For his next killing, he removed the teeth from a man that a boxer in one of his music videos was without. He left hints for police, arranging a mink boa from a recent photoshoot around a victim's slashed throat. Ji-Woon recorded each session, synthesizing and working them into his songs, hiding them behind layers of melodies. Stabbing the quadratus lumborum elicited a long, guttural wail, while slashing the carotid artery created a sound like a cat being strangled. He made music from them, prodding in the right places to evoke different types of shrieks and howls. Victims had to be abducted, driven to an abandoned building where he could let their voices carry unrestrained emotion. He wanted to hear the victim's wonderous voice pleading as he cut his belly open, but all he received was muffled cries through a rag. Yet there was something missing-a sound, a connection. He tortured him for hours, dissecting him alive. Ji-Woon woke him with a baseball bat to the skull, binding his arms and legs, gagging him with a rag duct taped into his mouth. The first was a college music student with a captivating voice. He targeted those who lived alone, coming to them in the night. But, away from concert set-ups and television stages, something darker grew.
He was reborn as The Trickster, a solo artist who produced his own songs, sporting a soft heart beneath a wild exterior. Yun-Jin paraded him through interviews until it was time to rebrand. Ji-Woon was celebrated as a tragic figure, a hero who did all he could in a futile attempt to save his friends. When the fire crew arrived, his tears were genuine. Ji-Woon! Ji-Woon! Ji-Woon Hak! It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. They were screaming his name as they burnt. Each breath was a conscious, deliberate process requiring all his attention, the nearby cries hardly audible until, slowly, he backed away. Ji-Woon called to them, dashing to the speakers, grabbing one and-stopping. On the other side, his bandmates pounded on the door, their cries accompanied by the crackling of flames. He rushed to the control room, finding the door blocked by fallen speakers. The scent of burning wires was unmistakable. After a lengthy lunch break, he returned to the studio to discover fate had granted him a gift. He recorded the latest NO SPIN album with his bandmates, never missing a beat. Ji-Woon kept up impressions, mimicking a charm long buried under loathing. The validation that had surged through him left a desperate yearning for more. When he looked at his fans, he saw their joy and envy split five ways, thinned out between each band member. Each day was an affirmation that he was greater than the mediocrity society spewed out.īut over time, the champagne grew stale.
Ji-Woon lived in a daze of interviews and adoration, and though the frenzied schedule exhausted his bandmates, he was invigorated. Yun-Jin selected Ji-Woon to join the band NO SPIN, bringing a raw energy to their tracks.
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He transferred to a dormitory in Seoul where, for fourteen hours a day, he was crafted into a star, taught how to move and sing, how to carry himself with the right balance of confidence and modesty.ĭraining as the process was, it worked. Yun-Jin Lee, a producer at Mightee One Entertainment, recruited Ji-Woon into her training program. After years showcasing his abilities to nobodies at talent shows, he hit the track to stardom. Ji-Woon's father spent the restaurant's earnings on dancing and vocal lessons for his son, pushing him to attain the fame he never could. Gullible tourists believed this was a traditional South Korean experience, gladly parting with their money to witness it. Working at his family's restaurant, he attracted business with spectacles he performed using throwing knives. Even as a child he found ways to draw crowds. Amidst the prestige, he had only one desire: more. Ji-Woon Hak thrived under the attention of others, energized by every eye that watched him and every tongue that spoke his name. Additional Lore can be found in Tome 9 - Crescendo: Dissonance for the Dead.
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