The hospital waiting room at Seoul Mind Center: Psychiatry & Crisis Care Division was packed—buzzing with low murmurs, flickering fluorescent lights, and the distant hum of calming instrumental music that sounded like it was trying too hard to be soothing.
Yujin sank into a stiff plastic chair with a sigh so heavy it might've needed its own hospital bed. Her tongue, mercifully, had returned to normal function, though she kept poking it with her teeth just to be sure.
Across from her, an elderly man in a paper gown sat with his hands clasped like he was praying. Only… he wasn't praying. He was whispering rapidly to the empty space next to him.
Yujin squinted.
Was he… also seeing floating screens?
Heart leaping with a strange mix of hope and horror, she leaned forward. "Excuse me, sir, are you—"
Before she could finish, a nurse swooped in like a hawk spotting a squirrel.
"Mr. Choi," she scolded gently but firmly, "how many times have we told you not to sneak out of the psych ward?"
"The government is listening!" he shouted, eyes bulging, feet skidding across the floor as the nurse expertly wheeled him away.
Yujin's blood ran cold.
Mina, sitting beside her, snorted behind a tissue she'd swiped from the front desk. "Well, at least you're not the craziest person here babe."
Yujin rolled her eyes. "Stop with the 'babe.' You've been calling me that since graduation."
Mina shrugged nonchalantly. "I picked it up from that guy with the 2 million followers. He says it all the time. You know, the one who went to America for the holidays? Maybe it's the cool thing to say over there now."
Yujin didn't respond. Not because she couldn't—but because she thought about her sanity for the first time since all of this started, she wasn't so sure that was true anymore.
A moment later, a woman in a navy-blue uniform stepped out with a clipboard and a too-bright smile.
"First-time?" she asked, her voice chipper and oddly cheerful for someone working in crisis care.
"Uh… yeah," Yujin muttered.
"Perfect! Here's the preliminary screening form. One for you and one for your emotional support friend."
Mina blinked. "Wait, what—"
"Please fill it out together. It helps us understand your dynamic and support network," the woman said, already walking away.
Yujin and Mina looked down at the white forms. A header read: Seoul Mind Center: Cognitive and Paranormal Trauma Intake.
Below it were questions like:
Have you experienced any sudden or unusual changes in perception or reality? (Y/N)
On a scale of 1 to 10, how disturbing are your hallucinations? (1 = "Mildly confusing" to 10 = "I can move things with my mind")
Do you feel that your thoughts or actions are being influenced by an external force? (Please explain briefly.)
Have you recently engaged in any activities that might impair judgment (e.g., substance use, extreme stress, or watching reality TV)?
Do you feel an uncontrollable urge to make significant life decisions (e.g., major purchases, career changes, or getting married)?
Can anyone else see or hear what you're experiencing? If so, how do they react?
Have you made any attempts to self-medicate or resolve your symptoms? If yes, what did you try? (e.g., excessive coffee, long naps, talking to plants)
Yujin raised an eyebrow. "Isn't answering all this too much?"
Mina leaned over. "Honestly? This feels kinda legit for your situation."
They both started filling in answers, snickering and side-eyeing each other between questions.
When Yujin got to:
"Have you experienced a digital lifeform assigning you missions?",
she paused.
Her pen hovered.
Then, slowly, she circled: Yes.
Mina leaned in again. "You circled, yes?"
"I didn't come all the way here to lie," Yujin muttered.
She sighed and circled "I regret everything" under Additional Notes.
This was her life now. Apparently.
Yujin vs. The Psychiatrist (System Sabotage Intensifies)
Finally, the doctor called her given waiting number.
"Good afternoon," the doctor said warmly, setting down his pen. He gave her a steady look over his glasses, his face neutral but expectant. His gaze briefly scanned the form she'd filled out, then moved back to her, as if evaluating her not only through his notes but through his observation.
Yujin sat stiffly in her chair, trying to appear calm, but her heart was racing. He asked the usual questions, all the things she had already filled out on the form. Her name, her age, where she had studied, how she spent her leisure time. Standard medical procedure, nothing alarming.the doctor gave her a perplexed look. "Wait, is Yujin your given name, or a nickname? I'm not very well-versed in Korean names yet. I just came back from the States, and I'm still getting used to the pronunciation."
Yujin blinked, a little thrown off by his question. "Oh… um, it's my given name. It's pretty common in Korea." She tried to shake off the unease, but the question lingered in her mind. Was there something wrong with her name, or was he just being polite?
But then, he paused. His eyes narrowed slightly as he read one particular line on the form, his eyebrows knitting together.
"Have you experienced a digital lifeform assigning you missions?" he read aloud, his voice tinged with genuine curiosity.
Yujin's throat went dry. What? She had filled that out as part of the mental health assessment, but it sounded so… ridiculous when said out loud. She could already feel the heat rising to her face.
The doctor paused for a moment, then murmured, "Well, that's certainly a new one…"
Yujin tried to keep her composure as he glanced up from his notes, his expression both perplexed and oddly amused. "Not to be rude or disrespectful, but my colleagues and I came up with that question just to see how… creative people can get their answers. It's part of our test to check if they're actually reading the form, not just mindlessly filling it out. Looks like you've got quite an imagination."
Yujin blinked, both embarrassed and confused. "Oh… really?"
The doctor gave her a wry smile. "Yep, it's our little experiment. You're the first person to fill it out so… colorfully. A little shocker there."
Yujin chuckled nervously, her fingers twining together. "I, uh, guess that's one way to put it."
The doctor seemed satisfied with his little observation, turning the page to continue his notes. But then he stopped, his gaze shifting back to her with an almost uncanny intensity. "Miss Yujin," he said again, his tone suddenly more serious. "What brings you here today? What seems to be the problem?"