Chapter 12: The First Step Toward Change (4)
I dumped the rest of the coffee into my mouth in one go and headed to the bedroom to change into some casual外出 clothes. When I came back to the living room, the massive blanket cocoon that had been steadfastly guarding the sofa finally started to wriggle like it was about to hatch. A gap opened in the thick fabric, and she crawled out, all disheveled.
Her face told the story—she'd probably cried silently all night again. Her eyes were so puffy they looked ready to burst, and her hair was a tangled mess that even a magpie would reject as a nest.
"There's stuff in the fridge—just grab whatever and eat. There's ice cream in the freezer too, so have some of that. It's that expensive kind you used to go crazy for."
I tossed out the words and turned toward the door, but she stared at me with her tousled appearance and gave a small nod.
"I'll leave my spare phone on the dining table, so if it rings, you have to pick up, got it?"
Her original phone was completely rejecting its owner now. Fingerprints, irises—everything was locked out, no way to unlock it. I could factory reset it and at least use it as a brick, but I didn't bring it up. That hunk of metal was probably the last piece of proof that she was Han Junseo, her final trace from the past. Telling her to reset it would be like saying to erase that past forever.
If it's about the past, she could just go home... but honestly, they've disowned her.
No, even "disowned" was too kind for what her family did. They'd treated their sick child like a cursed monster and thrown her out into a pouring storm.
Thoughts about her kept piling up, one after another. I shook them off and just decided to head out. As I reached the entryway, shoved my feet into my shoes haphazardly, and glanced back, there she was—huddled in the oversized clothes, staring at me blankly. Was it longing to hold me back, fear of being alone? Her murky eyes gave nothing away.
Instead of saying anything, I just nodded once and stepped out.
Click.
The moment I opened the door and stepped outside, the icy winter air sliced across my face. No time to feel the cold—I hurried down the stairs to the first floor and out into the street.
It's a bit early, but most OB-GYN clinics double as delivery rooms and open early in the morning...
Plus, it was a decent walk from here, so if I paced myself, I'd arrive right when they opened. I shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my thick jacket. Before setting off properly, I glanced up one last time at the balcony window of our apartment where she'd be alone.
Of course I can't see anything.
The floor was pretty high up anyway—no way to peek inside from below.
She's not some dog staring at the door waiting for her owner, and on a cold day like this, no reason for her to look out the window.
I let out a small chuckle at my own pointless hope. I buttoned my collar tight against the biting wind whipping my face and quickened my pace toward the OB-GYN clinic.
The street scene was the same as yesterday. People buzzing with year-end excitement hurried along with shopping bags in both hands. Students bundled in puffy coats trotted across crosswalks with earbuds in. Salarymen adjusting ties and clutching takeout coffee were sucked into the forest of towering buildings with familiar steps.
Everyone marching along with the same stride, gearing up for their utterly ordinary days.
But I was bucking the massive flow, heading in a completely different direction. Weaving against the commuter crowd toward the shopping district, my steps stood out awkwardly against the morning bustle. No office for me, no shopping either. Just a guy heading to an OB-GYN to pick up hormone meds for his friend who'd turned into a woman overnight.
No one walking these streets could even imagine such an absurd story.
Still, somewhere in Korea, there must be others having just as ridiculous mornings as me.
TS disease wasn't contagious like a zombie virus, nor predictable like a genetic condition. A buddy you were drinking with fine yesterday wakes up a woman today—that had to be happening all over the country, right?
Thinking there might be others like me out there in this mundane routine lightened my heart just a fraction.
By the time I passed the crowded main road and entered the quieter shopping alley, my lower back was already damp with sweat under the padding. I'd checked my phone screen from my pocket several times while walking—nothing. No missed calls, no messages.
She's not doing something weird alone at home again, is she?
I couldn't help worrying. I'd shoved the phone in her hand telling her to pick food, and last time she ended up watching my taste-filled videos and causing an accident?
No way she'd do that twice. She's probably showering while I'm gone, or hiding in blanket mode waiting for me to come back.
I forced myself to think positive. Otherwise, I'd turn right around and run home to check.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead with my jacket sleeve and looked up. A sign on the building exterior jumped into view.
Hope OB-GYN Clinic
Pastel pink letters, with a cute baby angel logo next to it. Perfectly unmistakable as an OB-GYN sign. Luckily, I'd timed it right for opening—lights blazed from the second-floor entrance of the commercial building.
I stopped dead at the base of the stairs on the first floor and took a deep breath.
Ha... even for a friend, walking into an OB-GYN as a guy is seriously tough.
Like a woman alone in a urology waiting room? No, women go to urologists for kidney stones too.
Silly thoughts started chaining again—a shallow escape from the awkward reality.
No running. Embarrassing or not, I opened the door to this, said I'd take responsibility till she's better.
