“True. But why put it in the back door instead of the front? Didn’t the internal investigation drop?”
“I’m laying groundwork to make the investigation drop. Call me when the results come in. I’m leaving.”
As the man put the syringe back in the plastic bag, he shouted at the back of the other man’s head who was already walking away.
“When the results come in, I’ll be at ‘Wuga’s’! Come there!”
The man glared at the retreating figure, who only raised one hand above his head in acknowledgment without looking back, and muttered:
“Damn. A cool guy acting cool is even more annoying. Tch. Cool and annoying bastard.”
* * *
Ji Seokhun instructed that two meal trays be prepared, with one containing thin rice porridge.
The helper, who had stayed in this house for quite some time because she didn’t engage in unnecessary small talk, didn’t ask why this time either. She just nodded silently, then transferred the side dishes from large bowls to smaller ones. She prepared the thin porridge and added mild water kimchi and steamed soft tofu as side dishes.
When Seokhun opened the door with the tray in one hand, Geun-yeong was exactly as he had left him at dawn. He was lying down, staring at the ceiling. Seokhun glanced at the ceiling the boy was looking at. As expected, there was nothing there. Closing the door behind him, he said:
“Get up. It won’t be easy to get back to your previous pattern. Your blood sugar is fluctuating a lot.”
Placing the tray on the table, he spoke again. Commanded:
“Get up.”
Geun-yeong wanted to lash out that he couldn’t move because of what the man had attached to his forearm and stomach, but he gritted his teeth and endured. He pushed the bed with his palms and raised his upper body. Though Geun-yeong was making an effort, it wasn’t enough for Seokhun. The boy’s sluggish movements frustrated him.
“Don’t be petulant. You brought this on yourself. I’m now—!”
In the middle of speaking, Seokhun realized his voice had risen and his fists had clenched. He lowered his hand that had risen to shoulder level, shook it lightly to release the tension, and said:
“You should know I’m being very patient.”
Like an old, sick dog watching its master, Geun-yeong kept his gaze on the floor and only raised his eyes momentarily before lowering them again, sitting on the bed waiting for the next instruction.
After looking over the boy who sat with his head bowed, Seokhun untied the front of Geun-yeong’s robe and spread it wide open on both sides. The boy was still naked underneath. On his bare body, only the belt holding the pump that Seokhun had attached at dawn was wrapped around him.
Seeing the boy exactly as he had left him wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Seokhun didn’t close the open robe. He pulled the table with the tray in front of the bed and sat down. He scooped up some porridge with a spoon and held it in front of Geun-yeong’s mouth.
Unable to cover his exposed front without specific instructions, the man slowly opened his mouth. His hands, hanging limply beside his thighs, were trembling slightly.
* * *
Dr. Choi of Choi Internal Medicine in Samjeong-dong felt like his heart was about to race out of control. He had already been anxious for days about falsifying prescriptions for Professor Ji Seokhun’s son, and now the police had come.
A man who had barged through the station just by saying he was police opened the examination room door without even knocking.
Without being invited to sit, he naturally took the chair meant for patients. Then he thrust his identification card, which read “Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency Criminal Investigation Division” in what seemed much larger and more legible print than was actually written, not just in front of Dr. Choi’s eyes but right up to his nose.
After putting away the police ID that Dr. Choi had to practically smell because it was held so close, the man immediately produced a prescription for “Ji Geun-yeong,” a name he couldn’t forget.
No wonder Dr. Choi’s heart was racing uncontrollably.
Dr. Choi looked at the prescription, which was clearly one he had issued, then at the man who claimed to be police, back at the prescription, then at the face again, repeating this cycle endlessly before asking:
“Um, why, what, have I, what crime, perhaps—”
“Perhaps? Perhaps what? If there’s something fishy, you’d better tell me now. If it comes out later, the punishment will be more severe.”
More severe punishment.
Though he didn’t understand the exact context, he roughly knew what it meant, and it sounded terrifying. However, somehow saying anything himself felt like it would be disadvantageous.
Dr. Choi suddenly remembered something about a right or responsibility to refuse to testify even for serious crimes. After watching the intimidating man who looked like he could only be either a detective or a gangster, he cautiously asked:
“What…”
Should I say?
“If you haven’t committed any particular crime, never mind. Since you say you can’t help us, I’ll start asking questions now.”
