Immortal Heart |Hyunin

Face it, I.N.

The air in the examination room seemed to thicken, each second stretching longer than the last. I.N. sat on the cold metal table, his hands clenched tightly in his lap, waiting for the words to come. His parents stood beside him, their faces tense with the anticipation of bad news.

The doctor cleared his throat and looked directly at I.N., his expression grim but professional. "I'm afraid we've found something concerning in your scans. After reviewing the results multiple times, we've confirmed that you have a brain tumor."

I.N. felt the floor tilt beneath him, the words hitting him like a physical blow. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His mother's gasp broke the silence, her hand shooting up to her mouth in shock.

The doctor continued, his voice measured and calm, though the news was anything but. "The tumor is at Stage 3. It's aggressive, but we don't know how it went undetected for so long. Given the location and the size, it's hard to believe it didn't show any obvious symptoms until now."

Mr. Yang's voice cracked as he asked, "What does that mean? How...how serious is it?"

The doctor glanced at I.N., his face softening. "It means we need to act quickly. The tumor is advanced, but not untreatable. I strongly recommend going to Seoul as soon as possible for specialized treatment. There's a doctor there—Dr. Kang—who's one of the best in the country when it comes to brain tumors."

He handed a business card to Mrs. Yang, who took it with trembling hands. "Dr. Kang is based at one of the top hospitals in Seoul, and he's seen cases like this before. He'll know the best course of action."

I.N. felt like he was watching the scene unfold from far away, as if the doctor's words were a conversation happening in another room, to another person. Brain cancer. Stage 3. He could barely process it.

Mrs. Yang, holding back tears, looked at the doctor pleadingly. "How much time do we have?"

"We need to start treatment as soon as possible," the doctor replied gently. "The sooner he's in Seoul under Dr. Kang's care, the better the chances. Surgery, chemotherapy, radiation—it'll be a long road, but we have to take it step by step."

I.N. heard his mother sob quietly beside him, his father squeezing her hand, trying to stay strong. But all he could feel was a numbing coldness spreading through him. This was happening. To him. And there was no way out.

The doctor gave them instructions, speaking calmly, but the words seemed to blur together in I.N.'s mind. He caught fragments—treatment, urgency, specialists—but none of it felt real.

"We'll make the arrangements," Mr. Yang said, his voice thick with determination. "We'll leave for Seoul right away."

The doctor nodded, his tone softening. "I'm truly sorry. We'll support you as much as we can."

As the doctor left the room, I.N. felt the weight of his parents' stares, but he couldn't meet their eyes. His mother reached out to him, her voice shaking. "We'll get through this, I.N. We'll fight this."

But I.N. couldn't say anything. He simply nodded, feeling hollow inside. His father's arm wrapped around his shoulders as they led him out of the hospital. The short ride back home was drowned in silence. No one spoke, and the hum of the car engine was the only sound filling the oppressive quiet.

I.N. stared out of the window as the city passed by in a blur. He could feel the grief in the air, his parents quietly breaking apart beside him, but all he felt was a strange emptiness. The shock hadn't worn off yet. It was as though his brain refused to let him process it—like if he didn't think about it too much, maybe it wouldn't be real. Maybe it wouldn't happen.

By the time they reached home, the night had fallen, blanketing the city in darkness. His parents offered soft words of comfort, but he barely heard them.

"I need to rest," he muttered, his voice hollow.

They didn't protest. His mother's eyes glistened with unshed tears, and his father nodded stiffly, knowing that words weren't going to fix anything right now.

I.N. slipped into his room, closing the door gently behind him. The soft click of the lock felt like the only solid thing in his world at the moment. He leaned against the door for a moment, staring at the familiar walls—his gaming setup, the posters of his favorite bands, the photos of Felix and Han and him, smiling, carefree. It felt so far away, like it belonged to another person in another lifetime.

He collapsed onto his bed, burying his face in his pillow, and that's when it all came crashing down. The weight of it, the terrifying reality of what was happening.

Cancer.

He might die. The thought made his chest tighten, his breathing coming in short, panicked gasps. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to fight back the flood of emotions, but it was no use. The tears came, slow and quiet at first, but then they poured out of him in uncontrollable sobs. He buried his face deeper into the pillow, muffling the sounds, not wanting his parents to hear the breaking of their son's heart.

He cried for the life he might lose, for the plans he wouldn't get to make, for the future that now seemed stolen from him. The weight of it all—the uncertainty, the fear—was crushing, and all he could do was cry silently into his pillow, hoping to keep the pain hidden from the world.

Downstairs, he could hear his parents' quiet voices, desperate and scared, trying to make sense of it all. He wanted to comfort them, to tell them it would be okay, but he couldn't even find those words for himself. How could he make them believe it when he didn't?

Hours passed, but the ache in his chest didn't fade. I.N. stayed curled up in his bed, the tears eventually slowing, though the sorrow remained. He felt utterly lost—trapped in a nightmare he couldn't escape from, and no matter how tightly he closed his eyes, the reality was still there, waiting for him.

His body was exhausted, but his mind refused to rest. All he could think about was the future—something that had once seemed so certain, so full of promise, and now felt like it was slipping away from him, like sand between his fingers.