The lighter flared once in the darkness, followed by a spurt of hushed Korean. It flared again, caught, and lit the cigarette held by the barely discernible silhouette in the doorway.

Tobias waited, silently, as the silhouette smoked his cheap tobacco in the rain. One, two, three... ten puffs. Annoyed, he inched closer.

"Sejin, I am getting late. Get out already!" Tobias whispered in a small mumble. "It's bloody cold and wet out here!"

The man paused momentarily, then slowly reached for his hip and opened a pouch. The snap of the button's release was lost in the pitter-patter of rain on the building and the sidewalk.

"Tobi, you are getting soft, man. It's only a little rain!"

"Yes, and I am waterproof," Tobias sulked, snatching the leftover nicotine stick as he stuck it up between his lips. A few puffs twirled around him as he stood there, eyeing the drops scattering close to his feet.

"I still don't know why we are sneaking out for a smoke when we could have used the smoking area."

Sejin gawked at him in the most befuddled expression, "You want the kids to learn bad?"

"They aren't children, Sejin," he huffed, throwing the cigarette over the floor.

"Aren't they small?"

"Well, I can name at least thirty people who are older than us!"
Not at all a lie, post-graduation is a weird and wide sanctuary with every kind of tamed and untamed animal, being, ghosts. Just because they were the golden students, they couldn't think of the same about everyone else.

"Okay, okay! What now?"

"I got classes. You?"

Sejin chuckled, placing his glasses back on his face, "I will head to the lab, then dinner with Seojin and Ahyun like usual. You?"

"Bella's cooking. So, see you tomorrow."

Sejin stood there watching his friend take the turn at the end and disappear. Undoubtedly, he loved spending time with Tobias, but this alone time was the only period he could be himself.

Halfway down the road from the institute to the laboratory, Professor Kim Sejin recalled that he had been promoted from the post of associate professor to professor, but he wasn't worried about that.

He wasn't the bog-standard lecturer. Ordinary people do not believe it is possible to forecast the future. Normal instructors do not believe it is possible to change the past. And average professors don't believe someone can construct their own life. That was Sejin's unique quality. This professor thought it was feasible.

He was just built differently. Not only had he thought the universe was easy to map and he could any day hold it right in his palms, he also thought humans were puppets. Stringless puppets being toiled and tipped just as the unseen power wanted. He wanted to be that power.

It was one day he found the stage set but no puppeteer in sight. He was six then. Sejin approached the stage, his eyes locked on the marionettes hanging limply from their strings. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the smooth wood. They were so lifeless, so helpless. Just like the people in his life.
With a smirk, he began to pull the strings, watching as the puppets jerked and twitched. He imagined them as the people he hated, the ones who had wronged him in some way.

That day he sat on a cement bench at the town square, eagerly observing the puppet show from a distance, his fascination unwavering. On this particular day, the puppet master adorned the stage with ancient Greek costumes, bringing forth the timeless tale of Zeus, the illustrious king of the Gods.

Zeus had dethroned his evil father, Cronus. Such a sorrowful tale of his life where his mother saved him from being eaten by his father, nursed by a nymph, and protected by warriors. His tale portrayed him as a hero.

Sejin had always envisioned a life like that, like a hero, the one he was destined to be. His father didn't really try to eat him but somewhat made his life miserable by locking him up. And just like the king of the gods, he too had killed his father.

But as he grew, he knew more about who appeared to be the hero.

Zeus, the gods' and men's monarch, demanded sacrifices from his subjects. He wasn't what he seemed to be; he was a monster with immense power who murdered his own children and grandkids. Prometheus stole fire from the gods and bestowed it on humanity in the form of heat and light. Zeus was upset with Prometheus for his theft, but more than that, the god was enraged that someone would reject his will. Zeus tied Prometheus to the slope of Mount Caucasus to punish him. But Zeus didn't only shackle Prometheus; every night, Zeus commanded an eagle to peck out Prometheus' liver. Then his liver would regenerate, and the eagle would return.

Zeus had a relationship with a Titan named Metis before marrying Hera. Things were going well until a prophecy was given to Zeus that predicted one of the two offsprings he'd have with Metis would overwhelm him in the same manner he overcame Cronus. To avoid having children with Metis, Zeus persuaded her to transform into a fly, after which he devoured her. Metis was pregnant at the time, and when Athena was born, Hephaestus had to break her out of Zeus's head.

He however had assumed the form of a swan when he ravished Hera, well before she became his wife.

Sejin had done it too. He would often disguise himself as Jin, sneak out, do all he wished to letting all the blame fall upon his twin's name.

Zeus was once enraged by humanity's depravity and resolved to wipe everyone out with a massive flood. With the assistance of Poseidon, he increased the waters to such heights that everyone died.
Kill all who feel like a nuisance: be a dictator.

Zeus, at that age, seemed interesting to him. And he had decided he would adopt the archetype villain than being the regular hero.

And he adopted it well. When he had realized that his mother loved both of her sons equally, he wanted her love all by himself. His heart twisted into a wicked knot. Darkness consumed his thoughts, blinding him to reason. Struggling to comprehend the injustice of the world, he ventured down a path of malevolence.

As the years passed, his resentment grew, seeping into every fibre of his being. His mind became a breeding ground for vengeful ideas, fuelled by his distorted perception of the world. Thoughts of retribution consumed him, blinding him to any remnants of love he once possessed.

On their eleventh birthday, a sinister plan unfolded in his mind. He would make her understand his pain, make her suffer as he did. The notion of setting his own mother on fire filled him with wicked satisfaction. There was no turning back; his heart had been eclipsed by darkness.

That fateful evening, as the moon painted an eerie glow across the sky, he executed his plan with a chilling precision. Donning black attire and concealing his face, he sneaked into her room, his hands trembling with anticipation. He approached her sleeping form, enveloped in a web of anguish and fury.

With a can of accelerant in hand, he doused the room in a chaos of liquid flames. The scent of gasoline permeated the air as he struck a match, igniting the fire that would consume his mother. The flames danced in macabre delight, casting sinister shadows upon the walls.

As the room erupted into an fire, he retreated to a vantage point outside, gazing transfixed through his goggles at the horrors he had set into motion. The night air whispered secrets in his ears, mingling with his heavy breaths. A sense of satisfaction tugged at the corners of his twisted smile.

Sirens wailed in the distance, their mournful cries approaching with urgency. Police cars swarmed the area, their flashing lights painting the surrounding oak trees in hues of red and blue. The cold breeze rustled through his hair, cooling the sweat on his brow.

The cacophony of chaos subsided as the firemen extinguished the flames. His fire had been put out, but at what cost? Through the blur of smoke and shattered dreams, he watched as they carried her lifeless body from the charred remains.

One of the police officers mentioned that an ambulance was on its way, but hollow words offered no solace. His heart, still shrouded in darkness, remained indifferent to the tragic loss. They had all failed to comprehend the depths of his pain, and now it was too late for redemption.

Evil had triumphed once again, leaving him numb to the realization that the flames that consumed his mother had also consumed a part of his own humanity. In his twisted perspective, he believed that justice had been served, unaware of the irreversible damage he had inflicted upon his own soul.

And as he laid on the cold blacktop, surrounded by the haunting aftermath of his heartless act, a void engulfed him. He had sought revenge.

━━━━━
The story has been making some sense now if you have read between the lines.