Not a Brain Tumor

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no. That's a relief."

What? By all rights, they should have found a massive brain tumor. Had they botched the scan? No. Impossible. This was LK Hospital, recognized worldwide.

"Is there any chance there was a tumor or something in my brain?"

I had no choice but to ask again.

The doctor furrowed his brow slightly and answered as if it were nothing.

"Pardon? Nothing of the sort…"

He hesitated a moment before continuing.

"You could call it a slightly unusual phenomenon… or a symptom, perhaps."

He kept dragging it out.

So what, then!?

I stared at him pointedly, urging him on.

"It's nothing dangerous, but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the distribution of your brain activity is a bit broader than most people's. Of course, it could be temporary. We'll need to keep an eye on it to know for certain."

"So… does that mean I'm different from other people somehow?"

When I asked again, still not understanding, the doctor looked awkward and replied,

"Not particularly different. No matter how well-activated a brain is, there's a limit to how much a human can perceive and process."

"Ah…"

"If I were to hazard a careful guess, the abnormal activation of your brain may have led to excessive cognitive processing—senses, memory, judgment, reasoning—until it reached saturation and forced the brain into rest. In other words, you fainted."

The doctor smiled faintly as he went on.

And that somehow means I'm not different?

"Of course, this isn't a medical opinion, but it's a topic that occasionally comes up in papers related to the brain."

"Ah, yes…"

I nodded absently.

"To reiterate, from a medical standpoint, you are perfectly normal. So there's no need to worry too much."

"Understood. I'll do that."

I wrapped up the conversation for now. Digging any deeper risked making the doctor himself start to find something odd.

"Then rest well for the time being. Stability comes first."

The doctor nodded as if everything were settled and left the room.

Thirty minutes later.

I spent a long while sorting through my thoughts.

So it wasn't a brain tumor?

Then what was it? Brain evolution? Brain overload? Brain awakening?

Suddenly the doctor's words came back to me.

Senses, memory, judgment, and reasoning temporarily improving…

As I carefully retraced the past, the series of events that had happened to me began to make a little more sense.

My motor skills and reflexes had suddenly sharpened, and I had moved as if time itself had slowed for me alone.

On top of that, I had perfectly recalled every book I'd ever read and even started stock investing—something I'd never done in my life.

Ah, and my eyesight had improved too.

It was an astonishing change by any measure.

If all of it had been caused by a change in my brain, it was somewhat understandable.

Which left one question.

Why had this happened to me, of all people?

I closed my eyes and thought it over slowly, but there was no way to know.

Even the doctor who had run the detailed tests didn't know. How could I?

Hm?

Just then, the doctor's final remarks floated back up.

Not a medical opinion, but something ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠discussed in papers related to the brain.

I quickly typed "brain awakening" and "brain evolution" into the search bar.

The first results were media—novels, webtoons, movies. Stories about "My Brain Has Awakened" or superpowered "Awakened" individuals.

Most of it was unrealistic and absurd, yet given my situation, it strangely didn't feel like pure fiction.

There was that saying, after all: science fiction is just the present of the distant future.

Next came a flood of science content that felt more like self-help.

Books and videos with titles like "How to Use 100% of Your Brain" and "You Too Can Become a Genius," packed with every kind of secret method and claim.

It showed just how much interest people had in the human brain.

"Anything useful…"

My scrolling sped up.

But there was nothing of real value. Most of it was clickbait titles designed to grab attention.

Conspiracy theories and urban legends popped up here and there too—claims that the government was monitoring brain-awakened humans, or that aliens had infiltrated human brains. Complete nonsense.

"Hm?"

Then one title that looked like a webpage caught my eye.

I clicked the page.

Tiny, dense text immediately filled the screen.

"Ugh, what kind of font is this."

I frowned and started reading.

There were plenty of difficult words and sentences, but they posed no real problem. I'd already seen far denser material than this.

The content went like this:

I checked the author of the piece.

Author: Professor Lee Yong-ho, Jinmyeong University

Lee Yong-ho of Jinmyeong University…

I left the site and searched for Professor Lee Yong-ho.

