to how meticulous and prepared he always was. 

“Let’s start with the envelopes and papers.” Kwon said, pulling on his gloves. He carefully placed the envelopes on the table and turned on the UV light. 

UV light helps reveal hidden details on the envelopes. 

Kwon examined every fold, crease, and the tiniest smudge around the seal. Then he moved on to the papers. 

“There’s something weird about the ink on these.” he muttered as he scanned the writing with the light “This isn’t red ink… it’s darker, thicker.” 

The more Minho heard, the more uneasy he became. He snapped “Don’t turn this into some horror story.” 

Kwon turned off the light and gently placed the samples into plastic bags. 

“I’ll analyze these further in the lab.” he said “But for now, the substance on the seal appears very likely to be blood.” 

Minho’s face turned pale. In shock, he asked “Blood? Why would someone do that?” 

Ignoring Minho’s panic, Kwon continued “I don’t know, Minho. But I intend to find out. Now I’m going to check the rest of the house.” 

He dusted the door handles with a special powder to reveal any fingerprints. Then he lifted them with adhesive tape and sealed them in sample bags. 

Next, he checked the windows, looking for signs of forced entry on the frames. 

“Nothing here.” he murmured, closing a window “But the flooring might hold something interesting.” 

With a smirk, he crouched down and scanned the floorboards. He paused and turned on his flashlight. 

“Look here.” Kwon said “A small scratch like someone dragged something across this spot.” Minho looked and saw the faint mark on the floor. 

But it wasn’t new. One of the moving boxes had likely caused it when he first moved in. Giving Kwon a sharp look, Minho said “You’re really getting on my nerves.” 

Kwon chuckled and pulled a small brush from the kit. He collected dust samples from around the scratch and sealed them in a sample bag. “I’m kidding.” he said “But this dust might be more valuable than you think.” 

Minho was secretly impressed by how thorough Kwon was but fear still overshadowed that admiration. 

Kwon silently packed up after finishing the investigation. Minho shook his head at the stack of envelopes in front of him and muttered “This makes no sense.” He simply couldn’t believe what was happening. 

Kwon placed a reassuring hand on Minho’s shoulder and smiled lightly “You’re good at your job which means you’re bound to have enemies. Maybe it’s a rival trying to scare you, or just some dumb kids playing games.” 

Then his expression turned serious. With calm certainty, he added “But whatever the reason, we’ll find the person behind this.” 

Despite Kwon’s words, Minho couldn’t suppress the fear in his chest. “So what do we do now?” he asked. 

As he gathered the last of his tools, Kwon replied “First, I’ll take these samples to the lab. We’ll have results in three days at most. In the meantime, you should improve your home security. Get a camera installed by the door, keep your windows locked.” 

Minho lowered his head and gave a faint smile, though there was a sadness behind it. “Got it. I will.” he whispered. 

He wasn’t fearless. Though he might seem so from the outside, Minho was actually quite fragile. Sensing this, Kwon spoke gently. 

“I’d suggest staying at a hotel or my place for a few days. But I know you won’t. Just promise me if anything happens or if you get even a little suspicious, call me immediately.” 

Minho thought for a moment, then gave a slight nod “I will. Thank you.” 

They embraced in a quiet goodbye. Kwon opened the door and stepped outside. Minho leaned against the doorframe, watching his friend disappear down the street. 

Unbeknownst to him, a pair of eyes watched them too from the shadows.

Chapter Text

For Minho, who had returned to his office after the tense meeting full of disagreements at the dean's building, silence was almost a medical necessity. The insomnia that had been going on for days was causing a tremendous pain in his temples. 

As his eyes wandered over the colorful envelopes thrown inside from under the gap of the door, that one disturbing black stain the envelope he was looking for in his subconscious was not there. 

He stepped on the pile of paper and moved forward, reaching his desk. He pressed his fingertips lightly against his temples. Today, he had not the slightest motivation to teach here. His mind and soul were besieged by the unknown inside those dark envelopes he had found on his doorstep.

Yet discipline was his strongest weapon. After all, he had worked very hard to get to this point, covered in blood, sweat, and tears. He did not want his career to burn to ashes day by day for a mere nothing.

To distract his mind, to take refuge in the busy side of routine, he set about meticulously preparing the materials for his next class. 

Just then, a special melody from his pocket broke the familiar silence of the office. He took his phone out of his inner jacket pocket. The moment he saw the name Kwon on the screen, his facial expression grew even more tense for a moment.

Answering the call, he said "Hello." The weariness and lethargy in his voice transcended the words. The voice on the other end was no different from his, with the same professional seriousness and the same underlying hidden tension.

Right after the greeting, Kwon began to relay all the data he had collected over the last forty eight hours and his personal deductions with the air of an intelligence briefing. 

Each of Kwon's sentences contained information that tightened Minho's spine a little more, forcing him to sit up straighter in his chair. These were the kind of details that would freeze one's blood.

According to the forensic reports, all the fingerprints on the envelope, on the door and window, belonged to a single person, Minho himself. 

Similarly, the footprints taken from the parquet floor of his house matched exactly the impressions left by his and Kwon's shoes. The owner of the envelopes was like a ghost, moving without a physical presence.

But the other pieces of the puzzle were even more chilling. A long, black hair Kwon found belonged, according to a DNA match, to an old acquaintance of Minho's, a woman who had been in Thailand for about two months. This was an impossible scenario.

And the song lyrics... The lyrics were written with animal blood, more specifically, cat blood. This cruel substance, used instead of ink, turned Minho's stomach.

According to Kwon, the person who scribbled these lyrics could use both hands with the same superior skill and also had a good understanding of the subtleties of art. 

The fact that the contents of the envelopes consisted of three song lyrics followed by a word arranged in the shape of a heart had led Kwon to the idea that the source of the obsession could be a third year student.

Kwon and a few colleagues had evaluated these lyrics and that strange, threatening word written in different fonts from a psychological profiling perspective for two days. 

According to the conclusion they reached, the suspect was someone with psychological problems, weak social relationships. They might be involved in theater as a hobby and possibly had a burn scar on their body.

This information pushed Minho's headache to an unbearable point. He closed his eyes, straining his mind to remember all the third year faces in his class. Faces, names, behaviors... They were all getting mixed up. 

He finally stopped thinking. After all, the next class was exactly for the third years. The perfect opportunity to observe was right at hand. So he ended the call and moved on to enter his next class. 

When he stepped into the bright, high ceilinged world of the workshop, filled with canvases and sculptures, he tried to push the gloomy clouds in his mind aside. Being distracted here would be unfair to his students. On the other hand, distraction could lead him away from his purpose.

After greeting the class with a short and formal salutation, he looked at the note paper he took out of his leather bag, today's plan: life nude model drawing.

He cleared his throat lightly, raised his head and put on that professional, observant expression that scanned every corner of the workshop. Then, in a quite normal tone of voice, he asked "We will be doing life nude model drawing today. Are there any volunteers who want to be the model?"

A confident girl's voice rose from the middle of the class. "I think you should be today's model, Mr. Lee." Minho met the giggles spreading through the class with a slight, almost imperceptible smile. 

He put on an expression that maintained a distance of sincerity on his face and rejected his student politely but firmly, saying "I ended my modeling career years ago, miss." 

As the excitement on the faces of a few dreamers hoping to see Minho naked faded away, that popular girl in the class volunteered and took steps towards the drawing platform in the middle of the workshop. 

While excited whispers and grins rose among the male students, Minho's mind was in a very different, much darker place. 

The burn scar on the body. 

When the girl reached the chair next to the platform, Minho opened the art catalog in his hand and handed it to her. Maintaining a very plain and professional posture, he directed his student, saying "This will be your pose. You can get ready behind the screen."

As the girl took the catalog, whether intentional or not, her fingertips touched Minho's hand for a moment. Minho pulled his hand back immediately as if electrocuted and turned to the class with his arms crossed over his chest. 

And as if nothing had happened, he began to speak "I evaluated most of the drawings you did last week. You've done great work compared to your drawings from the beginning of the semester, but you are still making basic technical mistakes in pencil and brush adjustment.

The young Songahn, one of the most talented in the class, raised his hand and said with a smug attitude "But you said the technique we use doesn't matter at all, Mr. Lee." 

Minho moistened his lips slightly just before shaking his head in negation "I think you have forgotten the beginning and the end of the sentence, Mr. Songahn. I said; once you master it, the techniques you use will no longer matter. People will admire your branded name, so the details of your work will become worthless. But you are not at that point yet." 

Songahn bowed his head in embarrassment. Just then, the model emerging from behind the screen gathered all the attention. The girl walked onto the platform, ignoring the dozens of eyes fixed on her. 

Minho also moved towards her, adjusted her pose slightly, checked the angle of the light falling on her body. He did all this with a mechanical, professional coldness. And even though there was a naked body in front of him, he was not the least bit affected by it. 

While the boys and girls whispered about the aesthetic form in front of them, in one corner of the classroom, Jisung was focused on the charcoal pencil in his hand.

The pencil was trembling between his fingers. His breathing was shallow and irregular, as if he was struggling to draw the air in the workshop into his lungs. 

His friend next to him put a hand on Jisung's knee worriedly and whispered "Are you okay, Sung?" Jisung swallowed, trying to push down something stuck in his throat. 

When he turned his eyes, red from insomnia and physical discomfort, towards his friend, there was a dull expression on his face trying to hide the storm inside "I'm fine," he murmured, his voice weak "Just... nauseous." 

The answer was far from satisfactory. But his friend knew about Jisung's loss of appetite and stomach complaints lately. So, he accepted this familiar excuse. And truth be told, it couldn't really be said that he cared much about Jisung. 

After giving the girl’s posture one last look, Minho gently picked up the peach colored silk fabric he had brought with him and began wrapping it around her lower body. But he flinched at her sudden movement. Minghwa’s hand had settled on top of his.

Minghwa said “If the concept is nude, I don’t understand why you’re trying to cover my body, Mr. Lee.” The defiance in her voice spread through the warm air of the studio like the sharp scent of thinner. 

Minho’s expression was a professional mask, completely still and in a flat tone he replied “I was merely trying to recreate the reference photo I showed you, Miss Minghwa. After all, sometimes drapes express nudity far more powerfully.” 

Without extinguishing the arrogant fire in her eyes, Minghwa met Minho’s gaze directly. With a deliberate, slow motion, she let the silk fall from her body to the floor and said “Let’s not be boring, Mr. Lee.” She added “Let’s do something different. Or don’t you encourage creativity?”

Minho didn’t respond. Ignoring this little power play, he turned his back to the class. His voice rose clearly enough to reach every corner of the studio “You have fifty minutes. Remember, this is not a stylization exercise. You’ll transfer what your eyes see through your hands. You must be realistic.” Each word was sharper and colder than the last.

Minutes passed and as time ran out, Jisung’s canvas remained disturbingly blank. That whiteness caught Minho’s attention with such intensity it outshone all other colors and lines. 

He quietly approached Jisung, placed his hand lightly on the boy’s tense shoulder like a sculptor touching clay and leaned in to whisper “Why haven’t you started, Jisung?” 

The unexpected touch sent a shock through Jisung’s body. All his muscles tightened further. The charcoal stick slipped between his sweaty fingers, nearly falling. In a trembling, low voice he murmured “I... can’t draw this.”

“Why?” Minho’s question didn’t sound like that of a professor, but like a judge’s interrogation. His voice was so calm it was impossible to guess what lay beneath. At least that’s how it felt to Jisung. 

Hiding his face behind the canvas, Jisung muttered evasively “It’s a personal matter.” The answer didn’t satisfy Minho. On the contrary, it fueled his suspicion. In a low but clearly articulated tone he said “I’ll be expecting you in my office after class.”

Then, before straightening up, he tapped Jisung’s shoulder twice. The gesture was neither friendly nor comforting, more like a signal a direction. Something inside Jisung tightened even more, like a bowstring about to snap. He silently prayed for the day to end as soon as possible. 

Minho moved along like a wanderer, stopping before each canvas in turn, giving brief, constructive notes on technical mistakes. But his mind was elsewhere he was hunting.

His eyes discreetly scanned his students arms, wrists, necklines, every bit of exposed skin, searching for a burn mark, a scratch, a tattoo any clue that might lead him to the sender of those dark envelopes. 

At last his gaze fixed on the naked body glowing under the light in the center of the studio. He examined Dahlia Minghwa from head to toe, not like an artist studying a subject, but like an investigator analyzing evidence. 

He knew exactly how he must look from the outside. A perverted academic... And both Jisung and the model herself suffered from that image. 

Except for Jisung’s involvement, everything about this plan had been deliberate. Minho had noticed that insolent burn scar earlier, when preparing the girl just below her left shoulder blade, resting on her silky skin like a blemish. 

Dahlia Minghwa. The brightest, most talented and most intelligent of the third years. She had also crossed boundaries several times, openly expressing her desire for Minho. All those traits made her the prime suspect behind the black envelopes.

When Minho turned his head toward Jisung’s corner, he saw the young student already looking at him. Meeting eyes made Jisung panic. He quickly turned away, but the sudden movement caused his pencil to fall and its tip to snap.

They were both ashamed to the core, though for different reasons one because he looked like a depraved teacher staring at his student, the other because he had witnessed that filthy gaze and found himself caught in his mentor’s imagined scenario.

At first Minho thought of approaching him to explain, but changed his mind. What could he possibly say? It had already happened. He had to accept this tension as part of the dangerous game he was playing.

Just then, the bell ringing through the studio shattered the dark maze in Minho’s mind. “Stop drawing.” he called out, his voice regaining its authoritative tone “After writing your names on the canvases, place them in the cabinet in my office.”

As the students obeyed, Minho’s steps led him straight to Dahlia. He picked up the silk fabric from the floor, gave it a small shake and held it out to her.

As she rose from her seat, Dahlia said “Everyone’s already seen every part of me, Mr. Lee.” Her tone carried a hint of mockery hidden behind exhaustion.

Without lifting his gaze from the floor, Minho replied “We are no longer within class hours.” His voice remained cold and distant “Please cover yourself, Miss Minghwa.”

As she took the fabric, she deliberately brushed her fingers against his hand again and whispered “Then why were you looking at me like that during class?” A provocative smile curved her lips “Do you have a student fantasy, Mr. Lee?”

That last line pushed Minho’s patience to its limit. He slowly raised his head, no longer hiding his gaze. His eyes pierced through hers. “Would you like to find out, Miss Minghwa?” he asked, his voice sharp with contained anger. 

The smile froze on Dahlia’s face. She wet her lips and gave a forced nod. A cold, victorious smile spread across Minho’s. He leaned slightly closer and whispered into her ear “Students and petty games are beneath my interest. And unfortunately, you possess both.”

All color drained from the girl’s face, her expression turned to stone. Minho straightened up with a widening smile. And as if nothing had happened, he said “Thank you for modeling and contributing to the class, Miss Minghwa.” 

Dahlia walked toward the screen in furious silence. Meanwhile, Minho thought “If she’s the one behind the envelopes, I hope this humiliation teaches her a proper lesson.” After brief goodbyes with a few students, his eyes found Jisung gathering his things.

Jisung’s hands were trembling, visible even from meters away. The studio was still warm, yet Jisung was dressed in layers like a cabbage, wearing a sweater over his T-shirt. After studying him once more, Minho murmured “What a strange boy.” 

The thought wasn’t unfounded. Jisung was one of the most sociable and well liked students at school. But sometimes, without warning, he’d withdraw from everyone, turning quiet like a shadow. Sometimes his wild energy captivated everyone and sometimes he’d sit in a corner, trying to make himself invisible.

That duality hadn’t escaped Minho’s notice. He took a few steps toward the odd young man. When he reached him, he spoke in a low, direct tone “I have a ten minute errand. Then come to my office.”

At the sound of his voice, Jisung flinched and dropped what he was holding. His eyes darted to Minho in brief panic and he stammered “Of course, Mr. Lee.” Minho’s gaze shifted to Jisung’s blank canvas. In the same steady tone he added “Don’t forget to bring your canvas with you.”

Jisung’s lips parted in surprise, he tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. Minho had already turned, his footsteps echoing as he walked toward the door of the studio.

Fifteen minutes later, a soft, hesitant knock sounded at Minho’s office door. He had no trouble guessing who it was and called out in a firm voice “Come in.”

After the approval, the door opened slowly and Jisung peeked inside. His eyes scanned the dimly lit office before asking “Were you available, Mr. Lee?”

Minho was placing student projects into a folder that seemed chosen at random. His movements were calm but deliberate. Without looking up he replied “Yes, you may come in.” The response didn’t ease the tension in the room it only thickened it. 

Jisung stepped inside quietly, closing the door gently behind him, as if sound itself might bring danger into the room. Hoping to ease his nervousness, Minho said “Please, have a seat, Mr. Han.” 

Then he pushed the file aside and fixed his gaze on his student. Jisung leaned his blank canvas against the edge of the desk, dropped his backpack onto the empty chair and sat where he was told. His fingers trembled lightly on his knees, as if playing an invisible melody.

Knowing Jisung wouldn’t start the conversation, Minho dove straight in. “Please explain why you couldn’t complete the model drawing.”

Jisung’s palms grew damp, his breathing unsteady. He opened his mouth to speak. “I…” But the words tangled in his throat, and it looked as if his mind were scrambling to find a believable excuse. His eyes darted between the spines of the books behind Minho, and the abstract paintings on the wall.

“You can be honest with me, Mr. Han.” Minho’s tone softened slightly, but the change was deliberate, calculated like the first step in setting a trap. “When I was a student, I also went through periods where I wanted to hide from everyone. If you share what’s bothering you, maybe I can help.”

The words were meant to inspire trust, but the sharp knowingness in Minho’s eyes never faded. It was, in a way, ironic but neither of them paid attention to the irony. 

With a sigh, Jisung turned his gaze toward Minho. He wet his lips and confessed in a single breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “I… can’t look at the female body. It makes me uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable.”

Minho was genuinely surprised by that answer. He had expected something entirely different, something ordinary. Unable to hide his surprise, he asked “You’ve never drawn a female model before, Mr. Han?”

Jisung shook his head, his expression pained. “No. When I had to… I usually asked Ivan to do it for me.” Seeing Minho’s impassive face, he added with an awkward smile “I’ve always hated anatomy class.”

“What about men?” Minho’s calm, nonjudgmental manner seemed to loosen something inside Jisung. “I can model men.” he said, this time with a steadier voice. 

Minho pressed his tongue lightly against the inside of his cheek. He began tapping his pencil rhythmically against the desk, the sound slicing through the silence of the room. After about half a minute, he spoke “Leaving your canvas blank won’t do. I have to grade you.” 

