This episode contains violence, strong language, and themes that may be disturbing to some readers. Viewer discretion is advised.
What Margaret remembered after the room door closed was the silence that diffused along with the gentle smell of antiseptic.
The room only held her and Frankenstein, the man whose movements were as calm as the night before rain.
The touch of Frankenstein's fingers as they swept her arm presented a sensation almost similar to a warm wind slipping through a window lattice, tracing her skin unhurriedly.
Frankenstein leaned down, bringing his face so close that his breath touched the edge of Margaret's ear, and his voice was soft, full of a tone that resembled a secret whisper lent only to one soul.
"Margaret, you remember me, right?"
"Just relax, okay?"
"I know you must have been looking for me too, right?"
"You wouldn't let Berry touch you… only I am allowed to touch you, isn't that right, Margaret?"
Frankenstein grabbed the syringe.
"You don't need to be afraid. I am here now."
"In this room there are only the two of us, and I will do it quickly without making you feel pain."
"Don't worry—I will keep waiting for you until you open your eyes again."
When Frankenstein brought it closer, Margaret only briefly saw the thin gleam of the metal—the small, seemingly harmless needle.
But when the tip touched her skin, she felt a subtle sting, not sharp, more like the bite of a candle flame that had just been extinguished.
She felt her consciousness begin to melt, slowly descending like a stage curtain lowering after a long performance.
"So… let me anesthetize you, okay?"
"You know I don't like seeing you in pain, Margaret. Really."
Her eyelids began to feel heavy.
The room light clumped, turning into blurred lines that danced without shape, like the reflection of lamps on the surface of a lake on a windy night. Everything began to drift away.
The only thing that did not fade was Frankenstein's voice. The voice crept back in, penetrating the last layers of her consciousness before she almost fell asleep.
"Margaret, I love you."
"Margaret, I love you."
"I love you, Margaret."
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And when the three repeated words that Frankenstein spoke penetrated her consciousness again at that moment—in the large room where there were only her and Frankenstein in a distance that was not widening, but instead closing—Margaret felt something in her chest tremble like a harp string touched too lightly.
She immediately squeezed her eyes tightly shut.
Both her hands clenched in her lap, gripping the white tote bag until the fabric fibers screamed with wrinkles.
Her inner voice immediately surfaced, multilayered, overlapping like reflections that refused to be erased.
"Did he really say it sincerely?"
"Or… does he still consider me a scared little child, who can't do anything by herself? Is that why he uttered that sentence—as if by hearing it I can be calm, just calm, without needing to think about anything and simply relying on him?"
"Or… is he actually serious?"
"If he were truly serious, then… there's no way he would come running from the fourth floor and abandon his duty just to take over Doctor Berry's job, right?"
"But… can I trust what I heard back then?"
"Maybe my ears were too sensitive because I was scared… maybe Doctor Frankenstein was just trying to soothe me, just like he did when I was still a child and he treated me when I had a fever."
"However… why am I slightly disappointed if it turns out he only said it to calm me down?"
"Good heavens, Margaret…"
"There's no way Doctor Frankenstein has feelings like that for you. He's Father's friend. You need to know your place. A man that handsome… there's no way he likes a high school girl who used to be just a little kid he often took care of when she had a fever. That is impossible."
"But… there's something about his words that I don't understand."
"I better… not ask. I just need to apologize for ruining his mood because I miscalled him earlier."
Those thoughts spun like a whirlpool that refused to stop, making her forehead crease, her eyebrows moving up and down as if there was a small weight that kept forcing her suspicions to pile up.
And while Margaret was still trapped behind her own eyelids, both her hands further squeezed the white tote bag until its folds lost their original shape, someone was quietly watching her with a gaze that was difficult to read.
Frankenstein pulled his face back slightly—only a few inches—but He did not truly move away.
"Why are you closing your eyes, Margaret?"
"Are you afraid of me now, because we haven't met for a long time, hm?"
"So… I'm really that terrifying to you, huh? Tell me, Margaret… what do I need to do so you won't be afraid?"
"I… will do anything for you."
Frankenstein's tone softened again.
He intentionally changed his intonation, mimicking the voice of a child caught doing something wrong—not with the intention of scaring her, but with hope, with vulnerability, that it was enough to calm someone He liked.
