This episode contains violence, strong language, and themes that may be disturbing to some readers. Viewer discretion is advised.
Again and again, She flinched—but this time the tremor was much clearer, like a thin electric current that crept from Margaret's spine, rising slowly until it pierced her nape.
It was not because the distance between them had been cut so quickly, until Frankenstein's breath swept her cheek—warm, close, making her mind blur and logic feel like a tangled thread that could no longer be touched.
Nor was it because the man's gaze slowly dimmed, like a twilight losing its last light, evaporating before she had time to understand it.
What made her shiver now was that tone—the flat tone whose coldness crept slowly, replacing the previous gentleness. Frankenstein's manner of speaking slapped the air, making the room instantly feel like it was shrinking.
"So close… he… he is so close."
Both Margaret's hands clenched tightly in her lap.
Her fingers pressed into each other so hard that the joints felt stiff, as if she needed something to serve as an anchor—something that could ensure she remained in place, not floating away, carried by the wave of nervousness that had been suffocating her chest since earlier.
"How is it possible… that his tone of voice and expression changed that quickly?"
"Does he realize that just with that, my mind seems to stop working… even my body is unable to move?"
She tried to shift her body backward—a small, almost invisible movement, as if her body itself was hesitant to do it.
There was a subtle instinct that asked her to gain distance, even if only an inch, just so her breath could return to normal.
But what greeted her back was only the soft armrest of the chair, forming a soft yet firm boundary, as if reminding her that she had no more room to retreat.
"Now… am I truly trapped with him in this large room?"
"If only this room had CCTV and Father saw how close our position is right now, He would definitely be angry… and might immediately accuse Doctor Frankenstein of all sorts of things. Even though—what he is doing right now is already almost unsafe for my heart."
Frankenstein, who had been allowing the silence to thicken between them like dense air, finally caught Margaret's gaze—a gaze that trembled subtly, a mixture of tension, panic, and nervousness.
And precisely because of that, the corner of his lips lifted. A thin, faint smirk, as if it was printed from dim light reflecting on glass.
But if observed more closely, that smirk was not merely a play of shadows; it was born from something far deeper—something dangerous, yet intoxicating.
He savored every nervous tremor that radiated from Margaret, enjoying how the girl was shaken, unstable, just by his presence.
"Why are you spacing out, hm?"
"Are you incapable of speaking because I made you too comfortable like this, Margaret? Or are you just surprised because I came looking for you?"
"In fact—what should have surprised you was our first meeting earlier… after so many years."
"When I was stitching your wound, you should not have closed both your eyes and instead looked at me and told me to do it slower and softer. But, in the end, I intentionally made you pass out. I injected anesthesia… because seeing you wince in pain like that—"
Frankenstein stopped his sentence at a point that made the air seem to collapse.
His body then moved, leaning towards Margaret. Both his hands were raised and rested on the right and left sides of the girl, forming a kind of frame that caged her in a narrow radius.
"Margaret, you don't know how difficult it is for me to restrain myself. I feel like I want to vanish from this world rather than have to see your tormented face… or hear your whimpers that make me want to destroy anyone who dares to hurt you."
The whisper fell into Margaret's ear like sparks—burning, lighting quickly, then exploding into a thousand merciless alarms that rang without mercy.
Both her eyes flew open, as if snapping back into her own body. And in an instant, her mind was thrown far back—leaping back to a few hours ago.
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She was lying on a sterile-sheeted bed.
Around her, several nurses moved quickly, their movements sharp and hurried, like a rhythm composed by the tension itself. Their voices stacked up: instructions that came out quickly and brokenly, held breaths, the clinking of metal that collided every time an instrument was touched or moved.
In the middle of that whirlwind stood one doctor, a male figure with a tense yet controlled face, standing right on her right side.
Slowly—because her eyelids were heavy as if sprinkled with sand—Margaret turned her head.
She searched, even with a body that felt crushed, she hoped… she hoped that the doctor who was handling her was someone who had been shadowing her heart for years like an echo that refused to disappear.
But when the doctor finally turned around, when his shoulder moved slightly and his face came into the lamp's light—that hope faded. It dimmed instantly, collapsing slowly like ash carried by a gentle wind.
Because the figure was not the one she was waiting for.
"Margaret?"
"Can you hear my voice?"
Margaret forced both her eyes to focus. And when their gazes finally met, she recognized that face in an instant.
"Berry Hatwon?"
"So Doctor Berry works here too?"
Margaret gave a small nod—a light movement that felt like moving the entire world.
Her body felt wrapped in thick cotton that restrained every reaction, and her right leg… the stinging pain seemed to spread to her veins, making her lips difficult to move even just to continue her sentence.
Berry smiled softly, when Margaret gave a faint nod. His palm reached out, touching the crown of Margaret's head as if smoothing out invisible tangles.