Jisung’s lips tightened, his voice full of quiet despair. “This is really hard for me, Mr. Lee. Maybe to you it all sounds ridiculous, but I really… can’t look at women’s bodies.”

“I don’t think it’s ridiculous, Mr. Han.” Minho said, and his words surprised Jisung. With a barely perceptible smile, Minho continued “It happens. Then draw a male model, Mr. Han. That’s much better than giving me an empty canvas.”

“Really?” Jisung asked, eyes widening with hope and doubt. Minho stood up, the faint, knowing smile still lingering on his face. He walked over to Jisung, took the empty canvas from the floor, placed it on the portable easel in the corner, and said “Yes. Right now.”

Jisung rose and stood before the canvas. Minho handed him a piece of charcoal from his desk. “Please begin.” he said. When Jisung took it, Minho leaned back against the desk, crossed his arms and assumed the posture of a silent observer.

For several minutes, Jisung stood motionless before the canvas, visualizing something in his mind. Then suddenly, his hand began to move. The charcoal glided lightly across the surface, as if dancing. The male figure in Jisung’s imagination seemed to flow onto the canvas like water. 

His creative instinct was remarkable. With no reference in front of him, he drew with such confidence it was as if only he could see the invisible model standing there. Minho’s eyes flicked between the canvas and Jisung’s face. Concentration glistened on the young man’s forehead in a thin layer of sweat.

Then Minho suddenly asked “Aren’t you hot?” Jisung flinched but stayed focused “No, Mr. Lee.” Minho leaned forward and lightly tugged at the hem of Jisung’s sweater.

“In drawing, even room temperature matters.” he said, his voice soft but deliberate “If you don’t create the right environment, you can’t draw well. Believe it or not, that includes your own body temperature.”

Jisung understood the unspoken message. He tucked the charcoal between his lips, grabbed the hem of his sweater with both hands and pulled it over his head. The moment his arms were bare, the faint scars on his skin appeared under the dim light of the office like a map.

Without a word, he took the charcoal back into his hand and kept drawing. From that moment on, Minho stopped looking at the canvas and began observing Jisung’s arms instead. For someone like Minho, who had spent time in many different environments, identifying the stories behind those marks was no difficult task.

On Jisung’s left arm were faint, shallow scars, probably from childhood. Near his wrist were a few uneven cigarette burns. On the inner side of the same arm ran several thin, parallel razor marks. 

And most striking of all, near his right elbow, a wide, slightly raised pinkish burn scar stood out clearly. It wasn’t fresh, but it still seemed to silently tell its story.

Minho’s mind began working rapidly. The way Jisung held the charcoal, the ease with which he used both hands, his unpredictable nature, the scars on his body and his discomfort around women all of it whispered something to Minho. 

His eyes shifted to Jisung’s face. The young man was deeply focused, bringing life to the male figure on the canvas, completely unaware of the weight of his professor’s gaze.

Watching his student, Minho smiled faintly to himself and thought “Second suspect, Han Jisung.” Yet the thought changed nothing in his expression, nor did it stop him from watching. 

As Minho kept watching Jisung, he was fighting an unrelenting battle between instinct and curiosity. Deep down, he wasn’t sure if he could come out of it victorious.

The fragments of the psychological profile Kwon had given him aligned with parts of Jisung’s complex personality, but the full picture was still missing. 

Other details remained in the dark. The time for passive observation was over. Now was the moment for controlled provocation and a strategic move.

He stepped away from the desk and quietly positioned himself right behind Jisung. His movement was so calm and purposeful that it looked less like a threat and more like a correction. 

Suddenly, he placed his right hand over Jisung’s, the one holding the charcoal. Jisung tensed like a drawn bow, jerking forward a step and turning his head sharply toward Minho. His eyes were wide open. 

Minho then explained the situation "You’re holding the charcoal wrong. The angle limits your wrist flexibility. Let’s draw together until your hand gets used to the proper position." 

Jisung swallowed the knot in his throat. Unable to resist Minho’s professional tone and authority, he nodded and returned to his position. 

His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would break through his ribs. Every beat echoed in his ears like a warning, and he worried that sound might be audible to others.

While guiding Jisung’s hand beneath his own, Minho spoke again in that calm, probing tone "Do you like theater, Jisung?" Jisung replied immediately "No, I find it boring." The negative answer only fueled Minho’s curiosity "Why?" 

"They just walk back and forth across a plain stage and talk endlessly." Jisung started explaining "Sure, there’s some visual appeal, but I prefer things that are more visual, more dynamic. I like visual effects." 

"What about musicals?" Minho pressed further, widening the field of his test. "If it’s about music, I prefer concerts." Jisung answered shortly, wanting to give a clear and definite response. 

Minho leaned in a little closer until his chest almost brushed against Jisung’s back. The physical proximity grew, but Minho’s voice still carried the same composed tone "What kind of music do you listen to?" 

"Rock." Jisung answered in a single word. But Minho wasn’t a man to settle for short answers, so he played along "Rock’s not really my area of interest, but I’d like to listen to it. Can you give me a recommendation?" 

Jisung hesitated briefly, then asked "What kind of sound do you prefer, Professor Lee?" Minho slightly increased the pressure, letting his body heat radiate against Jisung’s back. 

Then, as his breath brushed softly against Jisung’s ear, he said "Hard to say right now. You could just recommend one of your favorites." 

"It Has Begun, Starset." Jisung murmured. Minho brought his lips dangerously close to Jisung’s ear. His breath sent faint tremors across the young man’s skin. His lips curved upward "Thank you." he whispered "I’ll listen to it with pleasure." 

Jisung melted under the warmth and closeness behind him. It was the manifestation of a desire he had carried for a long time and he wasn’t complaining. On the contrary, he wanted more.

"If I may," Jisung began, his voice trembling "I’d like to ask you something, Professor Lee." Minho continued moving his hands as he replied "Of course." 

Jisung explained with a hesitant tone "But it’s… quite a personal question." Minho instantly seized the opportunity handed to him. 

"What a coincidence." he said, his voice carrying a faint trace of amusement "I also have a personal question for you. If you answer mine honestly, I’ll gladly answer yours, Jisung." 

When Jisung turned his head to the right, he found himself so close that his lips nearly brushed Minho’s. Then he quickly faced forward again, speaking in a shaky voice "You may ask, Professor Lee. I usually don’t hide anything." 

Minho raised an eyebrow "You don’t hide anything?" He let go of Jisung’s hand, shifted a few steps, and moved into his line of sight. 

"I don’t." Jisung repeated, this time with a steadier voice. Then he placed the charcoal down on the rack before the easel and turned fully toward Minho. They stood face to face. 

With deliberate slowness, Minho lifted a finger and let it trace briefly along the edge of the most prominent burn mark on Jisung’s arm. 

The touch made Jisung shiver, but Minho ignored it, expressing his curiosity openly "I wonder what caused the scars on your arms." 

Jisung didn’t hesitate for a second. He answered straight away "I was bullied for years." he said in one breath, as if he’d been forced to lock that sentence deep inside for ages and was finally releasing it. 

Then he licked his dry lips and meeting Minho’s eyes, made a heavy confession "And in the past, I tried to die a few times." Minho’s brows furrowed slightly, not out of judgment but out of startled confusion.

From the outside, Jisung appeared lively, social, full of life. It seemed hard to imagine him doing such a thing. Driven by curiosity, Minho pressed further "Your scars..." his finger still resting on the raised patch of skin "Are you ashamed of them?" 

Jisung’s eyes drifted down to Minho’s hand "No." he said firmly "They’re all what make me who I am. They remind me where I came from, what I’ve survived, and who left me behind." 

Minho continued his veiled interrogation, trying to fill in the missing pieces in his mind "Then why do you try to hide them? Isn’t it uncomfortable to wear layers in this heat?"

Jisung lifted his gaze to meet Minho’s, and for the first time, he spoke with striking confidence "I’m not trying to hide them." Minho didn’t understand and stayed silent, expecting further explanation. Jisung must have noticed because he added immediately "I’m cold." 

Minho’s lips parted and closed several times. The unexpected answer didn’t fit into the scenario he had prepared. He was left speechless. Sensing his hesitation, Jisung went on the defensive, his tone flat but firm "May I ask my question now, Professor Lee?" 

Minho instantly collected himself and gave a small nod. Then Jisung asked "The rumors about you... are they true?" Minho’s expression changed, his brows drawing slightly together as he asked "What rumors?"

Jisung gathered all his courage and said "The rumors that you’re... interested in men." Without hesitation, Minho nodded clearly "Yes. They’re true." He felt no shame, there was nothing to be ashamed of. 

Jisung’s eyes immediately lit up and a shy yet radiant smile spread across his face. Then he said "You’re my idol, Professor Lee. I admire you." 

As Minho looked deep into Jisung’s eyes, the gears in his mind turned quickly. The details Kwon had given him and Jisung’s sincerity seemed to contradict each other. 

And he still had no solid proof about Jisung. If he wanted evidence, he’d have to go further and take a risk. So he decided to play dirty. 

He took another step closer, closing the dangerous space between them. With a faint smile, he asked "Why were you curious about that, Mr. Han?" 

Jisung kept his smile, his courage visibly growing after that answer. "Who wouldn’t be? You attract not only the girls in this school but quite a few men too." 

Minho went straight for the target, keeping his voice low and deliberate "Or is it that you like me too, Mr. Han?" Jisung’s cheeks flared up, his ears burning red. He turned his gaze away and confessed sincerely "Yes, you should’ve already noticed." he murmured. 

That vague answer -vague for Minho- confused him. He wanted clarity. He closed the last bit of distance and cornered Jisung between himself and the easel. 

Even though he was invading Jisung’s personal space, he didn’t care in the slightest. "Enlighten me then." he whispered, his face so close that their breaths mingled. 

Jisung was barely holding himself together, trying not to faint from the closeness. His voice trembled again as he explained "I thought my behavior made it clear." 

Something inside Minho thrilled with excitement. Wanting to draw out more, he objected "I haven’t seen any such behavior from you, Jisung. I can clearly see the open interest others show me, but you never revealed yourself. You’ve always stayed back."

"Because I’m not like everyone else, Professor Lee." Jisung shot back suddenly, locking eyes with him. For the first time, he looked angry "And I don’t want to be like them. You should’ve realized that from my drawings. I... like different things."

That last sentence was almost a challenge. And right then, in Minho’s mind, echoed some of the words from those dark envelopes words about difference. 

Minho slid a hand around Jisung’s waist and pulled him closer. The movement was sudden and unplanned. Leaning in close to the young man’s face, he demanded "Those behaviors you mentioned but I failed to notice what are they, Jisung? Tell me." 

"I stayed away from you." Jisung spoke breathlessly, his eyes fixed on Minho’s lips "I kept my distance. But I never hid the admiration in my eyes. When I look at you, I lose myself. Because to me... you look like a god descended to this world, Professor Lee."

A dark, triumphant smile spread across Minho’s lips. This could be the perfect chance to uncover the person behind those envelopes. He began moving his face closer to Jisung’s, intending to kiss him and to learn much more in return.

But he couldn’t.

His focus broke when a familiar sound echoed through the room. The sound of paper sliding under the door. When Minho turned his head toward it, he froze. There, on the cold gray floor, lay a black envelope like an ugly stain. 

Rage surged through him. How was this possible? One of his top suspects, Jisung, had been in front of him for nearly forty five minutes. That meant Jisung’s innocence had just been promoted. 

There were only two logical ways the envelope could have entered the room, under the door or through the window. The window was on the fourth floor and sending anything through it was nearly impossible. 

The door, then, was the simplest and cleanest way. Yet it was infuriating because while they’d been flirting inside, someone had slipped the envelope in from the outside. The real suspect was still out there.

Jisung was staring at the envelope too, a clear expression of disappointment on his face. A few seconds later, Minho suddenly pulled away from him. 

His whole demeanor changed he was once again the distant, authoritative academic. "Please submit your drawing to me by Thursday at the latest, Mr. Han."

Jisung looked at him in confusion, as if expecting an explanation, but said nothing. Instead, he nodded, visibly disappointed.

With long strides, Minho approached the envelope, bent down and picked it up. Without a second thought, he tore open the seal. Inside was a single sheet of paper. He read the words written on it. 

"You found me drifted out to sea." 

When he lifted his head, his eyes met Jisung’s bewildered and questioning gaze once more. His mind in chaos, Minho abandoned all politeness and asked "What are you waiting for to leave my office, Mr. Han?" 

Jisung froze for a moment, blinking several times before snapping back to himself. Then he quickly gathered his things and left the office with hurried steps.

Chapter Text

The three weeks that passed were filled with a deceptive calm for Minho. Nothing had changed in his home and strangely enough, no new black envelope had appeared at his door. 

The sixteenth envelope had contained only a heart, while the seventeenth said “It's automatic, It's telepathic.” 

These passive messages had been enough to convince Kwon that whoever was behind the envelopes was ultimately harmless and that they could afford to ease the intensity of their surveillance. This thought had brought Minho a small measure of relief.

Yet inside Minho, especially when it came to Jisung, nothing was calm. While Jisung carried on with his life as usual, sometimes a social butterfly, sometimes withdrawn, Minho simply couldn’t get him out of his head. 

His mind was consumed by a primal instinct to protect the younger man. A bullied, fragile youth and a mature man greedy for attention and approval what a disastrous combination. 

Jisung had unearthed the dark impulses Minho had long buried and suppressed. His words had stirred dangerous ripples in the balance Minho had tried to maintain for decades. Because everyone wore masks and everyone had at least two different faces, two distinct selves. 

Beneath Minho’s modest, disciplined academic persona slept a repressed god complex, a deep rooted narcissism and a controlling sadism. 

He had built his successful life through effort and discipline and unfortunately, that had led him to see himself as chosen, unique and superior to others. He could never believe anyone else could reach his level.

Now, in the palm of his hand, was a vulnerable young man who saw him as a “god descended to earth.” And those words did nothing but feed Minho’s enormous ego.

Minho wanted to control Jisung, to separate and protect him from others. Did this desire come from a moral concern? No. Minho wanted to be his god, to be worshiped, to command absolute obedience.

Despite everything, Jisung’s distant attitude, the way he continued his life as if Minho didn’t exist, ignited in Minho a hunger and an intense desire. And that desire was so strong it pushed the limits of his ethics, driving him to conduct a detailed and secret investigation about Jisung. 

From other academics and students, he gathered information about Jisung through casual conversation, recording it all with the methodical precision of a psychopath in the pages of his planner. The words Jisung had whispered had awakened the monster sleeping inside him. 

As he was reviewing the notes he had taken, a deep sound startled him. When he lifted his head, two black envelopes were lying on the floor of his office. 

He stood up and picked them up. It was surprising to receive two envelopes at once, but his eyes immediately caught the seals. One bore an hourglass, the other a key.

Two seals and two meanings, just like how people have two faces. 

He opened the one with the key first. Inside the paper read “If you cannot satisfy the hunger in your heart, becoming a monster is inevitable.” 

What did that mean? What hunger was it referring to? Hunger for control? For divinity? 

Then he opened the envelope with the hourglass seal and read “You always knew me.” The sentence instantly drew him back to Jisung. It felt like a confession, a challenge. 

With anger, he turned to his computer. He typed the sentence from the hourglass envelope into a search engine. What appeared was a song titled Unbecoming by a band called Starset.

Minho read all the lyrics, trying to derive a clear meaning, but at first glance it seemed like an ordinary song. He needed different fonts, other pieces. 

And again, his thoughts drifted to Jisung. The fact that the song Jisung had once recommended was also by the same band couldn’t be a coincidence. So he placed Jisung once again on his list of primary suspects. 

The next day when he entered his office, he was greeted by multiple black envelopes neatly arranged on his desk. The number was increasing and the envelopes were no longer being slipped under the door. Whoever was behind them was openly mocking Minho and secretly entering his office. 

Maintaining his composure, Minho examined the envelopes. The seals were divided once again between the key and the hourglass. When he opened one sealed with the key, he found the message “You’re impatient, but luckily I’m not heartless.” 

Some of the other envelopes contained hearts as before, while others held the different fonts and words he had been looking for. 

Minho acted like a professional detective. He opened the lyrics to Starset’s Unbecoming on his phone and laid out the new papers in numbered order. 

Now he had a clearer pattern. His next task was to extract the strange words written in different fonts from the chaos and piece their meanings together. This could lead him either to Jisung or perhaps to someone he had never met.

Locking his office door, he devoted himself to this new and far more intricate riddle.

(1) I lost myself into the night. 

(2) And I flew higher, than I had ever, but I still felt small. 

(3) I clipped my wings and fell from flight, to open water and floated farther away from myself. 

(4) L♡M 

(5) And I swam in the wakes of imposters just to feel what it's like to pretend. 

(6) There's no dreams in the waves, only monsters. 

(7) And the monsters are my only friends. 

(8) L♡M 

(9) They're all that I was and never could be. 

(10) Eyes in the dead still water. 

(11) Tried but it pushed back harder. 

(12) L♡M 

(13) Cauterized and atrophied, this is my unbecoming.

(14) Knives in the backs of martyrs lives in the burning fodder.

(15) You found me drifted out to sea.

(16) L♡M

(17) It's automatic, It's telepathic.

(18) You always knew me.

(19) And you laugh as I search for a harbor.

(20) L♡M

(21) As you point where your halo had been.

(22) But the light in your eyes has been squandered.

(23) There's no angel in you in the end.

(24) L♡M

(25) And all that I was, I've left behind me.

(26) Now I wait this metamorphosis, all that is left is the change.

(27) Selfish fate, I think you made me this.

(28) L♡M

(29) Under the water I wait.

(30) Lee

(31) Min

(32) Ho

(33) ♡

Minho copied the different fonts onto a blank sheet of paper again.

I lost myself

I still felt small

I clipped my wings

just to feel what

only monsters

my only friends

never could be

dead still water

pushed back

cauterized

burning fodder

drifted out to sea

telepathic

always knew

search for a harbor

point

squandered

no angel

I've left behind me

change

you made

I wait

He took a deep breath. The desk before him was scattered with torn envelopes, coded phrases and his notebook full of notes… He was struggling to understand what was really going on here. 

Being unable to decode the story being told didn’t just exhaust his mind it provoked the control freak buried deep within him. The uncertainty made him feel degraded and that feeling clashed with his hidden narcissism, twisting into a dangerous kind of rage. 

