Chapter Text
"I'm Kim Dokja, my name might sound a bit odd."
Hmm, even I thought it was a boring opening line.
I looked at the doctor in front of me; her gentle eyes were looking at me, while the intern beside her was diligently scribbling. This was the first time, aside from the reporters, that someone had taken my words seriously, which felt rather strange.
"Um... Mr. Kim." I looked at the name tag on her chest that read "Yoo Sangah." She gently brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, reminding me of those charismatic goddesses on TV at home, the kind who would make passersby instinctively give way, their presence accompanied by falling petals.
"Then... may I call you Dokja?" Yoo Sangah was very tactful, then gestured to introduce the intern beside her: "This is my temporary assistant, Lee Jihye."
"Of course, then I'll call you Miss Sangah too." I had no friends at school, and so far, I only knew Yoo Joonghyuk, so this was the first time someone had treated me so kindly, even if it was just out of duty, it still made me feel quite flattered.
Lee Jihye couldn't hide her expression; her eyes scanned me up and down, then glanced at the A4 paper in her hand. I sensed a hint of surprise in her gaze.
What was strange? I didn't understand, so I stared at her, hoping to find something amiss. Yoo Sangah, watching my movements, didn't ask me anything. Instead, she gently patted her assistant's shoulder, urging her to relax: "Just chatting, relax." She turned her face towards me, a smile playing on her lips, her eyebrows slightly raised. "Mr. Dokja is one of the few people I've seen who can sit here so calmly." Yes, no matter how beautiful, quiet, and livable the environment, it couldn't change the fact that this was a mental hospital.
Seeing me nod, Lee Jihye, who had only dared to steal glances at me before, perhaps receiving this implicit reassurance, slowly straightened her back, her eyes no longer glancing at me occasionally, but now staring at me openly.
Why is she acting like a child, even though she's an intern? Although I outwardly suppressed my annoyance, I was actually quite displeased. I consider myself the kind of person who appears harmless, and truly is, though perhaps, as someone said, I might be a little cunning. It's clear I react like I'm dealing with some strange person… Oh well, being annoyed is one thing, but arguing with a child isn't my style.
Miss Sangah told me that I could use my phone while hospitalized, and the ward even had its own Wi-Fi. This instantly brightened my mood, and I was glad I was in this hospital. After all, I need to check the novel updates promptly, and not having a phone and internet would be a disaster for me.
“TWSA? Is that what it's called?” she asked, looking thoughtful.
“Ah, actually, I've been reading some books lately too~” she said, sharing her recent reading and reflections. Listening, my face flushed a little. After all, she was introducing serious literary works, while I was engrossed in what most people would consider cheap, mass-produced reading… Seeing that I didn't want to go into too much detail, she didn't press further, simply pinning my name tag to my left chest, solemnly welcoming me to the hospital.
The name "Kim Dokja" was painted red, with a slightly dull sheen, and below it was the small hospital emblem. I stroked the strokes of the name, a sudden pang of bitterness welling up inside me, a tingling sensation spreading through my fingertips and wrists.
Actually, I was genuinely wronged. I was just talking to myself; I wasn't actually delusional. Frustrated, I lay down on the hospital bed, staring at the clean ceiling, feeling the soft mattress beneath me, and wondered if this misunderstanding had allowed me to infiltrate this comfortable "residence"—was it a blessing in disguise?
Ding-dong— I picked up my phone; a new unread message appeared on the lock screen—
"Kim Dokja, where are you now?" The contact list was a small fish icon. Ah, here it comes, the culprit who transferred me from a regular hospital to this mental hospital.
A surge of anger welled up inside me: How dare they question me?
My fingertips trembled with rage, and the pressure of my typing unconsciously increased, the screen emitting a series of dull thuds.
"If you hadn't suddenly appeared while the nurse was changing my dressing, how could those people have gotten hold of me and sent me here!" My expression must have been terrible, because there was no reply from the other end of the phone.
"Don't frown, it'll give you wrinkles." A voice suddenly came from beside me.
I turned to look at the window. Because this hospital was in the suburbs, without the dazzling city lights, the bright moonlight shone down, veiling the person's face in a veil. It should have been a beautiful scene, but I had no heart to appreciate the pleasant night view; I was only angrily calling his name.
"Hey, Kim Dokja." The male student grinned maliciously, throwing a rag at the person he was roughly holding. "Who's so careless as to draw on your desk?" He lightly patted the other's cheek. "Sigh, I really can't bear it, take this rag and wipe it off." Kim Dokja didn't react. The male student waited a while, then, getting bored, scoffed and walked away.
"Hey, did you hear? A new student is transferring to our class!"
For students who are constantly studying, even the slightest disturbance is enough to grab their attention. Of course, if you're in hell, already struggling to survive, you simply can't spare any attention for such trivial matters.
Kim Dokja wiped the scribbling on the desk, his hands turning white from the force of the rag, but he still hadn't completely removed the marks. He habitually tossed the rag into the desk, reached back to steady his chair, and carefully sat down. He took a deep breath, opened his crumpled textbook, and stared blankly at the black marks crawling across the blank page.
"Hey, that guy, the murderer's son, he tried to jump off a building but failed, and he went insane."
The nurses probably thought a mentally unstable person immersed in their own delusions wouldn't pay attention to them, so they discussed these things without any restraint, not hiding it from me. Actually, they hadn't seen me have an episode; they only heard about it from patients who had shared a room with me before, seeing that I didn't talk much and was always staring at my phone.
But, well, they weren't entirely wrong about me. I stared at the boy sitting beside my bed. His slightly messy black curly hair and handsome face, which seemed capable of slapping the world away, were now glaring at the backs of the gossiping people as they left the room. His normally intimidating aura was diminished by his school uniform, making him look like just a slightly gloomy male student.
"A bunch of talkative bastards." His expression looked like he wanted to bankrupt the hospital tomorrow.
I watched the door close completely, making sure no one else would come in, before I spoke with relief: "Don't always look so gloomy." Yoo Joonghyuk turned to look at me.
"I can't blame them, after all, talking to thin air is really scary..."
He frowned in disgust at my statement and snapped, "I'm not hallucinating!"
"Yeah, you're not." That's what I said, but deep down I knew perfectly well that Yoo Joonghyuk was just a figment of my imagination, "a savior" I created to rescue me.