The fluorescent lights stabbed at my eyes.
I blinked and lifted my head, and a familiar scene came into view.
"Here..."
It was definitely a lecture hall, one from the university I used to attend.
The tiered rows of seats, the giant screen filling the front wall, the projector hanging from the ceiling with its low hum, everything was exactly the same.
In front of me, the screen of my treasured first laptop, a [Mapple 1], was open, and a faint breeze from the air conditioner drifted through the room.
A ballpoint pen was in my hand.
Half the notebook page was already filled with notes, so it seemed I had been in the middle of class.
When I looked around, familiar faces came into view.
The seat beside me was occupied by Choi Minjun, a classmate who was always late as if it were a habit.
His trademark messy bangs caught my eye.
He might look like that, but he was actually pretty sharp when it came to studying, so I had stuck close to him and picked up a few crumbs myself.
Up front sat Lee Sojun, who always insisted on the very first row, and from the back came the sound of someone typing on a keyboard.
It had to be Park Hyunwoo. He was the kind of guy who would keep recording every single note on a laptop, one finger at a time, with hunt-and-peck typing, all the way until graduation.
The professor was standing on the lectern.
Gray hair, hunched shoulders, the habit of always fiddling with his wristwatch...
Even the way he spoke while pointing at the screen with a laser pointer was exactly as I remembered.
Without any suspicion, I lowered my gaze back to my notebook.
"Now then, today we’ll be covering host dependence in viruses."
The professor’s voice echoed through the lecture hall.
"Viruses cannot reproduce on their own. They absolutely require host cells."
I started taking notes. My hand moved naturally.
"That’s why viruses are constantly mutating. To find more efficient hosts. To survive. That’s why they’re so difficult to treat."
"To survive..."
I was writing the words when my hand suddenly stopped.
Something felt wrong.
I looked back at the screen.
Just a moment ago, it had been showing a familiar slide, but at some point the image had started changing.
It was a molecular arrangement I had never seen before. I had never seen that structure in a textbook, in reference material, or in class.
"Where did that come from...?"
I tilted my head and turned to the side, about to ask Minjun where that molecular structure had come from.
But the seat beside me was already empty.
"Huh?"
I looked forward, but the seat where Sojun had been sitting was empty too.
The keyboard typing from behind had also stopped at some point.
The lecture hall had gone quiet, and before I knew it, I was the only one left.
"When did everyone leave?"
And yet the professor was still standing at the front of the lectern.
He continued the lecture as if nothing had happened.
"When a virus invades a host cell, the host cell changes form."
His voice rang through the empty lecture hall.
"Sometimes to the point that it can no longer be recognized."
I felt like I should answer.
But my mouth wouldn’t open.
I looked down at my notebook.
My hand looked strange.
It wasn’t my hand.
It was larger, paler, with the knuckles standing out sharply.
"W-what is this..."
My heart dropped.
Then, starting from the tips of my fingers, the flesh began to rot.
One layer of skin tissue after another necrotized and blackened as it decayed.
The professor slowly walked down from the lectern.
When I looked up at him again, I was horrified.
The professor had no face.
"To survive, you must change."
Even without a face, his voice came through clearly.
"But remember this: if you change too much, you will eventually forget who you were."
The lecture hall shook.
The laptop screens went dark, the projector stopped, and the screen turned pure white.
The cool air from the air conditioner gradually turned into a knife-like chill that cut at my skin.
When I opened my eyes, I saw the ceiling.
It was the mansion’s ceiling, high above me and still unfamiliar.
My heart was pounding. I lay there for a moment, catching my breath, and soon enough I calmed down.
"Ha... You really know how to get my hopes up for no reason..."
It had been a rare dream of the real world.
I had thought I’d finally made peace with crossing over into this shitty world, but it seemed the far side of my subconscious still hadn’t forgotten reality.
That lecture hall. Those people. That smell.
It had all been a dream. But it was so vivid that it was hard to dismiss it as one.
I raised a hand and looked at it.