He knew things were about to spiral out of control. Whoever owned the envelopes or perhaps they were escalating the game. While waiting for the next move, he couldn’t sit idly by or allow himself to feel vulnerable. He had to be proactive, had to take back control. 

With cold, calculated logic, he decided he needed a shield against an oncoming storm or rather, a pawn that could be sacrificed. Someone he could use mercilessly if things went wrong, someone to throw under the bus or use as bait to divert attention.

A weak, emotionally needy, easily manipulated victim who could be silently controlled. Inevitably, his mind drifted to that young man in his office, the one who had looked at him as if he were a “god descended to earth.” 

He needed someone who worshiped him, just like Jisung. 

That thought felt like pouring gasoline onto the fire burning inside him. Minho realized then that Jisung was no longer just a suspect or an object of desire. 

He was a potential tool obedient enough to play any role in the dark scenarios Minho might assign him, without question. That awareness both thrilled and fed the monster within Minho.

At this point, his strongest and most honest desire was that Jisung wouldn’t turn out to be the mastermind behind this dark game. That would make things personal, dangerously complicated. 

But if Jisung truly was the mastermind, Minho would adapt to his rules, learn his game, and ultimately do whatever it took to defeat him at it. That would be a far greater victory. 

However, if Jisung was entirely innocent completely unaware, just an ordinary student even then, Minho wouldn’t leave him out of the game. On the contrary, he would pull him in. Because right now, there was no more perfect victim than Jisung.

Besides, every god needed a follower to reflect his glory, someone devoted to him. Minho had to play this divinity game alongside his little disciple.

When he struggled, he would draw strength from him; in danger, he would use him as a shield and when necessary, he would offer him as prey. 

After all, looking back, every game played by more than one person involved deceit. Whether or not you were on the same team didn’t matter. Sometimes even your teammate would cheat you and your soul would pretend not to hear it. No game was innocent at its core. So in a bloody game, everything was permissible for victory. 

Minho might have thought he was losing his mind and he’d be right. His thoughts had wandered into this dark labyrinth, but he refused to retreat or give up after coming this far. This was his war.

He gathered the scattered papers, carefully placed the envelopes and notes into a box, loosened his tie to ease the pressure on his neck and leaned back in his luxurious ergonomic chair. The flexible backrest gave some relief to his tense spine. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep, focused breath. Then his thoughts shifted to the day’s lecture. Truthfully, the class had been as ordinary and routine as ever. 

He had stood before his students, spoken about artistic techniques in his usual intellectual tone, answered questions on autopilot and commented on a few students drawings with a superficial professionalism. Nothing had really been different. 

Jisung had been the same too. Sitting in the back row, layered in clothes. His eyes were on Minho, yes, but they no longer carried that deep, suggestive, admiring glow Minho had seen before in the office. 

They were just the passive eyes of an ordinary student listening to a lecture. From time to time, he whispered something to the classmate next to him, then took small notes about the techniques Minho discussed. Just like the others. Just like any other person. 

The only thing different was that Minho no longer saw him the same way. Among the dozens of students in that room, Jisung seemed to shine as if a halo hovered above him, while all the others faded into a blurry background. 

It was a reflection of Minho’s perception. He was looking at Jisung the way a god might look at his chosen follower. After all, Jisung was the most devoted worshiper, the first believer and that alone placed him above everyone else. 

Minho unconsciously placed one hand over his stomach. Then he slid his palm lower, down to his groin. When it reached just above his zipper, he pressed his hand against himself and lifted his body slightly from the chair. 

He didn’t quite know why he did it. He no longer had the mental capacity to question anything, not even his own physical reactions. His mind was so full plans, suspicions, dark fantasies, divine claims that it didn’t want new questions or new confusion. 

He just wanted to drift into emptiness, to let the storm in his mind quiet down for a while. But life or perhaps the merciless game he himself had built didn’t allow that. 

A voice in the back of his mind whispered that his next class was approaching. Minho exhaled deeply and slowly opened his eyes. Reality crashed down on him once again, yet without hesitation, he began to prepare for his next performance for the moment it was time to put on his next mask, that of “Professor Lee.”

Chapter Text

Only a day had passed since the pile of black envelopes and this morning, Minho found a new, slightly dirty envelope that looked crumpled on the doorstep of his house.

He hadn’t expected the matter to end immediately with the completion of the song, of course, but the fact that a new move had come this early showed that the rival or rivals were impatient and reckless.

He picked up the envelope and calmly opened it. On the paper were words different from the previous ones, almost like a warning “Cheating is allowed in this game, but every cheat you make will come back to you as bad karma.”

Minho looked at the paper with a cold, mocking smile on his lips and then murmured quietly “I’m in.” His voice was calm but carried a challenging tone. Truthfully, he wasn’t afraid to play this dirty game.

It was still early in the morning and the streets were empty, yet he could feel sharply that a pair of eyes was watching him from behind. He ignored it, closed the door, went inside and headed straight to his bedroom.

He had spent the entire night out with his friends, so now he was quite exhausted. Perhaps the courage to accept the game invitation inside the envelope came from the alcohol still running through his veins.

The moment he stepped into the room, he saw two more black envelopes on his bed, right beside his pillows and froze where he stood.

This was a chilling violation. This was his most private, most defenseless space. The presence of a stranger here was a clear threat.

When he came to his senses, he picked up the envelope sealed with a key shaped mark and opened it. The note inside raised the level of the threat “You played dirty in the previous game, Lee Minho. This time, I’ll play a little dirty too.”

Before opening the second envelope, Minho kept his composure and performed a full security check around the house. Every corner was empty, everything was in its place. But that didn’t ease his mind in fact, it made him think the threat was more deliberate and powerful.

He opened the second envelope the one sealed with an hourglass shaped mark “All my life, they let me know, how far I would not go”

This was the first sentence of the new game. Compared to the previous ones, it was written more carelessly, almost as if scrawled in anger. This time, there were no italicized, highlighted coded words, but Minho felt that he would be the one to do that in the future.

He took a deep breath and tossed the envelopes into his drawer. Then, despite the unease spreading inside him, he closed his eyes and let himself fall into sleep. When he opened his eyes again a few hours later, the warmth of noon had already seeped into the room.

Having slept deeply, he felt rested. So he got out of bed, finished his chores around the house and then began reviewing his students projects.

Even after hours had passed, the words from the envelopes wouldn’t leave Minho’s mind. He wanted to clear his head or better yet, find a clue that could end this game early.

He couldn’t stand the stifling silence of the house and the invisible threat any longer. After a short and cold shower, he got ready and threw himself into the streets where the pulse of the city beat strongest.

He parked his car in a central parking lot, hands in his pockets, walking steadily to blend into the crowd.

With tomorrow being Saturday, the city’s main arteries were filled with student energy. The sharp smell of alcohol hanging in the air, the irregular lights, and the overlapping music caused an unbearable headache.

He walked for a long time, eyes fixed ahead, until he lifted his head and stopped in front of a modest pub illuminated by a faint neon light. And there, he found what he was looking for.

Jisung, wearing a white shirt that hugged his body tightly, with that bright smile he put on while serving customers. Beautiful, pure looking nd potentially a useful victim. But at the same time, still a suspect. And that contrast made the hunt all the more tempting.

He entered the pub, found an empty table in a dim corner by the wall and sat down. When one of the waiters approached to take his order, Minho politely declined.

“Thank you, but I’d like Jisung to take care of me.” he said, the faint emphasis in his voice leaving no room for it to sound like a mere request.

The waiter gave Minho a strange look, then turned toward the service bar and whispered something to Jisung. As soon as Jisung turned his head, his eyes met Minho’s directly.

Minho raised his hand slightly in a faint greeting, his smile almost imperceptible. Jisung kept the smile on his face, left the service bar and walked toward Minho’s table without rushing.

When he reached the table he asked “Hello, Mr. Lee. What would you like to drink?” The calmness in his voice betrayed the falseness of his smile.

That coldness didn’t please Minho, but he hid it and asked “Something sweet. Do you have any suggestions?” Jisung nodded slightly “We have a few signature drinks. If you’d like, I can bring you the one that suits you best.” Minho leaned back, his gaze wandering over Jisung, and replied “Sure.”

Jisung gave a short nod and left to prepare the drink. Minho watched him as he served other tables, studying the shallow connections he made with the customers.

After a few minutes, Jisung returned to Minho’s table with the drink. “Here you go, Mr. Lee. I hope you like it.” As he carefully set the glass on the table, his eyes were on Minho’s face.

Minho suddenly leaned forward and grabbed Jisung’s wrist lightly, yet with a grip he couldn’t escape and asked “What time do you get off work?”

Jisung tried to pull his hand back. “I’m working all night,” he replied his voice tense “sorry.” And the moment he finished his words, he moved away toward another table.

Well, that was a gain too. At least now he knew two of his prey’s locations school and work.

He sipped his drink while watching Jisung and scrolling through his phone. Jisung, too, while rushing between tables, couldn’t help but glance back at him every now and then.

“Who’s that?” asked the bartender, sliding a shot of tequila toward Jisung. Jisung answered flatly his tone dull “My professor.” Then he took the tequila and drank it.

The bartender let out a whistle like sound, patted Jisung’s shoulder in a friendly way and asked “So, he’s as much as you said, huh? How are things going?”

Truth be told, Jisung didn’t know the answer himself. Lately, his mind had been a mess. His dreams were mixing with reality, and reality with feverish fantasies.

“I guess… good,” he murmured “Lately he’s been kind of… interested in me.” His friend laughed. “Kind of? Man, he’s been looking at you like he’s about to eat you since he got here.”

Just then, Jisung turned his gaze toward Minho. Minho’s eyes were on his phone, brows furrowed, his attention completely absorbed.

“Ah, shit...” the bartender suddenly hissed, his voice filled with worry. When Jisung turned his head, he saw two uniformed police officers standing at the entrance of the pub.

One of them stepped into the middle of the place and raised his voice. “Good evening, everyone. First of all, please stay calm. We’ve received a series of reports from nearby bars, and for safety reasons, we have to clear all establishments. To avoid causing trouble for the business, please pay your tabs and leave quietly.”

A murmur rose among the crowd. Such false reports were common in the area. Still, customers slowly began to stand and head toward the door.

Jisung, though sighing for the decreasing profit, also felt a strange joy inside. Because this was an unexpected opportunity for him. A wonderful chance to be close to his god.

Minho had a slight smile on his face. It was as if fate was bringing his prey right to his feet. He slowly stood up, paid his bill and approached Jisung.

"I don't think you'll have to work all night anymore." he said, his voice low and full of insinuation "I'll be at the park at the end of the street." As soon as he finished his sentence, he disappeared into the crowd.

The pub was quickly emptied, daily payments were made, and the staff was free to go. A chaos reigned inside Jisung's mind as he walked toward the park.

Minho's sudden and direct interest was surprising. But was he complaining? No.

If the opportunity to have everything he desired had fallen into his hands, he would seize it to the fullest. His real fear was the possibility that this interest was merely an illusion in his mind, a figment of his imagination.

He reached the park shortly. Minho was sitting on a bench under the street lamp, the red tip of the cigarette in his hand shining like a target marker.

As Jisung walked toward him, his heart was pounding as if it would burst out of his chest. He really was here, he had waited.

"Hello, Mr. Lee." Jisung greeted, his voice slightly trembling "I hope you haven't waited too long." He was aware of how ordinary his statement was, but he didn't care.

Minho put out his cigarette on the edge of the bench and threw the butt into the trash can right next to it. He stood up, his movements graceful and intentional "I wanted to and I waited" he replied, his voice flat and impressively calm "So it's fine."

Although the answer was a little rude, Jisung didn't mind. Because Minho was standing right in front of him right now, with only a few centimeters between them.

The dim light of the park softened Minho's sharp features, making him both more real and more unattainable.

"I'm glad to hear that" was all Jisung could say, then he fell silent again. He was waiting for the one who started everything to make the next move.

"Would you like to come to my house?" Minho's sudden question spread like a wave through the cool, still air of the park. As soon as Minho saw the surprised expression on Jisung's face, he put his pre prepared excuse into action "I want to talk to you privately about the exam you failed."

However, Jisung was much smarter and more intuitive than he thought. He met Minho's deep gaze and responded "Did you wait for me all these hours just to discuss a simple exam, Mr. Lee? We could have talked about this at school."

The words instantly destroyed the excuse Minho had constructed and Minho quickly recovered after a momentary surprise. If he had made a plan, he would never back down.

"You're right" he said, his voice now less masked, more genuine and self assured. Putting his hands in his pockets, he looked into the young man's eyes.

"I just wanted to spend time with you. I hid behind the exam excuse so you wouldn't find it weird." This partial confession opened the door to a strange sincerity.

The confession sparked a complex feeling of satisfaction within Jisung. However, a darker understanding lay beneath this satisfaction. Because Jisung was certainly aware that Minho would use him in some way.

Although he didn't know exactly what kind of tool he would be, this idea excited him rather than terrified him. Deep down, he yearned to be his slave, so he couldn't be expected to be unhappy about this situation.

That's why he said "Okay" The answer was simple, but it was enough for Minho. After that, no one spoke and they silently walked toward his car together.

During the ride home, Minho asked Jisung ordinary questions about how he spent his day, and though there was a tension in the air, a general sincerity prevailed.

"Why do you live in a neighborhood like this, Mr. Lee?" Jisung asked as they got out of the car. Minho answered as he put the key in the lock "I get my inspiration from places like this. It reminds me of where I came from." The door opened.

"So your inspiration comes from the old days?" Jisung asked, voicing another curiosity as he stepped inside. Minho replied, pointing to the living room with one hand "Partially. But that's not my main inspiration."

As they proceeded into the living room together, Minho's voice softened a little "My past isn't very good." Jisung settled onto the couch with a deep sigh, then murmured "Whose past is good?" almost to himself.

Minho took off his jacket and settled onto the couch opposite Jisung "I struggled a lot to reach these days. I had to connect to something, something very strong, to escape my family's house" he said.

His eyes were fixed on Jisung's mesmerized gaze. "I connected to art" Minho continued "Everything I thought about to escape from there became art. And that house... it's my inspiration."

He wasn't going to give any more details. His reason for bringing Jisung here was much different, much more personal. That's why he asked "Would you like to examine my works?" refocusing his voice on the present and his purpose.

Jisung's eyes lit up, and his reply was instant "Of course." His admiration was directed both at Minho and his art. Minho, having received his approval said "Come with me" and stood up and Jisung followed him.

As they proceeded toward the room at the end of the corridor in the house, Jisung was excited for what he was about to see, and Minho was inwardly tense for the opportunity to test his suspicions.

When they entered the room, Jisung gasped. This room, larger than the living room, was like a temple entirely dedicated to art.

The walls were covered with sketches and paintings, there were canvases piled up on the floor, a massive desk, and countless art supplies.

Jisung was seriously fascinated. He approached the desk, his fingers nervously tracing the pages of an open sketchbook. Seeing his shyness, Minho approved "You can examine it."

Jisung began to turn the pages without any hesitation. They were mostly portrait sketches. And many faces were drawn repeatedly from different angles with different expressions. Jisung wanted to know who these faces belonged to.

As if he had read his curiosity, Minho spoke "Some of them are my friends. And some of them are... one night strangers." A wave of poisonous jealousy surged in Jisung's heart.

What did he lack compared to those one night strangers? His fingers wandered over the drawings, his mind racing. When the feeling of jealousy won out, he asked "Will you draw me too, Mr. Lee?" His voice came out as clear as his question.

Minho made a momentary internal assessment, dragging his tongue across his lips. Then, he lightly nodded, saying "I will." A pure, satisfied smile spread across Jisung's face. Minho, on the other hand, was calculating other ways to take advantage of the opportunity.

Jisung spoke while examining the other drawings "Your drawings are truly amazing. I hope I can reach your level someday." His desire was visible in his gaze. He was aware of his talent and wanted to push it to the limit.

While Jisung continued to examine the notebook, Minho silently walked and stood right behind him. He had a dilemma in his mind. Should he hug him, or was it too early to cross that line?

In the end, even though he knew it was wrong, he listened to his instinct. He slowly wrapped his arms around Jisung's slender waist. Jisung flinched, but didn't react. After all, he was yearning for these touches.

Minho interpreted Jisung's lack of reaction as approval and moved his body slightly closer to him. Within seconds, his chest was pressed against Jisung's back.

Minho enjoyed the faint, clean scent of Jisung's mint smelling hair. He buried his nose in the young man's soft hair, inhaling the scent deep into his lungs.

The esteemed academic of Seoul University, the seemingly flawless Lee Minho, was not who he appeared to be. He was a sinner.

He wanted to fall prey to the toxic attraction of this young man in his arms and commit one more sin. He was not ashamed of his dirty thoughts, he was chasing forbidden pleasure.

Even if he regretted it the next day, he wanted to throw himself into this fire, to burn. He wanted to control him, to possess him, to play with him.

Love? No. What he was looking for was not love. What he needed was just a puppet, a graceful pawn.

As he pushed himself against Jisung, it was as if he was trying to silence the voice of his logic. As his hands tightly gripped Jisung's waist, storms raged in his mind.

Jisung, on the other hand, was melting under these touches. He closed his eyes, biting his lips. With trembling hands, he placed the notebook on the desk.

As Minho's lips slid down from his hair to his neck, Jisung struggled to stay on his feet. Minho had certainly noticed his trembling, and this strengthened him.

"Mr. Lee..." Jisung's voice was just a whisper, but it contained a question. Minho didn't answer. Jisung tried once more "What are you doing?" but deep down, he was also worried that his question might end this moment.

Minho replied without lifting his lips from Jisung's neck "I'm exploring you." The insinuation in his voice formed a slight smile on Jisung's lips.

"Have you explored everyone in this sketchbook?" Jisung's insinuation caused a short, dark laugh from Minho. It was an answer that needed no words.

"I want to be different from them" Jisung said, slightly pushing his hips toward Minho's groin. Minho asked, intrigued "What kind of difference would you like to have?"

Jisung replied, resting his hands on the desk in front of him "I want to draw you too." This was something that had never been done before. If accepted, it would definitely set Jisung apart from the others.

"Alright" Minho whispered, pressing his lips against the young man's neck once more, giving an additional confirmation.

"You're the man of my dreams, Mr. Lee." Jisung said, closing his eyes. This misplaced confession both surprised Minho and satisfied him deeply. In response, he lightly bit the skin on Jisung's neck.

His hands were roaming even more naughtily on the young man's body and their breaths were getting deeper. Jisung suddenly turned the front of his body toward Minho.

