In that very second, Berry's brows knit together sharply—a sign that something felt off, something he recognized instantly without the need for words.
He let out a slow, long breath, heavy and deliberate, as if pulling the entire world into his chest for a moment before letting it slip away. With a calm yet conscious motion, Berry slid both hands into the pockets of his white lab coat.
"It seems my suspicion was correct."
"You don't know Frankestein-hyung at all. Yet, somehow, you know Margaret."
"And because of that misunderstanding, Frankestein-hyung thought you were with her... leading to this altercation, didn't it?"
His tone shifted again, returning to a normal rhythm—soft and controlled. Even his gaze adjusted, reverting to its original state—warmer, softer—the characteristic look of a doctor trying to soothe a patient.
"That cut on your lip... it was Frankestein-hyung's doing, wasn't it? He punched you in the face, hard enough to send you crashing to the floor."
He shook his head slowly, as if playing the scene back in his mind—a gesture of genuine regret.
"Even if you deny it, I won't believe you."
"The shape of that wound is far too familiar to me, because I know exactly how Frankestein-hyung acts."
"If he dislikes something he considers his being touched, he won't hesitate to strike."
"He could even break bones if he wanted to, considering how strong and rigid his physique is."
One of his hands rose slowly—the movement calm and deliberate—landing on Chase's shoulder with a pressure that was gentle yet strangely firm.
Then, with a slow, repetitive rhythm, he patted the shoulder. The gesture felt like someone giving counsel, not through words, but through a structured and attentive touch.
"So, it's best not to trouble yourself with things that shouldn't be your concern. Just focus on your work and your career. And…"
He paused, withdrawing his hand and slipping it back into the pocket of his lab coat.
Berry turned, facing the corridor he was about to walk down, ready to resume his duties. But in the next second, he stopped again.
"If you know Margaret and perhaps have a relationship with her—though I am curious what kind of bond you share, as far as I know, she isn't someone who easily lets people in—but, that is none of my business."
"My business is only to guard and protect her. Therefore, please... do not make things difficult for Margaret."
"Don't let her feel small or threatened; she has a kind and sincere heart. People with hearts like that are usually the first to be dragged into things that drain their energy and mind. I don't want that to happen."
"And if it does..."
The sentence hung in the air.
His shoulders, which had slumped for a moment as if bearing an invisible weight, pulled back and straightened. He glanced back at Chase.
"You might end up looking far more pathetic than this."
A thin, fleeting smile touched his lips.
"Good afternoon, Chase."
"Excuse me… and I hope your wound heals quickly."
His tone shifted once more—this time light, cheerful, like a sudden breeze carrying the scent of spring. He raised a hand in a final wave before finally disappearing down the hallway.
But before Berry's figure could completely vanish from sight, Chase—with long strides that nearly broke into a run—surged after him.
In just a few steps, his fingers managed to snag Berry's arm. His grip was tight enough to bring the doctor to a sudden halt, executed with a raw desperation that disregarded how abrupt the movement was.
The sudden yank caught Berry off guard. Not expecting anyone to be behind him, he instinctively stumbled, his balance wavering for a split second as his body lurched forward.
Slowly, Berry steadied his footing. His shoulders rose and fell once—a quiet breath to compose himself—before he stood upright as before.
"Wait, Doctor Berry."
Chase's voice, heavy and low, made Berry turn toward him. His gaze was now filled with a mix of genuine confusion and silent questioning.
"Is something the matter?" Berry asked calmly.
"Do you need my help with your wound again? Or… was my explanation earlier not clear enough?"
He let out a soft breath, as if only just realizing his chest had been holding onto the air longer than it should have. Then, he slipped both hands back into the pockets of his lab coat and continued.
"Your injury is minor, and your facial muscles are in a calm state. Your cheekbones and jaw are safe—nothing is cracked or displaced. So, you don't need to worry if you think your face will look strange or unusual."
"You only need to apply a pain-relieving ointment to the edges of the wound. There is some slight swelling there, but it's minor, nothing fatal. Within two, three, or maybe four days, the swelling will subside."
"As for the wound itself, just change the gauze frequently and ensure it stays dry. Apply the antiseptic ointment thinly; don't touch it too often, and as much as possible, avoid spicy or acidic foods for the next few days."
"Is everything clear so far, Chase? Anything else you'd like to ask?"
Every word that left his lips was uttered without haste, as if he were deliberately placing a gap between one word and the next.
He even slowed his speech slightly more than usual—not out of hesitation, but to ensure that Chase truly grasped his meaning.
Meanwhile, Chase remained silent.
He didn't answer immediately. He already knew. He understood. Every word Berry had uttered was clearly captured in his mind, and he grasped the intent behind them.
But that wasn't what he wanted to hear. There was something more—something he needed to be unearthed, to be heard out loud.
"Is it true... that Doctor Frankestein is... Margaret's lover?"
"Is she really his fiancée? Is that the truth?"
As if his body had been struck by a thousand bee stings all at once, Berry's eyes widened in sheer disbelief at what he had just heard.
