Puppy and Master Play (1)

On the stage of a lesbian club in Hongdae, Suyeon closed her eyes and sang in that sweet, low-pitched voice of hers, fingers picking at the strings of her guitar.

Her fans gazed up at her with the same glittering, adoring eyes they always did. True to form for a seasoned indie-band vocalist, Suyeon kept the connection alive even mid-song, throwing the occasional wink into the crowd. Every fan who caught her eye flushed scarlet and shrieked.

…So loud. Women, honestly.

She muttered the thought to herself, but never once ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠let the professional smile slip from her face.

When the song ended cleanly and the stage lights dimmed for the next number, she reached for the water bottle beside her and drank in long, greedy gulps. Then, without thinking, her gaze drifted across the audience — a sea of women in deliberately messy, provocative outfits — and snagged on something wrong.

"…Huh? Is that…?"

Suyeon narrowed her eyes. Standing alone in the middle of the darkened crowd, staring straight through her, was a woman.

Even Suyeon, who almost never startled or lost her composure, felt her eyes go wide. Cold sweat beaded on her skin and began to trickle down.

The woman was wearing the floral dress she had always loved — a pure white fabric embroidered with yellow blossoms, the kind of dress that seemed to hold the heart of the purest days of her life.

"…No. No… That can't be… No…"

Terror drove Suyeon backward, step by stumbling step, as she whispered to herself. No one in the audience had noticed her strange behavior yet. Only the woman in the center of the floor kept coming, one slow step at a time, as if mocking the fear written all over Suyeon's face.

"Nngh… Stay away… Stay away…!"

She retreated until her heel caught on a chair and she went down hard in a clatter of limbs.

Only then did the crowd turn as one, staring at her in shock.

"…Unnie? What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

The club manager — hair dyed a vivid red — hurried over, voice thick with worry. But Suyeon couldn't see her at all. All she could see was her dead ex-girlfriend, advancing slowly from the audience seats.

"That— that woman, get her out of here…! Right now…!"

She flailed like a madwoman, pointing into the middle of the crowd. Every head turned to follow her finger.

There was nothing there but an empty table and a single chair — the very chair her former lover had always sat in to listen to her sing.

The manager's face softened with pity. She tried ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to soothe her.

"…Unnie, are you seeing things again? There's nobody there. Look at me. Look at my eyes, okay?"

Suyeon's face was bloodless, her whole body trembling. She finally tore her gaze away and looked at the manager, who gently stroked her hair.

"…There. There. It's all right now. See? She's gone, isn't she?"

"…Ah…"

When Suyeon turned back toward the audience, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠woman was no longer there. She fought to steady her ragged breathing as the manager helped her to her feet, her body swaying.

And in that exact instant, a familiar shape lunged out from behind the manager and whispered into the ear of the frozen, terrified Suyeon.

"So — do you love that kid?"

"Kyaaaah!"

Suyeon screamed, reeled backward, and went down hard, striking her head.

"Unnie! Unnie! Oh my god!"

Voices calling her name roared from somewhere impossibly far away, but Suyeon's consciousness was already slipping into the dark.

"…Mm. So, how are we feeling? Strong enough to talk now?"

"Yes."

Suyeon sat across from the doctor in a hospital gown, answering in a thin, drained voice. The doctor pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, sighed, and continued.

"You've been under treatment for severe depression and mild schizophrenic symptoms for two years now. Your primary physician prescribed you *** and ***. Is that correct?"

"…Yes."

Her face was dark. The wrists that had been fretting a guitar right up until she collapsed were covered in countless scars — scars she normally hid under straps or flesh-colored stickers, so that no one ever noticed.

"…These are dangerous medications. Highly addictive. They can suppress motivation and appetite, and in some cases even induce hallucinations. Your primary physician explained all of that thoroughly, I assume?"

"Yes."

The doctor removed his glasses with a sharp snap, sighed even more deeply, and looked at her.

"Your primary physician told me you stopped taking them a year ago. But the hallucinations you experienced this time are textbook drug-dependency symptoms — and a very serious side effect at that. You built up a tolerance over long-term use and kept increasing the dose, didn't you?"

Suyeon avoided his piercing stare and mumbled her answer.

"…Yes…"

"We'll set aside the fact that you ignored your doctor's warning not to take them long-term. Where exactly did you get the pills? Did you order them from an illegal overseas site?"

"Yes…"

"I am obligated to report this to the police."

He turned fully toward her now, chin propped on his hand, expression grave. Suyeon crossed her arms and shrank into herself.

"…Are you going to report me…?"

No one who had ever watched her radiate that cool, commanding charm onstage would have believed she could look this wretchedly, pitifully afraid.

Silence hung in the room for a long moment. At last the doctor slid his glasses back on, shook his head, and spoke again.

"…Suyeon. It's been over ten years since we first met, hasn't it? The first time you came to this hospital, your parents brought you. If I remember right… it was over issues with your sexuality."

She remembered that day too. Her parents hadn't been able to accept that she was dating a girl, so they had dragged her in to check whether she had ADHD or something of the sort. Of course she didn't. What the evaluation actually revealed was an extraordinary capacity for focus — but only in the artistic fields she loved, like music.

Throughout her school years her parents had kept bringing her back under one pretext or another, still refusing to believe her sexual identity. Every time, the only finding was that nothing was wrong with her.

"…I was still a rookie psychiatrist back then, so a patient who kept showing up over and over left a strong impression. Then for a long stretch after you grew up, you stopped coming, and I thought maybe things had settled… only for you to return in a far worse state. As a doctor, I find that deeply regrettable, Suyeon."

"…Yes."

It was all she seemed able to say. She hung her head.

The doctor stared at the crown of her bowed head for a long time before he finally spoke, voice low.

"…As I said, you've been my patient since I was a greenhorn, so you mean something to me. There were times I almost thought of you as a cousin's kid. A troublemaker. Defiant. But everyone could see the good heart underneath. So I want you to live a genuinely happy life. I'm not saying this as your doctor. I'm saying it as someone who knows you, Suyeon."

Tears were already dripping from her eyes onto the floor. She said nothing, head still bowed, perfectly still.

"Suyeon, I'm going to be blunt. Do not take those pills again. You need to stay clean for at least a year. Do not take what I'm saying lightly. Your life is in danger right now. Do you understand me?"

"……"

She was silent for a long while, then answered in a voice barely above ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a breath.

"…Yes…"

"Huh…? Who's calling…?"

I stared at the unexpected incoming call, confused, and checked the number. The moment I saw who it was, I nearly jumped out of my skin and muttered out loud.

"Whaaat?! Wh-why the hell is she calling me all of a sudden…?"

The caller was Arin — until very recently, Suyeon's slave.

Wondering what on earth this could be about, I carefully picked up.

Arin's frantic voice exploded through the speaker.