Being this close to the face he admired for the first time was making him lose his mind. Both their gazes wandered over the other's lips, the attraction growing unbearable.

The first move came from Jisung. He pressed his lips lightly, timidly against Minho's. He wavered between shame and triumph then pulled back.

Minho responded with a crooked, mesmerizing smile "You are very impatient." Jisung met his eyes and replied "I am."

"Turn around" Minho commanded. The harshness of his words contrasted with the softness of his tone. Jisung obeyed. Minho wrapped his arms around the young man's body again "Walk toward the mirror."

Jisung walked toward the large mirror in the corner of the room and stood in front of it. "Do you think we look right together?" Minho asked, watching their reflection in the mirror.

Jisung examined his reflection for a moment and then answered "I'm of age." Minho chuckled lightly and said "That wasn't the question." Jisung explained, trying to catch Minho's eyes in the mirror "I don't understand your question, Mr. Lee."

Minho challenged him, trying to make him confess his deepest feelings "Do you think we are ethical together? You are my student." Jisung looked at Minho's reflection for a few seconds. Then he replied "It depends on where you're looking from."

Minho's lips curled again "And where are you looking from?" he asked. "I'm in your arms, Mr. Lee" Jisung whispered, his voice as light as a feather "I think that's the answer to all your questions."

Alright. This was an acceptable answer for Minho. "The moment you leave this house" Minho warned, making his voice serious again "everything will go back to how it was."

Jisung smiled "That's fine" he said. However, Minho added, ignoring his answer "Think carefully so you don't regret it." Jisung shrugged "I have nothing to lose" he said, his answers final and definite.

Minho was finally satisfied. He withdrew his hands from Jisung's body and took a step back "Let's go to my room" he said. As soon as he finished his words, he turned around and started walking. Jisung followed him like a shadow without any hesitation.

When they entered the bedroom, Minho pointed to the bathroom attached to the room "You can get ready in there" he said. Jisung nodded and closed the door.

Amidst the soft sounds of water coming from behind the door, Minho waited patiently. His heart was pounding with a dangerous mix of control and desire. It felt as if it was about to stop from excitement.

After a while, the bathroom door opened. Jisung stood there, wrapped in a large towel, with a kind of surrendered expression on his face. Minho surveyed him from head to toe, as if examining a work of art.

This was exactly what he was looking for.

Chapter Text

Sin.

A sin of many kinds, heavy, sticky and seductive.

A sin Minho committed entirely of his own will, for a fleeting moment of pleasure, burning quietly within him.

He extinguished the cigarette he had finished with a final breath in the crystal ashtray on the nightstand. The sharp, bitter smoke filled his lungs and he quietly exhaled it into the darkness of the room.

As the smoke drifted and vanished into the air, he indulged in the illusion that it was carrying away all the dirt, all the weight from him. What a great delusion that was.

Beside him, to his left, the young man curled up in the sheets, sleeping, was twisting his mind into turmoil. Only a few hours ago, he had been a single body, but this fragile being rendered him indescribably weak, utterly vulnerable.

Hours earlier, as he had traced each mark and every wound on the young body with his lips in reverence, he had realized it. He wanted to hear the story of each one, to know the source of each pain.

He wanted to transform all those painful marks, proudly carried by the young man, perhaps with the air of a warrior, into works of art shaped by his own hands. For hours, he had observed these old wounds, crafting a unique scenario for each one.

The deep marks on the young body stirred a hidden wave of anger and sadness within him. At the same time, he considered the possibility that beneath this angelic face, a dark demon might be hidden.

Because angels were pure, yet this young man’s skin and soul were, like a demon’s, filled with countless cracks and dirt. The possibility that he was a fallen angel sent a fiery thrill through Minho’s veins.

Weak, needy, beautiful and pure…

When his eyes landed on the fresh marks he had left, he was filled with a dark pride. After all, these were not marks of pain, but of a shared passion and pleasure. Jisung was now his canvas. And for an artist, every mark, every touch left on a canvas was priceless.

Yet, while the young man slept peacefully beside him, no trace of sleep touched Minho’s eyes. He did not think he could find peace beside him until that dark curiosity in his mind had been fully fed.

Since entering the house, the young man had behaved perfectly normally, never leaving his sight for a moment.

Minho startled as he raised his hand to sweep a lock of hair from Jisung’s face, startled by a sharp, metallic noise from downstairs.

His hand froze mid air. His eyes quickly shifted to Jisung, who was still in a deep, calm sleep. Slowly, he slid out of the sheets, put on the boxers on the floor and quietly left the room, moving swiftly down the stairs to the living room.

The small painting of an angel with wings spread, hanging on the wall by the front door, was lying on the floor. Its frame was slightly cracked. Next to it were two black envelopes.

He first picked up the envelope with the keyshaped seal and opened it. The ink this time looked hurried, careless.

“You must manage the pawn you involve in the game well. Your pawn can bring you not only victory, but also death.”

When Minho realized that Jisung had become part of this dark game, a dangerous, satisfied smile appeared on his lips.

The first step drawing the prey into his territory had been successfully completed. Now it was time for the second step, learning how to use him in this game. Playing together.

He then took the other envelope and read it “But inside the beast still grows, waiting, chewing through the ropes.”

As soon as he read the paper, he headed to his desk in the living room. He quickly numbered the envelopes he had received. Then, taking a blank sheet of paper and a pen, he began to write. The ink flowed on the page with anger and impatience.

“If you want me to play with you, you need to give me more clues. Or tell me clearly, what do you want me to do? I don’t want to waste time on these vague hints.”

He carelessly folded the paper, opened the door and left it in the mailbox outside. He was certain this quiet dialogue would continue once it was picked up.

Returning to the living room to see if he had missed anything, he noticed Jisung’s jacket hanging over a chair. A flicker of curiosity stirred within him. He glanced around corridor and stairs were quiet. Then he reached into the jacket pocket and retrieved Jisung’s phone.

Before turning on the screen, he tilted the phone slightly and examined it under the light. The greasy fingerprints on the screen revealed the existence of a simple, predictable lock. Just as he had expected. On the second try, the lock opened.

His conscience screamed faintly in the distance, like a weak cry, but Minho was completely deaf to it. His first task was diving into the messages. The young man’s inbox was filled with the typical heavy traffic of a teenager.

He selected a few names and began reading conversations. Jisung was very different from the quiet, shy student he appeared to be in class. He was witty, romantic, even occasionally sharp tongued. In short, two faced.

He searched for his own name “Minho” and “Mr. Lee.” Nothing came up. It was as if he didn’t exist in Jisung’s world. The thought sparked a sudden, sharp anger within him. He hated this.

He continued sifting through messages faster, more impulsively. There seemed to be no tangible, dark clue about Jisung. Just ordinary, trivial chats…

Until one name caught his eye. Without wasting time, he clicked on it and began reading the messages. His blood ran cold.

To: My God

Thank you for the second chance.

I will be a good servant and never break my word.

They say love is one of the greatest sins. Does that apply to my love for you as well?

Tonight, I dedicate myself to you.

It’s no use, you don’t see me.

You don’t accept my blood. Is it someone else’s blood you want?

Today, I offered a sacrifice for you.

I wish I could be flawless like you.

I worship you at every opportunity. I will never tire of it.

When you notice me, I will help that quiet girl too. This is my vow.

[+Click to see all 13,842 messages…]

Strange, chilling messages sent to a bizarre, eerie name. Minho’s eyes shifted to the phone number under “My God.” His irises suddenly dilated. His breath caught.

It was his old, personal number from a few years back. God. That was him. Minho. Offerings and sacrifices had been made in his name.

Shock froze him like a statue. Motionless, breathless, standing there with the young man’s phone in hand. His mind filled with a buzzing silence, he knew only one thing, cold and certain.

The pawn he had tried to draw into the game was, in fact, the game itself. And this game had leapt into a far darker, far more dangerous dimension. The prey had chosen its hunter long before.

Jisung’s potential harm was ultimately irrelevant to Minho. Because Jisung himself was insignificant, nothing more than a tool, a pawn.

Yes, he often fantasized about him, quietly fretted over his fragile state, wanted to protect him from external threats, and felt anger at the suffering he had endured in the past. But none of these feelings stemmed from ordinary conscience or pure love. Their roots were far deeper and darker.

Whether he realized it or not or perhaps was fully aware Minho possessed a mind prone to a god complex. In truth, he had long since succumbed.

The intense admiration he received, the respect for his art, and his unwavering confidence in his abilities constantly fed this mindset. Gradually in his mind he assumed the responsibilities and privileges of a divine being.

As a god, he should be responsible for everything about his servant. The only authority to reward or punish his servant had to be himself.

He alone should leave marks on Jisung’s body, touch his soul and answer his prayers.

The thanks and confessions that spilled from Jisung’s lips should exist only for him, every smile and every trace of pain that appeared on that young face should stem from him alone.

This was not a new desire. For a long time, Minho had worshiped another god. The most beautiful, formative years of his life had been spent under that god’s ruthless rules and expectations, growing up as a child trapped in a cage, struggling to earn approval.

During his university years, he had rebelled against that god who stole his life and declared his freedom. Though he had gained physical freedom, a gnawing ache remained deep in his soul.

That ache could only be sated through revenge, by overthrowing that old god and sitting on his throne. He wanted to fight him, defeat him, and ultimately take his place. He often placed himself in that god’s position, promising himself he would never be as merciless.

But could a sinner truly become a god?

The answer had already passed from Jisung’s lips like a divine revelation “When I look at you, I lose myself, because I see you as a god who has descended to this world, Mr. Lee.”

The first devoted follower. The first human, Adam.

Jisung was Minho’s first disciple, his first worshiper.

This made him the most precious being, the origin of everything.

And Jisung had already hinted at this truth that day in the office by suggesting the song “It Has Begun.”

Now Minho remembered. The possibility that the answer the clue he sought was Jisung himself made his heart race and spread a victorious, dark smile across his face.

He now knew without a doubt that Jisung was not only the right pawn but also the key to the game.

The second step was to decode it jas begun and gauge Jisung’s true power and role in this dark game.

He opened a hidden cabinet in the living room and retrieved a professional, compact data copying device. Without hesitation, he connected it to Jisung’s phone.

Within minutes, almost all the data from the young man’s phone had been transferred to the strange device. As he restored everything to its original state, another firm, metallic sound came from outside.

He turned toward the door again. Pressing his eye to the peephole, he looked outside, but the deserted street was dark and silent. On the ground, another envelope lay like a stain.

He immediately opened the door, picked up the envelope and read it. "Here’s a useful clue: Make your moves wisely and use your pawn efficiently." Very well. This was a clearer, more satisfying response. The game was continuing, and the rules were becoming clearer.

Returning to the bedroom, he saw Jisung still in the same position, lying almost like a lifeless statue. Not a single inch of him had moved.

As he watched him in the orange light filtering through the streetlamp, he began planning his first tangible move. Within minutes, his strategy was clear. It would be a move both elegant and merciless, with a high chance of success.

To completely steal Jisung’s heart. To enchant him so irreversibly that there would be no turning back.

In truth, the plan was simple. He needed to show false, yet convincing, sincere interest. If Jisung wanted to be worshiped, he first had to keep his servant’s heart pleased, convincing him to submit willingly. He would offer only those enticing promises that he alone could give.

Before getting into bed, he removed the underwear he had put on and carefully lay down beside Jisung. Then, gently, he brushed the young man’s disheveled hair back from his face.

The orange streetlight softened Jisung’s features, his swollen lips slightly parted, pupils darting rapidly beneath his closed eyelids.

He had to admit, this was no bad temple, no bad sanctuary at all. This puppet in his hands, with its beauty and complex psyche, held every potential to make the game extraordinarily enjoyable. He had to make the most efficient use of him and fully exploit these dark blessings.

He slowly slid an arm under Jisung’s neck. But the movement did not go unnoticed as planned. Jisung stirred from the depths of sleep, his eyes opening slightly.

“Mr. Lee?” he murmured, voice groggy and confused. Minho seized the opportunity instantly. Using Jisung’s slight head lift, he slid his arm fully underneath him, then wrapped the other arm around his bare back, pulling the young man toward him with a motion that was strong yet protective.

“It’s nothing.” he whispered, voice unusually soft, almost tender “I just wanted to hold you.” Faced with this unexpected intimacy, Jisung hesitated for a moment, keeping his head upright, trying to believe the words. Minho gently pressed him, resting Jisung’s head on his bare shoulder. “It’s around four in the morning. Sleep.”

This time, Jisung obeyed. He rested his head on Minho’s shoulder, warmth of their skin filling him with peace. His mind, intoxicated by the bliss of closeness, drifted once again into the arms of sleep, while Minho contemplated his plans.

He envisioned how to bind his servant more tightly, what he could make him do and how to use this devotion for his dark purposes. Eventually, he surrendered to the sleep he had resisted for hours.

In the room, two bodies intertwined. One sank into sleep with the warmth of pure faith, the other under the shadow of icy strategy.

Chapter Text

A new day was often the harbinger of new hope, though not for everyone. And for Han Jisung, this morning, the moment he opened his eyes, was the instant he rediscovered a hope he had thought was lost a long time ago.

He had fulfilled his deepest desire, been united with the man he admired and slept the whole night in his arms, with the rare peace of feeling safe.

The bright and warm air of the room, the clean air seeping through the semi open window and the chirping of birds... Everything felt like the perfect continuation of a dream.

The young man fully opened his eyes, affected by the morning sun hitting his face and the intense gaze he felt on him.

Minho was watching him, lying on his stomach, chin resting on his hands. His gaze was as careful and deep as an artist observing his model. After all, Jisung was in a way, Minho's model and also his work of art.

As their eyes met, slight smiles appeared on both their lips simultaneously, though carrying different meanings.

"Good morning" Minho was the first to speak, his voice calm and controlled. It was clear he had woken up a while ago. "Good morning." Jisung replied, his voice rough.

Minho took one of his hands from under his chin and reached out to Jisung's messy, slightly damp hair from sleep.

Gently stroking those soft curls with his fingertips he murmured "You are very cute when you sleep" his tone of voice adorned with a deliberate softness "Watching you inspired me." These words spread through Jisung's chest like a warm wave.

With sparks of anticipation in his eyes he asked "Then are you going to draw me today?" The pure excitement in Jisung's voice sparked a hidden feeling of triumph within Minho. "Yes" he confirmed and his facial expression turned serious for a moment.

His hand, which had been wandering through Jisung's hair, slowly moved down towards the young man's bare shoulder. "You want to be different, don't you?" he asked, pressing his fingernail lightly against Jisung's skin "I will draw you exactly as you want, as the person you want to be."

Jisung accepted this small, pressing touch on his skin with affection "I hope I can see it immediately." he whispered.

Minho's smile widened "Then let's start right now," he said, getting out of bed and continued "I will bring the necessary materials, and you get yourself ready for me."

He then headed straight to his studio. Taking an empty basket, he placed a set of brushes, a mixing palette and carefully selected paints inside. After grabbing a few drawing pencils and a sketchpad, he returned to the bedroom.

Jisung was leaning his bare back against the headboard, his knees drawn to his chest. As Minho placed the basket on the bed he spoke "You know, I haven't had morning sex in a while." This unexpected and personal confession created a genuine smile on Jisung's face.

Jisung asked with curiosity "May I ask how you resisted it, having so many opportunities? I mean, if I were you, I would do it every day."

Minho replied while arranging his materials "Going to school after good sex and seeing the faces of people I don't like there is not a pleasant experience at all." He laughed lightly "Eventually mornings stopped evoking anything good for me, and naturally I stopped having morning sex."

Jisung's eyes drifted to Minho's penis, which was still visibly hard "You look in good shape this morning" he said with a clear implication "Are you this cheerful because you won't be going to school today?"

Minho turned his gaze to Jisung and said smiling "No, baby. I'm hard for you, and I want you to know that you are an exception" controlling the bristles of a brush in his hand he continued "Besides, today is not an ordinary day. At least not for me."

As a warm satisfaction filled Jisung, Minho didn't hesitate to add "You are one of the few people whose face I don't hate seeing."

He dipped his brush into the blue paint on his palette "Seeing you in my bed, next to me, when I woke up this morning felt good." He climbed onto the bed and stood right in front of Jisung.

Holding the brush sideways, he touched the handle to Jisung's lips "Bite." Jisung obeyed, taking the brush handle between his teeth. With his free hands, Minho took hold of Jisung's legs and pulled him towards himself to the middle of the bed. Jisung let his back fall onto the bed.

Minho placed the paint palette next to Jisung, took the brush back from his mouth and with a moment of intense concentration, began to touch the young man's skin.

Jisung flinched slightly at the contact of the cold paint. The artist he admired was using his body like a canvas and this feeling blurred the line between dream and reality.

Minho actually didn't have a specific plan. He moved his brush freely, with intuitive movements, over Jisung's lightly tanned skin. Seeing Jisung's lips twitch with shyness he gave permission "Don't think, just ask."

"What are you drawing?" Jisung asked, the tone of curiosity in his voice was not hidden. Minho answered, continuing to glide the brush "I'm working freely. There isn't a specific subject yet. At least for now." This uncertainty attracted Jisung even more. He loved this veil of mystery Minho was creating.

Minutes later, Minho's brush began to trace a path towards Jisung's groin, but stopped just before descending to that sensitive area.

Minho gave the young man a side eye with an implication and dipped another brush into red paint. Shortly after, he began to complete the blue line, meeting it with red.

The brush moved heavily and deliberately over Jisung's groin, inner thighs, and his entire lower region. Minho was provoking Jisung by slightly increasing and decreasing the pressure, solidifying his control over him.

Actually, there was no need for this. Jisung was as hard as he was and was already ready. Minho dropped the brush and let his eyes wander over Jisung's body, his work of art. Lightning, that was the best word to describe what he had drawn.

Taking a finer brush, he dipped it in red paint and went over the blue lines. As the purple tones resulting from the mixture of the two colors appeared, a satisfied smile dawned on Minho's lips. After repeating the same process for the other color, he left his brushes on the nightstand.

Jisung remained silent, savoring the moment. Minho pressed his index finger onto a blue smudge on Jisung's chest saying "I think, without realizing it, I have painted the storm in your heart onto your body."

Clasping his hands around Minho's wrist, Jisung said "But you still haven't given me what I want." There was both rebellion and a challenge in his facial expression.

Minho raised an eyebrow asking "Did you think it was over? This was just a sketch." He freed his arm from Jisung's hands and pressed the blue paint on his finger onto the middle of his own bare chest.

