Chapter 1: Prologue

‘I need to drop out.’

The moment his transcript appeared on the monitor, the thought struck him.

He would put an end to his university life, which had barely lasted a hundred days. He had been mentally preparing for this since midterms, but making the decision left him with a strange, unsettling feeling.

The past semester flashed before his eyes like a fleeting panorama. He harbored no great regrets.

Aside from the basic necessities of eating and sleeping, he had poured his entire being into his studies.

He had exerted himself twice as hard as he did in his final year of high school, though the results, in the end, were devastating.

Yet, he didn’t succumb to self-reproach. In truth, it was an entirely predictable outcome, for his classmates were some of the most brilliant minds in the entire nation.

As for In-tae, he had never once believed he would truly become a medical student at Hankook University, not even when he received his acceptance letter.

Even after enrolling, feeling utterly bewildered, he couldn’t shake the doubt: ‘Will I truly be able to keep up?’ Nevertheless, he refused to give up without even trying, so he gave it his absolute best.

‘I couldn’t have worked harder than that. That’s enough, isn’t it?’

As he composed himself, a small, lingering regret stirred uneasily in his chest.

‘Should I have at least participated more actively in club activities?’

In-tae, by nature, enjoyed socializing and, at twenty, couldn’t help but harbor romantic notions about university life.

However, with studies as his utmost priority, he had only participated in the bare minimum of departmental activities, merely showing his face at a few important gatherings.

Thanks to his affable personality, he generally got along well with everyone, even with brief interactions. Yet, these weren’t deep friendships, and he knew they would naturally fade once he left the school.

In-tae sighed, picturing the faces of his classmates.

—Beep-beep-beep.

The click of the door lock made In-tae quickly switch off the monitor.

“Oh, you’re here?”

He greeted him, feigning nonchalance, but a knot of tension tightened in his stomach.

All day, his classmates had been abuzz with talk of grades. He had managed to deflect their incessant questions about scores with self-deprecating jokes.

But how was he to answer his tutor, who had diligently helped him study all semester?

In-tae watched Jung Ban-ri approach, his face expressionless and his strides purposeful. A thick book was clutched in his hand, his unnaturally long, slender white fingers gripping it with surprising strength.

‘A book? When all the exams are over?’

In-tae’s face was painted with bewilderment.

‘Ah… perhaps he already has an inkling of my grades. He’s an exceptionally sharp one, after all. In that case, is that book… meant to strike me over the head?

Is he going to ask if these pathetic results are all I achieved, despite all his efforts to teach me?’

As the book neared his head, he tensed, yet had no thought of escaping. Truthfully, he was willing to take a blow if it came.

“It would be good to memorize this beforehand.”

However, with a low voice, the book settled onto his desk. Its cover depicted a dissected human body, and above it, the title was emblazoned in large Mingcho type.

[Plasma and Visceral Structure]

“In-tae struggles with memorization, so it will be easier to keep up if you start now.”

‘…He has no intention of mentioning my grades. Indeed, he’s not the type to be by such things.’

In-tae shrugged, offering a retort.

“Well, that’s not the only thing I’m weak at, is it?”

“Start here. I’ve organized the etymology and mnemonic devices on the side.”

The book was pushed aside, revealing a white sheet of paper. On it was a meticulously drawn diagram of human abdominal organs. It had to be a teaching aid Jung Ban-ri had created himself, specifically for him.

Jung Ban-ri pointed to one section. Following his white finger with his eyes, In-tae saw neat, precise handwriting.

[Lymph nodes…]

The penmanship was so perfect, one might believe it had been printed. When he first saw Jung Ban-ri’s writing, In-tae had doubted it was truly written by a human hand.

Instead of focusing on the difficult medical terminology, In-tae’s mind drifted to old memories.

Since childhood, In-tae had struggled with memorization. He could manage subjects with narratives, like history, but the most challenging task was memorizing English vocabulary.

Then, one day, Jung Ban-ri brought him a diagram of English words that detailed their evolution. The method involved memorizing root words first, then sequentially acquiring their derivatives.

Thanks to this, his vocabulary rapidly expanded. However, as he progressed through the grades, encountering more complex words and diverse idioms, he inevitably hit a wall.

Around that time, Jung Ban-ri began employing new and highly effective mnemonic techniques.

These involved connecting English words to In-tae’s own experiences.

‘Get a raw deal? Get a raw deal? No, that’s not it. What was this one?’

‘Remember Lexy, the dog in the garden?’

‘Of course! Lexy eats raw meat! That’s how I memorized “raw,” didn’t I?’

‘What did you think when Lexy first ate raw meat?’

‘At first? I thought it was too much! Oh, right, that’s it! To receive unfair treatment!’

‘Exactly. I told you it’s good to memorize the opposite as well. Do you remember it?’

‘Of course! Square deal! You told me to think of the opposite of Lexy’s round food bowl, right?’

“Are you reading?”

A neat fingernail tapped lightly on the paper.

“Uh, yeah. Of course.”

Quickly shaking off his distraction, In-tae fixed his eyes back on the text.

[Lymph nodes: Site of In-tae’s mother’s second surgical removal.]

