Chapter 22
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 22
Chapter Title: Pillar of Support
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Korean University Hospital's video had gone up, and the comments section wasn't just burning—it was exploding. It was only natural.
In the video with Seolgi, people had assumed the kids might look a bit lifeless or struggle with expressing emotions, but there was nothing wrong with their lives.
There were some voices criticizing Korean University Hospital for featuring terminally ill children in the video, but the supportive opinions drowned them out.
So-yun was searching for her mom, and A-yeon needed a donor—that was the purpose behind it.
The ripple effect was huge enough to make headlines in major media outlets. Just as the director intended, donations poured into Korean University Hospital. Appearance fees? They raised enough in a single week to hire Seolgi a hundred times over.
"You never make a losing deal. The problem with old-timers is their rigid thinking. We have to use every tool at our disposal. Don't you agree, Professor Lee?"
"Yes, Director."
The director and Professor Lee sat leisurely in the director's office, sipping tea. Professor Lee couldn't help but admire him inwardly once again. Even those who had protested the idea of using terminally ill kids in promo videos had fallen silent.
This video had given Korean University Hospital everything. It reinforced to the public that it was Korea's top hospital and earned it the title of a place that goes all out to fulfill children's dying wishes.
And that was just the start. They'd secured massive donations. Organ donor registrations were up. Proposals flooded in from celebrities and influencers wanting to spend time with So-yun and A-yeon.
"Inquiries are pouring in today too. As expected from people who thrive on attention—they pivot fast. Seolgi's side even reached out about a sequel, but no way. Now it's our turn to accept donations, right?"
"...Yes."
How far ahead had the director planned all this? All Professor Lee had said was that A-yeon was a fan of Seolgi and suggested letting them meet. Just one sentence. Once again, he felt the director's abilities were the real deal.
"Any progress with patient Seol A-yeon?"
"Physically, her lung function is declining bit by bit, so we've added medication. Mentally... honestly, there's almost no improvement. At least her memory is intact, so she's learning to mimic emotions."
"Good. She's the patient who'll sustain our hospital's donations going forward, so keep a close eye on her."
"Yes, sir. Then, who for the follow-up?"
"We have to consider public opinion... Alright, let's bring in Dr. Lee In-young. Frame it as admitting failure in A-yeon's treatment and handing her to the top expert. For So-yun's case, the brain tumor is urgent, and she hasn't had a psychiatric eval. Bundling them works. No one's more famous for child expertise in Korea."
"..."
"Hurt ego?"
"No, it's a rational call. Child psych isn't my exact specialty anyway. But isn't patient Seol A-yeon far from a typical child? And for proper treatment, shouldn't we explain why she's like that?"
"No need. She's not our hospital's doctor. If info leaks, it's a headache for us. Fixing her alexithymia would already be a win. If it fails, we spin it as a patient even 'that' Lee In-young couldn't solve, stir sympathy, and keep the donations coming."
'What incredible talent. A shame as a doctor, but he'd be a conglomerate chairman as a businessman.'
Things unfolded smoothly as the director planned. Dr. Lee In-young wasn't Korea's top child behavior expert for nothing.
She delivered a near-perfect analysis of So-yun. At the end of the video interview, Dr. Lee In-young added this:
"It's trauma from her mom abandoning her when she was sick. She doesn't express pain excessively because when she was hurting, her mom left. Unconsciously, she thinks if she shows pain, the people around her now will abandon her too."
"Her extreme attachment to A-yeon, not wanting to separate—it's all stemming from inner wounds. But I won't say more. They don't have much time left."
"A-yeon needs long-term observation. She's tough to analyze, even for me, but she seems to lack the will to live. Her body keeps worsening, and I think she's realized she's terminal... I'm pretty sure."
"I've never seen a child so frozen in expression and behavior, so I can't analyze her as definitively as So-yun. But she's incredibly smart. Mimicking emotions just by observing situations, despite not feeling them—that's beyond normal kids. Not something a 10-year-old should do."
The fact that even Dr. Lee In-young declined treatment and couldn't fully analyze her spread, boosting the girls' fame.
Naturally, donations and support for Korean University Hospital skyrocketed. More people cheered for the kids. Broadcasters smelled a story and wanted interviews, but the director flatly refused.
"Broadcasters? They have no influence these days. And once they get involved, our goal devolves into basic hospital promo. Don't forget, Professor Lee—we're acting solely to treat these children and grant their dying wishes. No other motives."
"What's next then?"