"A storm requires many elements" he said, sliding his finger down towards his stomach. Then, taking a little bit of the red paint from Jisung's skin, he repeated the same movement "But lightning requires a passionate electrical dance between the cloud and the earth, a collision and a discharge"

Jisung was curious. Minho's emphasis on the color purple was striking. That's why he asked "So why blue and red? Is there a meaning?" Minho instantly replied "Positive and negative."

Jisung smiled slightly asking "So purple is neutral?" Minho nodded, confirming with a single word "Yes.", "Then why purple?" Jisung's growing curiosity flattered Minho's ego. "Because purple is noble and rare." Minho brought a hand to his lips and moistened his fingers with saliva.

Though nervous due to anticipation, Jisung managed to ask his question calmly "So what sets it apart from the others, what makes it special and noble?"

Minho offered a simple, short and not very clear explanation "Balance" as he guided his wet fingers towards the area of Jisung's body he most admired.

Finding this answer insufficient, Jisung said "I don't understand." Minho reached Jisung's entrance and gently pressed his finger there. He fixed his eyes on Jisung's as he felt the muscles contract and relax under his finger.

"I'm talking about good and evil. Red is often associated with lust, passion, danger, sexuality and power. Blue is associated with calmness, loyalty, logic and trust. At least, that's how society has coded it."

Jisung pursed his lips with a thoughtful expression "And I guess purple is a synthesis of the two" he said. Minho confirmed as he gently pushed his finger inside "Exactly. Purple is the intersection of the two. In other words, lightning."

Jisung moaned softly from the effect of the finger moving inside him and asked another question "Then why are you telling me all of this now, Mr. Lee?"

His question remained unanswered. Because Minho continued with a completely different point "People are composed of two opposite poles. For example, yellow is life itself. Inside this life, blues and reds live. Everyone tries to add a new color to themselves. Some with life and some with someone who is the exact opposite of themselves..."

Minho pulled his fingers out and moved his hand to Jisung's still hard penis, starting to stroke it lightly "And believe me, everyone finds a new color. The important thing is being able to stay in that color. You can see a lot of blue and red around, but purple is rarely encountered."

Jisung gritted his teeth and asked "Isn't the hardest thing to find blue? Because the things it represents require a lot of responsibility."

Minho pressed his thumb onto the head of Jisung's penis "No" he said, watching Jisung's reaction to this pressure. "Blues might also be a minority, but purple is almost nonexistent. No one can truly achieve balance. There are very few people who can stand on that thin neutral line."

He slowly slid his thumb and the soft skin underneath it downwards "The line of balance is very thin. If you slip, you either become good and make this life a torment for yourself, or you become bad and turn the lives of others into hell."

Jisung placed his hand on top of Minho's hand and asked with all seriousness "Then what am I?" Minho did not answer this question either.

He pulled his hand away from Jisung's penis, took the two paint tubes on the edge of the bed, and then held both of them out to Jisung asking "Which one do you think you are?"

Jisung was surprised. His eyes darted between the two tubes, and after a short period of thought he murmured "I'm red." A look resembling disappointment appeared on Minho's face "Wrong answer."

He opened the caps of the tubes and emptied the remaining paint onto Jisung's chest. As the paints mixed on the young man's skin, he declared "You are purple. You are both good and bad."

This idea disturbed Jisung. "Believe me, Mr. Lee, I am the last person who could be purple. I am definitely red." Minho didn't take him seriously and said "You are neither red as you think, nor blue as you think you cannot be. You are a purple waiting to be mixed."

His hand went to his own penis, after stroking himself a couple of times, he positioned himself at Jisung's entrance "And I am the one who will mix you completely, the one who will reveal your true color."

As Minho pushed himself inside, a defiant smirk appeared on Jisung's lips "Then don't stop, Mr. Lee. And prove to me that I am purple."

Minho was planning to do just that. He leaned over and closed his lips over Jisung's. When his torso touched Jisung's chest, the two different colors mixed, forming a purple smudge.

Minho's every movement deepened this mixture until both their bodies and the bed sheets were completely covered with purple marks.

After Minho came out of Jisung, he immediately reached for his sketchpad commanding "Stay as you are" although exhausted from pleasure, he still had some energy. Jisung did not object to Minho's command.

Minho pressed his pencil onto the pad and began to draw the scene before him, the paint stained, surrendered young man, with great passion. His painted hands stained the pad purple, imbuing every line he created with the memory of this day.

When he finished his drawing, he held it out to Jisung with a triumphant air and spoke "Here. When inspiration strikes, it's like this-" but his words were cut off by a sharp and unexpected doorbell. They exchanged a look of momentary surprise.

Minho got up from the bed, wrapping a sheet that had fallen on the floor around his body he instructed "Stay here" his voice suddenly harsh and authoritarian "Do not leave the room." Jisung could only nod his head. Minho left the room and headed for the door.

The first thing that caught his attention was an unusual purple envelope resting on the floor. He bent down and picked it up, then looked out through the door hole. The street was empty as usual.

He stepped back and looked at the envelope. He took a deep breath, then broke the seal, took out the paper inside and read "Who are you to change this world? Silly boy."

These scornful words stirred a mix of anger and excitement in God Lee Minho. The game was on, and the challenge had been accepted.

Chapter Text

Meetings, seminars and never ending lectures... It was an exhausting and mentally draining day for Lee Minho.

When he finally reached his personal office in the university building, he sank into his not so comfortable office chair. His body was tired but his mind was running at a dangerous speed.

The events of two days ago, that painted, passionate and manipulative night with Jisung, were extraordinarily strange and Minho couldn't stop thinking about those moments for even a second.

The thing that bothered him the most was the color of the last envelope he received, purple.

He reviewed all that had happened and made a superficial assessment. Leaving all other thoughts behind the clearest and most disturbing possibility that stood out was that he was being watched.

Everywhere, including his bedroom, every move he made was being observed. At least, that was his assumption.

The fact that all the black envelopes that came to his house until that day changed color right when he was painting Jisung purple had to have a logical explanation. This was an intimidation a threat.

The situation becoming increasingly nasty and personal was not only stressing Minho but also triggering the control freak inside him.

He felt a bittersweet regret for messing up the first game. However, the adrenaline flowing through his veins, which he couldn't suppress, was forcing him to mess up this new game too to rewrite the rules.

Or perhaps this was due to his god complex and his narcissistic personality, which would never accept defeat.

He hated simple things, he sought the perfect or at least the near perfect. These song lyrics and the complex game, shining like a star among ordinary love letters, were a near perfect form of attracting attention and a challenge for him.

But now, those words and this game were infuriating Minho. The owner of the envelope was clearly looking down on him, trying to manipulate him and openly threatening him.

Minho had messed up the first game out of fear of losing control, causing this new, darker game to begin. The start of this new game was a great insult to the supremacy of God Minho.

He was determined. At the end of this, he would find the person messing with him and unleash his wrath upon them. After all, who would dare to mock a god?

Every step taken big or small had positive or negative consequences. As a supreme creator, he would not only reward his worshippers but also punish them. In short, messing with a god would come at a heavy cost.

He did not want to see shadows falling on his supremacy. If necessary, he would extinguish the sun that cast those shadows and plunge the world into eternal darkness or he would light up the surroundings more powerfully than ever before to prevent the formation of shadows.

He crossed his arms on his desk and rested his forehead on them. He hated having headaches. In fact, he hated almost everything lately, and he was taking out the pain of this anger on his loyal servant, Jisung.

The young man he had held in his arms and stroked with affection, or an imitation of affection, two days ago, he had ignored yesterday, and this morning he had scolded him groundlessly and harshly. He felt no remorse, because he believed what he was doing was right.

Jisung was his student as much as he was his pawn. The students he trained had to be good, there was no place for bad ones. Because Lee Minho was not an ordinary academic and he was very aware of this.

The color tones Jisung used in his work this morning had driven Minho mad. Yet, only two days ago, he had indirectly explained to him the importance of the color purple and that he should use purple in his works. He was quite sure that Jisung had understood this.

However, this morning, Jisung had acted as if he hadn't listened at all and had colored his painting with various shades of red. This was a challenge.

With a loud rustling sound, he raised his head and saw that familiar black envelope being slid under the door. He jumped up quickly and went to the envelope, curious as hell about the reason for the two days of silence. He didn't hesitate for a moment to open it.

"No one needs to hear your words, let it go."

"No." he said, then a thin, cold smile appeared on his lips "The helpless young people need my guidance." He was taking on the role of a god even within the boundaries of this school.

He had experienced and tried almost everything. He was wise, masterful, talented, flawless and much more. He could not put himself side by side or compare himself with anyone in this school, even his colleagues who were in the same field. He was special. He was God.

When he entered the studio the next day, his eyes first found Jisung sitting by the wall. He looked noticeable in the black, thick hoodie he was wearing in the blazing hot weather. Yet, Minho didn't dwell on it. After all, he was a strange, troubled and helpless young man.

"I reviewed the work you did yesterday in preparation for the final" Minho began, his voice sharp and judgmental "To be honest, all of you are awful."

His words created shock waves among the students. Their teacher, who had always been kind to them, even when criticizing the worst work, was speaking with brutal frankness today.

"For months, I explained the key to everything, down to the smallest detail, repeatedly. Unfortunately, while reviewing your work last night, I realized that all the time I spent on you was wasted."

Minho's hurtful words continued "While examining the works, I momentarily thought that I was looking at the scribbles of small children and that all of you had gotten together and played a joke on me. But no. You were quite serious and presented those garbage pieces as your final preparation."

He leaned against his desk and crossed his arms "This is not high school. You either fix your behavior and strictly follow what I say to pass to the next grade, or you will have to take all my classes for a few more years. The choice is yours." As the students looked at Minho in shock, Jisung avoided his gaze.

"Today you will draw a realist portrait and color it using only shades of purple. Your time is one hour." When sounds of objection started rising from the class, he raised his arm and pointed to the watch on his wrist. "Time is ticking fast, you better hurry."

As the students quickly prepared for the drawing, Minho continued his speech "Also, your rebellion is very unnecessary. You came here to become artists. If you don't have confidence in yourselves, this major shouldn't even have crossed your minds."

Young Nam, one of the most talented students in the class, spoke in a tone that was both rebellious and sarcastic "I guess you're not on good terms with your lover, Mr. Lee." Everyone who heard this felt a chilling atmosphere spread through the studio.

Minho replied without changing his facial expression "You are not facing your classmate, Mr. Nam." The young man continued as he stroked his pencil against his canvas "You are not facing elementary school children either, Mr. Lee. All this time you were emphasizing to us to be creative, and suddenly you started imposing different rules."

Minho looked terribly calm "Being free in this life, being able to forge your own path, is certainly important. However, when there are no rules, there is chaos. Besides, there are dozens of obstacles even on the seemingly clear path. You must be prepared for everything."

Another student in the class interrupted "We are grateful that you think of us and put effort into us, Mr. Lee. But why did you suddenly start attacking us? The words you just spoke were quite hurtful."

Minho smiled slightly, this expression was cold and judgmental "I am lighting the fuse of hatred and ambition within you so that you can reach the pinnacle of art. Like love, hatred is an incredibly powerful driving force." The student who asked the question posed another question "Why are you instilling hatred in us?"

"Hatred" Minho began to explain, walking slowly through the studio "can contain all other emotions. This makes it the strongest, and at the same time the most dangerous, emotion."

He stopped and looked at the students "Everyone says they can do anything for love, but that's not true. People don't kill for love, but for an anger triggered by the fear of loss, jealousy and hatred. From the outside, it looks like love, but at its core, there is a poisonous passion and hatred."

The student asked "So your goal is for us to hate you and work harder?" Minho snapped his fingers "Exactly. I will turn this place into a hell for you, and I will make you hate me. And to escape this hell, you will push all the talent within you and work very hard."

The students agreed that Minho was finally showing his true colors, but their minds were confused about the reason behind this sudden change.

Minho's eyes found Jisung, who was working with his hands covered in purple paint. Jisung was focused on his canvas with furrowed brows and a concentrated expression. This sight inwardly satisfied Minho. The control was working.

Turning his eyes back to the student Nam he said "And Mr. Nam..." The young student took his eyes off his canvas and looked at Minho. Thereupon, Minho continued "Yes, my lover and I are on bad terms. I hope you have some good advice to give me, as direct as your question."

The young man was surprised, but assuming Minho was sincere, he replied "I think you should take him to a lakeside with a beautiful view, and then offer to dance with him. Dancing under the stars might be good for your relationship. It's both artistic and dark, just like you." Minho's smile widened, this time less artificial "I will consider that. Thank you, Mr. Nam" he said.

When one hour was up, the students had to put down their pencils. A few canvases were complete, but most were far from the level Minho wanted.

Minho examined each painting one by one and mercilessly rained down critiques on every student. When it was Jisung's turn, Minho felt an inexplicable tension.

He walked behind Jisung and looked at the canvas. What he saw both surprised and deeply affected him. However, Minho made a move completely contrary to his feelings.

He took a chisel in his hand, pressed it against the surface of the canvas, and ripped the painting apart with a downward motion. While the students whispered in astonishment, Jisung was quite unresponsive. As if he had been expecting it.

"To be honest, you were the best in the class, Jisung" Minho announced in a cold tone, walking towards his desk "But it wasn't good enough for you."

Then, turning to the students, he spoke "Rest today. Tomorrow, you will draw until your wrists hurt." He looked at his watch. There were fifteen minutes left for the class to end, but he couldn't stand it anymore "You can leave."

The students quickly left the classroom, not wanting to stay in the same environment as their strangely behaving instructor. Except for one. Jisung was gathering his belongings at his usual calm pace. Minho watched him patiently.

It was almost impossible to remain silent when alone with him. "Aren't you going to ask why I ripped it?" Minho asked. Jisung replied without looking at him "I cannot question the things you deem appropriate. If it's insufficient, it's insufficient."

Minho's eyebrows shot up in surprise "Aren't you mad at me?" Jisung gave the clearest answer possible "No."

"To tell you the truth" Minho confessed, lowering his voice "I really liked your painting. It was quite sufficient work for you too. However, you cannot paint the private moments you spend with me while within the school boundaries, Jisung."

The young man shook his head in embarrassment "I apologize" he said. Minho approached him and gently grasped Jisung's wrist "It wasn't obvious that it was me, but still... I don't want to see things that are private to us here."

Jisung shook his head again "I forgot that you don't like this place and that you don't want to see the things you love here. I apologize again."

Minho stroked Jisung's wrist with his thumb "Okay, I'll overlook it this time." He placed the index finger of his other hand under Jisung's chin, lifting his face slightly "Why aren't you looking at my face today?"

Jisung finally turned his eyes to Minho's and confessed with a strained expression "I didn't want to see the coldness in your eyes."

Minho frowned, trying to understand what Jisung meant. However, a few seconds later, he dismissed that thought. That wasn't his priority right now.

As the thick hoodie fabric touching his finger distracted him, he couldn't focus on the meaning behind Jisung's words. He quickly pushed the sleeve of Jisung's hoodie up towards his elbow.

The fresh, red scratches on the young boy's arm instantly changed Minho's expression, his eyes darkened. Fixing his sharp gaze on Jisung's eyes he asked "What are these?"

Jisung swallowed in panic then hurriedly explained "I didn't hurt myself, I swear." Minho squeezed Jisung's arm lightly, repeating his question harshly "Then what are these?"

Jisung's eyes watered "The people at the dorm did it" he said in a low voice. "Why?" Minho's voice came in a dangerously low register.

There was no answer from Jisung. Minho shook the young man harshly, raising his voice "I asked you why!" Jisung flinched and answered in fear "I don't know... I really don't know!"

Minho let go of Jisung's wrist and took a deep breath. He was trying to calm down, but it didn't seem very possible.

He was a god, and his own worshipper had been battered by demons without his protection. This was an attack on his authority and power.

Pressing his aching head with his fingers, he gave a clear command "Stay with me tonight." Jisung declined the offer saying "It's fine."

This ignited Minho's rage. Suddenly turning to Jisung he yelled "What are you talking about, Jisung? What if this happens again?"

The young man replied as he threw his bag over his shoulder "I moved into my old apartment yesterday, where I used to live before. No one knows that place. It's safe."

Just as Minho was about to open his mouth to insist, his phone rang. He looked at the screen of the smartwatch on his wrist and mumbled a curse "Shit... You're very lucky. The Dean is calling."

A faint smile appeared on Jisung's lips. Minho raised his index finger at Jisung saying "I'm letting you go today. But tomorrow, we will settle the score."

Jisung nodded his head in agreement. Minho, having received the obedient affirmation, walked towards the studio door, but Jisung's voice stopped him.

"Mr. Lee... Do you love me? Not in a romantic sense, just a simple affection. Like you love the color purple."

Minho turned his head slightly, looking directly into the young man's eyes. For a few seconds, he considered whether to give an honest answer or the answer he wanted to hear.

Finally, finding a middle ground, he replied "Yes. I love you the way I love the color purple."

Jisung's face lit up "Thank you. Have a good day, Mr. Lee" he said sincerely. Minho responded with a slight nod "You too, Jisung. Be careful." and started walking again.

When he stopped by his office to get the documents he needed to take to the Dean, another black envelope under the door greeted him. He took a deep, angry breath, reached for the envelope on the floor and opened it furiously.

"Carnivore, won't you come digest me?"

Chapter Text

A series of bloody letters with no end and this time, accompanying them, a sharp purple razor with a light layer of rust on its surface.

Minho, while carefully spinning the razor between his fingers read the sentence written in the letter "Take away everything I am, bring it to an end."

The letters were becoming more and more complex, more and more intertwined with each passing time. Every cipher he thought he had solved turned into the beginning of a new knot.

This endless spiral of mystery was leading not only to spiritual exhaustion but also to a deep physical decay.

His tested patience was giving him a sharp pain, like thousands of needles stabbing his chest all at once. He angrily picked up and opened another one from the pile of letters accumulating at his door.

"Could you come and change me?"

His brows suddenly furrowed. His eyes locked onto the emptiness in the luxurious living room he was in, he took a deep breath and with a harsh scream that erupted from his throat he shook the room "But you don't let me!" His anger was like an electric current flowing through his veins.

"Since you want me to change you, then don't wait any longer and come out to face me!" He now wanted the chaotic uncertainty created by these letters to end. This cat and mouse game had turned into an unbearably boring torment for him.

Truthfully, as every secret he couldn't solve dealt a heavy blow to his ego, he couldn't be expected to be pleased with this game he was playing.

He was referred to as a god. Someone who always found solutions for the unfortunate, who was generally invincible and who should be worshipped. But in this game of the unknown, he was clearly on the losing side. Control was slowly slipping from his grasp.

