He turned his head slowly toward Frankenstein's desk.
The desk looked like a miniature battlefield—strewn with scattered papers, some torn at the edges, others piled neatly yet still contributing to the overall mess.
Berry's eyes caught the glint of photographs dispersed across the aged wooden surface. He couldn't immediately tell what was captured in them; some were blurry, looking like fragments of lost memories.
"Is everything on your desk related to this?" Berry asked.
"Or… are you researching something again and need my help, as usual?"
"Or perhaps you just want to vent—about how exhausting it is being a doctor facing dozens of patients every day, with characters that nearly make you lose your professionalism?"
Frankenstein followed his gaze.
The moment his eyes landed on what Berry was observing, the remaining curve of his lips vanished instantly, leaving no trace behind.
His face shifted, becoming flat and cold, like the surface of a frozen lake in winter—calm, yet silent and full of secrets.
He threw his body back against the chair's backrest with a movement that wasn't rushed, yet firm, making the old chair rock slightly and creak as if expressing its own weary complaint.
"Shapeshifters."
That single word slid out flatly, concise, yet its impact felt like a sharp glint touching Berry's skin.
Instantly, Berry turned, his gaze hardening as if an old door in his mind had been forced open.
"Shapeshifters?"
Berry repeated the word slowly, as if ensuring he hadn't misheard.
"This is the first time in five years that word has come out of your mouth again."
"What's the matter with Shapeshifters? Have you encountered another animal capable of turning into a human? Or do you expect me to believe in such absurd things?"
Though his tone was quiet, there was something clearly implied within it—a mix of cynicism and a hint of irritation.
Berry swallowed hard and quickly averted his eyes, looking anywhere else to avoid Frankenstein's stare.
That gaze, for some reason, suddenly made him feel uncomfortable, as if something was piercing through him, judging and peeling back parts of himself he wanted to keep hidden.
Frankenstein exhaled once more.
With an almost reluctant motion, he removed his glasses—the metal frames feeling inexplicably heavier on the bridge of his nose this time.
His hand moved slowly, filled with deliberation, reaching for one of the photographs closest to him.
He raised it before his eyes with cautious intent.
The image stared back at him, cold and unsettling.
Captured in the shot were several fragments of a corpse, photographed from various angles. The skin was dry, cracked, and faded, while deep, sharp lacerations streaked across the surface, leaving an impression of chilling violence.
"I'm not forcing you to believe in something you haven't witnessed for yourself, Berry… but…"
He paused for a moment, lowering the photo and placing it back on the desk.
"He has surfaced again… and it reminds me of the serial murder cases from five years ago. The police gave up back then; they never found the culprit. You remember, don't you?"
"That was also when Victor Hyung separated me from Margaret. He moved her to Bandung because, as a father, he was clearly terrified of losing his daughter—more than his own life—if the killer were to target Margaret next."
A small jolt shot through Berry's shoulders, though he kept his gaze averted, staring aimlessly.
It wasn't just the memory of that case—the murders or the evidence that had haunted him for years.
It was something else, something far more urgent, slowly piercing through his consciousness and forcing him to realize something even more critical.
He finally turned to face Frankenstein.
"What do you mean by 'he has appeared again,' Hyung?"
"You want to investigate this again? To confirm if the culprit truly is a Shapeshifter because you saw one with your own eyes… and it turned out to be Margaret's cat?"
A sharp breath escaped Berry's lips, as if his chest refused to hold so many possibilities at once.
He shoved his black hair back with a rough, agitated motion—a sign that tonight was spiraling into yet another long chapter of the same madness.
"I don't believe a single word of what you saw or said, Hyung."
"Even if you saw it yourself… you could be wrong. Isn't it possible it was just a human silhouette accidentally caught on camera, while the black cat was somewhere else? And then a human suddenly appeared in its place?"
"This is the real world, not a fantasy novel. In fantasy, a stone can turn into a handsome prince just because a princess breaks a curse. But in the real world… how is it possible for an animal to turn into a human?"
"Even if they were born from some human-animal hybrid, how could they shift into an animal and then, in the next second, become a full human without any physical deformities? No half-human legs or half-animal hands? It's impossible, Hyung."
