This episode contains violence, strong language, and themes that may be disturbing to some readers. Viewer discretion is advised.
"Doctor… Doctor Frankenstein?"
The name escaped Margaret's lips like the hiss of warm air touching cold metal.
Her eyes widened, her pupils expanding until they almost swallowed her iris, confirming that the figure standing at the threshold was truly real—not just a tired shadow born from her rippling thoughts.
The handsome, tall man appeared like a silhouette printed from the afternoon light.
The black vest shirt that neatly clung to him framed his body elegantly, the lines of the clothing emphasizing every movement He made, as if every step He took had been calculated. A simple pair of glasses perched right at the bridge of his nose, while in his right hand, a white tote bag hung lightly.
Meanwhile, the figure whom she called Frankenstein only replied with a soft smile—a smile that crept down along with the movement of his finger adjusting the position of his glasses that had slipped.
"Who else but me, hm?"
He stepped inside, leaving behind the scent of soft soap and a trace of attentiveness that was felt from the way He closed the door very slowly.
"How are you, Margaret?"
"Does the wound still hurt?"
A subtle crease appeared on his forehead as He asked—a small line born from the anxiety He had harbored since the incident earlier.
As He approached, his steps were slow and measured, resembling someone who was being careful of every inch of the floor, as if the space between them was so fragile, and rushing even a little could cause discomfort.
The white tote bag finally landed on the table with a soft sound, almost inaudible, then He sat across from Margaret.
"Actually, I was worried and confused about what I should bring here, because throughout my drive, my mind completely could not let go of you."
He glanced toward the white tote bag for a moment, before looking back at Margaret.
"So I decided to buy one jumbo box of SilverQueen."
This time his smile widened, forming a bright arch that showed a neat row of white teeth—as if He wanted to ensure that the gloomy atmosphere that enveloped Margaret slowly receded.
"You really love chocolate, don't you, Margaret?"
"Earlier at the supermarket there were many discounts, so I decided to buy all of those for you. Now you can eat it every day—even so, don't overdo it, okay?"
"And don't forget to keep brushing your teeth regularly. Because even though chocolate is delicious, sweet, and can improve your mood, there is content in it that can make your teeth porous."
"If that happens… I'm not sure I can see your beautiful and sweet smile again when you laugh freely."
He then chuckles, a light chuckle, a small laugh that was not fabricated, but appeared just like that from within.
That laugh was warm, soft, and contagious—making anyone who heard it feel comfortable, as if the space around them suddenly was lighter, friendlier, more… alive.
Margaret did not answer immediately. Her body froze as if time had placed a finger on her lips, telling her to be silent.
Her face was stiff, both her eyes were fixed on the figure of Frankenstein without blinking, tracing his every small movement, as if that gaze wanted to pierce the layer of air that separated them and read every thought that was hidden behind his smile.
The silence felt tense, almost like a long breath held in Margaret's chest, until finally, Frankenstein's small laugh broke.
She immediately cut off eye contact, dropping her gaze onto the white tote bag on the table. Her lips moved unconsciously, joining in to form a thin, almost inaudible laugh, only pulling both corners of her mouth up, forming a small, gentle smile.
"Why did Doctor Frankenstein have to come here? Why not Father… or anyone besides him?"
"It feels like a nightmare. My heart would almost explode if I didn't immediately look away from his face."
"And… why did he have to smile like that? If only he knew… his smile almost made me choke because he was so charming and handsome."
She swallowed hurriedly—a rushed movement that resembled someone who wanted to extinguish the sudden flame that appeared in her chest.
She pulled the white tote bag onto her lap, as if that simple object could become a shield to hide her nervousness.
As soon as she opened the contents, astonishment immediately took over her face again. Her fingers lifted one jumbo box of SilverQueen, bringing it closer to her eyes as if she wanted to confirm that she was not hallucinating.
"Ah… isn't this just a coincidence, that he even knows the variant of SilverQueen chocolate that I like?"
"But… if this is truly not a coincidence, then how is it possible that everything feels so right, as if he truly knows what makes me happy?"
