Chương 8: Rumors Moved Faster Than Medicine

Kichan was the kind of person who didn't answer unknown numbers. That was basic self-defense in modern life. Delivery drivers left texts. Coworkers used messenger apps. If something was truly urgent, people called twice. An unknown number at four in the morning fit none of those categories. Then the same number called again the next day at lunch. Kichan was in the office break room, halfway through dispensing coffee, when he looked down at his screen. Assistant Manager Park glanced over.

"Spam?"

"Probably."

"If you answer, it'll be a loan pitch. That's what they all are these days." Kichan nodded. He didn't pick up. The call ended. Then a text arrived. Han Kichan, correct? I'm reaching out through a referral connected to Jeongmi Pharmacy. Kichan set his coffee down. A second message followed. I've heard you have a rather unusual way of using wound ointment that speeds recovery. A third. I'd like to meet and discuss it. Compensation will be more than sufficient.

Kichan locked the screen and shoved the phone into his pocket. Coffee suddenly tasted terrible. A rumor had spread. He didn't want to admit it, but there was no way to deny it either. The little things he'd done in the neighborhood alley, accepting kimbap instead of cash in exchange for looking at injuries, had passed from one mouth to another and traveled somewhere else. People's mouths were usually faster than medicine. The problem wasn't some grand conspiracy. It had started from something far too small.

Maybe the boy's mother had gone back to the pharmacy to buy the same ointment and casually mentioned to the pharmacist, "Strangely enough, this one felt warm when we put it on." Maybe someone returning a side-dish container had said there was a young guy in the alley who was good with minor injuries. Maybe a brief post had gone up in a local moms' cafe: Does anyone know which ointment this is?

Things said without much thought at the counter of Jeongmi Pharmacy, on the apartment landing, beside the recycling bins—they had probably all gathered together. That was how these things worked. Only then did Kichan realize that taking food instead of money hadn't made the whole thing traceless. Even one roll of kimbap had a source, and words stained with ordinary life lingered longer than you'd think. The calls came two more times on his way home from work. Kichan didn't answer.

When he got home, his mother said,"Some man came by looking for you today." Kichan froze mid-step as he took off his shoes.

"Who?"

"How would I know? He said the pharmacy owner mentioned you. Said you're good with wounds." She placed a business card on the table. White card. Clean logo. Raon Bio Open Innovation Partnership Team The name on it was Choi Hyunwoo. Kichan picked up the card. His fingertips went cold.

"What is this about?" his mother asked.

"Work-related."

"Your company?"

"No. Just... something." His lies were getting worse and worse. His father folded his newspaper and looked at him.

"Is it trouble?"

"No."

"People without trouble don't make that face." Kichan had no answer. He went into his room and set the card on his desk. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Raon Bio. When he searched the name, articles about a pharmaceutical company came up. New drug development. Investment rounds. Overseas clinical trials. Interviews with the CEO. Every person in every photo wore an immaculate suit. Kichan looked at his fingertip.

Another fine line had risen from the sprout-shaped mark. He turned the business card over. A number had been written on the back by hand. 30, 000, 000. At first, he didn't understand what it meant. Then a text came. We can offer up to 30 million won per sample. Kichan stared at the screen for a long time. Thirty million won. With that kind of money, the names on his savings accounts could start sounding different. Not travel fund, but housing deposit. Or hospital costs for his parents.

Or just enough money to make life feel a little less shabby. He sat down in his chair. His heart pounded. Money was frightening. Especially when too much of it appeared all at once. That kind of money made people timid. Kichan started to delete the text, then stopped. If he deleted it, would the money disappear too? Of course not. In the end, he didn't reply. But two days later, Choi Hyunwoo was waiting in front of Kichan's office. Kichan saw him while heading out for lunch.

Neat suit, measured smile, an almost unnervingly precise sense of distance. Choi looked younger than he had in the business-card photo, which somehow made him even more uncomfortable.

"Mr. Han Kichan." Kichan stopped walking.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Choi Hyunwoo of Raon Bio. I couldn't reach you, so I came in person. My apologies."

"If I don't answer your calls, that means I don't want to meet." Choi did not lose so much as a fraction of his smile.

"That is entirely fair. Even so, I believe you may reconsider after hearing the proposal once." Kichan looked around. Coworkers were passing by. He didn't want to make a scene here.

"Ten minutes." Choi gestured toward a nearby cafe. Kichan had developed an intense dislike of cafes lately. He went in anyway. Bright lights. A display board advertising a new cake. Light music from the speakers. For a moment, Kichan remembered the first day's cafe. Sooyeon's hand around a coffee cup. He shoved the memory away. Choi ordered coffee. Kichan took only water.

"We are exploring products related to wound recovery support and skin regeneration," Choi said.

"I'm not a doctor."

"I know."

"I'm not a pharmacist either."

"I know that as well."

