Seo Ha-rin

There was no particular sensation of something snapping in my head. The medical knowledge I'd crammed in over the years hadn't vanished, and the sentences of the paper I'd just been reading hadn't suddenly turned into an alien language.

It was simply that I felt no interest in it whatsoever.

I flipped back to the page I'd been reading just moments ago. The margins were crammed with notes in my own handwriting, and a tiny, painstakingly drawn star marked one of the references I'd meant to look up later. Traces left by me, only a few minutes prior, who had apparently planned to keep reading even after clocking out and going home.

I was going to read more of this? Voluntarily?

No matter how I turned it over, I couldn't believe it.

"……Papers are supposed to be boring. That's normal."

The moment the words left my mouth, a dry laugh burst out of me. I closed the paper and sank deep into my chair. The director's office was exactly as it had been yesterday. The bookshelves were packed with medical texts, and the wall displayed the certificates and framed awards that had accumulated one by one over the past ten years. Things I saw every day without ever really registering them looked strangely unfamiliar today.

So I did all of that, huh.

I'd been happy when I got into medical school, and happy again when I passed my board exams. The problem was that every step of the process had been maddeningly enjoyable. I'd hole up in a café after overnight shifts to read papers, and I'd used studying as an excuse to meticulously manage my exercise routine and lifestyle habits.

"……What a lunatic."

I rose from my seat and walked over to the full-length mirror. The end result wasn't bad, at least. Ten years of consistent exercise and a disciplined routine meant the twenty-seven-year-old man in the mirror looked better than I'd expected.

But as I stood there studying myself, one fatal problem dawned on me.

Come to think of it.

I'd never dated. Not once. Genuinely, not once.

"……That's a little unfair, honestly."

It wasn't for lack of opportunity. I had friends eager to set me up on blind dates, and people had approached me first, asking to grab a meal. I thought I was decent-looking myself, and I'd certainly noticed when someone took a liking to me. But every single time, opening a book had been more fun.

Not that I had anyone to answer to for it, of course. I was the one who'd done it to myself.

And that thought dredged up a memory from long ago. Back when my Quirk had started making the news, one of my classmates had snickered and said to me:

'Hey, with a power like that, wouldn't picking up girls be ridiculously easy?'

I still thought it was an idiotic thing to say. It just happened to not be wrong.

My Quirk couldn't manufacture emotions that didn't exist. Tell someone who despised me to love me, and it wouldn't take. But if the other person harbored even a flicker of interest? If they were already thinking, 'Maybe I should meet him once?'

……Well, I'm done with studying now, aren't I.

I'd lived like a monk for ten years by my own choice. Surely I'd earned the right to have a little fun.

'Why not try it out?'

At that exact moment, the tablet on my desk chimed.

I set aside the stray thoughts and returned to my seat. There was still nearly thirty minutes until the appointment.

"Already?"

It was her first visit to a psychiatrist, so I figured she'd probably come early out of nerves. I opened the chart.

"Seo Ha-rin……"

The name was oddly familiar. I was sure I'd heard it somewhere, but I couldn't immediately place who it belonged to. The only news I'd consumed over the past decade was medical industry coverage and academic trends — I hadn't spared a single thought for celebrities or hero rankings.

In the end, I typed the name into the search bar. Her face came up first.

"Ah."

I did remember seeing her. The image of her giving an interview, drenched in sweat at the scene of some major incident — I just hadn't connected the face to the name. But when I read the profile attached right beside it, my eyebrows lifted a little.

Twenty-four years old, four years in active service. Even to someone as ignorant of the hero industry as me, climbing to rank 17 at that age was clearly no ordinary career. I scrolled further down the articles until my finger stopped on one headline.

"So she's taken down a Kaijin, too."

Kaijin. Beings whose Quirks had run rampant, wrecking their emotions and reason until they shed the very dimensions of a normal human being. And one of the reasons the childhood me had been classified as a 'national security-level risk factor.'

Before the unpleasant memories could surface, I swiped past it. The chart recorded insomnia and nightmares, palpitations and shortness of breath, and a history of arbitrarily discontinuing medication prescribed by another hospital.

