Chapter 76: Blindfold Splint (2)

Part 3

In the end, I couldn’t reach a clear conclusion, and my shift at the bakery dragged to a close. While I didn’t find an answer, Youngjin’s advice to follow my gut lightened my mood a bit—a small relief, perhaps.

“…Hrm,” I mumbled.

Smoothing out my wrinkled clothes, I wandered down the street, my eyes catching a bus stop in the distance. The setting sun, casting a deep red glow as if it were its final act, draped somber shadows over the heads of weary people heading home.

“He probably meant it’s not my responsibility either way…” I mused.

Youngjin had dropped the topic after saying to do what felt right. Pressing him for more would’ve been like whining for answers to an unanswerable question, so I didn’t bring it up again.

If I mentioned it to my parents, they’d probably fuss over me instead. It wasn’t a sense of duty or mission, but I didn’t want to make a choice I’d regret based on one-sided opinions. Pulling out my phone, I sent a text to my parents: Found a tasty-looking restaurant, so I’ll handle dinner and come home later. They might not buy it, but oh well.

“The quartet… probably not,” I thought.

Who could I talk this over with? Excluding family and the quartet, my contacts were mostly formal acquaintances I’d message once a year, if that. I’ve lived a pretty barren life, huh. Minho-ssi? Hyunji-ssi? Bonfire-nim?

“…Not the right people for this,” I concluded.

I could explain it vaguely without mentioning my condition, but they weren’t close enough for such heavy, personal talks.

“Not really hungry… maybe a sandwich somewhere…” I muttered.

I should’ve grabbed something from Youngjin’s shop. As I scrolled through my contacts, a name caught my eye.

“…Oh.”

Perfect for this situation, likely free right now, and technically the cause of this dilemma. Almost instinctively, I sent a text asking if they had time.

• Wait at a nearby café.

The reply came faster than the one to my parents. Noting the café and bus stop names, I sent them over and started walking. The fading sunlight stung my eyes.

Part 4

Only after settling into a quiet corner seat could I finally take off my cap. I hadn’t expected the café to be so crowded at dinnertime. Maybe there are more people prepping for the night than I thought.

“The hospital closes at 6, and you don’t seem the type to procrastinate,” I said.

“I’m not exactly swamped with critical tasks,” Dr. Kang Young-hoo replied, approaching the table with a slightly pouty tone.

He wasn’t in his usual white coat but a plain mink-colored shirt, black pants, and dull, unpolished shoes. His displeased expression was a bonus. Clearly, he wasn’t the type to ignore a cryptic summons from a special patient like “I need to talk,” but being called out on his off-hours wasn’t exactly thrilling.

Fair enough, but I’m partly to blame for bringing it up.

“So, what’s this about? If it’s physical, we’ll head to the hospital now. If it’s psychological, I’ll recommend a counselor this time,” he said.

“It’s not about me… um,” I trailed off.

No matter how I rationalized it, this conversation—and the questions to come—would likely burden him. I could tell, even without medical expertise.

He sat across from me, hands clasped, waiting silently. Whether he hadn’t ordered or his drink hadn’t arrived, I didn’t know. Feeling a strange thirst, I sipped my herbal tea—ordered to avoid disrupting my sleep—and cautiously spoke, meeting his impassive gaze.

“It’s about the person you mentioned during the consultation—”

“I can’t share anything,” he cut in, his refusal sharper than expected.

The words hit like a sponge ball clogging my throat. Stunned for a moment, I cleared my throat, steadied my breath, and tried again, facing his unwavering stare.

“Not personal details,” I clarified.

“I figured you wouldn’t be doing anything requiring that,” he said.

Is that a compliment or a jab?

“Just… what kind of person are they?” I asked.

“Planning to meet them?” he countered.

“…To decide if I should, so I can’t say for sure,” I replied.

The conversation stalled. A faint, unfamiliar song mixed with subtle café noises, poking at the silence between us. One minute. Another. Even after his drink arrived with the buzzer, more minutes passed. His gaze wandered aimlessly through the air.

The ice in my cup melted, clinking as it sank deeper. His lips finally parted when the ice clinked again.

“…Hrm. This is something a colleague told me,” he began.

“Do we need the formal preamble?” I asked.

“Before legal issues, I don’t want to casually share sensitive matters. Figure it out,” he said.

Sipping his coffee directly despite the straw, he pursed his lips a few times before continuing.

“Due to some unknown hormone, alien invasion, magic, or curse—whatever it was—someone woke up with their appearance completely changed. They were studying abroad alone, with no real acquaintances even before the change,” he said.

Eyes closed, then open. I recalled the faint memory of my first moment post-change—the shock, awkwardness, near-despair in the mirror, the sense of losing everything. I had my family’s support from start to finish, but this person?

“Luckily, the landlord noticed they hadn’t left the house for days and found them collapsed, taking them to a hospital. But, as I said, they were alone in a foreign country. Explaining their changed appearance to family or friends was a nightmare. Their looks, voice—everything had changed, with only a foreign doctor witnessing it,” he continued.

“…What happened to them?” I asked.

“They returned to Korea, trying to prove their identity with medical records. Sadly, their family thought it was an elaborate scam targeting their wealth,” he said.

The story felt heavier than I’d expected.