The pain in his stomach was his stress reflecting on his body. He headed to the medicine cabinet to soothe his aching stomach, quickly took a pill and swallowed it.

When he returned to the living room, he picked up the rusty razor that was on the coffee table again. His thoughts intensified on the coldness of the razor. What was the thing that was owned? And more importantly, was he supposed to cut something with this razor? He thought, he thought... He was searching for a logical answer in the depths of his mind.

Just as he placed the razor directly into his palm, the house door was knocked on sharply and hastily. Although Minho flinched for a moment, he quickly recovered with a marvelous reflex. He put the purple razor in his hand back on the coffee table and stepped towards the door.

When he opened the door, his friend Kwon was standing across from him, looking at him with weary eyes that bore the traces of exhaustion and a kind of conflict. Kwon, without waiting for a greeting, lightly pushed Minho aside and rushed inside.

Minho, closing the door and walking behind his friend, spoke in a voice full of irony "Wouldn't you like to come in? Oh, please do."

Kwon threw himself onto the sofa and replied "You are very hospitable, you know." Minho responded to his friend's words with a middle finger and settled down on one of the armchairs across from Kwon.

"What's with this state of yours?" Minho asked, even though he knew the answer. Kwon, raising an eyebrow, asked with a playful seriousness "What's wrong with my state?" Minho immediately replied "You look like you just came out of a war."

Kwon, after a forced little laugh, adjusted his seating and pulled his t-shirt up. A glow, a result of having survived, appeared in his eyes "Actually, if you ask me, I really did come out of a war." he said.

A bandage with crimson and brown stains was located on Kwon's abdominal area. Minho, without the slightest sign of emotion on his face, spoke with a completely calm demeanor "What happened this time?"

Kwon answered while lowering his t-shirt "We were investigating a farm murder. Things suddenly got out of control, and the farm was riddled with bullets. Luckily, we were many, and we survived the raid with minor scratches."

"Why did you choose a profession like this anyway?" Minho said, getting up from where he was sitting. Even though he seemed cool headed on the outside, he absolutely couldn't stand a loved one being hurt. And this internal pain manifested as anger.

Kwon remained silent so as not to be lectured and followed where Minho was going and what he was doing. Minho went to the medicine cabinet again and after taking the first aid kit, he returned to the living room.

"Your blood has soaked your bandage. We need to wrap it properly again." he said, keeping his eyes fixed on the first aid kit.

Minho, who was often hidden behind an icy mask, could never tolerate the people he genuinely loved getting hurt. Seeing Kwon's white bandage stained with crimson had caused a small but sharp pang in his heart. In short, he needed to intervene and make sure he was alright.

When Minho noticed Kwon was staring blankly at him, he let out a deep and weary sigh. Then he snapped "Are you waiting for an invitation to pull up your t-shirt, or do you not have hands?"

Kwon let out a small laugh, as if wanting to ease the tension in this situation. While pulling up his t-shirt and taking it off completely, he said "Actually, getting one of those letters you get could have been fun."

Minho hit Kwon's head with moderate force with the small first aid kit in his hand and said sharply "If you don't shut your mouth, I'll make you eat those letters."

Kwon yelped and started gently rubbing his aching head "Seriously, what were you doing with that razor? Were you cutting the letters?"

Minho's face instantly became expressionless. Since what he was about to say was somewhat strange, he first swallowed to make speaking easier and then replied in a calm tone "It came out of the letter. I was going to cut my hand."

This confession instantly wiped the smile off Kwon's face. He asked with a mix of surprise and anger "Are you stupid?"

Minho remained silent. He knelt down, put the first aid kit aside and started moving his hands towards Kwon's bandage but Kwon didn't let him. He held onto his arms.

"Minho, I'm going to ask a very serious question this time. Are you okay?" he asked with clear concern. Minho nodded his head as if to say he was fine. But this nod didn't satisfy Kwon at all. Fixing his eyes on Minho's eyes, he said "I don't believe that, not one bit."

Minho had no effort to be convincing. It was obvious from his demeanor that even he didn't believe it. And another thing he didn't have was a definite answer to whether he was okay. Because he wasn't okay, but he thought he was.

The silence did not please Kwon. His hands held Minho's arms more tightly and he said "End this game. There's no point in continuing anymore." He added "This is a ridiculous game, a complete waste of time."

Kwon's insistence struck Minho's mind like lightning. Why did he think it was pointless to continue? Was he jealous of Minho? Was he aiming to become God by taking Minho out of the game?

Minho frowned and said "I can't, I have to see the end." his determination reflected in his voice. Kwon raised his voice, snapping "What if there is no end to it? How many more games are you planning to be a part of?"

Kwon shook Minho's body lightly and continued. There was deep worry in his eyes "This game is getting darker by the day. You're going to get yourself into big trouble."

Minho's answer, which followed his unresponsiveness, was extremely logical from his point of view "Everything has an end."

However, Kwon did not share the same opinion. For Kwon, this was a ridiculous and hollow answer. Minho's perspective was blurry. This obsessive game was preventing him from seeing the reality clearly.

Kwon loosened his grip on Minho's arms. The expression in his eyes softened, but the pain in his voice hadn't disappeared "I'm just worried about you. You're wasting away in front of my eyes, and there's nothing I can do."

Minho got up from where he was sitting and spoke in the reassuring tone he used as a mask "I'm fine."

Kwon, with a sudden movement, pulled Minho towards himself, and Minho lost his balance and fell into Kwon's lap. One of Kwon's hands quickly gripped Minho's waist.

Then he said "Don't do this. I can't bear watching you change." The plea in his voice came from the depth of his concern. He was genuinely worried and afraid that something bad might happen to Minho.

Minho looked into Kwon's worried and longing eyes for a few seconds. Then he said "I thought we put an end to this. We weren't going to care about each other more than necessary." His eyes slowly slid down to Kwon's lips "We had ended it."

Although Kwon nodded in affirmation, the sentences that came out of his lips said the exact opposite "We didn't end it, we only overshadowed it."

Shadows... Those dark and heavy shadows he could never escape, no matter where he went or who he was with... Minho and Kwon's past was also composed of such shadows.

"Can I touch you one more time?" Kwon asked in his softest voice, as if asking for consent. Minho rolled his eyes and said "We both know very well where this is going to end."

Kwon confessed "That's my goal. To win back the old times. I missed you so much in every sense." The deep longing and desire in his eyes reflected as sincerity in his words.

Minho averted his eyes upon hearing these words. He didn't think he deserved it. That's why he said "I'm not clean." that was the only reply he could give.

Kwon shrugged his shoulder carelessly and said with an indifferent attitude "You know I don't mind." But Minho did mind.

Although his skin was burning between Kwon's hands, he was trying not to lose the last fragments of his logic that he was trying to preserve. He couldn't, he shouldn't.

It hadn't been easy to get over their short lived relationship, and he knew very well that if he threw himself into Kwon's arms right now, he would waste all his effort, all his process of recovering.

But overall, Minho had already lost his logic. All the logical points inside his brain had instantly become dull with this longing and confusion.

He closed his eyes and whispered "As long as you don't enter, it's fine." As soon as he finished his sentence, he felt those lips he missed on his own lips.

At that moment, Minho understood once again. There was another God that the God worshipped. He was enchanted by Kwon's power, he could never go against him. This forbidden desire was like a belief.

Kwon pulled Minho onto the sofa and instantly got on top of him. His bare chest touching Minho's t-shirt, the partial skin contact between them created an electric current.

As their lips danced in a harmonious rhythm with the longing of years, Kwon's hand was also roaming down Minho's lower parts, searching to undo the buttons of his trousers.

When Minho's hands joined in, both of their skins started burning and their organs started getting intensely stimulated. The heat of passion heavy the air in the living room.

A short time later, their lower parts were completely bare. Kwon took both his and Minho's penises into his large palm and started moving his hand rhythmically.

The warm penises rubbing against each other caused a sweet moaning melody to come out from between their swollen lips that were wetting each other.

As they approached the climax, those muffled moans began to change with each other's names. The dozens of Minho names that spilled from Kwon's mouth were cut like a knife at that very moment, along with a single Jisung name that came out of Minho's mouth.

When Kwon stopped moving and looked at Minho, he was met with his large, surprised eyes. Minho was frozen by the shock of this accidental name coming out.

A slight smile appeared on Kwon's face. There was no resentment or anger in his voice, only an accepted situation "I'm sorry I can't be him." Or perhaps Minho couldn't clearly notice this in his state of shock.

Kwon continued to finish the unfinished business. After the to and fro movements in his palm, both of them came with short intervals. After Kwon got off Minho, he reached for the tissue on the coffee table and cleaned his soiled hand.

Then he said "I'm going to the guest room. I'll stay here tonight." as if trying to normalize the situation. Minho chose to remain silent and only nodded his head.

Kwon's increasingly red bandage was now of no concern to either of them. Kwon was used to these kinds of things, and the wound on his abdomen was not considered very serious for his profession.

Kwon left the dirty tissue on the coffee table, picked up the laundry on the floor, and started walking towards the room whose location he knew by heart.

While Minho was putting on his underwear that he had thrown on the floor, a large part of his focus was locked on the name that had come out of his mouth minutes ago. Uttering his name was the last thing he would have wanted in such a situation.

Moreover, what was uttering the name of a mere mortal in front of a God who was more powerful than himself, a God he worshipped? This was like the breaking of a holy ritual.

He took his head in his hands and sighed. He was aware that his behavior was starting to spiral out of control and that he would lose his control completely very soon.

The squeaking metal sound and the subsequent dull wooden sound broke Minho's focus and allowed him to momentarily escape his suffocating thoughts.

When he went in the direction the familiar sound came from, he saw a few pieces of envelopes on the floor. The interesting part this time was that the envelopes were numbered by themselves.

When he picked up and opened the heavy envelope in the first place, he couldn't hide his surprise. "I will hide myself below, I'll be what you wanted." Because inside the envelope was a small, purple key.

After leaving the envelope and the key on the armchair, he opened and read another envelope "Kept inside, I won't let go, until I burn beyond control." And a purple lighter that came out of the envelope.

In Minho's eyes, the purple marks were a slight punishment resulting from coloring Jisung purple. Was he regretful, though? No. He willingly endured this indirect punishment he was receiving.

Because he was satisfied with the things he showed and told the young man, and that he could save him from blind beliefs. According to him, a God's duty was to open the blind eyes of his mortals, and he was trying to do exactly that. With his own twisted logic, he saw himself as right.

When he read the first and second envelopes one more time, it didn't take him long to realize that the font of the writings had changed. The carelessly written letters indicated that someone else was also involved in this game, an anonymous figure had entered the scene.

When he heard a paper sound again, he quickly went to the front door. He picked up the third, purple envelope on the floor and started reading it directly. This last envelope had caught all of Minho's attention.

"We are about to reach the end of the game. Our game will be played face to face very soon. You have no chance to refuse. You know, for every game you reject, a new game begins. If you want to get out of the game, you must go to the end and continue playing with me. Don't worry, the last part will be very fun.

Here is your new task: Give me one sacrifice for each game. The same ending is not acceptable.

Your options: Burn or cut them."

Chapter Text

Decision.

This task, which stood before him, required him to make a cruel choice about taking lives he had not bestowed.

He had two options in his hand, burn or cut. Both were challenging, both were dark enough to gnaw at his conscience.

He genuinely did not know what to do to whom or which action would satisfy the letters owner.

At first, he planned to do everything to his own body. To cut himself with the razor to burn his skin. However, this thought instantly extinguished.

Because the owner of the letters was explicit enough and wanted Minho not to harm himself but to give him sacrifices.

This seemed like a part of a power display, a game to break Minho's will rather than a personal revenge or obsession.

Minho weighed all the potential sacrifices he could offer in his mind. With the environmental advantage that came from being a teacher and an adult, he had multiple options in his hand.

But every sacrifice would not be counted as easy prey. The disappearance of the sacrifice could irreversibly endanger Minho's professional and personal life.

He leaned against the door frame of the room where Kwon was staying, folding his arms across his chest. His eyes were wandering over the body of his friend (!) who was sleeping half naked.

A thousand and one kinds of scenarios were coming alive in his mind. Right now, he could easily sacrifice him by bringing a sharp knife and making a quick and deep cut on Kwon's jugular vein.

However, Kwon was a detective working in the police force. If he disappeared, he would cause Minho a very big problem. This idea was quickly crushed under the weight of its danger and dismissed from his mind.

He moved away from where he was leaning and carefully settled into the empty part of the bed. Seconds later, his waist was wrapped by that familiar strong arm, while a sleepy kiss was placed on the back of his neck.

“I guess today is going to be a good day.” Kwon's sleepy and deep voice made Minho's heart strangely tremble. This was a mixture of guilt, longing and anger.

Minho ignored Kwon's words and the emotional intensity of that moment by saying "I prepared breakfast." Kwon pressed and pulled his lips onto the back of Minho's neck one more time.

Minho got up from where he was lying without saying anything else and left the room. Kwon, on the other hand, got out of bed and started getting ready with that smile on his face about it being a beautiful day.

Minutes later, they met around the kitchen table. Kwon, while sipping his coffee and asked "Are you going to attend the exhibition next month?" The question was sincere. Minho, on the other hand, replied in a distant way, far from sincerity "I don't know."

Kwon was having difficulty understanding his changeable mood, especially his coldness this morning after last night's intimacy.

Still, he tried to extend the dialogue between them by saying "I think you should attend." Moreover, this was the first attempt in his effort to keep Minho away from the dark game.

Minho's head was shaking to brush him off when Kwon's cell phone rang. Kwon got up from where he was sitting while rejecting the call coming to his phone. His profession was interfering with every moment of his personal life.

Kwon, accompanied by a sincere expression of embarrassment said "I'm sorry, I have to leave urgently." Minho only showed gestures as if to say it was no problem.

Kwon quickly left after gathering his belongings. With the result of being alone, Minho's mind began to overflow with possible sacrifices again. He had to find someone he could quickly destroy at the scene, someone who would not leave a trace behind.

In the evening, when he approached the outer door to leave the house, he came across an ordinary, black envelope on the floor. He picked it up from the floor and read it “Make me fall, make me bleed.”

He carelessly put the paper into the envelope and threw it towards the living room. Right after that, he left the house. Now it was time for him to act.

For a few hours, he wandered from place to place, searching for a suitable, easy prey for himself in random bars on dark streets.

When he realized this job wouldn't be done this way, he changed his plan. An ordinary murder would not befit Minho's art and his God status. The sacrifice he would choose had to be special.

He jumped into his car and went to that massive, isolated land where illegal races were held and all kinds of filth and dark trade were housed.

When his eyes started wandering shamelessly among the crowded groups of people, his ears were ringing. This was a place where chaos, not law, reigned. So much so that, he could sacrifice not just two, but dozens of people here and no one would even notice.

However, he assumed that sacrificing ordinary people would not befit him. Therefore, he started searching for that special person who had enabled him to learn about this place.

He started making his way through the crowd. He pushed away the bodies that were flirting with him, rubbing against him, with the back of his hand. He found the person he was looking for very soon after.

With the ultra mini leather skirt she was wearing, ripped fishnet stockings, high heeled shoes, a crop top that made her breasts look like they were about to burst at any moment and garishly red hair, Dahlia was recklessly displaying herself to everyone here.

Minho, approaching the girl leaning against the car, called out with a voice tone that was far from formal, but authoritarian "Dahlia!"

The red haired girl couldn't help but let a wide smile appear on her face as soon as she turned her head "Mr. Lee, what a surprise!"

Dahlia was both an important and unimportant person in Minho's eyes. Dahlia's importance came from her being a talented painter candidate who took Minho's class at the university.

This talent made her important enough to contribute to her being chosen as a sacrifice for Minho. The god of art saw even his sacrifice as a work of art.

Minho told a classic lie by saying "I got bored of my routine life and threw myself onto the streets with the aim of seeking a change." Luckily, the girl across from him was not a character smart enough to understand his lie.

"You should do this often, Mr. Lee. It's truly wonderful to see you here tonight." Dahlia said, without hiding her admiration. Minho placed his fake smile on his face and made a request by saying "We are outside the school limits. Please don't address me formally."

The girl willingly accepted this small request. Then she asked "Okay. Do you have any predictions about today's race?" Minho replied honestly to the question he received "To be honest, I didn't come to watch the race." While leaning against the car's hood, he added "I came here with the aim of finding people I could talk to, loneliness is boring."

Dahlia, while nodding as if to say I understand, also took the opportunity to flirt "Then you came to the right address. You can always chat with me." after which she placed her hand on top of Minho's arm as if pushing the boundaries of intimacy.

Minho with the aim of avoiding this contact asked "Can you show me around? It's much more enjoyable to talk while walking." Dahlia, misinterpreting Minho's request, grinned slyly and flirtatiously "Of course."

Moving away from the car they were leaning on, they started walking on the dark, uneven terrain that was illuminated only by the intense moonlight.

Minho, noticing the girl's shoes and asked "How can you walk on this terrain with those heels?" Dahlia looked down at her feet and then laughed "Honestly, I constantly wander around this terrain. I guess I got used to walking in them."

Minho nodded and said "Tell me if you get tired, I'll carry you." These insincere, manipulative words from Minho caused Dahlia to get excited. After chatting this way for a while, they sat on top of a rock to rest and took a break.

When Dahlia started untying the lace of her high heeled shoe, Minho restarted the old conversation "You shouldn't have turned down my offer."

Dahlia replied by saying "They are only a little swollen, it's no problem." Minho reached out and, grabbing the girl's foot, turned it towards himself. He took off the girl's shoe and started massaging the swollen foot in his hands.

Dahlia was internally happy assuming Minho was doing this to flirt with her. However, the truth was quite different. Minho was gaining time to figure out who the third person was who had been following them from the very beginning.

He had two separate guesses. Either it was a curious, ordinary person or the owner of the letters, the game master who was watching him.

He hoped that the person following him was the owner of the letters. Thus, he could offer a sacrifice in front of his eyes and get away from the chaotic prison, getting one step closer to his freedom.

Gods shouldn't be imprisoned and shouldn't fall no matter what. But unfortunately, Minho was imprisoned inside a game, and at the same time, he had fallen quite hard.

The fact that the person following him did not take any action at all made him angry. With this impatience, he slowly started sliding the hand that was roaming on the girl's foot upwards. He somehow had to move things forward and get rid of this girl as soon as possible.

Dahlia was pleased with the fingers wandering on her leg. The intimacy she had dreamed of for a long time was finally happening.