I gripped my wandering mind and dragged my foot onto the first step. The short climb to the second floor felt three times longer and heavier than my usual hills. Each step made my heart pound irregularly.
Finally reaching the top, the glass door to the OB-GYN loomed at the end of the hall. I squeezed my eyes shut, grabbed the handle, and pulled.
A soothing aroma, warm air, pastel walls prettily decorated. And three young women dotted on the plush waiting sofas, plus a neat nurse checking her monitor at reception.
In this peaceful OB-GYN scene, every eye locked onto the lanky guy. Curiosity half, bewilderment half, a touch of wariness—scanning me from head to toe.
No wonder. A dude in drab padding strolling solo into an OB-GYN waiting room? Bound to draw stares. Sweat trickled down my already tense back.
The nurse broke the suffocating silence, saving me.
"Ah, are you... the guardian of the TS patient who called yesterday?"
"Yes... haha."
A dumb laugh slipped out unbidden. Tense and fake-sounding even to me, but it was all I could muster.
The nurse smiled professionally, unfazed, and pointed down the hall to the exam rooms.
"The other patients waiting kindly offered to let you go first. You can head right in."
"Pardon?"
I whipped around to the waiting area. The women who'd eyed me warily moments ago now gave light nods or glanced out the window as our eyes met. They'd probably pieced it together when "TS disease" was mentioned.
Maybe they just didn't want a big stranger lingering in the cozy space—their practical courtesy. Whatever the reason, I was grateful enough to kowtow.
"Thank you so much."
I bowed to the nurse, then deeply to the waiting women.
"This way."
Following her lead down the narrow hall, we reached a door labeled "Exam Room." She cracked it open with a "Right in here," revealing a bespectacled woman in a white coat peering at her monitor.
I exhaled sharply and stepped inside.
The room was even quieter than the waiting area. Fetal development posters on the walls, neatly stacked maternal health guides on shelves—each one hammered home that this wasn't my place.
I hesitated on where to sit, then pulled the round chair opposite her desk and perched on it. The legs scraped the floor louder than expected, making me flinch.
Luckily, the doctor seemed used to this. "Welcome. You're the guardian for the full transformation case from yesterday's call?"
"Yes."
"Patient's name?"
"Han Junseo."
As the syllables left my mouth, her gaze lingered on my face. I braced for the obvious: Why not family? What about parents? Consent form?
I ran simulations in my head, but her question blindsided me.
"Any high fever or other symptoms right after onset?"
...No personal history questions.
Spilling the messy disownment tale to a stranger? I'd have bolted. But she'd seen enough cases to know prying was pointless.
I paused, weighing how much to say, then opted for honesty.
"Yes. Lots of sweating overall... and especially struggling with the burning areas."
Vague phrasing was necessary. Describing those symptoms in detail here? Awkward for both of us.
She nodded slightly, typing on her monitor, then paused her pen cautiously.
"I see... and have you...?"
I cut in before she finished. "No. We haven't crossed that line."
She blinked, nodded calmly. "Got it. Symptoms can ease with intercourse too, just checking—no need to feel weird."
Feels super weird since it's my friend, but okay.
I swallowed the retort, shoved emotions aside, and answered her questions diligently.
Mostly about her current condition: fever frequency/intensity, appetite, sleep, mental state. She asked about my home care too—oversized clothes order, burn clinic choice, treating her dryly like a friend.
I confessed everything, wondering if I'd messed up. She listened without interrupting, set her pen down, and nodded.
"You did well. Few guardians are that attentive right after full transformation."
The unexpected praise hit like a smack to the back of my head. I'd just been flailing blindly for two days, but apparently it looked thoughtful. My nose tingled.
"Keep caring for her that way. And I'll issue a medical certificate."
"Certificate?"
"Yes. Full transformations need temp ID. Submit this with it—speeds things up."
"Ah... thank you."
She looked up from her monitor straight at me.
"Now... can I speak to Junseo directly?"
"Sure. One moment."
I pulled my phone from my jacket pocket and dialed the spare at home.
Ring... ring... Connected on the second, but only breathing on the line.
She was waiting.
Held the phone staring at the screen under the blanket, snatched it up the second my number appeared.
"It's fine. Just talking to the doctor for a bit."
I said it casually to reassure, but the silence lingered. Finally, a tiny voice squeezed out from the blankets.
"Okay..."
Answer? Anxiety? Just confirming my voice? Didn't matter—she was holding on.
"Handing the phone to the doctor now. Just answer what she asks. Easy stuff."
No reply, but she didn't hang up. Good enough.
I covered the mic with my palm and whispered to the doctor, "Connected. But she's in a state—responses might be slow."
She nodded understandingly, took the phone carefully in both hands.
I stood, gave a light bow, and headed for the door. Hand on the knob, her calm, gentle voice floated from behind.
"Hello, Junseo. Relax and chat. Yes. Take your time, it's okay."
I didn't look back and stepped out.