It was definitely my hand.
Not the pale, grotesque hand from the dream with its exaggerated knuckles, but a human hand with color in it.
And yet the sensation of the flesh rotting in the dream still seemed to linger.
I slowly flexed my fingers open and closed. Of course, they were fine.
It had been a dream.
But the voice from that dream wasn’t something I could easily brush off.
"To survive, you must change. But if you change too much, you’ll end up forgetting who you are."
I closed my eyes for a moment, then opened them.
If I kept staying in this nest of lunatics, would I really end up losing myself?
"...I want to go back..."
But there was no one around to indulge that childish complaint.
It had only been one day since I started carrying out my plan, and already I was desperate to give up.
Even though I knew better than to think that way, my weak-willed mind kept pressing down on me.
I forced myself to sit up, because sitting there and complaining wouldn’t change anything.
Dragging my heavy body into the bathroom attached to the bedroom, I stood at the sink and splashed cold water on my face.
The cold water ran down my cheeks, and Alexander’s face reflected in the mirror.
Maybe because I hadn’t slept enough, or maybe because yesterday’s stress had finally come loose all at once, dark circles shadowed the skin beneath my eyes.
Alexander Ashford. Still an unfamiliar face.
And it would remain unfamiliar for a long time.
The words from the dream echoed in my head again.
That you have to change to survive, but if you change too much, you lose yourself.
"Yeah. It’s fine. The fact that this face still feels unfamiliar means I haven’t lost myself yet, doesn’t it?"
Once I said it out loud, it felt a little ridiculous.
Standing in front of the mirror and muttering to myself like that. Anyone who saw me would think I’d lost my mind.
But I needed it.
In a place where no one called me by my real name, in a place where no one knew who I was, I was the only one who could remind myself that I was still me.
So I couldn’t go crazy. At least, not yet...
I wiped my face with a towel and checked the time.
7:14 a.m. It was time for the children’s breakfast.
The urge to give up was still there.
But I also knew I wasn’t in a situation where I could afford to quit.
There wasn’t a button to take me back, after all.
I put on my jacket and opened the door.
And so, today too, life as Alexander Ashford began.
When I went down to the kitchen, the cook had already prepared the children’s meals.
As soon as he saw me, he hurriedly lowered his head.
"Director, will you be taking it up yourself again today?"
"Yes."
The expression that had been stiff until yesterday was a little different today.
It was still the face of someone who wasn’t used to this, but mixed in with that was a feeling of, Well, I guess that’s just how it is.
Before taking it, I looked over the meal.
Warm oatmeal, a salad made with boiled eggs and boiled potatoes, a few slices of fruit, yogurt.
To be honest, it was painfully modest.
Of course, the cook had probably put real effort into it for the sick children, but people always said you needed strength to eat, didn’t they?
And unless the children were actually sick, this might not be enough.
In the end, it was basically my own doing.
"I’ll have to slip some extra food to the kids later."
I wasn’t in a position to complain, so I pushed the cart without another word and headed to the children’s rooms.
I stood in front of Alfred’s door and knocked.
"Come in."
The answer came immediately.
Unlike yesterday, today he was sitting neatly and waiting for me in advance.
I didn’t know how long he had been like that, but his hands were folded neatly on his knees, and his back was straight as he sat at the desk.
It was almost as if he had been waiting for me to come in.
When I set the meal down on the table, Alfred stared at it for a moment and then asked carefully, "Will you be eating too?"
"I’ll eat later."
"...I understand."
Alfred picked up his spoon.
His posture was a little less rigid than yesterday.
Maybe he was slowly getting used to this. Maybe I should take that as enough to comfort myself that this relationship was developing.
Before Alfred could eat, I stopped him for a moment and took out the thermometer.
"Open your mouth for a second."
I took his temperature and opened the chart.
37.1 degrees. Down by 0.5 degrees from yesterday.
He couldn’t recover too quickly, but if he stayed sick too long, that would look strange too, so I manipulated the chart to make it just right.
