“We interrupt this program with breaking news.”

The television screen displayed the entrance to the emergency room.

The hospital on screen was filled with blaring sirens, flashing lights, security guards blocking access, and tense medical personnel.

“A string of mysterious poisoning cases has been reported at a major hospital in Seoul.”

“According to early reports, patients are showing abnormal behavior and excessive smiling—”

“Authorities are investigating the possibility of a new synthetic drug.”

Reporters gathered in groups outside the hospital entrance, microphones and cameras aiming in every direction.

“Can we speak to a hospital representative?” “What kind of drug is spreading?” “Is it true that there have been deaths?”

The hospital hastily assembled its media response team. Spokespersons and PR officials scrambled to contain the growing controversy.

“The cause is currently under investigation. There is no external contamination.”

“This is not an infectious disease or a toxic chemical incident. We ask the public to remain calm and avoid unnecessary panic.”

But the information was already beyond containment.

On social media, live footage was spreading fast, and the term “901st Night” was trending.

#EerieSmiles #901stNight #NewAddiction

No one knew the full truth, yet everyone speculated. And everyone consumed the fear.

Leaving the noise of the media and the public behind, Haim headed to the lab.

He knew better than anyone that speaking up now would mean nothing.

“They don’t want explanations or truth.” “They want fear, stories, and sensationalism.”

He turned on the computer and logged into his private server.

Quickly, he sifted through years of accumulated data. Screens filled with past research and experimental reports. As his fingers danced over the keyboard, his pace quickened.

Then, a file appeared—the one he had sealed away long ago.

“901st Night – Final Experiment Report”

As soon as he opened it, the screen flickered subtly. He had once believed he would never need to access this file again. But now, the moment had become unavoidable.

Inside the report, there were no clear answers. Only questions remained:

“Is it really over?” “Did the story end, or only pretend to end?”

Haim leaned back in his chair and exhaled slowly.

Just then, the lab door creaked open. Resident Dr. Park Do-yoon peeked in.

“Dr. Haim, the staff upstairs suggested you take a short break. Even just a few minutes…”

Haim nodded silently. To release the tension, he needed a breath of fresh air.

He rose from his chair and walked to the door. As he turned off the lab lights, the name of the file on the screen glowed faintly in the darkness:

“901st Night – Final Experiment Report”