This episode contains violence, strong language, and themes that may be disturbing to some readers. Viewer discretion is advised.
At almost the same moment—as the white paper and black tote bag slipped from Margaret's grasp—Frankenstein pressed the call icon on his phone screen once again.
The phone vibrated briefly before he lifted it to his ear.
Soon, the ringing tone pierced the silence around him.
He waited.
Second after second passed, his hope holding on—fragile, yet stubborn.
He hoped the ringing would stop, replaced by the voice of the girl who had, unknowingly, taken up residence in his mind.
A voice that always managed to make his chest tighten with longing; a voice he wanted to hear again and again, as if hearing it alone could soothe all the restlessness within him.
But that hope slowly faded.
Minutes ticked by without change. The ringing remained the same—cold, monotonous, and heartless. Until finally, without warning, the call disconnected on its own.
Frankenstein let out a long, heavy breath, then lowered the phone from his ear.
His gaze fell upon the screen, which now displayed two simple yet painful lines: "Call Ended" and "No Answer."
Those words were enough to ignite the rage he had been suppressing.
Frustration. Fury. Irritation. It all rushed in at once, suffocating him.
He clenched his fist tightly and slammed it against the wall beside him.
The impact was hard, enough to send a sharp pain through his knuckles—leaving a small crack on the wall's surface. It was tiny, almost insignificant, yet it was proof enough that he was losing control.
"Why aren't you answering my calls, Margaret?"
"Are those roses and that damn black tote bag making you so busy that you're ignoring me?"
"And who exactly is this schoolmate of yours—the one brave enough to give you such a ridiculous, childish gift?"
"Is he just some teenager barely past puberty who—without a second thought—thinks flowers and whatever else is inside that bag are worthy of someone like you?"
"Even if you like it... I still loathe the way that person is approaching you."
The stream of murmurs escaped his lips in rapid succession—low but sharp, as if he no longer cared whether anyone was listening.
His jaw tightened, and the audible grinding of his teeth could be heard between his fragmented whispers. It wasn't just a habit; it was a clear sign that his patience had reached its absolute limit.
Berry remained on the long bench, his back leaning lazily against the rest.
His arms were folded across his chest—a posture that seemed to hold himself back from the urge to interfere or even react.
Yet, his eyes couldn't look away; for the past few minutes, his gaze had been fixed on Frankenstein's every move.
Then, feeling the need to say something, he let out a long sigh while shaking his head slowly from side to side. That small gesture held the weariness of an observer who had witnessed the same pattern too many times, like watching an hourglass being flipped over and over with the same result.
"Are you sure Margaret even saved your number when you guys exchanged phones earlier, Hyung?"
Berry's light question—though it sounded casual, without pressure or urgency—was exactly what made Frankenstein let out a long, heavy breath.
He turned slowly, his shoulders sagging slightly as he leaned against the wall, his body signaling a faint but real exhaustion.
His gaze met Berry's, still half-furious, half-weary.
"What do you mean by asking a question with such an obvious answer?"
"Do you doubt me—thinking Margaret would be reluctant to even save my number, let alone answer my call?"
It wasn't just the tone of his voice that gave it away; his expression spoke louder than his words.
His eyebrows knitted slightly, his lips curled into a thin frown, and the faint lines on his forehead emphasized the deep offense he felt.
Berry exhaled again, this time softer and more controlled, as if trying to steady himself.
He leaned forward and reached for the coffee cup sitting on the table before him. His fingers curled gently around the handle, as though realizing this simple act could serve as an anchor, keeping his next words on the course he intended.
He took a small sip, restraining himself from rushing, letting the warmth and familiar aroma touch his senses before finally setting the cup back down carefully on the table.
"It's not that I doubt you—I know you'd do anything to have Margaret. But calling her repeatedly, right after you dropped her home, and then calling her again now… doesn't that sound excessive?"
"You aren't even giving her time to breathe, let alone rest for her own sake."
"Without realizing it, you've turned into someone who can't survive without hearing Margaret's voice. Someone who confidently wants to grasp her future… yet feels that even Margaret's brief presence is still not enough."
There wasn't a hint of mockery or a joke on his face as those words escaped his lips.
No thin smile to suggest he was enjoying this, no playful tone to lighten the mood. There was only pure seriousness, evident in his sharp and unwavering gaze.
Frankenstein let out a harsh, dry click of his tongue to the side.
The sound was short and deliberate—less of a spontaneous reaction and more like a mocking scoff.
"You say all that because you've never felt the torture of loving someone who is nearly impossible to possess, Berry."
He pushed himself forward, pulling his back away from the wall as if the cold surface had drained too much of his remaining emotion.
There was a brief, hesitant pause before he moved, his feet finally carrying him toward the desk in the corner of the room.
Without much thought, he dropped himself into the chair. The movement was so abrupt that the chair rocked back and forth, emitting a low, creaking sound.
He tossed his phone onto the desk's surface. The thud was louder than he had expected, a sharp reflection of his unsettled heart.
He sat sideways, his shoulders sagging slightly, and fixed his gaze on the large window in front of him.
His stare was vacant yet piercing, cutting through the clear glass as if trying to reach something far beyond the horizon.
He wasn't truly seeing anything—his vision was drifting, dragged away by thoughts that raced too far ahead, leaving his body stranded and silent in that room.
"I keep reminding myself not to drown in a feeling that I knew from the start would never end well."
"Yet the harder I try to avoid it, the more it turns back to torture me—slowly, without mercy—until I've nearly lost my own sanity. And in the end… it was I who consciously stepped over that line."
His tone resembled someone reading their own verdict—calm on the surface, fractured within.
He then spun his chair around, facing Berry directly, with his arms crossed over his chest.