Margaret was startled again this time, she slowly opened her eyes and found Frankenstein's face was at such a close distance that she even held her breath.
"Why is he… even closer this time?"
"Does he… not really want to move back even a little?"
"And what the hell is this?"
"Why is he talking as if he's the one doing something wrong and trying to fix it… when it's clearly… I who am struggling to control myself here."
She sighed—a breath that sounded more like a hard effort to save her consciousness. The white tote bag in her lap was still gripped tightly, crumpled beneath her fingers like fabric bearing the remnants of her nervousness.
Her gaze lowered, avoiding the man's eyes, because looking at him directly now felt like challenging embers that were ready to melt all her courage. She chose to look elsewhere—the wall, the floor, anything that wasn't Frankenstein's eyes.
"It's not… not like that… Frankestein… Frankestein Oppa."
Her tongue suddenly went numb when the word finally slipped out—'Oppa'.
Calling Frankenstein by that name—a name that usually felt familiar, warm, and full of closeness—now felt brave, fragile, and confusing all at once.
"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to forget… maybe I did forget, but… I'm used to speaking formally to people older than me."
Her tone was quiet, almost an intermittent murmur, dragged by the nervousness that was constantly gnawing at her body.
The corner of Frankenstein's lips immediately lifted, forming a radiant smile.
The smile touched his entire face—not only his lips, but also his eyes which dimmed softly, as if that single small address had calmed the storm that had been spinning inside him since earlier.
Without rushing, he lifted one hand—the movement was so calm, as if every second was carefully measured so that Margaret would not be startled again. Yet, the surprise still exploded when his fingertip touched Margaret's cheek.
Frankenstein ignored the entire reaction. Not to take it lightly, but because his focus was singular: gazing into the eyes of the girl before him—eyes He always knew, but now felt like He was seeing them for the first time again.
"And… I also don't like it..."
"If someone I care about turns their gaze away when speaking to me… as if I am an invisible, neglected, and ignored figure."
"That… is absolutely not comfortable, Margaret."
His tone was low—so low that the voice fell into Margaret's ear like a forbidden murmur that no one except her should hear.
Margaret was still nervous, the lingering tension still pinching her temples like a thin thread that did not want to break.
Yet, slowly, she began to regain control over her heartbeat and her thoughts. Frankenstein's previous shocks had been so numerous that her body now seemed to learn to accept his rhythm.
The proof was, she was no longer silent like before.
She creased her forehead instead—her crumbs of courage began to sprout again.
"I wasn't ignoring you, Oppa."
"Didn't Oppa realize the distance is too close?"
"Oppa's gaze… is like it wants to eat me right now. That's why I looked away…"
"It doesn't mean I was ignoring Oppa, I was just trying to look okay when being looked at like that."
Margaret's voice was no longer shaky this time. Her nervous tone had thinned, replaced by an annoyance that sounded sweet.
She even looked away again—not because of fear, but because her cheeks were heating up and she did not want Frankenstein to see it.
Frankenstein did not immediately answer or show any reaction; instead, his entire body froze.
Then, the next second, from his lips, a laugh broke the air—a light, unrestrained laugh, like someone finally free from a burden He had just carried.
"Wow, so you're starting to feel better now, hm?"
Frankenstein's questioning tone bounced softly, but there was a naughty glint in it.
"If that's the case…"
He paused briefly.
In that short pause, his body moved with surprising flexibility; a movement that looked slow, but to Margaret, it was like a gust of wind that hurled a dry leaf.
Frankenstein lifted Margaret's body—light, easy, as if He was lifting a memory that had been familiar in his hands since long ago. His warm arm reached for Margaret's waist, then placed her on his lap, turning her position so that Margaret's injured right leg rested softly, protected from friction and pressure.
"It turns out you're light too, huh, Margaret? Just like when you were little."
"What's your weight now, hm?"
"You're not following an extreme diet like those idols, actors, or solo singers, are you?"
"Because if you do it without the proper procedure, you'll just get sick. That would harm yourself, and of course, I don't want that to happen. If it did happen… your favorite doctor brother here would surely be sad and blame himself."
Both his arms wrapped around Margaret's waist, locking the small body in an embrace that was both tight and careful.
Frankenstein lowered his head, rubbing his face on Margaret's stomach with an adorable, soft movement—just like a cat seeking warmth, needing touch, thirsty for attention from the person He trusted most.
