95 — The Devil & The Savior

Dae Hee's POV:

The eyes that stared back from the mirror were rimmed with grey-black. The liner traced faint, damp paths down her cheeks. A fallen angel, ruined by tears.

"Pathetic." Dae Hee hissed to her reflection.

Six in the morning on the dot, she was still weeping. She hadn't changed her clothes, or even bothered to wash the sad streaks of mascara off her face.

She had made it home on autopilot last night, barely finding enough space of mind to kick off her shoes at the entrance before planting face-first onto the bed.

The pillow had twin smudges where her eyes had been, like charcoal.

Her head throbbed. Her eyes ached. Her nose was stuffy and red. Her throat had been sore the moment she'd gotten on that goddamn taxi, so now, trying to croak out a sound, she found no voice, only a dry, brittle rasp, like a woman fifty years older than she really was.

But even worse was how... strange she felt. She wanted to cry more. Scream. Break things. Slam fists against walls. Kick herself, because she really needed a punch, just something—she didn't know—she felt her blood coursing through her body, needing an outlet, screaming to come out, but her eyes were dried out.

Dehydration and fatigue would do that, she guessed.

So there Dae Hee was, at half past six AM, exhausted and staring at herself in the mirror like some sick zombie, face covered in a variety of cosmetics and dark circles. "This is really pathetic." She told her reflection. "All of it."

Ah, but Dae Hee had promised herself revenge, hadn't she? To taint, corrupt, and twist the very same boy whose father once shattered her family.

The little bird, now grown wings, planned on repaying that act of cruelty.

She just wanted to get him where it hurt, where it mattered, but didn't realize it'd hurt her much more.

It was always like this, and she was becoming desperate to get something, anything at all, some form of validation and attention from the man.

"Damn it!"

She cursed, hands balling into fists.

"DAMN IT!"

And then she yanked the damn mirror from the wall. It fell with a crash. Shards spilled everywhere, the remains of her own kaleidoscopic reflection staring back at her mockingly.

"Why do you reject me? Why are you not falling in love with me? Huh?!"

She was now talking to her own broken reflection. She didn't care if her neighbors could hear it.

Dae Hee found no satisfaction in breaking her image, even her distorted face seemed like the ugliest thing in the world to her right now.

Her ears rang. She inhaled a stuttering breath.

Yes, Jae-Il might not have outright told her, 'Get lost, I hate your presence', or 'Stay away from me, you creep', or whatever. But the blatant dismissal and plain disinterest hurt no less.

"Am I not beautiful enough?" She babbled, mumbled to herself, pacing back and forth. "Should I flaunt more of my beauty? Get even sluttier?! IS THAT WHAT IT IS?!" She grabbed her shirt, and ripped it apart, revealing even more cleavage.

Then she tossed it all onto the ground. She stood there, panting. She tried to even out her breathing, but couldn't. Not when rage boiled over, black tar overtaking her vision.

"Why...?"

Like, seriously.

They had gotten along so well, too. There was a spark of friendship, trust even. She poured her heart out to him that night, holding Myeon, and he had listened, gave her good advice.

In a moment, the scales tipped from mere attraction to admiration and trust. He gave her comfort, warmth, affection. Everything she was lacking, because the orphaned little Dae Hee grew up knowing only a broken heart, an empty void, and an uncontrollable desire for retribution.

Everyone knew that when an angel was burned, she became a devil.

Why, then, did Dae Hee care so deeply, feel so vulnerable when Jae-il, of all people, did not give back what she wanted most desperately?

The sound of Dae Hee's choked laughter split the silence.

Had Jae-il, perhaps, seen Dae Hee for exactly what she was, the sheep's mask ripped aside for the world to see her true, monstrous self? A vindictive, broken girl whose blood ran icy.

Yet... even as those thoughts spun through her head... a smaller, gentler voice in her soul begged her to reconsider, because she did not hate Jae-il. She hated his family, or, more precisely, the fact that he came from such a perfect and healthy household.

She hated his life. That Jae-il, perhaps, was not that bad after all, despite coming from that place.

Even now, even if she never gained his love, even if her feelings, no matter how twisted, remained unrequited... Dae Hee would not find it in her to let the matter go. Her chest ached. She hated the way he looked at her with those cool purple-pink eyes, a touch of caution but nothing else.

Even though she understood this was partially the result of her own actions, it still hurt a whole fucking lot.

"Jae-Il, Jae-Il."

Like some kind of addict chasing a fix, she could only say his name and hiccup, sniffing, rubbing away the sprouting tears.

She clicked her tongue, running a hand through her disheleved hair and letting the now unknotted tresses bounce.

"No, I'm losing my shit. I've got to calm down. Fuck." Dae Hee heaved deep breaths, slowly draining her mind of violent thoughts. Violence was never the answer. A last resort, maybe, but never the primary option. Slowly, her ragged breaths evened out. As soon as that happened, her mind and consciousness grew clearer. "He's wary, not hateful." She murmured, taking deeper breaths. "How to dismantle caution, wariness... rebuild it as affection? Not too slow, it'd give him time to solidify walls. Not too fast either, it'd raise the alarm."

A different light entered her eyes.

She crossed the room in three silent steps, until she was in front of her drawer, where it all had begun.

Knowledge. The most efficient weapon wasn't force, but information Jae-il never meant to give. She would pull each thread that made up the young man known as Jae-il.

His pleasures, his habits, the soft spots of his being—to piece together the man entirely. When she was done, he would trust her because he would believe she was the only one who truly understood him.