Meanwhile, Frankenstein—who had been observing Margaret's every small movement carefully—tilted his head slightly, a simple yet meaningful gesture.
His eyes followed the tension in her shoulders that moved up and down almost invisibly, the tips of her fingers that moved slightly, and the thin line of awkwardness that occasionally crossed her face.
"Do you not like that chocolate variant, Margaret?"
"If you truly do not like it, I can buy it again… because that was the only variant left at the supermarket earlier. In fact, I can look for it in another supermarket, if that truly allows you to enjoy it."
His tone sounded like silk being rubbed slowly—soft, slow, and full of caution, as if every word that came out of his lips had to pass through a heart filter first.
His facial expression also changed, as if He had prepared himself for the possibility of an answer that might slightly stab his feelings.
Yet deep down in his heart, a murmur that never came out of his lips spun like a mantra He wanted to keep secret from the world:
"Don't I know you better than anyone else, Margaret?"
"I'm not even sure your father pays attention to the things you like as detailed as I do."
"If your father found out—and heard that his junior and friend actually likes his child, even knows her entire life—it's certain… I would end up in his hands, right?"
The shadow of that thought managed to dim his smile. The cheerful glow that had been hanging on his face faded slowly, replaced by a flatter calmness.
However, He immediately pulled himself back, rearranging the lines of his face, and at the moment Margaret finally looked up, Frankenstein returned her soft smile.
"No… no, it's not like that, Doctor."
Margaret lowered her gaze, holding back her still slightly irregular heartbeat, and slowly put the SilverQueen chocolate box into the tote bag.
"I appreciate it, and coincidentally, this is indeed the variant I like. Thank you for giving it to me."
"Honestly… you didn't have to go this far. I mean, it must be a bit troublesome to have to shop at the supermarket, especially with the weekend approaching soon. Supermarkets must be crowded in the afternoon, right? In fact… I feel a little bad accepting it."
She bit her lip briefly, trying to calm herself, regulating the breath that felt caught in her chest. Her heartbeat kept racing, pounding like a small drum that did not know when to stop.
Frankenstein's gaze, which remained fixed on her without losing any patience or gentleness, actually made her nervousness peak even more.
Margaret repeatedly bent her head down, turned to the other side, or stared at the tote bag on her lap, as if the man's gaze was capable of reading all her fears, uncovering one by one the layers of awkwardness that she had kept tightly hidden all this time.
"And… I… I feel better now. Maybe it stings a little, but it truly is not a problem. It's just… I might have a little difficulty walking for a while."
"Thank you for treating my wound earlier at the hospital."
She tried to present a smile—a small effort that she hoped looked sincere. However, the curve formed stiffly, like a line that did not find its place.
Frankenstein instead squinted both his eyes and furrowed his brow for a moment, like someone who suddenly heard a discordant note in the middle of a melody that should have been smooth.
There was a look of surprise slipped in, something that resembled the awareness that there was a small thing that was not harmonious in the recent conversation.
Without hesitation, He stood up—as if his body was moved by an instinct that was faster than logic—then moved to Margaret's side.
Margaret gave a small startle, almost like a leaf that was tickled by a sudden gust of wind, her body tensed unconsciously, and her breath was held for a moment.
Frankenstein's face was now within her personal space—close enough that she could see the thin dust that clung to the lens of the man's glasses, like the residue of a long journey that settled quietly.
"I just realized something."
Frankenstein's gaze dimmed, withered in a strange way, like a light suddenly covered by a shadow. His gaze locked onto Margaret's eyes, locking without effort.
"When your father suddenly pushed open the door of the patient's room while I was running frantically behind him after getting information from the receptionist that you were injured."
"I decided to take over Berry's job so I could find out how severe your wound was… because only I know, among your body that should be untouchable, and only I am allowed to touch it."
"Even… I didn't get a chance to greet you properly, and we met in the middle of an unpleasant situation."
"Have you forgotten now, because we haven't met for a long time… that I don't like it when you call me 'doctor' outside the hospital, Margaret? Did you forget that?"
Frankenstein's tone became flat, almost colorless, and there was a slight coldness slipped into it.