Dr. Choi was extremely anxious. His heart kept racing, and he couldn’t think straight. The man, who seemed like either a detective or strangely suspicious, pointed at the name at the bottom of the prescription on the desk and asked:
“The doctor who issued this prescription, is this you?”
“What?”
Dr. Choi wanted to cover the name on the large nameplate on his desk. He fidgeted with his fingers on the desk, thinking about flipping it over quickly, but the man had already glanced at the nameplate and looked back.
“It is you. Then,”
Am I being arrested?!
To Dr. Choi, whose eyes had widened, the man who now seemed more like a gangster than a detective said:
“I’d like you to explain the diagnosis, insulin prescription, and treatment process for a diabetic patient.”
He made a command disguised as a request.
“…Pardon…?”
Kyung Jiho stared intently at the man with the confused expression, staring so obviously that anyone would recognize it as glaring. He slammed his elbows on the desk with a thud, thud. He raised both hands and gripped his head. He tugged at his hair as if he had a cramp, then let out a deep sigh. Then, looking at the prescription between his elbows, he began to speak as if making a confession:
“There’s this… guy. He wears an insulin pump or whatever. He eats well, sleeps well. Eats vegetables like cucumbers, lettuce, peppers, and even though he’s not crazy, he counts the pieces of meat as he eats. Every time he pricks his own finger to measure, his blood sugar is good. He says it’s good. He smiles and is happy when it’s 80 or 90 or something. According to him, it’s always good.”
Dr. Choi had no idea what this was all about, but he listened without interrupting the man who was bowing his head and pulling at his own hair. But then, “But then, this guy,”
Still gripping his hair as if about to tear it out, the man raised only his eyes to glare at Dr. Choi. Dr. Choi’s heart, which had momentarily stopped when he met those bulging, bloodshot eyes head-on, began racing again in an irregular rhythm.
“After switching to the insulin prescribed here, he collapsed. His eyes rolled back, he foamed at the mouth, convulsed, and then went limp. I was terrified and carried him on my back, and his body was as wet as freshly harvested seaweed. Shit, I thought the bastard had died on my back.”
Staring at Dr. Choi’s uncontrollably trembling eyes as if trying to pierce and stop them, the man continued in a voice reminiscent of a predator growling at prey it shouldn’t eat:
“I took him to the emergency room, unable to tell if he was dead or alive. And they said it was hypoglycemia. Shit. 30. They pumped him full of glucose or something and he survived, but,”
He had switched to informal speech, but there was no time to question it. Forget epidemics, smallpox, earthquakes, or tsunamis—right now, Dr. Choi was most terrified of the man before him who, by all appearances, seemed out of his mind.
“The guy who was doing fine suddenly collapsed without warning and nearly died. It happened right after switching to the insulin prescribed here.”
A flash of what could only be described as “killing intent” gleamed in those frightening, glaring eyes.
“Is there something wrong with the medication prescribed here, or is there something wrong with this guy? Tell me.”
Though he was kindly indicating it was now Dr. Choi’s turn to speak, Dr. Choi couldn’t open his mouth right away. His mind, in a panic from fear, was racing to figure out what crime he had committed.
A diabetic patient wearing an insulin pump had come in. He needed insulin urgently, so I prescribed it. I falsified the prescription date because I prescribed without a blood test. And two days later, the test results came in. That’s right. That’s what happened. Come to think of it…
“That patient…”
Dr. Choi’s frantically shifting eyes suddenly stopped.
“…It was normal… the C-peptide.”
After Dr. Choi’s words, which seemed more like a self-murmur than addressing someone, time seemed to stop momentarily.
One person was looking up while clutching his head as if he would tear it off, while the other person was looking down, pressing his back firmly against the chair, retreating as far as possible.
With their eyes locked like that, all movement ceased. A suffocating silence flowed between the two.
* * *
Woo Donghwa had been looking around from the entrance the entire time. Though it was his first visit, the place wasn’t unfamiliar. He was looking around not because it was strange but because it was fascinating.
Green Village in Cheongdam-dong was a luxury villa complex located below Umyeon Mountain behind an apartment complex in Cheongdam-dong. It had once appeared in entertainment news as the place where a singer-turned-actor who successfully entered Hollywood and an actress with national treasure-level beauty who was exempt from acting skill controversies had set up their newlywed home. And to Samjeong Medical School students like Woo Donghwa, it was even more famous as the neighborhood where Professor Ji Seokhun and Ji Geun-yeong lived.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