‘…The last site where Mom’s cancer metastasized.’

His head swam as if doused with ice water. Immediately, a fierce curiosity about his mother’s illness surged within him. As if possessed, he examined the location and shape of the lymph nodes, delving into their detailed structure.

His mother’s first surgery was an O&C: ‘Open & Close.’

Her condition had already deteriorated beyond intervention, so the surgery involved opening her abdomen only to close it immediately.

Afterward, world-renowned doctors were brought in to meticulously examine each lymph node and perform a second surgery, removing the areas where cancer cells had metastasized.

Thanks to this, his mother, who had been on the verge of death, lived for as long as In-tae had been attending university.

‘I’ll never forget the shape of lymph nodes now. What a perfectly… cruel method of learning.’

“Hey, still, isn’t this going too far—”

He began to protest, but swallowed the rest of his words upon meeting Jung Ban-ri’s gaze. Jung Ban-ri’s expression was impassive, as if asking, ‘What exactly is going too far?’

“…Never mind.”

He mumbled, forcing a bitter smile.

Who in the world would use a deceased friend’s mother’s illness as a mnemonic device? What a madman. And yet… he was utterly incapable of hating him.

Along with his grades, In-tae was reminded of another goal he had pursued for the past six months, only to fail.

Namely, giving up on his hopeless one-sided love.

‘If I hadn’t come to the same university as him, would I have succeeded?’

Jung Ban-ri’s dark eyes meticulously scanned In-tae’s face before flicking away. He glanced at his wristwatch and spoke.

“I’ll set it for fifteen minutes. First, you’ll memorize this short section, then we’ll expand the scope and keep repeating.”

“Wait. Hey. Listen, I really appreciate it, I do, but…”

‘I’m going to stop studying now, I’m going to drop out.’ The words that rose to his mind remained trapped there, unable to escape his lips.

Blocking his throat was the entirety of his time with Jung Ban-ri. Jung Ban-ri, who had always been by his side, just like now, helping him get into this university and then helping him keep up with his coursework after admission…

“…But what?”

“…I can never memorize this.”

“You can do it.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Focus.”

“Hey. Even if I focus, impossible things are impossible.”

“……”

“Of course, you wouldn’t understand how I feel…”

This was the moment to finally voice what he had put off. Yet again, his lips wouldn’t part. This time, it was due to a profound question. How would Jung Ban-ri react if he told him he was quitting school?

“I know how you feel.”

“…Huh?”

Suddenly, his heart pounded louder.

“You think it’s impossible, no matter what you do.”

“Ah… well, something like that.”

He pressed down on his foolishly hopeful heart, thinking coldly. If he told Jung Ban-ri he was dropping out…

‘He wouldn’t react at all.’

Jung Ban-ri would simply look at him with the same impassive expression as always. In-tae recognized his own contradiction.

In truth, Jung Ban-ri would feel no emotion if he left the school. Yet, the word ‘dropout’ wouldn’t easily leave his lips because of his own lingering attachment.

Because if he left the school, he would surely drift apart from Jung Ban-ri.

‘…Still, I can’t put it off any longer.’

He inhaled lightly, about to speak, when a low voice preempted him.

“Do you need help?”

The words sounded incredibly gentle, yet… in reality, they held not a trace of true affection.

This cold-blooded man’s repeated assurances of ‘You can do it,’ ‘Focus,’ and ‘I’ll help you’ were far from ardent encouragement.

He was simply trying to ‘solve’ the problem of In-tae’s inability to do the studying he was supposed to. It was like a learned courtesy, diligently taught by a prominent family known for their philanthropy.

However, In-tae was now declining. He had already imposed on Jung Ban-ri enough. It was problematic to pursue a profession that neither suited him nor one he could properly excel at.

More importantly, he couldn’t sort out his feelings while by Jung Ban-ri’s side.

Now was the time to make a decision. A time to put an end to a long past and open a new chapter.

More than a decade flashed before his eyes. Meeting Jung Ban-ri, drifting apart, meeting again but not seeing him, then reuniting and sticking together until now.

In-tae suddenly realized that his life wasn’t measured by ‘age’ or ‘grade level,’ but by Jung Ban-ri as a turning point.

What had permeated his formative years, as his body and mind rapidly changed, was a single emotion that seemed utterly unchangeable.

A fervent affection for this enigma, which had never once cooled.

“I’ll help you.”

Had the waiting time for an answer been too long? Jung Ban-ri spoke again. As he leaned in close, that moment when In-tae most intensely realized his feelings overlapped in his mind. His one-sided love was a serious illness.

In-tae leaned back, smiling wryly.

“Why, are you going to hold me again and whisper into my ear?”

Back in middle school, not long after tutoring began, whenever In-tae lost focus, Jung Ban-ri would gently grip the back of his neck, steadying his head.

Then, he would press his handsome lips to In-tae’s ear and, in a pleasant voice, read out each problem and answer. Before his voice broke, it was even finer, and afterward, it became rougher, but his tone never changed.

A low pitch, clear pronunciation, a slightly relaxed tempo, and the appropriate emphasis on important parts. In that fleeting moment, all of it resurfaced vividly, as if echoing in his ears.