THE BEGINNING OF MY ENDING
THE DAY I DIED
Inside the grand mansion, everything gleamed with gold.
Laughter echoed through the royal halls, bouncing off glass chandeliers and silk-covered walls. Tables overflowed with wine, sweets, and blood-earned trophies. Every inch of the room screamed celebration — not of love, not of life… but of victory soaked in betrayal.
They were celebrating the fall of two great kings. Toasting their deaths with fake smiles and diamond cups. Drunk on their success, they danced like devils in velvet robes, their mouths twisting into cruel grins as they mocked the very souls they murdered.
Not a single person inside that mansion felt guilt. Only glory.
But outside… a storm waited.
At the edge of the road, beneath the cold night sky, sat a boy on a black bike. He didn’t flinch. His leather gloves gripped the handle like they were holding back a beast.
JEON FORT.
His eyes — bloodshot, unblinking — stared at the mansion as if he could burn it down with his gaze alone.
He began to count.✨
JEON FORT
THREE… FOUR… FIVE…
The hatred in his eyes grew darker
Thunderous blast ripped through the night.
The mansion erupted in flames. The laughter turned to screams. Chandeliers shattered. The wine ran like blood. The very foundation that held their pride crumbled into ash.
And still… Fort didn’t blink.
He watched them suffer. Watched them run. Watched them beg. And a smile — soft, cold, and broken — curved on his lips.
Not because he enjoyed it.
But because they finally tasted what they once served him.
He tied a small black ribbon to his bike handle — a memory, a promise — and revved the engine. He didn’t care about the fire behind him. He didn’t care about the dying cries.
Because the ones he truly wanted to kill… were already gone.
✨✨He rode fast.
The rain chased him.
The wind screamed louder than his thoughts.
But nothing silenced the war inside his chest.
His bike came to a stop in front of a cemetery — quiet, soaked in silver moonlight. It felt colder here. Not because of the rain, but because this is where warmth came to die.
He stepped off the bike with heavy feet. Not because he was tired — but because regret weighed more than any chain.
Grave after grave… he walked past them.
His father.
His elder brother.
His cousins.
His people.
They all once stood behind him. Now, they rested under the soil — betrayed by the one person who was supposed to protect them.✨✨✨
Him.
But his feet froze in front of one grave.
The grave of a boy who never raised a sword.
Who never asked for power.
Who only… loved him.
The grave of a boy, the younger prince — his brother’s heart, and once, his own.
Fort fell to his knees. The rain soaked his hair, his clothes, his soul.
No one could see the tear that rolled down his cheek.
Not because it was hidden…
But because it was the first in a long, long time.
He touched the wet stone. Traced the carved letters. And whispered like a ghost:
JEON FORT
I’M SORRY… FOR BEING BLIND.
I’M SORRY… FOR BELIEVING LIES.
I’M SORRY… FOR LETTING YOU DIE
His voice cracked. His shoulders shook.
He didn’t scream. He couldn’t.
Grief like this doesn't scream. It suffocates.
He took a photo from his pocket — a picture of a boy smiling in a sunlight that no longer existed.
Then, with hands that had already killed too much… he pulled out a gun.
He didn’t tremble.
Because death wasn’t scary anymore.
Not after losing everyone who made life worth living.
He placed the photo on the grave.
Placed the gun to his temple.
And whispered,
JEON FORT
If there’s a next time…
I want to love you .
I want to protect you… not destroy you.
A single gunshot echoed through the rain.
And the boy who once lived for revenge —
died beside the one he loved.
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