When Silay came to, the first thing he noticed was the sharp scent of antiseptic clinging to the air. A soft beeping pulsed beside his ear. Fluorescent lights overhead painted everything in sterile white.

He wasn’t in scrubs anymore.

A hospital gown hung loosely over his frame, pale against his skin. The back of his hand burned slightly, an IV cannula was inserted there, stabilized by medical tape. When he moved his head, he felt the gentle tug of more wires: a nasal cannula for oxygen, ECG leads across his chest, a pulse oximeter clipped to his finger, and a blood pressure cuff wrapped around his arm, which periodically squeezed with a mechanical hiss. Above him, a fluid bag slowly drained into his vein, and a second bag—lactated Ringer’s solution—hung beside it.

He turned his head slightly, eyes dazed. The room wasn’t unfamiliar, but it wasn’t one he usually visited from this angle. A nurse sat at a nearby monitoring station, her gaze flicking toward him the moment his vitals showed change.

“Dr. Manawari,” she stood promptly, voice calm but alert. “I’ll call Dr. Clemente now.”

Clemente? As in Li Clemente? Silay questioned, his head throbbing.

Moments later, the door opened with a quiet click, and in stepped a tall figure in a white coat. His movements were precise, almost distant, but his voice carried a composed softness, like tempered steel wrapped in silk.

“You’re awake,” Li said, checking the monitor. “That’s... unexpected, but welcome.”

Silay blinked at him in confusion, his throat dry. He tried to speak, but only a scratch came out. Li poured a small cup of water from the bedside tray and passed it to the nurse, who helped Silay drink.

“You experienced a complete physiological crash,” Li began, eyes briefly scanning the chart. “Your blood pressure dropped to 50 over 30. Oxygen saturation fell below 80%. You were severely hypovolemic, dehydrated to a life-threatening degree, and your glucose levels plummeted. On top of that, your heart showed arrhythmic patterns and your body temperature dropped to 34.5 degrees Celsius.”

Silay frowned slightly, lips parting in disbelief.

“In other words,” Li continued, “your body began to shut down on every level. It was as if something tore through your autonomic function. We suspected a cerebral incident. Aneurysm, maybe seizure-induced collapse—so preparations for emergency brain imaging and possible intervention began.”

Silay could only listen, dumbly. Not because he doesn’t understand the words, it’s just… unbelievable! All? Of? That? Happened?!

“But just before we proceeded with surgery,” Li said, adjusting the IV flow, “everything corrected itself. Your vitals stabilized. No signs of hemorrhage, no edema, no clot. It's as if your body restored itself from the inside out… but no medical explanation fits.”

Silay stared up at him. He felt embarrassed that it was Li who’s handling this.

“You’re still under observation. We’re monitoring for delayed onset symptoms, especially neurological ones,” Li added, voice still cool, but his brow slightly furrowed. “Whatever caused this breakdown, it wasn’t physical in origin. Not in any conventional sense.”

Silay blinked again, long and slow, eyes locked on Li.

“Li, I just had a nosebleed. Are you pranking me?”

When the nurse heard Silay’s answer, she went ahead, kept the paper cup and carefully left the room.

“It’s Dr. Li for you.” Li raised the clipboard, ready to slap it on top of Silay’s head, then hesitated and merely bumped it instead, suddenly remembering the risk of triggering an internal hemorrhage. “Why would I prank you? You were as good as dead. Dr. Itel was already preparing the coffin and about to call your Old Man.”

Silay stared at the wall, silent.

“Haha… hahahahaha… ahaha…”

“He had lost it.” Li shook his head, stepping back to give him space. He figured Silay needed time to digest what happened but then the patient suddenly grabbed him by the sleeve.

“L-Li… I’m just thirty-two… am I going to die?”

His brown eyes were glassy, threatening tears.

Li held in a snort. His composure wavered, shoulders trembling, voice tight as he tried to offer some form of comfort.

“Heh… ehem, no. You’re not dying.”

“Then why are you laughing?!”

Li pushed him off. “Dr. Silay, this is a professional setting. Please stop clinging to me.”

A knock, then a quiet shuffle of shoes.

“Dr. Li,” a nurse peeked in, eyes shifting quickly between the two, “the OR’s ready. You have surgery in a few minutes.”

Li’s amused smirk disappeared instantly, replaced by his usual composed, unreadable expression. He gave a small nod and began rolling up his sleeves.

“Understood. I’ll disinfect now.”

He turned to Silay, flicking his forehead gently but firmly enough to make a point.

“Rest up, drama prince.” And with that, he left.

Silay watched his back as the door closed behind him, and for a moment, the room was quiet again.

They had known each other since childhood. What started as a harmless rivalry in med school evolved into a silent contest of who could sleep the least, ace the most exams, and survive the grueling years of internship without collapsing. Eventually, they parted ways—Li took neurosurgery, while Silay pursued physiatry, focusing on neurorehabilitation and sleep medicine. Somehow, despite all odds, both of them ended up working under the same roof again.

Some people would call it coincidence.

Silay just called it exhausting.

As he sank back down to the bed, Silay began to have recollection.

He was a doctor. A man of science. And yet, he couldn’t deny what Lirika had done before it all went dark.

The warm hand touching him simply rested in front of his eyes, then slowly he felt a chilling yet painful flow somewhere. When Lirika stopped, he already felt his muscles writhing in pain, then a nosebleed. Who would have thought he almost saw the pearly gates or something.

He can’t explain either what happened.

Silay sighed. Thankfully, none of his colleagues called over his father, and… he didn't actually die. 