Minho, after stroking the girl's leg all the way, approached the girl's lips. The lips that touched each other started moving simultaneously a short time later.

Minho, while kissing, was looking at the person watching him with the corner of his eye and was trying to figure out his identity. The body behind the trees was large and tall.

His face was not visible, but it was quite clear that he had folded his arms across his chest. Even though his face was not visible, his posture reflected a single emotion that Minho understood, displeasure.

He returned to the first possibility. He was being watched by someone who was curious but who felt displeasure about the situation.

Minho separated their lips, then whispered "Don't you dare turn around and look. Someone is watching us, let's get out of here." Dahlia replied with a similar whisper "What kind of person?"

Minho looked between the trees again with the corner of his eye and replied "Large and tall." Dahlia's mouth dropped open "I think it's Michael." she said.

Then she smiled "He's a pervert. He likes to follow couples." Minho nodded as if to say I understand, then asked "Can you send him away from here?"

Dahlia pursed her lips and said "I don't think that's necessary. He has a mental problem, he forgets what he sees five minutes later." Minho got angry at this carelessness and indifference. Dahlia's taking her life lightly was obstructing his sacrifice plan.

He frowned and said "Even if it will be forgotten five minutes later, I don't like exposing my private life to others." After Dahlia understood Minho's discomfort, she turned around and called out loudly "Get out of here Michael!"

Minho was pleased when the shadow among the trees bowed his head and started walking towards where he came from. Another problem was solved.

Then, maintaining all his slyness and hiding his real intention, he said "Still, we should go a little further. He might come back, besides this place is rocky. We won't be comfortable."

"Okay, whatever makes you comfortable." said Dahlia, standing up. Minho bent down, took the girl's shoes and handed them to Dahlia "Hold them." When the girl took her shoes in her hand, Minho also lifted the girl onto his shoulder.

After walking this way for about three minutes, he positioned her in his lap by taking her down from his shoulder. The girl wrapped her legs around Minho to keep from falling.

When they started kissing, Minho opened his eyes and examined the surroundings. It looked clean and quiet. Moreover, a few steps ahead of them, there was a wide cliff that looked terrifying in the dark.

He separated their lips and asked in a witty tone "Would lying on the ground be a problem for you? Because I don't think I can do this standing up." he said "You know I'm old compared to you."

The girl laughed with a cheerful voice and said "It wouldn't be a problem." After the answer he received, Minho put the girl down from his lap. As the girl lay on the ground, he positioned himself on top of her.

While rubbing his lips on the girl's neck, he grasped the large rock piece with sharp edges that was right next to him. He pulled his lips away, smiled one last time, and spoke out loud towards the forest clearing "Watch carefully. I'm finally doing what you asked of me."

Before the girl could understand what he was talking about, she instantly passed out after receiving a hard blow to the head. Minho's heart rate sped up and his ears started ringing. In a panic, he turned around and checked the surroundings. There was nothing in sight.

He turned on his phone's flash and looked at the cliff right next to him. This place, which looked like a cliff in the dark, was actually a sloping and rocky ground.

The possibility of the person thrown from here surviving was high, although not very. So, it was highly possible for Dahlia to wake up healthy, remember what happened and expose Minho.

Minho didn't want to risk this. He picked up the piece of rock he had put down and hit the girl's head hard a few more times. Now, Dahlia's bleeding was heavy, her skull was crushed, and there was no chance of survival. Especially in such a deserted area.

Minho acted with the relief that came from finally having finished this job. First, he rolled the girl's shoes, then the rock and finally the girl herself down.

After covering the bloodstains on the ground with soil, he quickly started walking back the way he came. Even though he had left his DNA on the girl, he did not care about it. Because he was aware that he was not the only man who had kissed Dahlia today.

Besides, he didn't need to worry about evidence and filth.

Because the body that was watching him, hidden among the rocks, slowly emerged with a satisfied smile. It was in a position that could easily see the sloping ground of the cliff that Minho had just looked at.

The Shadow stopped right in the middle of the dirt road and started watching Minho's departure. When Minho disappeared from view, he descended to the part where the girl had rolled.

Dahlia was lying there lifeless and covered in blood. After the Shadow put the girl's high heeled shoes into his bag, he dragged the girl out of that rocky area.

After loading the girl into his car, he headed straight towards his house. His mind was still on Minho's escape. The fact that his courage and cowardice coexisted in the same body was quite ironic and comical for the observer, it was the definite fall of a God.

The Shadow brought the girl to the secret compartment in the basement of his house and immediately laid her down on the nylon covers. After setting up his mechanism, he inserted a syringe into the girl's arm and began to drain all the blood from her body.

A slight smile appeared on his lips when he looked at his own bruised arm. He was writing the notes inside the purple envelopes with his own blood. He was using cat blood for the black envelopes.

What he wanted to do with the girl's id est Dahlia's, blood was quite different. This blood would be the raw material for the next stage, the next work of art. Minho's sacrifice was now material for a new game for him.

••••

Even though it had been two weeks since he became a killer, the fear inside Minho was still very fresh. He thought that at any moment, the police would show up at his door accompanied by a siren and arrest him. This paranoia had settled into his mind like a virus.

However, completely contrary to this, when he stepped outside his house, he reverted back to his old, carefree and professional persona. In classes, meetings or his daily life, he wore a mask of flawless normalcy.

So much so that, he played the role of an angry teacher towards his student Dahlia, who never came to his classes, announcing to the whole class that he would fail her if she missed one more class. This behavior was a strange way of silencing his conscience.

In addition to his fear, he was also angry. Because the envelopes he had received for two weeks consisted only of black color.

Every day he did not receive a purple envelope, the pressure caused by the murder increased and he was stressed by the thought of having become a killer for nothing.

The frequency of the letters coming had also become completely uncertain, the number of letters had decreased. This uncertainty was driving Minho's control freak nature crazy.

The words written in the letters he received during those two weeks were: "Go ahead and change me" and "Take away everything I am" These commands were a sarcastic hint that the sacrifice was not enough.

While Minho was wandering among his students, he made eye contact with his student Jisung, whom he had been scolding non stop for two weeks.

Jisung quickly looked away, then continued to brush his paint brush tremulously on his canvas. The poor young man could never understand why he was being scolded, but he remained silent because he was afraid of his teacher's anger.

For Minho, the reason was simple, but painful. Jisung was the reason Minho was disgraced in front of Kwon.

After the name Jisung came out of Minho's mouth, Kwon instantly created distance between them, gradually moved away from Minho and reduced the frequency of their communication. Because Kwon thought Minho was in love with Jisung.

Minho couldn't swallow this rejection and directed all his anger and regret towards this young boy. So much so that every time he saw him, he became even more angry, remembering that shameful moment.

Minho, with a sudden movement, went behind Jisung and superficially examined the painting the young boy was drawing. Then, with a completely irrational movement, he mercilessly cut the canvas from top to bottom with the utility knife in his hand.

Then, he concealed the personal hatred behind his destructive behavior under the mask of a professional critique by saying "You are insufficient, you can't seem to make progress." Jisung tensed when he felt all the gazes in the class were on him. His eyes quickly filled with shame and despair.

Minho shouted this time "Get out and don't even set foot here without improving yourself!" his voice echoed off the walls of the classroom. And upon this, Jisung quickly left the paint smelling classroom with the tears he was struggling to hold back.

Minho turned to the class and spoke with a very harsh attitude "I have no more tolerance. One of my best students is missing." he said "My other good students have also started to lose their focus. Either give me the return for my efforts or take this class one more time next year."

Simultaneously with finishing his words, the door of the classroom opened and janitors entered. They were carrying a massive package that was standing in front of the door, struggling to fit into the middle of the classroom. One of them said "Mr. Lee, this has been sent to you sir."

Minho frowned and asked while helping them pull the colossal gift into the middle of the classroom "Who sent it?" The janitor replied "There was no name or any address written. The only name written on it was yours." Minho nodded, then felt the package with his hand.

With a familiar feeling, he thought it was a canvas. He cut open a part of the package with the utility knife and looked at the thing inside. He was right, it was a canvas. However, not an ordinary canvas, but a canvas completely painted red.

One of his curious students asked "Aren't you going to open it, Mr. Lee?" Minho nodded in affirmation and said "I will open it, but after class." he said "However, you won't be able to see it."

When the class ended and the students left the classroom grumbling, Minho tore open the rest of the package. When he turned his eyes to the canvas, the fear in his heart sharpened like ice.

The canvas contained Dahlia and the scene of her death. Every detail of the murder, every angle of Minho's action, was painted with terrifying meticulousness. Right beneath it was a new note. Minho approached the canvas and began to read the note "Never enough, who I am is not good enough."

Minho took the utility knife in his hand again and started angrily tearing the canvas apart. The red paint and bloody images were shredded to pieces under the knife.

This drawing was a big gamble for his life. If the painting depicting the moment of the murder was seen by someone else, it could mean the end for him. His entire professional life was dependent on one frame of this painting.

When he finished his work at the school and returned home, there was another gift waiting on his bed, a purple envelope.

He approached his bed in fear, took the envelope in his hand and opened it tremulously starting to read.

"Did you like my gift? It was made for you with care. You must have been sad that you haven't received a letter for a while. Let me explain the reason to you. You failed! I told you to burn and cut. But you took the part written in the black envelope 'Make me fall, make me bleed' seriously. What a pity. To be honest, I have to say I admire your courage. Also, it is quite prideful to see you obeying my commands. Do you know what's even better? You, God Lee Minho, are full of endless mistakes. Being able to see your mistakes with my own eyes made me realize how powerless even you can become. I will cut you some slack because of your courage.

Burn and cut.

Now your own body is also included in this."

Minho angrily tore the paper in his hand. Everything written on the paper was a grave insult to him.

Lee Minho was a God. Making mistakes was not in his book and it could not be.

Chapter Text

Aggression.

In the oldest view explaining the causes of human aggression, it was suggested that this behavior is an inherent trait in the biological makeup of humans.

Famous thinkers even deemed aggression necessary for the survival of humankind.

According to Freud, if people do not engage in aggressive behaviors, the accumulated aggressive energy seeks an outlet and if it is not reflected in behavior, psychological disorders eventually manifest themselves.

However, there is no direct evidence to support all these inferences.

According to many thinkers, aggression is a learned and imitable behavior. In light of the collected data, this assumption is widely accepted as largely correct.

Another view holds the claim that aggression arises as a result of frustration. One of the reasons that triggers aggression is disappointment or in other words, frustration.

However, the thinkers who advocated this view have been criticized due to the fact that many people who experience disappointment can remain calm instead of being aggressive.

Therefore, it is much more appropriate to see the state of frustration as a factor that increases the tendency toward aggression.

The most important key point here is not to be subjected to aggression, not to adopt the aggressive behavior that one is subjected to and to be able to develop the skill of empathy.

Lee Minho was not exempt from this situation; on the contrary, he was a concrete example of this situation. He had already grown up in aggression and had been frustrated by his family for a considerable part of his life.

Yet, the aggressive behaviors he had displayed until this time were quite low in dimension compared to the general population he was in.

He had a history of minor (!) aggressions such as getting involved in a few bar fights during his student years and engaging in verbal arguments with friends or strangers.

Despite all the frustrations since his childhood, he had made a strong path for himself and acquired a skill for empathy, although not intensely.

Of course, just like time, there were also significant changes in Minho and his behaviors. The simple aggression he possessed changed dimension. The aggression within him intensified and pushed him all the way to becoming a killer.

So, what was the reason? Was it the survival instinct that is activated when faced with a threat? Yes, but it was certainly not the only reason.

All the internal emotional states he possessed and suppressed were among the main things that drove him to this behavior.

His damaged personality structure, combined with frustration and survival instinct, intensely brought out the aggression that Minho had suppressed.

So much so that, for a man who had declared himself a God thanks to the successes he achieved, remaining passive against threats from external factors was a situation completely contrary to his God status.

Considering universal beliefs, Gods were the most powerful and supreme. Gods would create, govern and destroy. Just like Lee Minho had done. He would create out of nothing using his pen, govern and eliminate.

Being above others, being subjected to endless praises, being successful and many other reasons limitlessly fed his ego and caused him to become narcissistic.

Or in a very crude term, we can also call it a parvenu or nouveau riche. A parvenu of success and freedom.

Lee Minho, who built the life he had from the very beginning, completely with his own hands, started to see himself as superior in every area because of what he could do, and he further strengthened his narcissistic side.

In the classes he entered or next to other people who were lower in rank than him, he would praise himself and display authoritarian behaviors.

When he was subjected to people who were superior to him, he would become silent, adopt aggressive attitudes, or show unbalanced behaviors. Of course, all these were not conscious behaviors initially.

Unfortunately, time was not the cure for everything this time, on the contrary, it made things difficult. Minho got caught up in the rapidly flowing time, reinforcing and adopting these behaviors.

He crushed Jisung, whom he saw as lower than himself, while he became silent next to Kwon, whom he saw as superior to himself.

Jisung was Minho's sole slave.

He was the main factor that fed the sadist part within Minho. What did we say? The master tends to train his victim and mold him into a certain form.

Minho was someone who wanted to shape his students according to his own will. The student he could do this with most clearly was, of course, Jisung.

The fact that Jisung could be easily managed gave Minho what he wanted and allowed him to experience the feeling of being God to the fullest. After all, as the most painful irony of this situation, Jisung had even provided a sacrifice for him.

But why did Minho constantly crush this young man who worshipped him? The reason is actually quite simple.

When we look back and examine Minho's past, we encounter many clear situations. This gives us a few of the reasons for the emergence of his sadistic side.

Harming someone else, enjoying this situation, that is, hostile approaches towards others can be reactive, or they can stem from having been harmed or being afraid. Fear of returning to one's past life or losing one's independence.

The fact that this emotional reaction was only valid for Jisung and people like him stemmed from the inferiority complex that Minho had concealed with a thousand efforts.

If we come to one of the reasons why Minho became silent next to Kwon and people like him, Minho was conscious that Kwon was stronger than him.

Kwon was a big threat to the superior status that Minho had acquired through great effort. Because Kwon was a personality who had lived well all his life, who had achieved success after success and who had not lived with restrictions.

Still, the Kwon threat was not as effective a risk as believed. Then why did Minho change so much?

It is exactly here that another problem emerges and directs us back to the very beginning. A problem strong enough to trigger the cowardice within Minho and lead him to a dead end, the envelopes.

The enemy that Minho has had the most difficulty coping with until now. Much stronger, much more audacious and much more dangerous.

Vindictive enough to drown you with that water when you don't go with the flow, obsessive enough to watch your every move, and skillful enough to easily take on the job of managing you.

The unknown enemy is always the worst. Every unseen enemy is the strongest.

Considering all this, we can understand the reason for Lee Minho's desperation.

This game, which he had to continue playing without knowing who he was playing with was among his biggest enemies.

He was in the bathtub, leaning against the cold tiles. With the rusty razor in his hand, he made one more cut on his arm, which was already full of scars.

The strange expression on his face was the most obvious reason for the disgusting sting and pain he felt on his arm. The last stage of sadism was directing the pain at oneself.

After his eyes wandered over the deep cuts on his arm a few times, he thought he might die from blood loss. No, he did not want to die.

He was a God who could destroy, not one who was destroyed.

He picked up the phone he had put on the floor and called the first person who came to his mind, Jisung. His desperation at that moment disregarded his pride.

The phone rang a few times and then was answered and a timid voice was heard from the other end of the receiver "Yes, Mr. Lee?" Minho, on the other hand, spoke with a muffled and authoritative tone contrasting with this voice "Come to me, quickly."

"I'm working." Jisung replied. Minho's facial muscles tensed and his brows furrowed. After taking a deep breath, he spoke again, this time coating his voice in a dramatic agony "Jisung, I committed suicide."

The young man instantly hung up the phone after what he heard. Panic had cut off his voice.

Minho threw his phone and rubbed his face with his right hand. He got up from where he was and carefully climbed out of the bathtub.

He took one of the towels hanging behind the door and pressed it firmly onto his cuts. Then, disregarding his wet clothes, he started walking inside the house.

He took the first aid kit and went to his kitchen. He wrapped the thick rubber hose around the upper area of his arm and tightened it with the help of his teeth. It was supposed to act as a tourniquet.

He threw the towel aside and immediately after that, he washed his arm under running water. After pouring the alcohol he took out of the cabinet onto his wound, he writhed sharply in pain.

This was a simple first aid application he had learned during his military service. Right now, he was not questioning the accuracy of what he was doing, he just wanted to survive.

He took a few sips of the alcohol. He placed the clean cloth in his hand onto his wound and applied firm pressure. Although he was slowly losing the clarity of his vision, his consciousness was still open.

After all, he had performed an instant intervention on himself and had acted hastily to avoid any permanent loss.

He took another cloth and laid it over the bloodied cloths, placing his hand on top of them. He also placed his head on his hand, increasing the pressure on his arm.

After ten minutes had passed, the outer door connected to the living room was ajar and Jisung's anxious voice echoed through the house "Mr. Lee?" Minho replied without lifting his head "I'm in the kitchen."

Jisung rushed to the kitchen. He experienced a slight relief when he saw that Minho was better than he thought, but Minho's condition horrified him.

"I... You said you didn't lock your door..." he made a simple explanation of how he got in. Minho, on the other hand, did not care about this explanation.

He lifted his head from where he was resting and carefully peeled back the cloths on his arm, revealing his wound. As Jisung looked at the wound with a pained expression on his face, Minho spoke as if giving an order "You need to dress my wound."

Although Jisung nodded his head dejectedly, he replied with a concern that was contrary to his behavior "Doesn't your wound need stitches?"

Minho shrugged. Going to the hospital would shake his entire God image. "I don't want to deal with the hospital. It's not that deep anyway."

The wounds were deep, Jisung's eyes were filling up, but he had to obey. Jisung, with his pursed lips, first cleaned his hands, then started rummaging through the first aid supplies.

After minutes of bandaging, Minho's arm was neatly wrapped. His wet, bloodstained clothes were also changed.

As Jisung was cleaning the bloody areas, Minho was simply lying on his bed. He was angry. Because as a God, he was forced to rely on his slave, the person he managed and saw as deficient. Still, this was much better than relying on another God.

When Jisung finished his tasks, he returned to Minho and handed him the painkiller pill in his palm. Immediately after Minho threw the pill into his mouth and swallowed it, the sound of the outer door slamming was heard.

They made eye contact. Minho asked with a frown "Did you leave the door open?" Jisung replied while shaking his head right and left "No, it was closed."

