Days passed, and Seojun tried to return to a normal rhythm.
Work always filled most of his time—meetings, decisions that demanded his full attention.
At home, things were quieter now. His father was recovering steadily, no longer confined to bed, sometimes even sitting in his office for short periods. His mother seemed more at ease, the constant worry in her expression slowly fading.
Everything was… stabilizing.
And yet, something felt unfinished.
One evening, he met Minho again.
They sat in the same restaurant as before, but this time the atmosphere felt lighter—at least on the surface.
Minho watched him carefully across the table.
"You look better," he said. "At least less like you're about to collapse."
Seojun gave a faint smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"I've been sleeping more," he said.
Minho nodded, then leaned back slightly.
"And? Did you call the hospital?"
Seojun's fingers paused against his glass.
"I did."
Minho raised an eyebrow. "And?"
"They said he's not there anymore. He was transferred… but they wouldn't tell me where."
For a moment, Minho didn't respond.
Then the expression turned more serious.
"Seojun…" he said, choosing his words carefully, "you know what I think. You did everything you could. More than enough."
Seojun didn't look up.
Minho paused, then added more quietly,
"But I also know you."
Silence settled between them.
"I can tell when something's still bothering you," he continued. "And I don't want you to walk away from this and regret it later."
"For me, he's not your responsibility," Minho said, his tone steady but not harsh. "He has his own life. His own family, somewhere."
He paused briefly.
"But if you feel like you need to check… then do it. Just take your time. Don't rush into anything."
Seojun gave a small nod.
"I know."
"And your family—" Minho added, softer now, "they need you. Right now, that matters more."
Seojun didn't argue.
Because part of him knew Minho was right.
After that, he tried.
He focused on work. Stayed home more. Spent time with his parents.
But it didn't take much for his thoughts to drift back.
A glimpse of the ocean on the television.
A documentary about sea hunting—harpoons cutting through dark water.
The image lingered longer than it should have.
Or a stranger passing by with a similar build, a familiar stillness in the way they moved.
Each time, the memory surfaced again—uninvited.
The pale skin. The silence. The way he had looked at him without understanding.
Seojun would shake it off.
Go back to what he was doing.
Pretend it didn't matter.
But it didn't go away.
By the time his father was able to work again from his home office, taking on small responsibilities little by little, Seojun had already made up his mind.
That evening, he found both his parents in the living room.
They looked up as he entered.
There was a brief pause before he spoke.
His mother watched him for a moment, her expression soft but attentive.
"You've been distracted lately," she said gently. "Is something on your mind?"
Seojun hesitated.
His father looked at him as well now, waiting.
For a brief moment, Seojun considered brushing it off—but he didn't.
"There's… someone," he said.
He told them briefly about the stranger he had found weeks ago—how he had been injured, unconscious, and left in the hospital before Seojun returned.
They both listened quietly.
"I don't know who he is," Seojun added. "No name, no family. I haven't heard anything about him since I left."
A small silence followed.
Seojun didn't deny it.
"I just need to make sure he's alright," he said quietly. "After that… I'll come back."
His mother exchanged a glance with his father.
There was concern in her eyes—but also understanding.
His father nodded.
"You've done enough here. Go, if that's what you need."
"…Alright," his mother said softly. "But don't stay too long this time."
For a brief moment, Seojun just looked at them.
Then he nodded quietly.
"…Thank you," he said.
Relief settled in as he realized they understood—and hadn't tried to stop him.
The next morning, Seojun left.
The drive felt different this time.
More certain.
Less like an escape—and more like something he had to face.
By the time he arrived, the hospital stood exactly as he remembered.
Unchanged.
Familiar.
Quiet corridors. Pale walls. The faint, familiar scent of disinfectant lingering in the air.
He walked straight past the reception desk.
"Excuse me, where is the administration office?" he asked.
"Down the hall, to your left," came the reply.
Then he walked toward the administration offices.
Inside, the atmosphere was calmer—less urgent than the main floors.
A few staff members sat behind desks, focused on paperwork and screens.
Seojun approached the counter.
"Excuse me," he said. "I'm looking for information about a patient who was admitted here weeks ago."
The woman behind the desk looked up at him politely.
"Do you have the patient's name?"
Seojun shook his head.
"He was admitted unidentified," he explained. "Severe injuries. Found near the coast. I was the one who brought him in."
The woman studied him for a moment, then nodded.
"Your name, sir?"
Seojun gave it.
She turned to her computer, typing for a few seconds. The soft clicking of keys filled the brief silence.
Then she paused, her expression shifting slightly as she read something on the screen.
"Yes… I see the case," she said.
Seojun waited.
"He was transferred," she continued.
Seojun's gaze sharpened slightly.
"I was told that. I'd like to know where."
The woman hesitated—not out of refusal, but caution.
"It was arranged due to behavioral concerns," she said carefully. "The patient became… difficult to manage. Aggressive at times. There were incidents involving staff."
Seojun frowned slightly, processing that.
Aggressive.
It wasn't hard to imagine—not after what he had seen.
"He also showed signs of severe psychological distress," she added. "The doctors decided it would be more appropriate to transfer him to a specialized facility."
Seojun nodded once.
"That makes sense," he said quietly.
There was no judgment in his voice—just understanding.
"Where was he transferred?" he asked.
The woman glanced back at her screen, then wrote something down on a small piece of paper.
She slid it across the counter.
"This is the facility," she said. "You can contact them directly."
Seojun picked it up, his eyes scanning the address briefly.
"Thank you," he said.
A few minutes later, he was back outside.
The air felt different from inside the hospital—warmer, less controlled.
He walked to his car and got in, closing the door quietly behind him.
For a moment, he didn't start the engine.
The piece of paper rested in his hand.
A psychiatric hospital.
He leaned back slightly in the seat, looking at the address again.
Aggressive.
Unresponsive.
Transferred.
The words settled in his mind, one after another.
After a short pause, he placed the paper down beside him.
Then he reached for the ignition.
Not long after, he was back on the road.
By the time Seojun reached the address, the sky had already begun to darken.
The road leading there was quieter than he expected—empty, stretching out between low hills and sparse trees.
There were no nearby buildings. No signs of life.
Just the facility.
It stood behind a tall gate, dimly lit, the structure cold and distant against the fading light.
For a moment, Seojun remained in the car, looking at it.
Something about the place felt… off.
Not dangerous.
But not welcoming either.
He stepped out anyway and approached the entrance.
A guard stopped him before he could get any closer.
"Visiting hours are over," the man said. "You'll have to come back in the morning."
Seojun paused, then nodded once.
"…Alright."
No argument. No insistence.
Just acceptance.
He turned and walked back to his car.
For a moment, he stood there beside it, glancing once more toward the building in the distance before looking away.
Then he got in.
The engine started quietly.
He didn't drive away immediately.
"...Tomorrow, then."
"…Let's see where to stay tonight," he murmured under his breath.
He pulled out his phone, searching for nearby hotels. There weren't many options in the area, but a few appeared within driving distance.
After a brief pause, he selected one and confirmed the reservation.
Then he set the phone aside and drove off into the darkening road.