Not even a few minutes have passed since Li’s absence, the door once again opened, revealing Itel with dead tired eyes. She closed the door, looking at Silay sharply, “Please, come back in full health before I die talking to Lirika. I don’t want to take over your shifttttt….”

“Li told me you ordered a coffin.”

“It was a just-in-case situation!” Itel pulled a chair beside the bed, her face solemn, “Hey, but really, you were unconscious for a day. You don’t have any chronic illnesses that could trigger something like that.”

“A day?!”

“Yep. When we reviewed the CCTV before your collapse, Lirika just touched you then boom everything started spiraling to hell.”

Silay was silent.

“You have no idea either, huh.” Itel slumped to the chair too, before suddenly jolting up. “ Alam mo baka that kid could indeed see ghosts, maybe you’re possessed!”

Silay shook his head, “Not this topic again-”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Itel turned to the door. “Wow, you sure have many visitors…” she trailed off, blinking at the figure standing just outside.

A tall man, with ashy brown hair left unstyled, stood quietly in the hall. His clothes were grounded in warm, earthy tones that complimented his eyes.

Itel recognized him immediately. “Ah! You’re the patient from Room 114! Discharged just yesterday, right?”

The man nodded but said nothing. Instead, he pulled out his phone and typed something, then held it out for her to read:

(The reception said I could visit Dr. Silay now. I am a friend he picked up near the mountains a few days ago.)

Is he trying to be funny? What a strange way to introduce yourself. Itel read the message, blinking once. Oh, and they were friends?

She opened her mouth to respond, but her phone buzzed. Glancing at the screen, she took the call, nodded briskly toward the visitor, then to Silay.

And then she was gone, leaving only the two of them behind.

Silay finally blurted out in frustration, “It’s you! Suliyao Laya!”

Suliyao remained still, just beside the door.

Silay’s finger jabbed through the air. “Ever since I met you, strange things kept happening!”

“It’s not my fault,” Suliyao replied plainly.

“No. Stop. Don’t talk inside my head—your mouth’s not even moving again.” Silay held up a hand, trying to halt whatever psychic nonsense was coming next. “Nope. Nope. I’m not dealing with this. This is just my imagination…”

His eyes landed on the phone in Suliyao’s hand.

“…AND YOU DO HAVE A PHONE!”

Silay was at his breaking point.

He had almost died for reasons no one could explain. And now, right in front of him, stood a man who refused to use his mouth, communicating only through some telepathic trick.

“I just left it that day. You didn’t give me a ride either.”

Silay burst into tears.

It surprised even Suliyao.

He wasn’t bawling or wailing, just quietly crying, his tears falling freely, almost resigned. “My old man won’t let me renovate his house… You and Lirika kept saying I was destined to die after I visited him… Now Li told me my body literally just decided to die for a moment… Itel thinks I’m possessed… and you—you keep telling me I didn’t give you a ride!” He choked on a sob, voice quivering. “And now you won’t even use your mouth when you talk… Am I schizophrenic? Oh no… my hospital bills too… wahh…”

“Wow,” Suliyao said again, without moving his lips. The voice echoed in Silay’s head. “Your real personality is different.”

“Stooopp… talkinggg…” Silay sniffled, his voice cracking in humiliation.

Suliyao finally stepped closer.

He grabbed the box of tissues from the bedside cabinet and began wiping Silay’s face with an almost reverent gentleness, dabbing beneath his eyes and along the sides.

“I… I also keep dreaming of someone named Saniha and Silayan… just stop… Why did I even pick you up… You cursed meee…” Silay muttered through sniffles, shifting in frustration against the medical apparatus that made it difficult to move.

Suliyao stared at him.

Maybe he really was breaking down. Maybe everything he had buried behind that twitchy smile had finally caved in.

“You said you don’t believe in curses—”

“Stop talkingggfgffg urghhh… I’m gonna throw this monitor at you…”

Suliyao sat in the chair where Itel had been moments ago, silently letting Silay rant about his life. The man’s usual “I-get-my-shit-together” demeanor had completely shattered, and for once, he didn’t seem to care that a stranger was quietly watching him fall apart. Oddly enough, he found comfort in Suliyao’s presence—even if they barely knew each other.

The younger man tilted his head slightly, while listening to him.

Suliyao reminisced for a few moments as Silay’s voice faded into the background. Earlier, when he asked the front desk, he’d been surprised to learn Silay was confined and almost needed surgery. Now he was resting, awake but clearly fragile. After saying he was a friend, the reception finally let him visit.

Eventually, Silay went quiet.

Suliyao, who had been watching him in a daze, realized the man had fallen asleep—maybe out of exhaustion, maybe because the last of his stress had drained away. Either way, the vitals remained steady.

He stood up.

Then slowly, he raised his palm just above Silay’s chest, hovering over the rise and fall of his breathing.

He needed to check something.

The forest had told him: on a fateful day, he would meet the human who held knowledge of their origin. A human vast in wisdom—one who must be saved from death in every lifetime. A contract tied their existence across time.

And Suliyao needed to know if that contract still lived in this body.

When he was younger, his mother, whose name he could no longer even remember, once told him…

They must serve that human loyally.

If the contract was true, then Suliyao had to see it for himself.

But… how could it be this human?

Someone who didn’t even believe in spirits.

Someone who…

His eyes narrowed. A faint glow lit up in his irises, golden flecks rising and stilling like stardust caught in water.

Someone whose body couldn’t even hold spiritual energy, whose vessel broke down the moment nature’s energy flowed inside him.

“You.”

The sharp voice behind him made him whip his head around.

A girl in a wheelchair rolled into the room, face twisted in open disdain.

“Stop touching that human,” she said coldly. “What is an Engkanto doing here…?”