"Then why me?" Choi took a slim file from his bag. Inside were several printed pages. Screenshots from a local moms' cafe. A post that said: Anyone know an ointment that calmed a scraped knee down absurdly fast? A few anonymous comments. Jeongmi Pharmacy, maybe. No, not the ointment. Apparently the person applying it has special hands. And then two before-and-after photos taken on a phone. The knee of the neighborhood boy Kichan had helped. Another woman's wrist. Kichan's hand went rigid.

"Why do you have these?"

"These came to us as consumer-case materials. Something from the distribution side flagged them and sent them to our team."

"Who posted them?"

"Presumably someone local with questions. We do not know the original source with certainty." That somehow made it feel worse. Someone he didn't even know had photographed injuries from his own alley, asked around, passed them along, and in the end they had come back to him as neat, professional printouts. A scraped knee, a skinned wrist, a twisted ankle on the stairs—those were the sort of things that should have ended inside a pharmacy bag or between borrowed side-dish containers.

Now they were case materials clipped into a file.

"So?" Choi turned the page.

"Compared with the response profile of commercially available ointments, the rate of recovery appears abnormally fast. We are interested in two possibilities: whether the ointment itself differs from standard product, or whether there is a variable introduced during application by you, Mr. Han."

"It's just ointment."

"A separate party purchased the same product from Jeongmi Pharmacy and attempted reproduction. The response differed." Kichan frowned.

"Reproduction?"

"Yes." Observation. He hadn't even heard the word yet, but his fingertips had already gone cold. Choi continued in a low voice.

"We are a team that investigates anomalous responses. Usually we look for adverse effects. Occasionally, we look for cases where something works too well."

"What do you want from me?"

"Provide us with a sample. Ideally, a production method. If that is not possible, we would be willing to observe the process directly while you perform the treatment yourself." Observation. This time the word was actually spoken. Kichan looked again at the photos inside the file. The injuries of people he'd helped had become data for someone else. That was what disgusted him most. Choi added,"We can assume responsibility for the legal aspects. In fact, it may be risky for you to continue independently.

There is room for this to be interpreted as unlicensed medical practice, or as a product issue." Kichan paused.

"Is that a threat?"

"No. I am outlining the risk."

"How is that different?" Once again, Choi smiled. That smile was nothing like Sooyeon's apologetic one. It was a well-made expression with no emotion in it at all.

"If you work with us, we can ensure you are protected safely. Research equipment, legal support, and compensation are all available." Kichan set down his water glass. Thirty million won. Legal support. Research equipment. All respectable words. And every single one of them sounded like the kind of language used before putting someone inside a small glass container and watching them.

"No." Choi was silent for a moment.

"May I ask why?"

"Because I don't want to."

"This would be beneficial to you as well, Mr. Han."

"Things that are actually good for me usually don't arrive feeling this disgusting." Kichan stood. Choi said,"If you change your mind, please contact me."

"I doubt I will." Kichan left the cafe. On the walk back to the office, his fingertips stayed hot. He couldn't tell whether it was anger or fear. That evening, the neighborhood alley was quieter than usual. On the way home, Kichan kept looking over his shoulder. No one followed him. That somehow felt worse. Near his building, he ran into the elderly woman from the apartment below. She was climbing the stairs with a hand on her knee.

"Grandma, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. That's just what getting old is like." I'm fine. There it was again. Kichan hesitated. If he helped, the rumors would only grow. If he didn't, he'd spend the whole evening thinking about this while trying to eat dinner. He sighed.

"Sit down for a moment." She smiled.

"My, our young man has practically become a doctor these days."

"Young man, sure. Doctor, no." He didn't touch her knee directly. Instead, he told her how to sit on the landing and how to regulate her breathing. His fingertips kept trying to read the inside of her joint, but Kichan forced himself to hold back. Just a little. Don't cross the line. He stayed within the boundaries of ordinary help. After she went inside, Kichan stood alone on the landing. His phone vibrated in his pocket. A text from Choi Hyunwoo. Good things cannot be done alone for long.

Kichan stared at the screen for a long time. This time, he replied. If your side gets involved, I don't think it'll stay a good thing. Sent. The heat in his fingertips eased a little. That night in his dream, the thing wearing Sooyeon's face spoke. Behind its face, something thin flickered for a moment—petals, maybe, or a blur of light.

"Well done." Under the blanket, Kichan answered,"I told you not to praise me."

"Next are the people who want to take it from you." At the same moment, black suits passed by outside the dream-cafe window. For the first time, Kichan stood before the dream did.

"Don't touch my parents." The thing smiled quietly.

"That isn't something you get to decide." The moment he woke, Kichan checked his phone. There was a new text. It was not from Choi Hyunwoo. Golden Dawn already knows this story. Kichan stared at the sentence for a long time, then muttered under his breath,"Great. Now the English-speaking eighth-grade syndrome crowd is here too." But he didn't laugh.