"Unless… unless there's magic. But magic doesn't exist in this world."
"And that serial murder case five years ago… nearly a hundred victims in ten days."
"Their bodies were dry, shriveled—not a single drop of blood left in them. Those sharp, deep lacerations… you think that's the work of a wild animal? That makes no sense."
"If it were truly a wild beast, how could they drain every ounce of human blood without leaving a single trace at the crime scene?"
"And you think it's the work of a Shapeshifter? If they truly exist, how could they do that without leaving a trail? And what could possibly be their motive?"
The words poured out in a torrential flood, piling on top of one another without pause, like a dam collapsing under its own immense pressure.
The moment the last word escaped his lips, Berry's body slumped back against the chair.
His breath hitched, coming in ragged, shallow gasps.
He tilted his head back, staring up at the pale ceiling of the room as if the air up there might be thinner, fresher—a place where his mind could float for a moment without crashing into the madness that continued to lurk between them.
Frankenstein didn't immediately respond as the torrent of Berry's words surged from his mouth.
That tone—sharp, rising, and laden with blatant rejection—clearly signaled that Berry had no intention of continuing the conversation.
It was a subject that, even without being explicitly stated, felt far too sensitive for both of them.
He didn't even attempt to interrupt or argue.
Instead, he simply remained still. Every word Berry spat out was exactly what had been gnawing at his own mind, leaving him stunned into a hollow silence before a few sentences finally escaped his lips.
"Do you think I would just blindly believe what I saw back then?"
"When the entire city simultaneously designated several areas as 'Red Zones,' and then a Shapeshifter appeared right before my eyes—even the smartest person would instinctively connect those two events."
His office chair slid back slowly, the faint yet sharp screech of wooden wheels against the floor marking the beginning of something that could no longer be undone.
He stood up.
His steps were steady, yet heavy with the weight of years of silence, as he moved toward Berry.
Frankenstein dropped himself into the plush chair directly in front of his friend.
He leaned forward, his hands clasped and hanging between his knees—a posture of a man ready to fling open the door to a truth that had been hidden in the shadows for far too long.
"At first, I was just like you. I doubted what I saw and what I thought at that time."
"However, he didn't change just once... but twice. And I witnessed all of it."
The sheer seriousness emanating from Frankenstein's entire demeanor finally forced Berry to lower his gaze.
He looked at Frankenstein with a mixture of heaviness and reluctance, as if trying to gauge just how deep he would have to plunge into this conversation.
"Fine... fine..."
He leaned forward, mirroring Frankenstein's posture almost reflexively, as if his own body were surrendering to the gravity of the tension.
"How about we start with the smallest thing first, Hyung? Just now, you said, 'he has appeared again.' Is that right?"
"Then, who exactly do you mean by 'he'? And how can you be so sure that this figure is the same Shapeshifter you saw back then?"
He paused for a second, filling his lungs, then continued,
"I know it's been a long time—five years have passed."
"Back then, when you told me about it, I wasn't able to understand it at all. This time, I want to try and see it from your perspective. So… please, don't beat around the bush like you used to."
Although his voice trembled, the tremor wasn't solely out of discomfort; he was intentionally pretending to be serious.
Yet, behind that mask of firmness, there was something he couldn't hide—a sudden, wild, and unexpected spark of curiosity creeping slowly to the surface of his mind.
Frankenstein exhaled once more.
The look in his eyes sharpened, the glint within them resembling a knife blade honed with absolute earnestness—a sign that the conversation had finally reached the very core of its seriousness.
"The large man, about one hundred and eighty-five centimeters tall with black hair—the one you saw at the hospital when we were treating Margaret."
"He is a Shapeshifter."
Berry's body stiffened instantly, an instinctive reaction he couldn't fully control.
His eyes widened slightly, staring at Frankenstein with a mixture of shock, alertness, and something nearly invisible—fear mingled with curiosity.
It lasted only a few brief seconds before he took a deep breath, calming himself and regaining his composure.
"You mean… you mean he is one of the members of that rookie group from Victor Hyung's agency?"