I can get the details from her directly.

Scrolling a bit further, this time articles unrelated to combat began to catch my eye — everything from luxury brand endorsements to event photos to petty gossip. Quite the variety.

What is she, an idol? She's supposed to be a hero.

I tapped one photo taken at a public event. Instead of a bloodstained combat suit, she wore a dress that bared her collarbone. Neatly styled hair, eyes crinkled in an easy smile for the camera. I caught myself staring a few seconds longer than necessary.

……She's pretty.

Considerably so.

And of course, the thought I'd had in front of the mirror mere minutes ago came crawling back. The patient about to walk in was a twenty-four-year-old woman who was, even in photos alone, drop-dead gorgeous.

'……Why not charm her?'

It was truly a fleeting instant. But in the very next moment, the psychiatric ethics clauses I'd buried in my head for a decade came flooding out all at once.

'Ugh.'

It felt like the male instinct crashing headlong into the iron wall of a physician's ethics and shattering to pieces. Just then, another message came in from my staff.

Her booking notes also contained a request to keep her route separate from other patients and minimize waiting time. Considering the search results that had filled my screen moments ago, it wasn't a hard request to understand.

A short while later, there came a knock at the door.

"Come in."

The door opened partway, and a woman in a black hat pulled low poked her face out first, cautiously. She wore a long coat over an oversized hoodie, and a mask covered more than half her face.

Deep fatigue sat in the eyes visible above the mask. There was that particular hazy shadow unique to people who hadn't been sleeping properly — but her gaze itself was sharp.

"You're Seo Ha-rin, correct?"

"……Yes. I'm Seo Ha-rin, I had an appointment."

Even after closing the door, she didn't sit right away. Pretending to look around the room, she swept her eyes quickly over the ceiling corners, the tops of the bookshelves, the area near the entrance. It wasn't hard to guess what she was looking for.

"There are no cameras."

Her guarded gaze snapped straight to me.

"I'm sorry?"

"You seemed to be looking for some."

"Ah… no, that's not it. It's my first time here, so I was just taking a look around."

The tempo of her speech had quickened ever so slightly. She was lying. But there was no reason to call it out head-on.

"Take whichever seat is comfortable. If the desk is fine, you can come over here, or if you'd rather keep some distance, that sofa is also perfectly okay."

She chose the sofa, a little apart from me. And naturally, even after sitting down, she didn't take off the long coat, and the mask and hat stayed exactly where they were.

'So this is a Pro Hero.'

Every visible movement looked just slightly different from your average patient. Her posture especially. She sat perched on the front edge of the sofa without leaning into the backrest — a position closer to one primed to spring up the instant anything happened.

"Do I need to take off the mask?"

"If it's more comfortable, feel free to keep it on."

"Still… shouldn't you at least see my face? Things like my expressions would be useful for the session, wouldn't they?"

"I'll let you know if I need anything. Right now, hearing what brought you here comes before seeing your face."

Seo Ha-rin stared at me for a long moment through the eyes visible above the mask.

"……Thank you."

It was a very small thing to say, but her stiff shoulders dipped down, just barely. I turned my body halfway toward her.

"When you made the appointment, you also asked that your route not overlap with any other patients. Was that because you were worried about being recognized, like just now?"

She deliberated for a moment, then gave up and blurted it out.

"I get photographed a lot. Whether I'm eating outside, ducking into a convenience store for canned coffee, or just walking down the street. If a picture of me walking into a psychiatric clinic ever got taken, I could only imagine what people would say."

"Does ranking 17 normally get you recognized and followed to that extent?"

At that, Seo Ha-rin looked at my face as if something about it was rather strange.

"Doctor, you really don't know."

"No. I found out today, when I searched."

"……Today?"

A brief silence settled over the room. She seemed flustered, but by no means offended. If anything, after a few seconds, her tightly bristled expression loosened just a touch.

"……That's actually kind of a relief."

"That I don't know?"

"Yes. That there's still someone out there who doesn't know me."

The words were barely out before she seemed embarrassed by them, and her eyes darted away.

