The next day, Seojun returned to the psychiatric hospital.
This time, he didn't hesitate.
He walked straight through the entrance and approached the reception desk.
A woman sat behind it, flipping through paperwork without looking up.
"I'm here to ask about a patient," Seojun said.
No response.
Only when he placed the transfer document given to him at the hospital on the counter did she finally glance at it, her expression unchanged.
"We don't have this patient," she said flatly.
Seojun's jaw tightened slightly.
"He was transferred here from the coastal hospital," he replied, keeping his voice controlled. "A few weeks ago."
The woman picked up the paper again, this time scanning it more carefully.
A pause.
Then, almost dismissively—
"…Ah. That one."
Seojun's gaze sharpened.
"He doesn't speak at all. Doesn't respond properly. Can't walk either," she added, her tone indifferent. "Very aggressive case."
Something in the way she said it made his chest tighten.
"He's not aggressive," Seojun said quietly. "I think he's just… terrified."
The woman didn't react.
"Visits are only allowed on Fridays," she said. "You'll have to wait."
Seojun's fingers curled slightly against the counter.
"No," he said.
The word came out calm—but firm.
"That rule applies to people who have someone looking after them," he continued. "He doesn't. He's been here for months, and no one even knows what condition he's in."
A flicker of irritation crossed the woman's face.
"You'll need permission from his doctor," she replied.
"Then where is his doctor?" Seojun asked immediately. "I want to speak with him."
Before she could answer, another nurse nearby spoke up.
"He only comes once a month," she said. "You'll have to wait until his next visit."
Seojun went still.
Once a month.
The words settled heavily.
His expression darkened slightly, something sharper surfacing beneath the calm.
"So that's how he's being treated?" he said quietly. "You call that care?"
The first woman straightened, her tone turning defensive.
"We know how to do our jobs. The patient is being handled appropriately."
Seojun let out a short breath, his patience thinning.
"I'd like to see that for myself," he said.
The tension didn't disappear
Subtle—but unmistakable.
"Sir, you need to leave," the woman said, more firmly now.
Seojun didn't move.
"I'm not leaving," he replied.
His voice was still controlled—but no longer calm.
"If necessary, I'll call the police myself," he added. "You're keeping someone here without letting anyone check on him."
That finally drew attention.
A security guard nearby began to approach.
"Sir," the guard said, cautious but firm, "please step away from the desk."
Seojun ignored him.
His hand came down sharply against the counter—not violent, but enough to echo in the quiet space.
"Where is he?" he demanded, his voice low but unyielding. "Which room?"
Silence fell around them.
"I'll find him myself if I have to."
The unease at the desk had already drawn attention.
A second nurse stepped forward—her voice calmer than the first.
"Sir, please," she said, giving a small, subtle gesture toward the security guard, signaling him not to intervene further. "Let's not make this worse."
But Seojun was already moving.
He stepped past the counter and into the hallway without waiting for permission.
"Sir—" someone called after him.
A male nurse reached out and caught his arm.
Seojun stopped.
For a split second, the contact held.
Then he pulled his arm free—firm, controlled, but unmistakably forceful.
"Don't," he said, his voice low and sharp. "Don't touch me."
The nurse froze.
Seojun's gaze didn't waver.
"If you don't want problems you can't handle," he added quietly, "then step back."
The words weren't loud—but they carried weight.
Enough to make the man hesitate.
Nearby, one of the staff leaned closer to another, whispering something under their breath after hearing his name.
Recognition passed quickly between them.
The change was immediate.
Seojun's family name was well known—enough that even here, far from the city, people recognized it.
Their posture shifted slightly after that. The tension didn't disappear, but it turned into something more cautious.
No one moved to stop him again.
No one reached for him.
Seojun didn't look back.
He continued down the hallway, his steps steady, his focus fixed ahead.
"Sir, please wait."
The calm nurse hurried after him before he could go any farther down the hallway.
Her tone was completely—careful, polite.
"Please… just give us a moment," she said gently. "There's no need to continue like this. I'll contact the doctor and see what can be arranged."
Seojun stopped.
For a brief moment, Seojun simply watched her.
Then he finally nodded once and stepped back from the hallway.
The nurse quickly returned to the desk and picked up the phone while the others spoke quietly among themselves, glancing toward Seojun from time to time.
Several minutes passed.
Then another nurse approached him.
"Sir," she said more carefully this time, "we'll allow the visit."
Seojun looked up immediately.
"The patients are currently having dinner and receiving their medication," she explained. "Please wait a little longer while we prepare him."
Prepare him.
The words were ordinary enough, familiar to anyone used to hospitals and medical routines.
Still, he gave a short nod.
"…Alright."
For the first time since arriving, he sat down quietly and waited.
A little later, two nurses approached him.
"Please follow us," one of them said quietly.
Seojun stood and followed without a word.
They led him to an elevator at the far end of the corridor. As the doors closed, the atmosphere seemed to grow heavier in the silence.
The elevator went down several floors.
When the doors opened again, the hospital looked completely different from upstairs.
The hallway was wide and noticeably colder as Seojun followed the nurses deeper into the lower level.
Nothing about this place resembled the hospitals he was used to. In Seojun's world, hospitals had always been quiet, luxurious spaces with warm lighting, private rooms, and a sense of comfort.
Here, everything felt harsh instead.
His gaze moved across the endless pale corridors. The doors lining the walls were made of heavy iron instead of ordinary hospital room doors, looking more like barriers meant to keep dangerous people from escaping.
Most of the lights were turned off, leaving long sections of the hallway dim and shadowed. Their footsteps echoed softly through the empty halls as they continued farther inside.
Then, somewhere far down another hallway, a sudden scream cut through the silence.
Sharp. Distorted.
Seojun's steps slowed slightly.
A moment later, another voice echoed faintly in the distance before everything fell quiet again.
Neither nurse reacted.
They simply continued walking as if it were normal.
After a while, Seojun finally spoke, partly to break the heavy silence around them.
"It's… colder down here than I expected," he said, glancing around the dim corridor. "The person I'm visiting already has low body temperature. I just think… maybe this kind of place wouldn't be very good for him."
He hesitated briefly before adding,
"If there's a possibility for him to stay somewhere more comfortable… I can handle the expenses."
One of the nurses looked at him calmly.
"The patients here are monitored carefully," she replied. "We check their physical condition as well, not only their mental health."
Seojun frowned slightly at the response, unconvinced but not wanting to argue again.
So he said nothing more and continued walking behind the nurses until they finally stopped in front of a huge metal door that looked almost like a gate.