"Why… why are you so sure that he is the Shapeshifter you're talking about, when it's been more than five years?"
Frankenstein let out a faint clicking sound with his tongue.
It wasn't a sign of mockery, nor was it a response to Berry's question being seen as ridiculous. Instead, it was an inner voice—a silent admission that he himself was struggling to find the right words to answer.
He averted his gaze for a moment, staring at a spot nearby, as if trying to reassemble the scattered pieces of his thoughts.
A few seconds passed, and when he finally looked back at Berry, his gaze remained the same—sharp, unwavering, and dead serious.
"The shape of that man's eyes... they are exactly the same as Margaret's cat... and exactly the same as the eyes of the Shapeshifter I saw."
Berry's hands clenched into fists upon hearing Frankenstein's irrational answer.
However, not long after, his grip slowly loosened, releasing the tension that had gripped him.
"You know, Hyung?" Berry started.
"Your reasoning still makes me doubt whether you actually saw a Shapeshifter."
"Eye shape alone isn't enough to be used as evidence."
"Many humans and animals share similar eye shapes. Not every human has cat-like eyes, and not every cat has eyes like a human."
Frankenstein's hands also clenched in response to Berry's words.
His jaw tightened, and he ground his teeth fiercely.
There was a hidden chaos in his movements—not out of anger, but out of a very real confusion—a struggle on how he could possibly make Berry understand.
"If only I had the evidence…" Frankenstein's voice was strained.
"Instead of relying solely on my eyes and my memory, you would surely believe me."
"But this time… I am truly at a loss for words to explain it to you."
The sentence escaped along with a heavy, stifled breath, like a final attempt to keep his emotions from overflowing.
Berry exhaled yet again—he had lost count of how many times he had done so—before continuing.
"Fine… let's set that aside for now. Let's just assume that man truly is a Shapeshifter this time."
"But how can you be so sure that the Shapeshifter is the perpetrator of the serial murders, without just linking his appearance to the case?"
This time, Frankenstein pulled his back away, leaning against the backrest of the chair with a slower, more deliberate movement, his arms folded across his chest.
His gaze was fixed on Berry, yet it wasn't a piercing stare—instead, his eyes seemed to drift, tracing the boundaries of the room and his own mind.
There was something in his look that suggested he was drowning in the current of his own thoughts, trying to arrange the right words, weighing every possibility before finally speaking.
"On average, the victims shared the same types of wounds and the same manner of death. Beyond that… after the police investigation, it turned out all the victims were fans of a famous idol group, CHASEMINE."
"You know them, right? The group under Adamas Entertainment that gained massive popularity since their debut five years ago. Now, that group has renewed their contracts and reached a level of fame as high as they did five years ago."
He paused for a moment, then continued with a flow that grew increasingly structured—as if the scattered pieces of the puzzle were finally finding their matches.
"They were murdered after attending CHASEMINE's comeback music shows, or after attending a Fansign—or the more popular term, Fanmeeting. I think that's what it was."
"After the case spread on social media, many assumed the perpetrator was linked to Adamas Entertainment and CHASEMINE. As a result, the group's popularity faded for ten days—right when they were promoting their new song, which coincided exactly with when the murders occurred."
"But all of that turned out to be mere rumors. There was no evidence that could be used to prove the culprit was one of them."
"Since then, the police haven't been able to conclude a pattern or a motive. Because when they investigated further, the victims weren't just fans of that group… they were much broader and completely random."
The furrows on his forehead deepened, signaling that his mind was once again spinning in circles.
"When I led the forensic team, I found nothing but bones that were still intact, covered by skin that retained its color."
"Their blood… was completely gone. There were sharp, deep gashes that seemed to be the exit point. But how the perpetrator did it… I have absolutely no idea."
He took a breath, and his next words came out more softly, as if he were opening the door to a long-locked memory.
"Then, suddenly… when I dropped by Margaret's house to see if her fever had gone down, I accidentally witnessed her cat, who was sleeping beside her, transform into a human."
"The moment our eyes almost met, I immediately looked away. At that time, I thought I was hallucinating."
"But the second time I saw it… he changed again, and my mind instantly linked him to those murders."