"They dissect everything. What I eat, whether my face is puffy, whether I've lost weight. If I'm smiling at the end of a scene soaked in blood, I'm a monster who laughs when people got hurt. If my expression is stiff, I'm a rude idol with no fan service. If I just stand there with no expression at all, I look snobbish, or angry. Honestly……"

Now I finally understood why the Kaijin-subduction articles in my search results had been buried under a deluge of gossip and event photos.

Having vented a little of what was bottled up inside, she seemed more at ease than when she'd arrived, and she pulled off that low-pressed hat. She fiddled with the mask for a while before drawing it down beneath her chin.

Only then could I see her bare face fully, in the flesh rather than in photographs. And she was far more beautiful than in any photo.

The insomnia written in her chart was no exaggeration — heavy shadows lay beneath her eyes and her complexion was poor. Still, my first impression didn't change one bit.

"Seeing you in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠person, you're remarkably beautiful."

'Ah, damn it.'

That was not something that should have come out of my mouth.

"That remark had absolutely nothing to do with your treatment. Feel free to pretend you didn't hear it."

When I hurriedly added that in an attempt to salvage things, the corners of her eyes curved very faintly.

"I know. But still… thank you."

It was an awkward slip of the tongue, but the outcome wasn't bad. The shoulders that had been locked tight since she first walked in had lowered a little, and at the very least she seemed to have accepted that I wasn't sitting here to pass judgment on her.

This much should do for a start.

"Then let's go over, in a little more detail, why you've come to the hospital. We don't need to start with anything difficult."

"……Okay."

"Shall we begin with what's bothering you most right now?"

"I can't sleep."

The answer sprang out as if it had been waiting — like a sentence she'd prepared in advance.

"It says the same in your chart. But that standard varies from person to person. What time do you usually get into bed, and how many hours do you actually sleep?"

"I stay in bed a long time. On days without a dispatch, I'm in before eleven… but I often don't fall asleep until past two or three. I wake up partway through, too… so all told, I'd say I sleep about two or three hours."

"That hasn't been going on for just a few days, I take it."

This time the answer came a little slower.

"No. It's been months. But heroes have irregular schedules by nature, so at first I didn't think it was anything strange."

"And now you do think it's strange?"

"……Because it just keeps going."

"You also took the medication prescribed at the other hospital about three times before stopping it. Did it not work?"

"No, it did. If anything, sleep came easily."

"Then why did you stop taking it?"

Several seconds of silence followed.

"In case I slept too well."

"You were worried about sleeping too deeply?"

"Yes. There could be a summons, or something could happen nearby while I'm right there… It's actually happened a lot, being woken mid-sleep and sent out. Being completely under after taking medication and missing something… that didn't sit well with me."

After answering, she quickly tacked on another remark, as if worried she'd come across as some oversensitive wreck.

"It's not that I'm always on edge. Just… you know, in case."

Rather than typing into the chart, I closed the distance and sat down across from her.

When I asked whether she had frequent nightmares, she deflected with 'it's not that bad.' When I brought up the sudden racing heartbeats, she papered over it with 'it's a job with constant dispatches, anyone would experience it.' And the suffocating feeling when she used her ability was neatly packaged as 'it settles right away, so it's no problem.' Every single answer came festooned with the excuses of rationalization.

While claiming verbally that nothing was wrong, her eyes would snap toward the door at the sound of footsteps in the corridor. Sleeping only two or three hours a day, yet fearing the very act of taking medication as a loss of control — while insisting she wasn't being excessively tense.

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have pushed further here. Forcing your way straight into a patient bristling with thorns on a first visit is the worst of all possible plays. You build rapport across several sessions, let them fully feel that this doctor is not someone here to grade or diminish them, and wait until the words come out of their own mouth.

That's right — under normal circumstances. But,

'Why not use the Quirk?'

I gazed at Seo Ha-rin, clutching the hem of her coat. A person desperate enough to arrive thirty minutes ahead of schedule. Yet when ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it actually came time to lay her condition bare, she kept drawing lines, rationing out how much she was allowed to say.