When Minho moved to get out of bed, Jisung placed his hand on his chest "Don't tire yourself out, I'll check." It was clear he was afraid in his eyes.

Still, he quickly left the room and returned to the room a very short time later with the purple envelope in his hand.

After Jisung handed the envelope to Minho, he sat down at the edge of the bed. Minho, on the other hand, opened the envelope and began to read.

"Congratulations! To be honest, I didn't think you could do it, but you proved me wrong. If you are ready, I want to convey your final task to you. Burn and end this game. If you can't, a new game will begin. I must state that the new game will be much harder. So do your best and give me what I want."

Minho crumpled the envelope in his hands, then turned his eyes to Jisung. He watched the young boy for a few minutes just like that. In his heart, there was a collision of desperation and the command to burn.

After minutes, he decided on his next sacrifice. His decision was simple, inevitable.

He shifted slightly in his place and spoke "Would you take me to where you are staying? I don't want to stay here." He put on a fake, yet reassuring, smile on his face.

Immediately after the young man nervously nodded his head, he spoke "I will take you, but where I stay doesn't look like a house, Mr. Lee. Will you be comfortable?"

Minho nodded "It's no problem. If I can't be comfortable, I'll look for a hotel." Upon this, Jisung spoke again "Okay, whatever you wish." Minho smiled sincerely at the young man one more time.

Jisung was the sole person who would set Minho free.

Chapter Text

Would someone who has tasted freedom to the fullest want to return to that dark dungeon where they were imprisoned for years?

What can people do to reach that small white light at the end of the dark tunnel?

Can one give up humanity for freedom?

Dozens of different questions that needed to be asked and answered had enveloped Minho's mind like a snowstorm.

Minho did not include the possibility of regretting it later among his invasive thoughts, he did not even bring this possibility to the edge of his mind.

He was only figuring out how he could carry out the command to burn with the purple lighter in his pocket.

The purple envelope was the sign that he had succeeded in the task. The strange thing was that this success had been won in an immortal way.

This was exactly the main factor that gave Minho confidence. Even doing the task superficially brought success and in this case, he did not need to actually kill Jisung.

However, a big possibility was winking at him slyly from afar that could disprove this theory of his. According to this possibility, Minho was the main player and the game master would never want him to die.

So in this case, the things Minho did by including himself would be considered successful, even if not fully. Nevertheless, Minho decided to focus on the first possibility, immortal success.

As they drove, Minho asked without taking his eyes off the road “Jisung, I wonder, do you really worship me?” Jisung turned his head and looked at Minho. It was obvious from his expression that he didn't understand the reason for the question. There was only sincere honesty in his eyes “Yes.”

“Can you prove it?” Minho's questions looked quite confusing, like a test. “I can prove it.” Jisung answered. A few seconds later he added “But I don't know how I can do it.”

Minho put on a dangerous and crooked smirk on his face. “Can you do everything I ask of you without question?” he asked to be clear.

Jisung thought for a while, remaining silent. This silence made Minho tense. He didn't want to use force, as this would decrease the value of servitude.

When the silence began to bother him he asked “So, what is your answer?” Jisung swallowed and then answered “I will.” His voice was clear, its tone proved his determination.

Minho turned his head and spoke, looking at the young man in the passenger seat “Then you will have to prove it to me when we go to your house.” Jisung merely nodded.

When they reached the one story, neglected detached house on the outskirts of the city, a strong smell of dampness and abandonment filled their lungs.

Jisung spoke as he opened the door of his house with embarrassment “I couldn't get along with my roommate and the scholarship money is only enough for here.”

When Minho understood that he felt bad, he put his ego aside and put his hand on Jisung's shoulder. His voice was in a sincere tone this time “You shouldn't be upset about such things. After all, no success is easily won. You will have to go through difficult paths.”

These words made the young man smile. Jisung threw himself into the house as soon as he opened the door and began to tidy up.

Minho couldn't help but chuckle at his hurry “Like every student house, your house is quite messy.” Jisung answered while gathering the clothes on the floor in his arms “I go to work after school so I can't find time to clean the house.”

After sitting on the patched up armchair, Minho glanced at the bandage on his arm. For now, there didn't seem to be a big problem. There was only a slight bleeding because he strained his arm.

After cramming his clothes into the old closet, Jisung sat on the floor, directly opposite Minho. When he brought his eyes to his eyes, he asked that critical question that had been on his mind for a while “What about you? If I can prove my servitude to you, will you reward me as a God?”

Minho was taken aback by this unexpected question and asked “What kind of reward?” To be honest, he aimed to buy time with his question.

But Jisung answered directly “I told you I wanted to draw you. If possible, I want that as a reward.” Minho’s inner voice yelled “Will your burned body be alive enough to do that?”

Nevertheless “Okay.” Minho said and as he leaned back “First let's do what I want, prove your servitude. Then I will reward you.” Jisung answered with a nod “Agreed.” His eyes briefly wandered over Minho's face “What would you like me to do?”

Minho's blank expression did not change for a while. Then he commanded with a very normal attitude and tone of voice “Undress.”

Immediately after receiving the command, Jisung started taking off the clothes he was wearing. Minho's eyes scanned the scars on Jisung's body carefully, as if seeing them for the first time.

When Jisung finished undressing, Minho leaned forward. He placed his fingers on the burn mark located on the back of Jisung's upper right arm. “I want to burn you.” he said. Even though he tried to hide it, his voice was blended with a cruel desire and fear.

Jisung started to bring his lips close to Minho's lips but Minho stopped him and clarified the misunderstanding “No Jisung, what I'm talking about is not related to that.” He dug his fingernails into the area where the burn mark was “I want to burn you, to create a permanent mark on your skin.”

“Why?” Jisung’s clear question was answered with honesty by Minho “Because I have to do it.” Jisung moved back a little. He touched his eyes to Minho's eyes once again. As submission formed in his gaze he said “Okay, do what you want.”

To be honest, this answer surprised Minho quite a bit. After all, no sane person would accept this offer just like that. But the matter was about a student who had declared his teacher a God, and this could be considered normal for now.

Minho began to search the living room, looking for something he could use to set Jisung's body on fire. The command to burn required a concrete action this time.

When Jisung realized this, he spoke “They had pressed a hot iron on my arm before.” He just wanted to give an idea. Minho paused for a moment and turned his gaze toward the young man. To burn him the same way again... he didn't want to do that. Murder was a necessity, but torture was not.

He started rummaging through Jisung's belongings. He took the shaving cologne he found among the items and approached the young man. He opened the cap of the cologne, poured it on Jisung's back and started spreading it. He did not have the courage to look at his face.

These were the last remnants of his conscience. Before giving up on humanity, he was trying to keep the last bit of humanity left in him there.

He took the lighter that came with the envelope out of his pocket and lit it spiritlessly. He slowly began to move his hand forward, toward Jisung's back.

When the distance decreased, he quickly pulled his hand back and closed the lighter's cap. He couldn't do it. After a deep breath, he stood in front of Jisung, still not looking at his face.

He held Jisung's left arm and lit the lighter, starting to move the fire over that part. The burning arm hair of the young man caused a disgusting smell. Minho, with a moment of courage, raised his head and looked at Jisung's face.

The young man was smiling at him.

However, his clenched jaw, trembling arm and watery eyes showed that he was in pain, that he was scared. Jisung remained silent in order to stand by his promise and quietly accepted his servitude.

After all, everything that came from God had a reason and everything He saw fit should be accepted.

As visible burns began to form on Jisung’s skin, Minho closed the lighter and immediately spoke “Let's put your arm in cold water.” Jisung shook his head in refusal “There’s no need Mr. Lee.” However, Minho didn't listen to him and dragged the young man to the sink.

The arm, which was washed with cold water for a while, was placed in a large bowl full of ice. After cleaning Jisung’s back, Minho dressed him.

There was a strange, uneasy atmosphere in the house. A partial ritual had taken place a moment ago, but now they were sitting on the armchair as if nothing had happened.

To reduce the strangeness of the situation, Jisung spoke “Mr. Lee, there are drinks in the cupboard.” Both of their mouths were dry, so having something to drink might be good.

Minho got up and went to the refrigerator and after taking the drinks, he returned to where he was sitting. He opened the grape soda with the back of the lighter and handed it to Jisung. He opened a beer for himself.

“Why did you commit suicide?” Jisung caught Minho off guard once again. His voice contained a sincere tone of curiosity. Minho answered right before taking a sip of his beer “Because I had to.” Jisung tilted his head slightly “You don't have to do anything.” he said.

Minho did not respond to this. When his eyes touched Jisung's arm in the water, he succumbed to his curiosity and asked “Why did you remain silent? And why did you offer me an idea to burn you?”

Jisung smiled “I enjoy suffering, it reminds me that I'm human.” He chuckled “Also, it’s always good to be a person of your word. I gave you my approval, I had to stand behind that approval properly.”

Minho was confused, but he didn't want to delve into this topic. They chatted about general topics for a while. Minho leaned further back on the armchair with the heaviness he felt in his body. These were the effects of blood loss and fatigue.

Jisung's eyes were on Minho. He was examining his every move and assessing his reactions. Finally, he couldn't resist and asked “Are you alright Mr. Lee?” Minho chose honesty “I don’t know. I feel like all the strength in my body is being drained.” Jisung smiled and said “Good.”

Minho couldn't understand the reason for this reaction. Fortunately, Jisung started to enlighten him. His voice was no longer like a slave's, but like a master's “There were substances in the beer you drank that would partially paralyze you.”

Minho frowned. As surprise and terror engulfed his entire body, he could only say “What?” Jisung replied with the same expression, with the pride of victory “You lost again Mr. Lee. There is a brand new game up next.”

Minho's entire body flinched “You…” He couldn't gather his sentences from the shock. “Yes, I was the owner of the envelopes.” Jisung began to explain. His voice was soft but authoritative “It is true that I worship you. I just wanted to learn how strong willed my God was.” He chuckled “And I was jealous of you.”

Jisung's comfortable and controlled demeanor was infuriating Minho. Control had definitely changed hands now.

“Despite having a perfect talent, I wasn't valued. I was always considered inadequate.” He pointed to Minho with his right hand “Then you appeared before me. You were approved by everyone, considered top tier. I envied you and wanted to be like you. I wanted to be God.”

Minho’s mind was shaken as if an earthquake was happening. He tried to put his scattered thoughts into logical patterns and spoke “But you were with me when the envelopes arrived?”

Jisung with a relaxed air downed the last part of his drink and continued. There was a mocking delight in his voice “The ventilation system works at certain hours every day and blew strong air into the pipes. I conveyed the letters to you this way. To be honest, I was surprised to see that this system worked properly.”

He let out a small laugh “For the envelopes in your house, I got help from a few homeless people. You can get people to do anything with a little money. To be honest, you did not turn out to be the person I thought you were at all. It was not difficult to write the contents of the additional envelopes in advance. Your actions were predictable.”

Minho uttered a few curses with the anger of losing control. Jisung, however, ignored him “But for you to be a murderer… Wow! I couldn't even imagine you would go this far.”

Minho frowned even harder and asked “Were you in the trees?” Jisung grimaced “No, I was among the rocks. Don't worry, I destroyed the girl's body.”

He pointed down with his right hand, at the floor beneath his feet “I dug the basement and buried her there. Of course, before that, I created a wonderful piece of art from her blood. Unfortunately, you broke that one too.”

“You're a psychopath!” Minho yelled. Jisung's face fell at this accusation “Maybe, but at least I'm not a murderer.” he replied. Minho couldn't digest this reality “You were the one who made me do it.” he snapped. Jisung shook his head “I never wanted a dead body from you.” he said.

Minho rewinded those moments in his mind. Yes, a victim was wanted, but there was nothing about their death. The final outcome of the acts of Burn or Cut did not have to be murder.

The young man got up from his seat and walked over to Minho, leaning slightly forward and spoke “I was in front of your eyes from the very beginning, I wasn't even hiding.”

The memories that assaulted Minho’s mind one by one proved Jisung’s words. It Has Begun was the first moment Jisung gave himself away. And on that very day, he had openly confessed that he was hiding nothing.

“The first song told my life story and my mental state. I waited for you to understand. You didn't understand.” He laughed and went back to his old place “I talked about things like pretending to be fine, being hurt by monsters disguised as friends, and then meeting you.”

Minho frowned and asked “Why did you try this way instead of saying it clearly?” Jisung became unresponsive, he only shrugged “Like I said, I'm different.”

Minho wanted to roll his eyes at this answer but didn't. He wasn't different, but the young man wanted to be different.

“What about the second song?” Minho asked, all the questions in his mind being reflected outwards one by one. He hoped to find an answer to all of them.

Jisung answered sincerely “No matter what I do, I still feel incomplete, I’m not enough for anything. That’s why I was wondering if you could change me.”

This time Minho was the one who laughed. His nerves were shot, what he had learned had shaken him. He had been deceived and humiliated by someone he thought was his slave “Well, are you going to kill me?” he asked with a sarcastic tone.

Jisung smiled slightly and said “No, I will only borrow your blood and paint you with your own blood.” Minho started to probe Jisung’s mouth by saying “It shouldn’t have been this easy.” To be honest, he secretly wanted the price of this defeat to be heavier.

However, Jisung continued to stand by his words. “I am only a student who is obsessed with you. I learned your secrets about all the aspects I was jealous of, I got what I wanted.”

In addition to feeling used, Minho also harbored many different bad emotions in his body. The aspects he thought were flawless were demolished one by one like a taboo castle and were razed to the ground. As the burden of being God grew heavier, his suppressed fears also began to emerge one by one.

As the silence stretched, Jisung spoke once more “When viewed from the outside, you look like a flawless deity, but you are a flawed servant just like me Mr. Lee.”

He got up and started walking toward the cupboard right behind him “When I compiled the short life story you told me, it wasn't hard to understand that you struggled in your past.”

He took out a large metal box from inside the cupboard and returned to where Minho was sitting. He continued while opening the lid of the box and taking things out of it.

“At first, I thought you could understand me. Because Gods can read the hearts of their servants. But you disappointed me in this regard too. You crushed me and looked down on me like everyone else.” He laughed with an offended attitude “I think the real God here should be me.”

Minho maintained his silence and continued to look at Jisung sternly. That was the only thing he could do right now. All his strength had been drained.

“You thought you could change your world with your art, with your knowledge as a God. I'm sorry Mr. Lee, you can't. Because you are just as incomplete as I am.”

Jisung approached Minho’s bandaged arm and started to untie the bandages. He cleaned Minho's dried blood, then ran the small razor in his hand across the tip of the large wound, causing new bleeding. He also placed his palette under the trickling blood.

Watching the blood trickling from his arm, Minho repeated with one last resistance “Psychopath.” Jisung accepted the word he heard with satisfaction.

He took his canvas, dipped his brush into his palette, and began to draw the semi paralyzed, bleeding man in front of him.

As time passed, Minho’s exhaustion increased, and various changes were occurring in his body. Although he wanted to express the loud rebellions he was uttering inside, he suppressed them.

He was defeated. His rebellion wouldn't change anything. And for the first time, Minho accepted defeat. Jisung continued to draw and sang both songs again and again. His voice was the music of this final ritual. After a while, Minho’s eyes closed. Weakness had overtaken him.

••••

He stepped in front of the enormous painting illuminated by white lights and greeted the crowd watching him. The intricate purple, blue and red lines on the black background were dazzling.

The story of the painting, shown as one of the most beautiful examples of surrealism, was learned from its artist, from Lee Minho’s mouth.

“To summarize, this painting tells you my foggy mind through a complex story.” He laughed. The audience accompanied him.

“I am neither a murderer, nor was I taken captive by one of my students. I must confess, I am quite content with where I am right now.”

The audience listened to Minho with great focus and the journalists were busily taking notes.

“All the characters in this story have their own color. However, a mixture of all colors gives you a disgusting color. Therefore, we will focus only on three strong and special colors.”

He approached the enormous painting and began to trace his finger over the red lines.

“Red, the totality of things I have lost. Dahlia, with her attractive beauty, reflects my youth, my sins and my pleasures. She represents my regrets, my losses, my captive days.”

He moved his finger to one of the blue lines.

“Blue, my dreams, my desires and my innocence. Kwon reflects the status I want to be, the peace I want to find and the success I want to achieve. He represents self confidence, gains and freedom.”

He took a few steps and brought his finger over the purple color.

“Purple; my personality, my true self. Jisung reflects my memories, my life, my wounds and the world. He represents my fears, my mistakes, my efforts and the beauty I can find.”

He continued, still tracing his finger over the purple lines “Jisung, my past that I want to escape but can never escape. Even though it’s frightening, it’s what guides my life and always makes me move forward.”

He smiled bitterly “It fearlessly shows that everything in life can be imperfect. It talks about how everyone can make mistakes; even Gods.”

He turned to those watching him “Our memories, our past are a whole part of us. No matter how hard we try, we cannot get rid of them. They continue to move forward with us like an obsessive stalker.”

He took a few steps forward “These two can sometimes be the cause of our mistakes and sometimes the cause of a new and bright path.”

At the end of his sentence, he took out two envelopes from his pocket ​"The key and hourglass figure, time is the cure for everything. So don't rush and don't make wrong decisions."

He held up the black envelope “Life offers us choices. Although many of these choices seem bad, they are harmless. They try to attract your attention, to open your eyes by captivating you with their differences.”

He put down the black envelope and held up the purple envelope “Some, even though they seem innocent, are actually quite harmful. They want you to make mistakes, to get involved in wrongdoings. They enslave you and cause you to be easily exploited.”

He threw the envelopes to the floor with disgust “Cut and burn... Cut the poisonous puppet strings that control you, burn and melt the cage that imprisons you.” The audience's mouths were wide open in surprise.

“Do not be a prisoner of foolish thoughts, do not let the blood in your veins be exploited. Do not fight your Jisung, your past. Do not ignore him, hug him, make love to him, become one with him and strive to heal him.”

He cleared his throat, which had dried from speaking nonstop “Turn your past into a loyal servant, learn to use it productively. But be careful; do not feed it with bad feelings and allow it to grow stronger.”

Three enormous portraits were placed on the stage. It was not difficult to understand who these portraits, each made with a different color, represented: Red (Dahlia), Blue (Kwon), and Purple (Jisung).

“Maintain the blue and red balance to create a purple balance. Do not let Jisung pull you to red. Do not go to blue and let the other colors fade.”

He smiled just before bowing one last time “Do not let life digest you like a carnivore and let this be your impropriety.”

And so, the sinful Lee Minho became the God of his own small world.