[Temperature: 37.4 degrees. Mild fever persists; stable.]
I lightly pressed the stethoscope to his chest. I could hear a steady breathing pattern.
[Respiration: Slightly more stable than the previous day. Continued observation required.]
Closing the chart, I told Alfred he could eat now.
He gave a short nod and picked up his spoon.
Only the quiet clink of the spoon echoed in the room.
I sat in the chair opposite him and watched for a moment.
I didn’t really have anything to say, and there was no need to rush.
I thought that just having someone beside him might feel different to him.
Alfred kept sneaking glances at me. Whenever our eyes met, he immediately looked away.
He was still awkward, I guessed. So was I.
That awkward meal continued for a while before Alfred asked me, "Don’t you have a question today?"
Right, the question. I’d said I’d give them one every morning.
I thought about it for a moment.
I had already prepared a lot of questions, but right now I was deciding which one would be best.
"Then today’s question is..."
Alfred stopped eating and looked at me.
"What is the most important relationship for a person?"
At the more puzzling question than yesterday’s, Alfred blinked like a goldfish.
"A relationship?"
"Yes. Any kind of relationship is fine. You have until bedtime to answer."
"And the punishment?"
I thought for a moment.
Yesterday I’d made dishwashing the punishment, but these children were supposedly sick, so I couldn’t make them do chores like that.
"You’ll write a review of the book I give you."
Today I decided to give the two children different punishments each.
It might not be as effective as dishwashing, but for Alfred, who didn’t seem all that interested in books, it would at least be some motivation.
Alfred’s expression stiffened slightly.
It seemed he didn’t like the idea of a book review much either, though it was still better than dishwashing.
"Finish eating and rest in your room today too."
"Yes."
The moment I was about to close the door, Alfred called out softly, "Father."
"Mm?"
He spoke after a brief hesitation.
"Will you keep coming to check on us today too?"
He’d kept asking this since yesterday.
Even after I promised I’d come, he asked again.
He probably wasn’t sure. There still wasn’t enough piled up for him to trust a single promise.
"Yes."
I gave a short answer and closed the door.
I stood in the hallway for a moment.
That child would ask me the same question tomorrow too. And the day after that, and maybe the day after that as well.
When would he finally think there was no need to ask anymore? One thing was certain: the day that question stopped would probably be the first step toward our relationship moving forward.
Until then, I’d just have to endure it.
Thinking that, I moved toward the door of the room where Alexia was staying.
Alexia’s room was exactly as expected.
When I knocked, she answered immediately, and when I opened the door, she was sitting at her desk writing something in a notebook. She looked up, set down her pen, and turned toward me.
She didn’t say anything, but in her tired eyes there was a look that said, Oh, you’re here.
I prepared her meal and took her temperature.
36.9 degrees. This side was normal too.
[Temperature: 37.4 degrees. Mild fever persists; stable.]
I lightly pressed the stethoscope to her back.
[Respiration: Slightly more stable than the previous day. Continued observation required.]
Alexia quietly watched me write.
It looked like she wanted to say something, but in the end she kept her mouth shut.
She probably didn’t bother asking again because she had already confirmed everything yesterday.
I closed the chart and sat across from her.
Alexia picked up her spoon, then set it down, then picked it up again and set it down a few times.
She wasn’t focusing on the meal at all; she was turning something over in her head.
Normally she would have hidden that completely, but today she didn’t seem to have the energy.
"Didn’t you sleep last night?"
"I did."
"You don’t look like it."
Alexia lifted a hand and touched the skin under her eyes before lowering it again.
"...I fell asleep a little late."
"Thinking about what?"
There was a brief silence.
"What you said yesterday, Father."
Alexia glanced down at the notebook on the desk.
One page was filled with dense writing.
Looking closer, I could see traces of her trying to organize the logic.
There were arrows, underlines, and question marks scattered here and there.
"The part about regret being stronger than conscience. I kept thinking about it, but I still can’t fully accept it."
I said nothing.
"What exactly can’t you accept?"
