France, late afternoon
The sterile scent of the hospital clung to her clothes like dust that wouldn't wash off.
Choen placed the empty lunch tray on the side table beside Professor Gabrielle's unmoving form. The sun had dipped low, filtering soft amber through the blinds and painting the floor in quiet, melancholic stripes. She gently brushed a strand of hair off Gabrielle's forehead, eyes filled with aching worry.
Choen (softly):
"You used to hum while eating... remember? Even if it was soup."
Her voice cracked. "Now I'm the only one talking."
She sighed, heading toward the small break table by the window. She'd barely taken two spoonfuls of her lukewarm meal when—
THUD.
The noise jolted through her spine. A deep, strange sound… like something heavy crashing against glass.
She froze.
Choen (quietly):
"What... was that?"
Slowly, she stood, eyes narrowing toward the corner window. It had come from there—near the closed-off maintenance wing of the floor. Her instincts whispered not to go. But something inside her burned with a quiet defiance.
She walked cautiously, her heels silent on the linoleum. The corridor was empty.
Reaching the corner, she squinted through the large hospital window.
Then everything stopped.
Her breath. Her heartbeat. Her thoughts.
A body.
A man. Pale. Lifeless. Twisted in an unnatural angle on the concrete ground outside the building. His hospital gown fluttered slightly in the wind, and blood pooled slowly beneath his head, soaking into the cold gray.
She gasped, stumbling back.
Choen (trembling):
"Is that... from this hospital?"
Her vision blurred. She turned back toward Gabrielle's room, but then remembered—
The nurse who stopped her earlier. The fake smile. The hesitation.
Something was wrong here. Terribly wrong.
Choen (thinking):
"They're hiding something. Gabrielle… she didn't just fall ill. And now... this."
Her mind reeled.
And then, faintly—so faintly—came a scent.
That fragrance.
Familiar. Intoxicating. Frightening.
The same fragrance that lingered on her skin years ago, in warm Parisian nights, with hands that once held her like poetry... and crushed her like a blade.
She whipped her head around.
Across the street, just beyond the hospital gate, stood a man in a gray coat. Watching.
Only for a second.
Her blood ran cold.
Choen (barely a whisper):
"…It can't be him."
But it was.
Or at least, she thought it was.
Korea, same evening
Joon sat on the living room carpet, remote in hand, while Meena and Seong quietly folded laundry nearby.
The news anchor's voice buzzed low in the background, until—
Anchor:
"—another mysterious death occurred earlier today outside the Chunghwa Hospital in Paris. Authorities have not confirmed the identity yet, but this marks the third unusual incident this week connected to that facility."
Joon (sitting up):
"Wait... what?"
He turned up the volume. The screen flickered to surveillance footage—blurry, unclear—but the hospital logo was unmistakable.
Meena:
"Isn't that the same hospital Choen's teacher was admitted to?"
Seong (frowning):
"Why is there no official statement?"
They exchanged glances.
Something was off.
Dokkaebi's car, city outskirts
He leaned back in his seat, scrolling casually through his playlist as soft jazz played in the background. Then, the breaking news alert blared on the radio.
Radio Host:
"...reported from a Paris hospital—an unidentified man was found dead outside the west wing. This adds to the growing list of disturbing incidents in the area..."
Dokkaebi's fingers froze.
He knew where Choen was.
And this hospital—was it the same?
A cold pit formed in his stomach.
Dokkaebi (muttering):
"Why do I feel… something's not right?"
His hands tightened around the steering wheel, his thoughts racing. The timing. The tension. The fact that she hadn't texted him back since morning.
His heart pounded louder than the jazz.
Back in France
Choen rushed back to Gabrielle's room. But everything felt wrong now. Too quiet. Too still.
As she opened the door, the scent had vanished. But in its place, something else greeted her.
A thick black spider, resting silently on the edge of the bed.
Watching.....