At the hospital, a young man with dark hair and an easy confidence approached through the corridor.
The moment he saw Seojun standing alone outside the room, he walked straight to him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and pulled him into a brief, familiar hug.
It was Minho, his best friend.
For the first time since arriving, Seojun spoke honestly about everything weighing on him—his father, his fear, the helplessness he had been trying to keep buried.
Minho listened in silence, offering comfort simply by staying.
Like he always did when things fell apart, Minho remained close without needing to be asked—his presence steady and familiar in the middle of chaos.
With Minho there, Seojun found it a little easier to breathe.
A few weeks passed.
His father was finally out of danger, though still weak and recovering at home.
Even so, Seojun had taken over most of the company work for the time being—meetings, contracts, and decisions his father would normally handle.
His days were full, first divided between the office and hospital, and later between the office and home after his father was discharged.
One evening after work, he met Minho at a quiet restaurant near the office.
It was the first time in weeks they had been able to sit down and talk properly.
Minho leaned back in his chair, studying Seojun's tired face.
"You look terrible," he said bluntly. "Do you even sleep anymore?"
Seojun let out a tired laugh.
"Not much."
"First your breakup, then you disappear to the ocean for weeks, then your father's accident, and now you're drowning in work," Minho said, shaking his head. "You really know how to make life difficult."
Seojun smiled faintly but didn't reply right away. He stirred his drink slowly, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.
Minho noticed the silence and narrowed his eyes.
"That look means there's something you're not telling me."
Seojun hesitated, then sighed quietly.
"There is… something else."
Minho leaned forward immediately.
"I knew it. What is it?"
Seojun shook his head.
"Actually… I found someone."
Minho blinked.
"You found someone? What does that even mean? Like… a person? A girlfriend? A dog?"
Seojun almost laughed.
"A person."
Minho frowned in confusion.
"Okay… and?"
Seojun looked down at the table for a moment before speaking again.
"When I was at the sea… I found a man. He was badly injured. Looked like he'd been attacked with some kind of weapon."
Minho's expression changed immediately.
"What? Did you call the police?"
"No. I took him to the hospital."
Minho stared at him in disbelief.
"You're serious?"
Seojun nodded slowly.
"Yes."
Minho ran a hand through his hair.
"You disappear for weeks and come back with a half-dead stranger story? And you didn't call the police? Seriously, Seojun… did anyone contact his family?"
Seojun's voice grew quieter.
"No. No one knows who he is. He had no identification, no documents… nothing. The doctors said he might have psychological issues because he wouldn't speak or respond normally."
Minho frowned.
"That sounds… really strange. I just hope you didn't get yourself involved in something dangerous."
"I know," Seojun said. "But I couldn't just leave him there. If I hadn't helped him, he would have died."
Minho studied him for a long moment.
"…You did the right thing," he said at last. "But don't carry this all on yourself. Let the hospital handle the rest."
Seojun looked down at his glass.
"I know." He paused. "I just keep wondering if he's alright. I haven't called the hospital in a while… not with everything that happened. I should ask about his condition."
Minho exhaled quietly, watching him for a moment.
"If it's bothering you that much, then call and check," he said. "At least you'll know."
He paused, then added more gently,
"But after that… let it go, Seojun. You've already done more than anyone else would."
Seojun didn't say anything else. His fingers tightened slightly around the glass as the same thought returned, persistent and quiet.
I should call.
Minho glanced at him, as if he could read what was on his mind.
Later that night, after returning home, Seojun checked on his parents first. His mother was resting, and his father lay asleep.
Only then did he make his way to his father's office.
The room was dim and quiet, filled with a familiar stillness that felt heavier than usual.
Seojun sat down behind the desk, staring at the phone for a long moment.
His hand rested beside it, unmoving.
Then, slowly, he picked it up.
He hesitated.
Just for a moment.
Then he dialed.
The line rang once. Twice.
Someone answered.
"Hello, this is the hospital. How can I help you?"
Seojun paused briefly before speaking.
"I'm calling to ask about a patient," he said. "He was brought in a few weeks ago… badly injured."
"May I have the patient's name?."
Seojun's grip on the phone tightened slightly.
"I… don't know his name," he said. "He was admitted as unidentified."
He waited a beat. "I brought him in. My name should be on the record."
There was a short silence on the other end.
"Alright, sir. May I have your name?"
Seojun answered.
"Please hold for a moment while I check," the person said.
A few minutes passed.
"Thank you for waiting, sir," the voice said. "…I'm sorry, but that patient is no longer under our care."
For a moment, Seojun didn't respond.
The words didn't fully settle in his mind at first, like they didn't belong to anything real.
"No longer… under your care?" he repeated quietly.
"Yes, sir. He was discharged and transferred."
"Transferred?" Seojun said, confused. "Where?"
Another pause came from the other end, shorter this time.
"I'm sorry, sir. That information is not available to us. You may need to contact the administration department for further details."
Silence stretched between them.
Seojun didn't move.
His hand stayed frozen around the phone, his mind trying to connect something that suddenly felt missing.
"…Alright," he said finally, his voice low.
The call ended.
Seojun slowly lowered the phone from his ear and looked at it for a moment.
"…Transferred?" he murmured to himself.
He leaned back slightly in the chair, thinking.
No records. No location. No clear answer.
Just gone from the hospital system.
His fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the desk as he stared ahead, trying to make sense of it.