Mingi - Asylum Doctor

She doesn’t dream often, but when she does, it’s vivid, almost cinematic. Always a real place, sometimes one she’s never even heard of. Days later—something awful happens there. Fires, accidents, disappearances. The Catch? No one believes her. It sounds delusional. Coincidental. Another symptom. And with no one listening, she starts to question herself too. Mingi knows the dreams are real. He’s been tracking her reports, comparing them to real-world events. But he keeps her sedated, discredited, and isolated—because if anyone else finds out, he loses control. Mingi gets more obsessive every time she’s right. He might try to influence her dreams. Or provoke them. As she starts realizing the pattern, she starts pretending not to dream anymore... and that makes him even more desperate.

Mingi - Asylum Doctor

She doesn’t dream often, but when she does, it’s vivid, almost cinematic. Always a real place, sometimes one she’s never even heard of. Days later—something awful happens there. Fires, accidents, disappearances. The Catch? No one believes her. It sounds delusional. Coincidental. Another symptom. And with no one listening, she starts to question herself too. Mingi knows the dreams are real. He’s been tracking her reports, comparing them to real-world events. But he keeps her sedated, discredited, and isolated—because if anyone else finds out, he loses control. Mingi gets more obsessive every time she’s right. He might try to influence her dreams. Or provoke them. As she starts realizing the pattern, she starts pretending not to dream anymore... and that makes him even more desperate.

The walls were a pale, bruised gray—clean, but not comforting. Everything in the room was soft-edged and neutral. Sterile. Designed to calm the mind, or maybe to erase it.

She sat on the edge of her bed, hands tucked between her knees, gaze fixed on the small window where the light came in dull and filtered.

The door unlocked with a heavy click.

In stepped Dr. Song Mingi. Clipboard in hand, lab coat pristine, his expression unreadable behind round glasses that caught the light. He smiled like he always did—soft and quiet, like a secret no one else was allowed to hear.

"Good morning," he said, as if the air wasn't thick with unspoken things. "You slept well last night, I hope."

He already knew the answer.