Almost blind | Haobin

63| Bound |63

Dr. Minwook stood at the far end of the sterile hallway, half-hidden behind the pale curve of the wall. His eyes, restless and sharp with unease, remained fixed on the commotion unfolding just meters away, where the once-sacrosanct office of Dr. Julson was now breached by the presence of law enforcement. Officers moved with quiet authority, gloved hands sifting through years of carefully curated order, while Julson himself lingered in the doorframe like a ghost. Ashen-faced, lips pressed into a thin line of agitation and stripped of his usual imperious calm.

Clutched tightly in Minwook's trembling fingers were a few irrelevant documents. It was sn empty prop, nothing more than a veil for his anxiety. He wasn't here to work. He was here to watch and listen. To finally understand whether the sickness gnawing at his conscience had a name. Though he tried to appear composed, the tension in his stance betrayed him. He wasn't just curious...he was terrified. Haunted by the quiet knowledge that perhaps, for too long, he had chosen silence over suspicion.

He was one of the few who had begun to pull away once whispers of an investigation against Julson gained momentum. Where others clung to routine, still exchanging pleasantries with the doctor over coffee and pretending nothing had shifted, Minwook had quietly slipped into the background choosing to sit at distant cafeteria tables, to offer curt nods instead of conversation. He wasnt a man prone to gossip or dramatic judgment, and truthfully, had he only measured Julson by his professional demeanor... his calm voice, the spotless record, the command of every room...he would have never believed the rumors either.

But then came the memory. The one that had refused to fade even thought he really wanted to. And now standing in this hallway, Minwook felt it press against his chest like a stone he'd swallowed long ago.

He felt sick. Not because of what might happen next..but because he had waited. Because his lips had remained sealed when they should've trembled open and spoken.

At first, he had convinced himself he was imagining things, that the unease twisting in his gut was nothing more than overthinking. But when the investigation was made public, that dormant suspicion awoke with a scream. The image came rushing back. It had happened just days after that boy-Hao-was discharged from the hospital. Days after the failed suicide attempt in the locked bathroom. That was when Minwook saw something.

Something he could never unsee.

Something he should've reported long before this moment.

-----☆☆☆☆☆-----

Dr. Minwook adjusted the thin wire frames of his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose as he made his way down the dimly lit corridor toward the hospital's pharmaceutical dispensary. Its a sterile, climate-controlled room where every wall gleamed with rows of locked cabinets and meticulously labeled shelves. The faint scent of antiseptic hung in the air, clinging to the tiles like a second skin.

It was late-well into the night shift-and the hospital had taken on that uncanny stillness it always seemed to wear after visiting hours ended. The air felt heavier and sounds sharper.. as if every footstep echoed a fraction too long in the empty hallways. Minwook, one of the few doctors scheduled to stay through the night, moved with purpose, his white coat trailing behind him, swaying softly with each step.

He entered the dispensary, the fluorescent lights above buzzing faintly, their cold glow spilling over the polished metal of the medicine cabinets. With a habitual hum under his breath-some half-forgotten tune from his youth-he crossed to the largest of the locked cupboards. Inside, an immaculate grid of boxes and bottles stood in regimented order, each marked with crisp, typed labels.

Bending slightly, Minwook's fingers traced along the alphabetized tags until he found what he had come for: Diazepam. A modest white carton, its label neat and unassuming, yet holding a drug capable of quieting storms in a restless mind. "There you are," he murmured under his breath. He slipped the box from its place with care but before closing the cabinet, his eyes flicked instinctively to the shelf where Alprazolam should have been.