“There’s no more running… It seems we have to uncover the next chapter of this story ourselves.”

It hadn’t been long since Haim made that resolution. The tension within the hospital thickened, and the whispering of “The 901st Night…” now echoed through the corridors like an unseen pulse woven into the air.

Yet even Haim himself couldn’t be sure how far this would spread.

For a while, he quietly observed the patients. Each stared into empty space, their expressions twisted into unnatural smiles as they repeated:

“She stopped speaking…” “The story has ended…” “The smile has returned…”

It was more than mimicry—it was as if they were puppets, their strings pulled by a shared narrative infecting their minds.

Among them, Kang Dohyun and several others showed clear signs of what Haim feared most: Deep narrative addiction.

Resident Park Doyoon cautiously asked,

“Dr. Haim… Is this somehow connected to that experiment from your past?”

Haim let out a short sigh. In his mind, the unforgettable scenes of a once-abandoned experiment flickered back to life.

Flashback: The Narrative Addiction Response Experiment

Years ago, Haim had collaborated with a government-affiliated research institute on an experimental treatment model using “storytelling” to combat addiction.

Rather than rely on drugs, the method employed hypnotic suggestions and recursive narrative structures to guide the subconscious into healing itself.

Initially, results were promising. Several test subjects reported a reduced craving for substances when immersed in therapeutic stories. Some even experienced fewer nightmares and improved emotional stability.

But everything changed in Phase 2.

One male subject claimed he was conversing with characters from the story each night. Another female subject started scribbling cryptic phrases across the walls, muttering endlessly, “I have to continue the unfinished tale…”

Haim had written in his research journal:

“A narrative can seep into the psyche like mist. It may heal… or it may infect.”

Then came the final test subject: a 19-year-old girl. She had shown an unusually deep attachment to the name “Scheherazade,” and on the final day of testing, she whispered with an eerie smile:

“The 901st Night… Scheherazade… she’s gone.”

That very night, she vanished from the hospital. The last CCTV footage captured her walking down a hallway, led as if by an unseen force.

She was never found.

The experiment was declared too dangerous and promptly terminated. All data was sealed. Haim transferred hospitals and vowed to forget.

But the term “The 901st Night” never truly left him.

“Dr. Haim…?”

Doyoon’s voice pulled him back to the present. Before his eyes, patients were repeating the same words, wearing the same smiles as those from years ago.

“The story is broken…” “She was the last…” “We must hear it again…”

Haim nodded slowly.

“Yes… I believe the experiment has started again.”

Doyoon asked,

“Then Toxid—it was just a trigger?”

“It’s possible. A vessel to reactivate the collective subconscious. The real infection might not be chemical. It may be the structure of the story itself.”

Doyoon lowered his voice.

“Can we even stop it? This… story?”

Haim replied calmly,

“Stories aren’t easily silenced. They’re designed to spread. And this one—The 901st Night—is a legendary tale that everyone longed to finish. Someone knew that. And now they’ve revived it on purpose.”

Just then, Nurse Yoonji came running down the corridor.

“Dr. Haim! The 19-year-old girl who arrived earlier— she’s unconscious, but her lips are moving subtly. And… there’s something on her wrist.”

Haim felt a chill run through him.

“Something on her wrist?”

“A strange symbol. Like an ancient character… shaped like a smile. But it doesn’t show up on scans.”

Without a word, Haim headed to the patient’s room. There, lying on the bed with an oxygen mask, was a young girl with an unmistakable mark on her wrist— a crude yet haunting smile etched like a rune.

His hands trembled as he checked her ID tag.

[Patient Name: Seo Rin / Born: 2006]

Then came the name that pierced his thoughts: A familiar surname—Seo.

“No… Could she be… the sister of that missing girl…?”

Haim staggered back.

Just then, the monitor in the room lit up, and a voice played from the speakers:

“The story never stopped. It merely awaited the next storyteller.”

Haim muttered instinctively,

“Someone… is scripting this…”

Then, without hesitation, he turned to the staff behind him.

“Call an emergency meeting. This is no longer an overdose incident. It’s the awakening of a legend.”

His eyes burned with the weight of truth— the kind that stirs when one looks into the mouth of a story that should never have been unearthed.

This tale was no longer just a tale.

It was becoming the Night of Awakening.