A trust he would never know she manufactured.

Dae Hee opened the drawer.

A superhero might don a mask to hide their true identity. A secret lover might hide her heart behind a disguise. A gambler might lie to maintain a bluff. All had masks.

Dae Hee slowly pulled the surgical mask up to cover her nose and mouth, then tucked loose hair strands underneath her hoodie. Nobody would suspect the sheep to be the wolf. Maybe only Jae-il? Only him.

What's done is done. She could not go back in time and change what happened.

She could only move forward.

And that's exactly what she was going to do.

Sunglasses.

A cap.

Out the door.

Not quite like a superhero.

Not quite a secret lover either.

Not even like a gambler.

Or even a villain.

Dae Hee was just a person with her own demons that consumed her, that ate her very sanity, because a black stain within the soul is not so easily healed.

Nothing could fill the void where her parents should've been.

Nothing except for... Jae-Il.

Everything came down to him.

As if he held the key.

The devil. Or the savior.

The cruel master. Or the liberating guardian.

Jae-Il, Jae-Il.

The universe had placed this man in her path.

xXx

Jae-il's POV:

She was here, again. What a ridiculous girl.

I stared at the partially hidden silhouette from the window of my dormitory. It was like looking through water—fuzzy, indistinct. But even if her features were impossible to make out, I had an inkling as to who it might be.

After that fiasco at Club Paradise, I asked myself a few simple, fundamental questions. If she wasn't looking for a quick, wild, fun night, what could she possibly be after, if anything?

What was her reason for being so... clingy?

Could it be some misguided crush? Was that what was going on? Was Dae-hee actually interested in me? Romantically?

Except that this was a little excessive. Perhaps it was something beyond mere romantic interest. Obsession. Compulsive behavior. Need. Even a bad idea to attempt and form a relationship... at least for her, at least this way. I saw the warning signs, but I didn't know if she did.

Was she a danger to herself?

Was she a danger to others?

Was she a danger to me?

I couldn't help but rethink some of our previous interactions, analyze each one, examine every gesture or word, until they seemed to hold some hidden meaning, even when they didn't.

That's where things got confusing.

If she wasn't interested in me romantically, then what was the point of all of this? I've tried to come up with possibilities, but none that held enough weight for them to be taken seriously.

If she was interested in me romantically, then how far would she be willing to take things? How much was too far? And how much was fair, considering she didn't seem like the type who would just give up and walk away if I said 'no'? Clearly, if that little fuzzy silhouette was indeed Dae Hee, she certainly didn't shy away from the extreme.

Looking down, I found the shadow gone from the view outside my window.

Did she know that I knew?

Was that her game?

There was no proof, of course. I couldn't point fingers. Despite the vague aura of familiarity, she was well-hidden within baggy clothes, a baseball cap, and a white mask. From the distance, she was a dark smear, a blurred face in the background, an impression rather than a concrete, visible form. I could almost imagine her smiling, pleased with herself and the precaution she had taken.

I couldn't help but smile as well. A nostalgic smile. Because I was briefly reminded of my younger days, hot on Rafael Costa's ugly ass, using all manners of disguises, crossing all types of lines, just to catch a glimpse of that motherfucker. Who knows, maybe Dae Hee, in another life, would make a great BOPE? A chuckle slipped out of me as I slid the curtain shut.

Now, two questions remained.

Was it worth messing around with this particular tiger?

And was I that insane to provoke a beast without the necessary precaution?

I wouldn't babble to the authorities, because having a stalker this close-by, within my sight even, meant I had some sort of control over the situation. If I said something, however, anything, or to anyone, about a certain schoolmate possibly stalking me, that'd only alarm her into backing away.

And I'd lose any hope to exploit the knowledge for my own purposes.

Losing the beast would spell only losses; nothing about this could have a silver lining.

Nothing.

My own family could be caught in the crossfire as well. Who was to say that Dae Hee wouldn't target them to get to me? If it wasn't love but hate what drove her here, tonight... I had to tread carefully.

If a monster didn't know fear, then what?

It knew nothing. No other feelings, really.

I had to deal with this in a more creative way, perhaps. And maybe it wasn't even Dae Hee who I was dealing with, even with all the warning signs clearly pointing to that being the case. Either way, I'd find out.

Now, how to defuse a ticking bomb?

How to take away the weapon used for self-destruction?

Asking her straight-out if she was actually stalking me, of all people?

Probably not a good idea, though undoubtedly the most amusing one, if only to see her reaction. Would she crack under pressure? Didn't seem the case.

No, I had to take advantage of that weapon. Take the detonation away by gaining control.

I hummed thoughtfully.

That meant letting her closer, and closer still. Giving her the illusion of power—let her claws dig in, let her blood run warm. Let her believe she won. I'd play the fooled. Then, slowly, carefully, inch by inch, I'd find Dae Hee's weak points, discovering what made her tick. Why the volatility? Why the crushing loneliness? What pushed her to do this? What did she want from me?

Love?

Validation?

Attention?

Revenge?

I could try and guess all I wanted, but it wouldn't get me anywhere.

In the end, the only way I'd find out was if I allowed her the opportunity. 'Dae Hee, what are you really after? What's the endgame here?'

Well, it didn't matter right now. I'd eventually figure it all out.

I walked up to a drawer, and neatly organized, weaponized, a disguise. How was she like when interacting with me? How was she like when interacting with others?

A baseball cap. A mask. Glasses. I had all of it.

Because...

I would befriend this stalker of mine.

This time for real.