"We did one for treatment, so now for the dying wish. Last time was for patient Jin So-yun, so this time for Seol A-yeon. Min Hong-taek, right? If his cheer song pops out first when asking her to sing, she's a fan. I don't know baseball. Leave this casting to you, Professor Lee."
"Yes, sir. I'll check with patient Seol A-yeon."
"Good. Always emphasize in the videos that it's what she wanted."
People from various fields met the girls, then parted. Time flowed on as always—equal to all, yet paradoxically the most unequal thing. To So-yun and A-yeon, it was the most unfair of all.
The final time. The most unequal time. Was slowly approaching.
A-yeon's heart function kept declining, burdening her lungs. The time she could move each day dwindled.
So-yun wasn't much different. As her brain tumor grew, seizures and loss of consciousness became more frequent. The hospital swapped their beds, placing the two in the same room, same bed.
So-yun needed A-yeon, and A-yeon needed So-yun. ICU rules limited guardians to two 30-minute visits a day. For 23 of 24 hours, they were each other's pillar of support.
"...S-So-yun... Hic... Gasp...?"
A-yeon gasped for breath and glanced beside her. So-yun lay quietly asleep. Why did she sleep so much lately? Deep down, A-yeon knew. This was the end for them both—Seol A-yeon and Jin So-yun.
"...Might... get bored. No, not bored. Just wanna hear your voice, so wake up quick."
"I've been up, actually~ My little sis missed her big sis's voice, huh?"
Her voice, even huskier than usual, betrayed she'd just woken, but A-yeon didn't notice. She just snuggled into So-yun's arms, quietly, as always.
"Little sis. How you gonna live without big sis from now on?"
"...Dunno. Wanna die together."
"Hey, you 10-year-old! How dare you! Wanna die? You die after I do!"
"I said I wanna die together, so what am I supposed to say when you ask if I wanna die?"
"Oh, right! Sis, you tired? Wanna sleep more?"
"Yeah. Heard your voice. Together... sleep."
"So-yun's father, could I have a word?"
"Ah, Director..."
The director waited for So-yun's father as he left the ward after what felt like too short a visit. He led him to the director's office.
"Something to drink? You've put on some weight—good to see."
"Thanks to the hospital's care. But... why'd you call me?"
So-yun's rapidly worsening complexion these past days. The director's grim face. The cruel reality unfolding. So-yun's father clenched his fists.
"...I'm truly sorry to say this, but even the last chemo didn't shrink the tumor. We have no options left."
"Ah..."
"Visiting hours are limited in ICU, so moving to hospice for her final time together would be best."
"No... I see... Yes..."
"..."
The director quietly averted his gaze. He needs time. It was impossible from the start. Pediatric cancer grows with the child. It progresses fast.
Glioblastoma was a notoriously aggressive malignant brain tumor. By the time they brought in the inexplicably drowsy child, it was already massive.
Surviving this long was a miracle. Chemo and radiation barely worked, yet she endured. So-yun's will was that strong.
But only that far. Even the world's best hospital couldn't stop advanced glioblastoma. If only brain transplants were possible...
"...Sniff... Hic... Sob..."
So-yun's father couldn't hold back tears. She was too young to let go. His precious child, his daughter. Jin So-yun.
"...This room's well soundproofed. Cry as much as you need."
The director rose, pulled tissues from the table, and handed them over. So-yun's father wiped his tears, burying his child in his heart. How much time passed?
When people cry too much, tears stop from lack of moisture. The director waited silently. Deciding the moment wasn't right yet, he grasped So-yun's father's hand.
"The tumor will invade the cerebrum within a month. No time to waste. Father, shall we move her to hospice tonight?"
"...Yes. Please. Thank you for caring for our suffering child."
"Just doing our job."
"No. Has... her mom contacted? So-yun wanted her so much."
"...I'm sorry."
"No, really. I know you did everything. We got more support than we deserved. Other hospitals said even surgery wouldn't last six months."
"...After stopping chemo, she'll stabilize a bit. I'll handle the pain myself. I've grown too attached to So-yun. I'm just an old backroom guy now, but I was known for pain management."
"You're busy, Director. No need. Feels like we're burdening you to the end. I'm so sorry."
"Heh, not busy lately. Got time between anesthesiology calls. Can't let So-yun hurt then. Hospice is closest to my office. Don't worry."
"Thank you... truly, Director."
'Hm, this should make bringing up organ donation after brain death feasible.'
The director replied with a kind smile.
"It's our job."