From that moment on, time became a blur. The Security Force stormed in, and Min Yugeon was rushed to the hospital. I tried to hold out, wanting to stay until the end to monitor his condition, but once he entered the operating room, I had no choice but to receive treatment myself—almost forcibly, under the medical staff’s insistence.
The hospital room I was assigned to afterward remained noisy for quite a while, thanks to the Security Force constantly coming and going to take my statement.
“…Are you saying I reported it?”
I repeated their question in disbelief when they asked if I had sent the alert when I confronted Min Yugeon. That meant an emergency signal had been transmitted from my watch—but at the time, I’d had it taken by the assailants, leaving me with no way to contact the Security Force.
Then it suddenly occurred to me—the man who resembled Ji Chanwoo had vanished at some point. The watch now back on my wrist had been left exactly where that man had stood.
“Yes. Is there some kind of issue?”
I shut my mouth as I looked at the Security Force officer, who seemed confused by my reaction. I didn’t know who that man was, but if he’d helped Min Yugeon and me, and had a reason to hide his identity, then admitting that I wasn’t the one who made the report might only complicate things for him.
So I chose silence. The officer, still suspicious, hesitated for a moment before continuing.
“The suspect was found dead at the scene with gunshot wounds to the wrist and chest, so interrogation was not possible. Neither Seo Suho nor Min Yugeon was in possession of a firearm at the time, so we’re wondering—did someone else shoot the suspect and flee the scene?”
Though his tone was cautious, the intensity in his eyes revealed a strong desire to get a concrete answer.
I opened my mouth slowly.
“I was in shock… I don’t remember very clearly.”
“Even a brief recollection would help. If anything comes to mind, please let us know.”
“…”
“I’m sorry to ask at such a difficult time… but the suspect’s watch was damaged, and we weren’t able to retrieve any information from it. So we have no choice but to rely entirely on your testimony, Mr. Seo. As you know, Min Yugeon is currently in no condition to speak.”
There was an apologetic look on the officer’s face as he carefully observed my expression.
“The longer we wait, the less reliable memories become.”
Sometimes the brain forcibly forgets the things it most desperately wants to recall. I stared into his eyes and nodded slowly.
“There were originally accomplices. I don’t know if they fired the shots, though.”
I shared what I could, deliberately omitting any mention of the man who’d killed the assailant.
“Accomplices, you say?”
The officer’s eyes widened slightly.
“Yes.”
The suspect—one of the assailants who had waited aboard the train to abduct me—hadn’t acted alone. There were three of them. I also remembered fragments of their conversation from the scene where I came to: the fact that the two accomplices had gone off somewhere.
As I calmly laid out the full account and described the other men’s appearances, the officer listened intently. A device between us recorded every word of my statement.
“Did you happen to overhear anything unusual?”
Judging by the atmosphere, the officer seemed to suspect a larger force behind the incident. It was only natural—three men working together to harm a single individual wasn’t exactly ordinary.
“Hey… Why do you think the lab director, who was supposedly so close to you, ordered them to kill you?”
I blinked and stared into space.
Memories of Min Sanghan, who’d been part of my life since childhood, flickered through my mind.
“You’re like a son to me, Suho.”
…No matter how I tried to make sense of it.
I pressed one trembling hand down with the other, trying to steady it.
I couldn’t come up with a single rational reason for Min Sanghan to do something like this to me. Setting aside my personal trust in him, even thinking about it logically, it didn’t make sense. What could he possibly gain from this?
I couldn’t just take the words of a dying man and decide Min Sanghan was behind it all. It was probably just another lie to throw me off.
There’s no way Min Sanghan did this.
“…”
I shook my head quietly, and the officer exhaled through his nose.
“We’ll start by investigating based on the path you described. If you remember anything else…”
His voice echoed faintly in my ears. I nodded mechanically, offering no real reply. The officer left with a parting suggestion that I get some rest.
The room instantly fell into silence.
Left alone, I sat still for a moment, then climbed down from the bed and approached the door.
I wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink until I saw with my own eyes that Min Yugeon had come through the surgery safely—that he was breathing, that he was alive.
“Where are you going?”
But just as I opened the door, the Security Force officers stationed outside stepped subtly into my path.
I froze, completely caught off guard by how closely they were guarding me.
“I’m going to see my friend—the one who was just taken in for surgery.”
“…Hmm.”
The two officers exchanged glances, visibly hesitant.
“We’ve been told you need to rest. Please remain in your room for today.”
“It’s very late—wouldn’t it be better if you got some rest?”
I glanced between their faces. Both looked unmistakably conflicted.
I inhaled quietly and exhaled.
“I’ll just check if he’s okay. That’s all. Please step aside.”
“…I’m sorry.”
“I said, move.”
My voice trembled.
Inside this sterile white hospital. People with the same expression blocking my every move.
The familiarity of it all made it harder and harder to breathe.
“Why…”
‘Why won’t you let me go?’ My breath hitched as my hands began to shake.
‘Don’t tell me… Min Yugeon—’
A foreboding chill surged through me like a foreign object had lodged in my throat, choking me from the inside.
“Mr. Seo Suho?”
“Ugh, ngh—!”