"Who should I blame, Berry? Myself… or my feelings?"
"But doesn't it all amount to the same thing in the end? There's no point in choosing one, because both originate from within me."
"So… do not blame me if, in the end, I have become like this."
His tone had indeed dropped, sounding almost flat, yet his gaze said otherwise.
Clearly visible within his eyes were the traces of a long battle he had endured—a fierce struggle against his own feelings that hadn't happened overnight, but had accumulated over time.
There was a weariness behind his stare, the exhaustion of someone who had fought desperately to hold on, to remain rational, only to finally admit defeat.
His feelings had won, taking full command of his being, and Frankenstein no longer made any effort to deny it.
The realization hit Berry slowly but surely.
In that moment, he understood that no matter how great his efforts had been—no matter how many words he spoke or how many times he tried to intervene—none of it would ever be enough.
He would not succeed in stopping Frankenstein; he would not win. He wouldn't even be able to open the smallest crack of reason to make him wake up and stop.
Berry exhaled once more, softer and more cautious this time.
"Does Margaret feel the same way about you? At her age, it's impossible for her not to have someone she's more than just close with, isn't it?"
He paused, searching Frankenstein's face for a reaction, any small clue of what he was thinking.
But all he met was a flat, unreadable expression.
"What will you do if someone else manages to win Margaret's heart before you? Will you… give up? Or will you do something that others would consider a mad decision—something unimaginable?"
This time, Berry's question made Frankenstein's ears twitch slightly—a minute movement, nearly invisible, yet enough to show that Berry's words had struck a nerve.
"Do you think I'm the type of person who just gives up?" Frankenstein replied.
"As long as no one has placed a ring on Margaret's finger, I still have a chance. But if that ever happens, I will take her from him… and show him that I am the one who truly deserves to be with her. Because I was the first to be near her, the one who knows every little thing about her… even the smallest details."
Despite the flat tone, Berry couldn't be fooled.
There was an unwavering resolve tucked behind those words, a subtle yet real determination, as if Frankenstein were embedding his entire conviction into every syllable.
"What if you're not her type?"
Berry decided to take a bolder step, crafting a blunt and firm question.
"You're aware of how old you are, right, Hyung?"
"With you being in your thirties… do you really think Margaret would want to be with you? You even said yourself earlier that she would flat-out reject you if you asked her out."
"Don't you think… Margaret might assume you already have a girlfriend, or even a wife, at your age?"
Though his voice remained low, his intent was clear: he wanted to corner Frankenstein, to plant a seed of doubt and make him feel inferior to his own words.
Frankenstein didn't answer right away, letting a silence hang between them before finally letting out another scoff—this one louder and harsher than before.
He pulled his chair forward, leaning in until his body was nearly pressed against the desk. He folded his arms over the surface, tilting his head slightly to the side.
"I will force her to admit that I am her type. What else?"
The corner of his lip quirked up instantly—just a fraction, but enough to signal a shift in the atmosphere. To anyone watching, it wasn't a sincere smile born from the heart; it was something deliberate, a calculated smirk carved for a specific purpose.
"Age is just a number, Berry."
"If we love each other, isn't an age gap—no matter how wide—irrelevant? There are plenty of couples in this world who don't care about age. So if they can do it... why shouldn't I have the same chance?"
"And as for your last question… what I need to do isn't to make Margaret wonder if I have a girlfriend or a wife, right?"
"What I need to do… is to treat her as my lover, or even as my own wife. You understand what I mean, don't you, Berry?"
His smile widened this time, broader than before, carrying an aura of confidence that practically forced one's attention upon him.
Berry realized that the smile wasn't just a casual expression—it was a sign of subtle dominance, Frankenstein's way of controlling the situation without ever needing to raise his voice or make a dramatic scene.
He let out a long, heavy breath—one that sounded like the final thread of his patience being pulled taut.
He raised a hand, pressing his fingers against his temple in a slow, weary motion, as if his head were filled with a noisy, relentless echo that refused to fade.
"You're truly insane, Hyung."
The murmur slipped out unplanned, a bitter conclusion that escaped his lips before logic could hold it back.
"Perhaps this is the last time I will warn you, Hyung."
"If you are truly sane this time, if you really mean to do anything for Margaret, if your feelings are indeed sincere… I hope you don't make her feel as if she's the sole reason you're acting reckless, foolish, or crossing the line."
"I hope you can prove your feelings like someone who realizes they have a chance to express them… not like someone who forces that chance. Because if you do the latter, you're nothing more than a psychopath—one who hunts someone not for who she is, but simply for what she is worth to you."
A sharp seriousness bled into his tone, tightening his jawline as it slowly hardened—a sign that this warning was born from a bitter kind of care, coupled with a growing fear of the path that was leaning closer and closer toward the abyss.
Frankenstein actually chuckled.
It wasn't a normal laugh; it sounded like someone mocking a threat—a threat that was clearly significant, yet one he refused to take seriously.
"Even if I have to become someone who is no longer sane… I don't mind."
"And if she cannot accept that, then I will make her understand—that there is no other choice but to accept me as I am."
He then shrugged his shoulders—a gesture marking someone who had chosen his own path, walking straight forward with absolute conviction, without ever looking back at anything he left behind.
Berry let out another breath, his gaze dimming.
It carried a single, bitter conclusion: their debate had reached its end. Any further attempt to pull Frankenstein back to the line of sanity would be nothing but an exercise in futility.
"Hyung… can we change the subject?"
"You didn't ask me to be here in your office, at this hour, just to watch you wait for Margaret to pick up her phone, did you?"
"Let's put that aside for now and focus on the real reason you wanted me here."