Crown of Thorns

Chapter 7: Sleepless Agony

The moon hung high in the sky, its pale light casting shadows across the grand windows of Ji-Hoon's chambers. The bed in the center of the room remained untouched, its sheets pristine and cold, a reminder of the luxury he could no longer indulge in. The soft fabric of his royal robes lay discarded, replaced by the dark, simple garments he now favored—clothes that allowed him to move, to train, to push himself.

Sleep had become an elusive dream, a distant memory from a time when he had been whole. Each time Ji-Hoon closed his eyes, the darkness came for him—not the peaceful kind that brought rest, but the kind that pulled him back to the nightmare of his transformation, the dungeons, and the agony that had become his constant companion.

He couldn't escape it. The pain, the memories—they haunted him, even now, weeks after his return to the palace. His body ached, not just from the trauma, but from the lack of sleep. He could feel the exhaustion gnawing at his bones, his muscles trembling with fatigue. His eyes burned, bloodshot from too many nights without rest.

But Ji-Hoon couldn't stop. He refused to stop.

Each night, instead of finding solace in sleep, he pushed himself further. He trained relentlessly, his body a machine driven by anger and a refusal to break. Every punch he threw, every strike he landed against the training dummies in the palace gym, was fueled by his father's betrayal. The sound of his fists hitting the wood echoed through the empty hall, the sharp crack of impact the only thing that kept his mind from spiraling into the abyss.

His hands were bruised and bloody, his knuckles raw from the countless hours of training. But Ji-Hoon barely felt it anymore. The physical pain had become a numb, distant sensation compared to the weight that sat heavy in his chest—the unbearable heaviness of his trauma, of the torture that had transformed him into this new, unrecognizable version of himself.

He glanced at the mirror on the wall. His reflection stared back at him—a stranger. His once soft, round face was gaunt, his cheeks hollow. His skin, once smooth and pale, now seemed stretched thin over his bones, and his eyes, once filled with youthful innocence, were cold and unyielding. He didn't recognize the person staring back at him, and in some twisted way, he didn't want to.

This new Ji-Hoon was stronger, sharper. He had to be. If he gave in, if he let himself sleep, let himself rest, he would lose everything—his resolve, his strength, his chance for revenge.

But his body was reaching its limits.

He felt it every day, the way his muscles screamed in protest when he pushed them beyond their capacity. The way his vision blurred around the edges when he forced himself to stay awake through another sleepless night. The way his heart pounded, faster and harder, as if it too was rebelling against his refusal to rest.

Yet even as he pushed himself to the brink, he could feel himself growing stronger. His muscles, though exhausted, were lean and defined. His reflexes had sharpened. He was faster, more agile than ever before. The weight he once carried, both physical and emotional, had been stripped away, leaving behind a person who was honed for one purpose: vengeance.

Ji-Hoon stood in the center of the training room, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Sweat dripped from his brow, his shirt soaked through from hours of relentless exertion. His vision swam, and for a brief moment, the exhaustion threatened to consume him. His legs trembled, his body screaming at him to stop, to lie down, to rest.

But he couldn't. Not yet.

The trauma still gripped him tightly, its claws sunk deep into his mind. He could still feel the cold metal against his skin, the weight of the chains, the sound of his own screams echoing in the darkness. He could still hear his father's voice, cold and indifferent, reminding him of the purpose behind his suffering.

Ji-Hoon clenched his fists, feeling the rough bandages pull tight around his bruised knuckles. He could push through this. He had to. Sleep would come when he was ready—when he had earned it. Until then, he would endure. He would fight.

But as the days dragged on, the exhaustion became a heavier burden to bear. Each night, as he stood alone in the training room, he could feel his mind slipping further, the line between reality and memory blurring. His body was breaking down, but he refused to acknowledge it. Every time he felt himself weakening, he forced himself to push harder, to go further.

It was in the quietest moments, in the dead of night when the palace was silent, that the weight of his sleeplessness was the heaviest. Ji-Hoon would stand at the edge of his window, looking out over the darkened grounds of the palace, his mind racing with thoughts he could no longer control.

He was alone in this. Truly alone. No one else understood the depth of his suffering, the pain that had become a permanent part of him. His father had made sure of that.

Ji-Hoon's thoughts circled back to the king, to the man who had betrayed him. He could picture his father now, sitting on the throne, ruling over a kingdom with an iron fist, completely unaware of the rage that was growing inside his son.

The thought of his father brought a fresh wave of anger crashing down on him, pushing back the exhaustion that threatened to pull him under. His father had done this to him—had turned him into this sleepless, broken thing, struggling to survive each day. But Ji-Hoon would make him pay for it. He would make sure his father felt every ounce of suffering he had endured, every sleepless night, every moment of pain.

And until that day came, Ji-Hoon would keep pushing himself. He would grow stronger, harder, until nothing could stop him—not even the trauma that haunted him every night.

He turned back to the training room, fists clenched, determination burning in his chest. The exhaustion was nothing compared to the fire that fueled him, the drive to see his father's downfall.

Sleep would come later. For now, Ji-Hoon would push himself to the very edge.

And when the time came, he would take everything from his father—just as his father had taken everything from him.