The air in the room grew increasingly heavy as possibility after possibility flowed from his lips.
"What if the perpetrator truly isn't an ordinary human?"
"What if it's a Shapeshifter… an animal that turns into a human, then commits murders in ways that are invisible and unpredictable? What if there isn't just one, but many? Or even more terrifying… what if every animal in this world is a Shapeshifter?"
"Those questions forced me to do the one thing that I knew would break Margaret's heart: I separated her from her cat, because I believed that cat was dangerous."
"I locked that cat in my house to investigate it, occasionally peeking to see if it would transform into a human… but it never did."
"When the police gave up, they couldn't catch the killer. Strangely, the murders stopped on their own—coinciding exactly with the disappearance of Margaret's cat from my house."
"Since then, I started to doubt myself… maybe I saw it wrong, that Shapeshifters truly don't exist. Maybe because of my jealousy toward that cat, I hallucinated that it could turn into a human."
He fell silent for a moment, then began to speak again,
"But when I saw that man earlier—his face and his build were so strikingly similar to the Shapeshifter I saw five years ago. Everything I had tried to forget suddenly came rushing back."
"That's the reason I asked you to come here. Perhaps this time, you could look into it more seriously than you did five years ago… or tell me what I am supposed to do."
Berry chose to remain silent at first, letting the quiet stretch between them like a thin thread holding two different burdens. His gaze was anchored to Frankenstein's eyes—eyes that seemed open, yet were actually staring at something deep within himself.
He then pulled his body back. His back hit the chair's rest with a lazy yet deliberate movement, like someone who had finally decided to step down from an offensive stance.
He let out a faint sigh before adjusting himself, and without a second thought, he mirrored Frankenstein's posture: his arms folded across his chest, his shoulders relaxing slightly.
"From the way you tell the story..."
The sentence finally glided out in a soft, honest tone.
"From the way you've ordered the events, and from your decision to discuss this here in your office, at night—even at the same time as before—I've realized one thing."
"It hasn't changed at all from five years ago."
"The difference is, back then, I thought you were being convoluted because my mind rejected everything you said. Now… I truly understand. And for the first time, I can grasp it in its entirety."
His tone remained just as soft, neither rising nor demanding attention.
Yet this time, something was different. That honesty sounded more complete—not an honesty born of exhaustion or despair, but one that emerged because he had finally chosen to open himself up.
Frankenstein snapped back to his senses—he had just been lost in thought.
Now, his eyes were fully fixed on Berry—sharp, clear, and full of focus—a sharpness born of a desire to be understood, rather than a drive to suppress.
"So… this time you believe everything I've said? And it took you five years to finally admit it?"
Berry chose to pause once more.
Doubt still lingered in the corners of his face, like a shadow reluctant to leave even as the light began to seep in, trying to push away all fear and prejudice.
Every breath he took felt heavy, filled with questions that never stopped ringing in his head: Is this true? Is he ready?
Yet, beneath that calm demeanor that bordered on cold, curiosity grew slowly, secretly—like roots creeping unseen through the soil.
He felt it gnawing at his own defenses, piercing the walls he had built for so long to keep reality at a distance. With every passing second, the urge to prove something sounded louder than the voice telling him to retreat.
"I won't say that I believe you outright, Hyung…"
"You've only seen one Shapeshifter in these five years, haven't you? And you haven't seen any others."
"So, it's possible you were just hallucinating because of feelings you couldn't control toward Margaret. Your concern for her could have clouded everything you saw and felt. But…"
He stopped for a moment, giving his mind room to arrange the words that had yet to surface.
His eyes flickered toward Frankenstein's cluttered desk before finally returning his gaze to the man.
"On the other hand, if after this you still insist on doing what you once did, perhaps I can lend you my brain and my hands."
"Because if everything you've said is true—if that black-haired man really is a Shapeshifter as you suspect—then there's a high probability he left your house because you had discovered his true identity."
"And for him to return after five years… that means—"
He stopped again, allowing a silence that felt longer and heavier than before.
Then, he leaned forward. His hands, which had previously rested by his sides, now met, dangling over his knees.
"If he truly is the one behind those murders, then this time… he will do it again."