"Regret is an emotion that comes after something has already happened. Then isn’t it too weak to be a force that can prevent things beforehand?"
So she had spent all night digging into that one point.
I looked at her for a moment.
"That’s a good question. It might be worth thinking about together with today’s question."
Alexia frowned slightly. She looked like she wanted an answer right away, but she didn’t ask any further.
Instead, she picked up her spoon again.
This time she didn’t put it down and actually started eating.
I had given her something to think about, so I supposed she had accepted that much for now.
"Then today’s question is..."
I repeated the question I had just given Alfred.
"What is the most important relationship for a person?"
At that vague question, Alexia’s expression changed too.
"Isn’t that too broad?"
"That’s why it’s a question."
"Still, it’s way too vague and broad. At least give me a hint."
I thought for a moment and said, "Then narrow the scope by listing the kinds of relationships you think exist. That’ll be better than a hint."
Alexia blinked once.
She had asked for a hint and instead gotten homework.
For a moment, a trace of grievance flashed across her face before disappearing.
"Yourself, family, society... something like that?"
"Is there not more?"
"Are you saying none of those three are the answer?"
I shrugged, giving her a maybe.
Alexia picked up her spoon again with an expression that made it impossible to tell whether she had accepted that or not.
Then, slowly, she spoke.
"Maybe... a relationship with yourself."
Her tone lacked certainty.
She was quick, but unlike last time, she wasn’t giving an answer in one shot. She sounded as if she herself was only half-convinced.
"Why?"
"Because the starting point of every relationship is yourself. If you can’t understand yourself, you can’t understand other people either."
I neither nodded nor shook my head.
It wasn’t wrong.
But looking at her eyes, I could tell she herself felt something was missing.
Alexia set down her spoon for a moment and turned her gaze back to the notebook.
It was the page with all those dense question marks I had seen earlier.
Her brows drew together slightly, as if she were trying to come up with something more.
"Or maybe..."
There was a brief silence.
Alexia’s eyes stopped on one point in the notebook.
"A relationship with the choices you make?"
I paused at that.
"Why do you think that?"
Alexia looked down at her spoon and slowly opened her mouth.
"Because of what you said yesterday, Father. You said regret comes when you face the result of a choice. Then wouldn’t the choice and its result also be a kind of relationship?"
I was impressed inwardly.
She had already linked today’s answer to yesterday’s answer and drawn a conclusion from it.
I didn’t let it show on my face.
"That’s a good approach. Think about it a little more today."
Alexia looked like she wanted to ask more.
But perhaps sensing that I had no intention of saying anything else, she closed her mouth.
Instead, she opened her notebook and started writing something down, as if she didn’t want to lose the thought she had just had.
"You have until bedtime to answer."
"And the punishment?"
"Alfred’s writing a book review. As for you, Alexia..."
I looked at her for a moment.
"Find a counterexample to the first answer you just gave me."
Alexia blinked.
"A counterexample?"
"Yes. You said a relationship with yourself is the most important. Find a case where that statement could be wrong."
Alexia fell silent for a moment.
It was obvious, even without looking, how irritating it must be for her to have to break her own logic with her own hands.
"Is that the punishment?"
"Yes."
"That means you’re assuming my logic is wrong."
"Not wrong. Just possibly incomplete."
Alexia pressed her lips together for a moment.
She looked unconvinced. But she also looked like she didn’t yet have the grounds to refute it.
"...I understand."
She gave a short answer and lowered her gaze back to the notebook.
Was she already starting to look for one?
I stood up from my seat.
"Eat well."
"Yes."
It was the moment I was about to close the door.
"Father."
I stopped.
"Even if I find a counterexample, that doesn’t automatically make my first answer wrong."
She wouldn’t let go until the end. Maybe it was just the stubbornness common to children her age.
"Right. That’s why you need to think about it more."
I closed the door.
When I stepped into the hallway, two closed doors stood side by side.
Both children were going to be busy today.
I tightened my jacket and headed toward the laboratory wing.
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