Clutching my chest, I collapsed to my knees. It felt as if someone had gripped my heart with cruel intent and was trying to crush it.
Alarmed, the Security Force officers hurried to catch me.
“Mr. Seo Suho! Are you alright?!”
“I’m calling the medical team!”
One of the supporting hands vanished while the other checked my condition. People walking through the ward hallway froze in their tracks, murmuring anxiously as they looked on in shock. Despite the chaos, I couldn’t stop shaking. My breath broke apart, fragmented and erratic, while the pain rising in my chest swelled until it felt like it might burst.
“Researcher-nim?”
A startled voice reached my ears. The officer supporting me turned toward it and quickly saluted.
“Captain!”
With great effort, I turned my head and caught sight of Yeo Wonjin rushing toward me. Sweat slid down my brow, clinging to my lashes and clouding my vision.
“What happened to him?”
“He collapsed as we tried to prevent him from visiting his friend.”
After hearing the brief explanation, Yeo Wonjin calmly dropped to one knee and supported my neck, meeting my eyes.
“Researcher-nim, it’s me. Look at me.”
“Haa, ngh, huh…”
“That’s it. Breathe slowly with me… In and out…”
As I followed his voice unconsciously, the words Min Yugeon had said to me before taking the hit in my place replayed in my mind.
His voice, filled with worry—wondering if I was badly hurt, or what would happen if he never saw me again.
…But what about me?
‘What am I supposed to do if Min Yugeon doesn’t make it?’
“…!”
My clawing hands over my chest were gently but firmly caught.
“It’s alright.”
Yeo Wonjin leaned in closer. The harsh white hospital lights stabbing at my eyes were blocked, casting a soft shadow over my vision.
“Min Yugeon is safe. The surgery’s already over. He’s in the ICU for now, but they said he’ll be moved to a general ward once he regains consciousness.”
My wildly trembling eyes finally, finally steadied and focused on Yeo Wonjin’s face.
“Yes. It’s true. I’d never lie to you, Suho.”
With a faint, bitter smile, Yeo Wonjin took my hand in his.
“So please, calm down. Don’t worry so much.”
“…”
His words pierced straight into my heart, as if he’d read right through me. The tension in my body slowly began to dissolve, muscles relaxing one by one.
As his gentle hand carefully brushed over my hair, I steadied my breath.
***
Yeo Wonjin looked down at Seo Suho, who had passed out as if from sheer exhaustion now that the tension had drained from him. Sweeping back the sweat-damp hair revealed a pale face. The split at the corner of his mouth, the bruises that even gauze couldn’t fully conceal along his cheek, and the gash on his forehead—all undeniable signs of violence.
While adjusting the loose-fitting hospital gown, another wound came into view, one that pushed Yeo Wonjin’s restraint to its limit.
He closed his eyes tightly, then opened them again, reining in the heat surging in his head.
“Captain, I’ll take over.”
A Security Force officer cautiously approached, having read Yeo Wonjin’s expression. But when Yeo Wonjin opened his eyes, he couldn’t even muster a polite smile—he simply shook his head.
“No, it’s alright.”
Yeo Wonjin lifted Seo Suho into his arms without hesitation. Thanks to both mental and physical discipline, carrying someone as slight as Seo Suho was effortless for him.
He entered the hospital room and gently laid Seo Suho onto the bed just as the medical staff arrived. Now in a state of calm and deep sleep, Seo Suho didn’t stir at all, unaware of their presence.
It seemed he hadn’t even realized the IV needle had come loose when he’d left the room earlier—blood still clung to the dangling needle swaying from the pole. Yeo Wonjin stood nearby, watching as the medical staff rolled up Suho’s sleeve, disinfected the blood-caked back of his hand, and inserted a fresh needle.
“Physically, there doesn’t appear to be anything out of the ordinary. Can you describe what symptoms he showed?”
“It looked like hyperventilation.”
“In that case…”
The doctor trailed off, glancing toward Yeo Wonjin.
“Given what he’s endured today, it’s completely within reason. These symptoms are common and may recur going forward.”
After giving a few precautions, the medical staff offered a polite farewell and left the room.
The attendants and Security Force officers also quietly stepped outside, leaving just the two of them behind. Yeo Wonjin settled into the chair beside the bed.
He gently tucked the blanket up over Seo Suho’s chest and clasped his cold hands, trying to warm them.
“……”
His eyes dimmed as he gazed down at Seo Suho.
He used to believe that when someone was in love, it would always show—just as it did for him. But there was a stark difference between what you knew in your head and what you saw with your own eyes.
When he caught a glimpse of the marks beneath Seo Suho’s sleeve—clear signs of intimacy with someone else. And today, when he saw Seo Suho conjure thoughts of only one man—that man who might have been the partner.
Yeo Wonjin was overcome by a deep, hollow emptiness.
Seo Suho loved Min Yugeon.
And Min Yugeon loved Seo Suho. Enough to risk his life for him.
Between them existed countless memories and emotions that Yeo Wonjin would never know. And if within that connection was a love as genuine as what he himself felt toward Suho, then he had no chance.
Even so, a small corner of Yeo Wonjin’s mind kept clinging to a hopeless dream.
‘Even after all this is over… will Seo Suho’s heart still be the same?’
