The rest of the week, I did everything I could to bury myself in studying and my online work.
The goal was simple: keep myself so busy I wouldn't have time for stupid, intrusive thoughts.
It worked.
At least... until the weekend.
On Saturday, I went out for some light shopping at the nearby grocery store. Then on Sunday, my emotional balance started to slip, but I pulled myself together enough to go to university on Monday. The day actually went okay—until the moment I got home and remembered that Tuesday, meaning tomorrow, meant I had dissection class again.
As the hours passed, the tension grew unbearable.
Even though I tried to center myself in calm surroundings, like Lee had once advised, it just didn't work. I couldn't force myself into calm.
The confidence I'd felt earlier crumbled instantly, like it had never been real to begin with.
So much for that. I'm broken. There's no point pretending otherwise.
I barely slept more than a few hours that night.
When I woke up in the morning, I looked like death warmed over. Huge bags under my eyes. Dry, cracked lips. Hair sticking up like I'd been electrocuted. My eyes were still slightly bloodshot.
I washed my face with ice-cold water. It helped a little, but the thought that I might pass out again during class didn't exactly lift my spirits.
I only had an apple for breakfast, then headed out from my creepy little apartment.
When I got to the university, my friends knew better than to talk to me on a Tuesday morning. We walked in quiet solidarity to the locker room, where we quickly changed into our white coats, slip-resistant shoes, gloves, and masks. Naturally, the little disposable hair caps weren't optional either.
Then the instructor arrived.
My breathing quickened.
My heart was pounding—unlike the heart of the dead body now lying in the dissection room...
"You'll be fine, Jae," Baek whispered as we stepped into the dreaded room.
The buzzing of the fluorescent lights sounded louder than ever. Everyone slowly took their places around the cold metal tables. The squeaking of gloves, the clinking of metal tools, the suffocating silence… it all meant one thing: it was starting.
Our instructor, Dr. Han, entered the room in a black lab coat, posture rigid and commanding. Without delay, he launched into his monologue.
"Death... is the final biological act of life. Today, we'll examine what happens after that.
We'll be exposing the spinal cord and studying the branching of the peripheral nerves.
Don't forget—what you'll see today isn't a horror film. It's not a myth, nor a metaphor.
It's biology. It's the reality behind thought, movement, and pain.
If you can't handle it, leave.
If you can… work precisely."
His gaze swept over the room—pausing just a moment too long on me.
Of course.
Of course he singled me out. I'm the only one who can't handle this.
Silence fell over the group like a heavy fog as we pulled back the sterile sheet covering the body. The smell hit instantly.
I was used to it by now, but that didn't make it any less gut-wrenching.
I tried to focus on the spinal anatomy.
Cerebrospinal fluid.
Dura mater.
Nerve pathways.
All of it was in my head… yet every passing second felt like I was drifting further from reality.
The teacher's voice kept echoing in the background as he continued:
"Here you can see the dorsal root ganglion, housing the sensory neuron cell bodies. Continue the incision downward from this point. Slowly. Do not tear or damage the tissue."
For a fraction of a second, I believed I could handle it.
Then it hit me again—that awful pressure.
As if someone else was standing above the corpse… someone who had no right to be there.
Like a foreign memory had invaded my brain—something that didn't belong to me.
A sentence.
A sensation.
A thought that couldn't have possibly been mine…
"This wasn't part of the deal..."
The back of my neck burned.
My stomach turned.
The air felt heavy, like a lead apron pressing down on my chest.
But I didn't move.
I just stared at the dissection table. At the opened body.
Trying not to see what my mind was showing me.
Something deep inside warned me: it's happening again. The episode. The sickness.
I swallowed.
I breathed.
I endured.
But I knew—it wasn't going to pass.
And as I packed away the scalpel and dissection knife at the end of class, only one name echoed in my mind.
Mr. Joon.
He's the only one who can help me.
Even if… that's the worst possible news I could've heard today.
I can't take this anymore.
I can't deal with this awful, recurring feeling that haunts me every single Tuesday.
I don't think I can go through it again.
I need help.
I need tutoring.
Mr. Joon would have been the last person I'd ever ask for it.
But now… I have no choice. I don't want to fail.
I hurried to the locker room, nerves eating me alive.
As usual, I threw up in one of the toilets—not as violently this time—then rinsed my mouth and changed back into my regular clothes.
"You okay?" Baek asked gently as the rest of the study group filtered out with worried glances.
"Do I look okay? I'm heading to Mr. Joon this afternoon to beg for help," I muttered, annoyed.
"Hey, if you need anything, you know we're here. It's not like Mr. Joon's gonna bite your head off," he said, patting my shoulder.
"I wouldn't put it past him," I replied with a nervous laugh.
"Come on, Jae. You used to be way more positive than this," Lee added, slinging an arm around my shoulder as we made our way down the hallway to the next class.
"There's Professor Ling Bi," whispered the blue-haired guy.
"Min Jae! So glad I caught you!" our study group leader called out.
"Good morning! You were looking for me?" I stepped away from the others to talk to her.
"Yes, actually. How did the dissection go?" she got straight to the point.
"The same as always... I tried my best, but it didn't go well," I sighed heavily.
"That's okay! I have some good news. I managed to speak with Professor Joon yesterday.
He said that if you go talk to him in person, he might agree to take you on.
And with him, that 'might' basically means yes," she said, beaming—though her enthusiasm didn't quite reach me.
"Alright. Thanks. Do you know when and where I should talk to him?"
"Yes. He said it'd be best if you went to see him this afternoon after your classes. He'll be in the far lecture hall where he usually teaches. His last class was canceled today, so this is the perfect time to catch him and plan things. That way, you two can start tutoring on Friday."
"Great," I answered, probably a little too sarcastically.
"Come on, Min Jae… I know this is a hard moment for you, but think about it.
Mr. Joon is just a person. No different from you or me.
A few years from now, you won't even remember this period of your life—
and you might even thank him someday for these extra lessons. Who knows?" she said, smiling encouragingly.
"You're right. Maybe I should see it that way.
I'll go see Mr. Joon this afternoon.
Any help is valuable for a university student," I said, forcing a faint smile.
"That's the spirit! Hang in there today!" she waved as she walked away.
I slowly made my way toward the designated lecture hall.
Am I ready for this?
No.
Am I thinking straight?
Not even close.
Am I scared?
Terrified.
But the urge to rid myself of that crushing, suffocating feeling I get every time I'm in the dissection room… it's stronger than the fear.
And for that, I'm willing to do anything.