"You are now in Bohanesa IV Hospital. This is a VIP room, Margaret."
"You don't need to worry, okay? Everything… will be fine."
"Maybe this will hurt a little. But… can you bear it just for a moment?"
His tone was clearly shaky, as if every word that came out of his lips had to penetrate a subtle barrier that held back all his fear and worry.
He was anxious, and that anxiety itself created another layer of anxiety, like waves that collided within him, making his entire body tense uncontrollably.
Margaret instead raised her trembling hand and grasped Berry's arm. She forced her lips to move,
"Where… where is Doctor Fran—"
BRAKKK!!!
An explosion of sound shook the room harshly.
The door was thrown open with a bang that shattered the rhythm of Margaret's words, stopping her utterance in the middle of a sentence she hadn't had time to finish.
The voice—a heavy, dense, and almost frightening cry—slammed the air, colliding with the room and the people inside it.
"MARGARETT!!"
It was her father's voice.
Victor stood in the doorway with a face flushed red like He had just come out of a blast of hot wind. His gaze was wild, sweeping the room with erupting panic. His shoulders heaved as if He had just run through the night, and the entire tremor of his body radiated a horror that had just materialized.
The moment Victor's gaze finally truly caught what was happening—Margaret's grasp on Berry's arm, the pale face that was fighting to maintain consciousness, and the red flow that was still oozing from her right leg like a small current that refused to stop flowing—something inside him simply broke.
He stepped inside, his steps like thunder slamming the floor.
Without a pause, without hesitation, his fingers shot out, clutching Berry's collar, a quick movement born from emotion that had long been pressing his chest.
In an instant, Berry's body flinches, his face yanked close until the distance between them almost vanished.
"What are you doing to my daughter, Berry?!"
His tone was raised, but it was not only his voice that spoke—even without a word, his body already showed how chaotic his feelings were.
The veins in his neck were tense, visibly pulsating beneath the skin, while on his temples, lines of tension began to bulge, as if confirming that his head was filled with turmoil that could no longer be contained.
He was angry, that was certain. But beneath that anger was another, far more complicated layer—creeping panic, biting anxiety, restlessness that gave him no room to breathe, and resentment that piled up like unquenched embers.
"Aren't you a doctor?!"
"Why are you still allowing her to be in pain like that?!"
"Where is your conscience as a doctor, huh?!"
He shook Berry's body roughly, as if that movement was the only way to channel everything that was burdening his mind.
Every jolt made Berry's shoulders swing, yet Victor could not stop it—as if, should He stop, the entire turmoil that was spinning within him would spill without limit.
"Don't you see her leg keeps bleeding?! Are you blind, or do you simply not care, huh?!"
"Stop the bleeding right now! Or do you want her to die from blood loss and make me the most regretful father in the world for failing to protect my own daughter?!"
"Is that what you want, huh?! If not—DO IT QUICKLY!"
His shouting continued to tear the room apart—loud, broken, and repeated—until it almost sounded like waves hitting the surrounding walls.
Meanwhile, both his hands were still shaking Berry's body relentlessly, the movement becoming increasingly uncontrolled. Berry struggled to maintain his balance, but Victor's shaking overwhelmed him, his body swaying like a doll that had lost control over itself.
Until finally, in the midst of the chaos, Victor's gaze was thrown to the side of the room.
Three female nurses stood frozen there—they were staring at him wide-eyed, a mixture of fear, surprise, and confusion. Those faces radiated clear hesitation: they wanted to move, they wanted to help, but they did not know where to start.
"And you all! What are you doing there?!"
"Can't even a nurse take her own initiative?!"
"Or do you work here just to show off your beauty, without caring about the life of a patient lying dying?!"
"Is your appearance more important than the life of the person right before your eyes, huh?!"
He continued screaming even when his vocal cords were cracking, as if only through that explosive sound could He fend off his deepest fear: the image of losing his own daughter.
Berry immediately reached for Victor's hands, gently trying to ease the grip that was pressing his collar.
Victor's grip briefly loosened, only a fraction of a second that felt so long to Berry, before He swiped it away. However, instead of backing away, that movement actually made Victor's fingers harden again, gripping Berry's collar.
"Hyung! Listen to me!"
He raised his voice, forcing himself to be heard amid the storm that Victor had unleashed.
"You cannot shout in a hospital, especially not in a patient's room!"
He again grasped Victor's hands, trying to pull himself away, but his body was instead yanked closer.
"If you don't want me to cause a commotion, why don't you immediately treat Margaret?!"
"She even grasped your hand because she was in so much pain, but you just stayed silent?!"
"Who would accept their only child being treated like this by a doctor like you?!"
Victor's verbal attack slammed Berry's face like a whirlwind that threw anything in its path.
