Chapter 352: Pinkman's Breakdown
Walter and Pinkman's money had always been handled by Frank.
Each month, Frank would "clean" the profits and transfer their shares to them through company accounts, disguised as salaries. On paper, both Walter and Pinkman were legitimate employees of shell companies.
But every time their share was paid out, the other Frank—the one lingering in his mind—would feel a sharp sting, as if his own money were being taken away.
And this time, Pinkman hadn't just taken his share.
He had taken everything before leaving—millions of dollars.
To that part of Frank, it felt like his heart was bleeding. He wanted that money back.
Frank could clearly feel that emotion—raw, possessive, almost irrational.
And strangely, that contrast was exactly what he needed.
Because if that difference ever disappeared… he would be completely assimilated.
---
He was already dying.
His body could give out at any moment.
But even so, he refused to become that kind of person before the end.
The original Frank—the one whose memories still lingered—was the type who would do anything to survive.
Even forcing his own children to donate their organs.
That was something Frank would never allow.
Never.
---
That same "Frank" still resented Pinkman for taking "his money." Seeing Pinkman in this miserable state even sparked a twisted sense of satisfaction.
Because in that mindset, Pinkman wasn't family.
He was a thief.
But Frank himself felt something entirely different.
Heavy. Bitter.
He genuinely cared about Pinkman—almost like a son.
When Pinkman had decided to quit, Frank had even thought it might be a good thing.
Walk away from crime. Take the money. Live in the light. Leave the United States, start fresh somewhere new.
And there had been that girl.
Pinkman was flawed—too easily manipulated, too easily led astray.
But she was sharp. Capable.
Frank had believed she could protect him.
---
And yet, because of her… Pinkman had relapsed.
Before leaving Chicago, Pinkman had promised they would quit for good.
Frank had chosen to believe him.
Or maybe… he had simply wanted to.
But with his own illness weighing him down, Frank hadn't had the energy to keep watch over Pinkman's life.
He had even thought—
This might be the last time they ever crossed paths.
And yet, not long after… everything had fallen apart.
Pinkman really didn't know how to stay out of trouble.
The moment he was out of sight, something went wrong.
---
Walter had reached his limit.
That was why he called.
And truthfully, Frank could have ignored it.
After all, Pinkman had taken the money and walked away. Their ties should have ended there.
But people aren't made of stone.
In the end, Frank came anyway—hiding it from his family, dragging his failing body all the way to New Mexico.
---
Looking at Pinkman now, the two conflicting "Franks" inside him clashed violently—like two personalities tearing at each other.
He took a breath, forcing those emotions down.
Then he sat beside the bed.
"Kid… I'm here," he said softly, patting Pinkman's face. "Look at me. Wake up."
Pinkman's dull, lifeless eyes shifted.
They landed on Frank.
Only then did it seem like he truly noticed him.
And in the next second—
Tears flooded his eyes.
"D–Dad… Dad…!"
Pinkman lunged forward, clutching Frank tightly as he broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.
All the emotions he had been suppressing burst out at once.
---
Pinkman respected Walter.
Even admired him.
But to him, Walter was a teacher… an authority figure.
There was always a distance between them.
Outside of their work together, they barely interacted.
But Frank?
Frank was different.
Frank was the one he was closest to.
To Frank, Pinkman was like half a son.
And to Pinkman, Frank was no different from half a father.
Especially after what had happened with his real family—people who never believed in him, who had even driven him out, openly giving up on him. That rejection had cut deep, leaving scars that never really healed.
It was Frank who took him in.
Frank who kept him close.
Frank who even brought him home, who believed in him when no one else did, who kept giving him chances.
And yet… Pinkman had betrayed him.
All for what he thought was love.
But maybe this was karma.
Because in the end, that love had betrayed him too.
---
The moment he saw Frank, all the pain he had buried finally broke free.
"D-Dad… Dad…!" Pinkman sobbed uncontrollably, clinging to him.
All his grievances, his heartbreak, his despair—everything poured out at once.
"Cough… cough!"
Frank suddenly covered his mouth, coughing violently.
Whether it was the filthy air or the sheer force of Pinkman's grip, it didn't matter.
When he pulled his hand away, there was blood in his palm.
"Frank—" Walter stepped forward.
But Frank stopped him with a look, shaking his head.
"I'm fine," he said quietly, wiping the blood onto the bedsheet as if it meant nothing.
He gently held Pinkman, patting his head like a child's.
"I'm here."
---
"Why…?" Pinkman choked out between sobs. "Why did she leave me? I loved her… I loved her more than anything. If she asked, I would've given her everything… so why did she abandon me…?"
"I know," Frank said softly. "This isn't your fault."
Pinkman cried for over an hour.
Until, exhausted, he finally fell asleep.
---
When he woke again, it was early morning.
"Dad…" Pinkman looked at Frank, who was still sitting beside the bed, keeping watch. His lips moved, but no words came out.
"You're awake," Frank said, stirring from his light sleep.
"Go get some breakfast," he told Castle.
Like a silent bodyguard, Castle stood and left without a word.
---
"I'm sorry," Pinkman said.
"There's nothing you need to apologize for." Frank reached out and ruffled his hair gently. "What you need to do now… is pull yourself together."
Pinkman fell silent.
"You want answers, don't you?" Frank continued. "You want to know why she left you."
Pinkman's pupils shrank.
"She might have been using you all along. Maybe she just wanted your money."
"But maybe… there's something else. Something she couldn't tell you."
"No matter what the truth is—don't you want to hear it from her yourself?"
"…I do," Pinkman said hoarsely. "I want to see her again."
"Then stand up," Frank said firmly. "Because like this… you'll never find her."
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