If easing that crushing fear even slightly counts as treatment — this isn't planting fake memories. It's applying lubricant so that the things she herself wanted to say can come out with less terror attached.

'It's for therapeutic purposes.'

And thinking it through, that was a rather convenient piece of logic.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Seo Ha-rin. Listen to me for a moment."

She turned her eyes toward me.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Keeping my voice soft, I continued — and used the Quirk, casually, as if it were nothing.

"You don't have to pretend to be that perfectly fine in here."

"……"

"Out there, there's a version of you people expect to see, right? But I met you for the first time today."

"……That's true."

"At least within this office, you don't need to keep your guard up and play the healthy one."

In that instant, her once-unbending eyes wavered, ever so slightly.

"……I wasn't pretending to be fine, though."

"You sleep two or three hours a night, you're so afraid of falling asleep that you quit your sleeping pills, you came into a psychiatric clinic wrapped up head to toe out of fear someone might see you. And every time you talk about any of it, you keep tacking on your habitual 'it's not that bad.'"

"……"

"So I'll ask again. Right now — are you truly okay? Speak freely."

This time the silence was unusually long.

Even the fingers that had been anxiously fidgeting with her sleeve had gone still. Her tightly closed lips trembled and parted once, but no sound came. Only after drawing in another deep breath did a very small, crushed voice drop to the floor of the office.

"……No."

I waited without saying a word.

"……It's hard."

For the first time since she'd entered this room, an answer came without an excuse trailing behind it. I didn't throw the next question at her right away. Only after waiting long enough did I ask, carefully.

"Is sleep the hardest thing to endure, after all?"

"The act of falling asleep itself — I hate it so much. When I turn off the light and close my eyes… the brutal dispatch scenes come back, the incidents that would have turned out different if I'd just been a little faster… all those awful memories keep replaying in my head."

Seo Ha-rin nodded slowly. Her lips moved as if to say something more, but closed again.

"You don't have to force out anything you don't want to say. We met today; I have no intention of demanding you bare everything."

Seo Ha-rin flinched and lifted her head. Holding her gaze, I used the Quirk again — this time a little more firmly.

"But if you do decide to open your mouth, don't trim it down for me — don't shave it into something you think I can handle. If you lie to yourself to shrink the weight of your pain, the ways I have to help you shrink right along with it."

Seo Ha-rin stared at me blankly for a long while, as if under a spell, then asked in a tiny voice:

"Did I… really shrink it that much?"

"You talk about sleeping two hours a night as if it were a trivial thing."

A small, rueful laugh escaped her, like someone caught squarely in the ribs.

"……When you put it that way, I guess I did."

This time I smiled back at her, gently. Ordinarily I'd have waited a little longer here.

"One more thing I'm curious about. Do you feel a similar anxiety when you use your Quirk?"

The smile lingering on her face vanished without a trace. The reaction was so unmistakable that I knew at once I hadn't chosen the question poorly. She clasped her hands together and managed to open her mouth.

"……Sometimes."

"Your expression has changed a great deal for 'sometimes.'"

She held her tongue for a moment, then shook her head slightly.

"……Honestly, it's often."

"When you use it on people directly?"

"Then… almost always."

"Could you tell me why?"

Seo Ha-rin swallowed.

This silence stretched far longer than the ones before. It didn't seem like she was merely choosing her words. As the seconds passed, her breathing grew shallower by degrees, and strength crept into her clasped fingers until the joints turned white.

"Once……"

"……"

"Once… I made a very grave mistake."

"What kind of mistake?"

Her lips trembled for a moment.

"I……"

"……"

"There are people… I killed……"

The voice she'd barely scraped out wavered helplessly, and the color drained from her face in an instant. Her expression contorted without mercy, the face of someone fighting to hold on, while her gaze slid clean past my own face — past the empty air behind me, dragged back to that day, to that blood-soaked scene in the past. Quick, irregular breathing filled the office.

"Seo Ha-rin."

No response. This was no situation to sit back and watch. Without hesitation, I used the Quirk.

"Look at me."