His breath hitched abruptly, as if the air around him had ceased to flow, synchronized with the sudden constriction in his chest. His back stiffened, his muscles locking uncontrollably, and his entire frame froze—paralyzed in an instant of pure, unadulterated shock.
Chase paid no heed to Berry's expression.
He stepped forward, one definitive stride, until his large, towering frame stood directly in front of Berry. He cast a shadow that eclipsed nearly all of Berry's shorter stature—a presence so stifling it made the air around them turn cold, sending a shiver down the doctor's spine.
"You said your duty is to guard and protect Margaret, didn't you? What exactly does that mean?"
"Does it mean you know her too, Doctor Berry? Just how well do you know her?"
Even though the barrage of questions Chase hurled sounded rushed, urgent, and almost forceful, what kept Berry reeling wasn't the words themselves.
It wasn't the ground-shaking nature of the questions, but rather the look in Chase's eyes—which had suddenly turned cold, sharp, and so piercing that every one of Berry's senses seemed to scream in alarm.
Yet, even as the instinct of danger shrieked inside his head, Berry knew he had to maintain control. Slowly, he readjusted his posture, took an almost inaudible deep breath, and wiped away every trace of shock lingering on his face.
"In fact, it is I who should be asking you..."
He paused, taking a measured breath, before continuing,
"The one who said all of that—that Margaret is Frankestein-Hyung's lover and fiancée—was it Frankestein-Hyung himself?"
"Why are you asking this?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"Do you truly think I would give you the truth?"
Chase's hands instantly clenched into tight fists inside his oversized, fur-lined jacket. Something ignited deep within his chest—a sudden, searing heat he couldn't ignore, flowing slowly but surely from his heart up to his jaw.
Behind the mask covering his face, his jaw tightened in silence. It wasn't exactly anger—at least, not at Berry's words themselves.
What set the fire ablaze was the way Berry spoke—like a lure tossed out with deliberate intent—a provocatively bold challenge.
"If Doctor Frankestein can throw a punch—even break the bones of anyone who dares to approach or touch Margaret—then I will destroy that person until nothing remains."
"I will erase them so completely that they will never, ever be able to stand near Margaret again."
Berry's body recoiled again, his feet retreating without him even realizing it—stumbling one step back.
It wasn't because Chase had pushed him, nor was there any tangible physical force, but rather the sheer, sudden jolt of shock that forced him back, causing him to lose his footing for a split second.
A faint smile, bordering on a smirk, crept onto the corners of Chase's lips, hidden beneath his mask. It was an expression marking his small victory—a look of pure satisfaction at the reaction he had just elicited.
"If the two of you have known Margaret longer and know everything about her more than anyone else, then all I need to do is become the only one who can make her open up to me, right?"
"And as for Doctor Frankestein being Margaret's lover—or even her fiancé… I don't believe it for a second."
"In my opinion, it's only Doctor Frankestein who likes Margaret, while Margaret herself doesn't feel a single thing for him."
He paused, intentionally taking a moment of silence, wanting to savor Berry's reaction once more.
However, Berry's reaction remained unchanged—frozen in place, his eyes wide with shock—and that only served to widen the victorious smirk hidden behind Chase's mask.
"Margaret likes me. Not him."
"She already promised to take care of me and make my favorite sandwiches. She even worried about me."
"Doesn't that mean… Margaret likes me?"
He didn't intend to ask. In fact, he wasn't waiting for an answer at all.
The words that spilled from his lips weren't meant for a response; they were meant to be delivered, to be asserted—as if solidifying a truth that existed only in his own mind.
Once those words were uttered, Chase didn't linger for a reaction. There was no hesitant glance, no stare seeking acknowledgement or denial. Instead, he simply bowed his head slowly.
"Good afternoon, Doctor Berry. Thank you—and see you next time."
He lifted his head slowly, his gaze lingering on Berry for a fleeting second before he turned away.
With long, sweeping strides, he disappeared down the hospital corridor, weaving through the increasingly crowded hall.
As for Berry, he remained rooted to the same spot—unable to move, unable to even shift the weight of his own body—capable only of staring at Chase's broad back as it grew distant.
Slowly, that figure was swallowed by the sea of passing bodies, merging into the narrow corridor filled with a chaotic symphony of footsteps, heavy sighs, and voices colliding without direction.
Berry didn't know what to do. He didn't even know what reaction would be appropriate.
His body refused to provide an answer. His legs felt heavy, as if rooted to the floor, while his hands hung stiffly at his sides.
Though he hadn't been able to offer a single tangible reaction—not a word, not a gesture—his mind had already raced far ahead.
"What did he mean by that…?"
"Why do I feel as though that man just declared war—even if not a single word was spoken directly?"
"Is he even aware of what he's saying? Or is this just another one of his old tricks—the exaggerated way he always defends his fans?"
"And yet… I'm not even sure if Margaret is truly his fan, or someone he once knew."
"One thing is certain—Margaret is in grave danger. Because she isn't surrounded by just one, but two madmen who are openly obsessed with her."