Berry gritted his jaw, not to fight back, but because air was difficult to enter his lungs amid Victor's grip that was increasingly pressing his collar.
"Get a hold of yourself, Hyung!"
"I know you're panicked, and so am I! But let go of me first—if you don't release me, how can I treat Margaret?"
"Margaret just entered the room, and I was about to start treating her but you jus—"
Berry's speech was suddenly cut off, severed by the sound of footsteps that sliced through the corridor like a stomp hurled from the chest of someone running without pause.
The rhythm approached, tapping the floor like the beating of a war drum that had lost its tempo.
Then—
"MARGARET!!"
The voice shot like an arrow, sharp, piercing, full of urgency that made every ear catch it without tolerance.
In an instant, every person in the room turned—the nurses, Berry, Victor who was still gripping, even the air seemed to hold its breath, tense between them.
Margaret, who had only been able to look on from behind the fog of pain that entrapped her lips, flinches. Her numb lips could not utter a single word, but her eyes widened, fixated on the figure standing in the doorway.
Frankenstein did not turn toward anyone else in the room.
All his attention and gaze were fixed only on Margaret, who was lying weakly with a look that seemed to plead—not just for help, but perhaps for mere attention, an acknowledgment that she was there.
That look immediately made Frankenstein tense his entire body.
"Frankestein Hyung?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Aren't you performing surgery on the fourth floor?"
Berry's voice tried to sound calm, but to Frankenstein, that gentle tone instead hurt, like a thin blade creeping between the gaps of his mind.
He turned slowly—first toward Berry, then toward Victor—his gaze as sharp as melting frost that dissolved courage.
"Leave."
His commanding tone was cold—super cold—until anyone who heard it seemed automatically to submit, doing what He ordered without needing to think twice.
Berry squinted, a line of annoyance creeping onto his face.
"What do you mean by saying that?"
"You want me to leave and ignore my duty here?"
Berry's voice trembled, veiled in a mix of offense and disbelief.
But Frankenstein did not give room for debate. He shifted his gaze, then stepped inside.
He stood right beside Margaret's bed.
His gaze did not leave Margaret's face, his look filled with such deep longing, as if every second spent without seeing her felt empty. He did not care if Margaret could feel that intensity through her own eyes.
His gaze shifted back to Berry.
"I will replace you."
Berry immediately frowned, his face confirming that He completely did not accept what He had just heard.
He was about to launch a protest, words already formed on the tip of his tongue, trying to assert his opinion or at least defend his dignity.
However, before He had time to open his mouth, Frankenstein cut him off first with a firm and cold tone.
"Leave… or your name will disappear from this hospital."
Frankenstein then turned to Victor.
"And you, Hyung… trust Margaret to me."
"You know, don't you? I would never hurt her. And if… I ultimately make a mistake, you have the right to punish me as much as you want after everything is finished."
Victor immediately released both his grips from Berry. The anger that had been mounting since earlier continued to boil beneath his skin.
Without saying a word, He stepped forward toward Frankenstein—his movement was stiff, full of emotional explosion that was only waiting for a second to burst. Both his hands were clenched so tightly, as if the single restrained punch was only waiting for the slightest reason to fly right into Frankenstein's face.
But as soon as one foot stepped forward, a strong pull halted his step. It was not like before—this time the grip truly restrained, making Victor's body flinch and stop in place. He turned around furiously and found Berry gripping his arm.
"Hyung, We should leave here first and entrust Margaret to Frankenstein Hyung."
"I know, you're not just panicked… you've also lost control because your new group manager—who hasn't even debuted—was involved in this incident with Margaret."
"But precisely because of that, it's better if we handle Margaret quickly and hand her over to the right person, right?"
"Frankenstein Hyung knows Margaret better. He must know what to do. And there's no way he would hurt his own senior's daughter, right?"
"Come on, Hyung. Let's leave first."
Berry's tone was so soft, truly soft, until it almost sounded like a whisper that nearly washed away amid the thundering of Victor's heart. He bowed his head slightly, his face trying to display calmness as convincingly as possible, as if his entire existence was only resting on one goal: to make Victor trust him completely.
Victor sighed, long and heavy, repeatedly—the breath of someone struggling to hold back the waves of his own emotion, trying to corner his anger and worry so they would not explode in the wrong place.
His gaze was thrown toward Margaret, then shifted to Frankenstein who stood firmly by the bedside, with a flat face layered with impenetrable determination.
In Victor's gaze, the inner struggle was clear: between the instinct of a father who wanted to protect his child, and the remaining trust He still had in someone He had known his entire life.
Finally, Victor swatted Berry's hand away from his arm—the movement was rough, but clearly not rejection, but surrender that had finally found its way. He stepped out without looking back, and Berry quickly followed after giving a subtle signal to the three nurses to also leave the room.
One by one, the footsteps moved away, the voices faded, until the door closed slowly.