Margaret found her entire body tensing up again, as if every muscle was holding back something she couldn't release.
She remained silent and still, letting Frankenstein do whatever He deemed necessary, even though her own body seemed to refuse to surrender completely.
"Isn't this too much?"
"Yes… it's definitely too much."
"Anyone would say so."
"But… no matter how hard I try to push him away, I can't. Even if I did, his face would surely turn sour and bitter, as if what I did was a rejection of him."
She drew a breath, releasing it slowly.
"Oppa… what are you doing?"
"Does Oppa still think of me as a little kid who would run up to you and hug you when we meet, like before?"
Her tone was soft, careful, as if she were adjusting her steps on a fragile bridge, afraid that a wrong move could crush Frankenstein's heart, which was currently absorbed in the sweetness of nostalgia.
Hearing that, Frankenstein looked up, lifting his chin slightly higher than usual, his eyes focused on Margaret.
His lips pouted forward, forming an expression that clearly showed offense—but it wasn't a harsh or angry offense; there was something behind the gesture that made him look almost adorable, even funny, like a small child demanding attention because someone took his toy.
"What am I doing? Of course… I'm hugging you, Margaret."
"I didn't say I think of you as a little kid. But… don't you miss me, hm?"
"Wasn't Victor Hyung so cruel to separate me from you for years just because of some ridiculous reason?"
"He said I would bother you and keep you from studying well… he said I was too annoying and mischievous. Margaret, was I like that? Of course not, right?"
"Hyung should have let me stay with you, because I was the only one who always paid attention to you when you were little—not him, who was too busy working that he didn't even pay attention to his own little daughter."
He bowed his head again after saying that, his face slipping back into Margaret's stomach.
Margaret did not answer immediately.
She sighed again.
Frankenstein's words momentarily raised doubt in her heart: was all that true?
But the image of an absent father throughout her childhood, and the figure of Frankenstein who was her shoulder, umbrella, and light in her life… all of that was real.
From that reality, a feeling grew—a feeling that should never have hatched—but now it had spread too deep.
"If he knew… that I like him more than just a brother… would he be surprised?"
"And… would I never again feel his sweet behavior like now, if I confessed my feelings?"
She sighed again, this time longer.
"No. I should just hide my feelings. Besides, if Father knew I liked his own friend, Frankenstein Oppa would be in trouble. It's even clear that Father would separate me from him again, right?"
"I should be grateful that I can meet him again. Even though I am sure he bothered to come here right now, on the other side, his girlfriend or maybe his fiancée must be feeling annoyed because he chose to meet me instead of her. Surely his girlfriend or fiancée had prepared plans to spend the weekend together, but Oppa canceled everything and chose to meet me."
"Gosh… Margaret, even though you didn't ask for it to be like this, you clearly look like someone who is stealing someone else's lover, even if you are not actually doing it."
Unconsciously, her palm lifted and slapped her own forehead—a small gesture as a form of anger at her overly complicated self.
The sound of the slap was soft, yet it was enough to make Frankenstein look up again.
"What are you doing, hm?"
"Did you just hit yourself?"
Margaret was startled out of her reverie. She only just realized her hand was still covering her forehead. Slowly, she lowered it.
Her eyes briefly met Frankenstein's, intending to open her mouth to answer the question He had just posed, but her phone, lying on the table, vibrated repeatedly.
The vibration grew stronger, until the phone lifted slightly off the table surface, creating a thin sound but enough to attract attention. Frankenstein turned his head, his eyes following the direction behind Margaret's back.
"It seems this isn't the right time for a reunion, huh?"
"You must be scared about all the news filling social media today regarding the incident this afternoon."
"Even though you're not an idol, artist, or famous singer. But still, that must be bothering you… because inevitably, the nickname 'CEO's daughter' will not be detached from you. Even though you always pretend, still, someday people might realize who you really are."
Frankenstein's tone changed—it became flatter, more serious.
And honestly, Margaret wasn't really thinking much about that. Her phone kept vibrating on the table, receiving new news, rumors pouring in non-stop, but in her mind, it all felt like a distant sound that wasn't very important.
She reached out a hand to take the device—the distance was only a span—but a shout cut the air like a sword hitting a glass table.
"WHAT WERE YOU ACTUALLY THINKING WHEN YOU WERE DRIVING?!"