A flood of articles appeared alongside a wiki profile.

Hm? Why are there no major papers?

I searched his name more thoroughly for papers, but none existed anywhere. It was as if someone had deliberately erased them.

The webpage I had seen looked like a fragment of a paper, apparently copied in part onto a café run by graduate students. Had they simply failed to delete this one?

I stopped searching, closed my eyes again, and sank into thought.

I considered going to meet him, but the outcome of such a meeting was completely unpredictable—far too risky a choice. Something about it also felt off.

For now, I needed to live as normally as possible while gathering more information. And I needed to examine the changes in my body more objectively.

The one relief was that it wasn't a brain tumor.

My lifespan had returned from one year left to what it used to be.

At least that's a blessing.

That alone was a huge source of strength for me.

Yet I felt strangely calm.

The old me would have been jumping for joy and making a scene.

"Maybe I should check the stocks for the first time in a while…"

I finished organizing my thoughts and opened the stock app.

The first thing that caught my eye was my current assets.

Total: 31,488,000 won.

I'd started with two million, so I'd made roughly eleven million.

It was a fascinating thing. Money growing even while I did nothing.

That was the taste that hooked people on stocks. Then either a jackpot hit or they went broke.

The current purchase price sat at 65,600 won. I'd bought at 41,000, so it was up about sixty percent.

Looking at the chart, it was still climbing steeply.

But I didn't feel particularly happy or get a racing heart. I'd expected a certain amount of rapid growth, so I simply watched the situation with detachment.

Rapid growth always brought an aftershock. The real question was whether that aftershock would be short or long.

If it ended quickly, the stock price would leap again.

After a full day of rest, the next day arrived.

In the afternoon, after a simple checkup, I entered the professor's office. My attending physician rose from his seat and greeted me warmly.

"How's your condition?"

"Good."

I answered with a light smile.

In truth, my condition was better ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠than it had ever been.

"That's a relief. Just in case, I ran a few simple tests, and everything came back normal, as expected. You should be fine to be discharged today."

The doctor scanned the results, nodded, and spoke.

"Yes. I was planning on that anyway. But…"

When I trailed off, the doctor looked up from the monitor and met my eyes.

"Yes? Is there something else you're curious about?"

"It's just… is it possible for other medical institutions or research facilities to access my medical information?"

"No. That would never happen."

When I asked carefully, the doctor answered firmly, as if there was no need even to consider it. He pushed his glasses up and continued.

"A patient's medical records are kept strictly confidential and private. They cannot be used for any other purpose without the party's consent. And for our hospital's VIP clients, the information is first held by the attending physician for a set period. So there is absolutely no chance of it leaking outside."

"I see."

I nodded in acceptance.

Of course I already knew it couldn't be shared with outside institutions or third parties without consent.

But the thought that the information might somehow leak had still crossed my mind.

Was it because of those movies and novels I'd just looked at? I was getting unnecessarily cautious.

But what I really wanted to ask was this.

"Then… is it possible to dispose of my medical records?"

"That… is impossible in principle, but Mr. Noh Hoojin hasn't committed any crime, nor are you trying to destroy evidence…"

The doctor rolled the mouse around for a moment, then clicked his tongue lightly and laced his fingers together.

"I don't see any particular problem. I'll take special care of it."

"I'll take special care of it" clearly meant he would delete them.

Perhaps the fact that I had been admitted to the VIP room through the LK Telecom chairman's connections had weighed heavily with the doctor.

"Ah, thank you. It just felt unsettling and kept bothering me."

"Yes. I can understand that. Don't worry too much."

I offered a polite farewell and left the professor's office.

I had almost nothing to pack, so I quickly finished the discharge paperwork and left the hospital. I was thoroughly sick of the place by now.

The company had messaged me to rest until tomorrow, but I told them I would come in.

No matter how I looked at it, I had taken far too much time off this month.

I had been given a new life after being terminal. The salary-thief lifestyle had to continue.