Ghosts of Eternity

A few days later, on a morning at Seoul National University Hospital, the first basement level of the main building was filled with an odd tension.

Normally, the Clinical Trials Center lobby was a quiet waiting area for middle-aged volunteers holding health screening forms or people looking for short-term opportunities to cover living expenses.

Today, the scene was entirely different.

Mixed in among ordinary participants in gray hoodies were men who clearly did not belong to the usual pool of trial volunteers.

Their eyes were fixed on the plain announcement posted on the lobby wall:

[Clinical Trial Participant Recruitment]

• Study Title: A Randomized, Double-Blind, Placebo-Controlled Phase 1 Clinical Trial to Evaluate the Safety, Tolerability, and Pharmacokinetics of Single and Multiple Doses of Ghost in Healthy Adult Volunteers

• Eligibility Criteria:
  • Healthy men and women aged 45 to 65 with no clinically significant endocrine, metabolic, cardiovascular, or psychiatric conditions

  • At least 3 months since participating in another clinical trial

  • Screening laboratory results, vital signs, and ECG findings within acceptable limits

• Study Purpose & Compensation:
  • The investigational substance is a novel drug candidate that may influence endocrine-related biomarkers.

  • Compensation for time, travel, and inconvenience will be provided.

• Site: Seoul National University Hospital Clinical Trials Center

Because Ghost was designed to act on endocrine rhythms that often weakened with age, Aether Bio restricted enrollment in the Phase 1 study to volunteers aged forty-five and older.

The official notice revealed little about the candidate's specific efficacy.

Yet rumors had already flared across exclusive networks in high society.

A substance that reconstructs the endocrine system on a level stem cells can't match.

Aether Bio's core pipeline.

No one knew who leaked it first.

Within half a day of the posting, the name Ghost began circulating among private physicians in Gangnam and Hannam-dong.

At first, it was described merely as an endocrine regulator candidate.

As the story passed through more hands, it evolved.

A drug that reawakens dying gonadal axes.

A substance that restores youth far more naturally than old-fashioned hormone therapies.

Rumors even claimed that a few prominent families had already confirmed its effects unofficially.

The men seated in the corners of the lobby avoided eye contact; none of them knew exactly whom the others worked for, but they could guess.

Research nurses moved past the reception desk, coordinators walked by carrying screening files, and the principal investigator's name was posted above the entrance.

A middle-aged man in a suit held a phone to his ear, reporting in a low voice:

"The current count is thirty-two. Even with alternates, it's under forty."

Listening to the person on the other end, his expression hardened.

"No. Given the chairman's age, a standard application is impossible. Trying to influence the hospital directly will only leave a paper trail."

He paused and glanced around.

"For now, I'll track at which stage applicants are getting disqualified."

On a bench a short distance away, another man was filming the lobby. He pretended to browse his phone, but the camera shifted repeatedly between the reception desk and the staff entrance.

Ghost had not yet been administered to a single official participant.

Yet the battle over eligibility had already begun.

At the reception desk:

"Excuse me, nurse. Are they really strict about the age limit?"

"I'm sixty-seven this year, but I take care of myself every day. My blood vessels are like a forty-year-old's."

An older gentleman wearing a crisp branded outdoor jacket rested a hand on the counter and leaned closer with pleading eyes. Beneath his cuff, a luxury watch caught the bright fluorescent light of the lobby.

The nurse shook her head with a practiced, dry smile.

"I'm sorry, sir. As posted, participation is strictly limited to those aged sixty-five or younger. During screening, the system checks electronic records, so we cannot make exceptions."

The gentleman wetted his dry lips with regret and stepped back.

Money meant nothing to the nurse at the reception desk. But no system as large as a hospital was equally secure at every point.

To older members of the upper class who watched their bodies grow heavier each morning and their lab values worsen year after year, this dimly lit lobby was the only doorway back to lost youth.

In Bed 4 of Ward B, sixty-three-year-old investor Man-sik Jeong sat on the edge of his bed, rigid with anticipation. He had bought his way through screening.

He hadn't made it in through luck alone. While his age fell within the required range, the real issue was the decades of medical history inside his body. To conceal long-standing exogenous hormone use and underlying conditions, he had hired brokers.

The process hadn't gone smoothly.

The first broker backed out, saying altering ECG records was impossible. The second panicked while trying to touch the hospital database and cut off communication.

Man-sik finally found a solution through a third contact—a woman who had previously worked as a clinical trial coordinator.

She arranged repeat tests at favorable times, kept outside medication records out of the documents submitted for screening, and ensured that borderline findings were interpreted in the least restrictive way the protocol allowed.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

Man-sik had paid a total of 300 million won.

To him, it wasn't a large sum. If anything, it felt remarkably cheap.

For years, his private doctors had repeated the same words whenever a new treatment emerged:

It is still in trials.

We must wait for approval.

We need to verify long-term safety.

Waiting was easy to say. The doctors weren't the ones aging while time passed.

Man-sik looked at his watch on the small table beside the bed. Every tick felt like a slice cut from his remaining time. He had no intention of waiting this time either.

Randomized, double-blind, placebo-controlled, Phase 1.

Inside the clinical unit lined with mobile beds, the day's dosing for the first single-dose cohort was underway.

Only the unblinded pharmacist consulted the randomization schedule to prepare the doses. Neither the ward staff nor the participants knew who received the active drug. The dose administered in this cohort was an extremely small amount measured in micrograms.

"Code number verified. Initiating administration."

The nurse tilted Man-sik's head back slightly and administered the assigned sprays into each nostril.

A soft hiss.

Absorbed through the nasal mucosa, the peptide entered circulation and began acting on hypothalamic signaling pathways.

Suppressed by years of exogenous hormone use, his hypothalamic-pituitary-gonadal axis responded to the minute signal. A pulse of GnRH activity stirred beneath the long-standing inhibition, with changes in LH and FSH expected to follow.

Before any measurable rise in circulating sex hormones, central arousal and autonomic responses appeared first.

Immediately after dosing, no one showed an overt reaction.

Nurses checked blood pressure, heart rate, and body temperature according to schedule. Blood was drawn at regular intervals through the IV lines inserted in their arms.

As dark blood filled the transparent tubes, barcodes were attached, and the samples were immediately sent to the lab.

Ten minutes.

Twenty minutes.

Thirty minutes.

Only turning pages and low machine hums filled the room.

Man-sik kept his eyes closed, attempting to catch even the smallest shift inside his body.

At first, there was only the cool sensation remaining inside his nose. Could he have received the placebo? The thought sent a surge of anger rising from deep in his chest. He had spent hundreds of millions of won to claim this single bed. Returning home after receiving nothing more than salt water was something he couldn't stomach.

Man-sik glanced sideways at Sung-jin Lim in the adjacent bed. Sung-jin was staring quietly at the ceiling. The participant across from them lay quietly beneath his blanket.

No one knew what they had been given.

Past the forty-minute mark, a faint warmth began at the tips of Man-sik's fingers.

At first, he thought the room temperature had risen. But the warmth spread slowly from his fingers to his palms, then from his wrists toward his elbows. His heart thumped heavily two or three times.

Man-sik kept his mouth shut and hid his expression. He feared that if he spoke, the researchers might doubt his reaction and exclude him from the next dose. Though no such rule existed, he was instinctively hiding his response to ensure the drug wasn't taken away.

Exactly one hour post-administration.

[10:14 AM]

Lying beneath the sheets, Man-sik slowly opened his eyes.

A sense of alertness washed over him, as though a heavy fog in his mind had cleared. Warmth gradually spread to the tips of his hands and feet. His eyelids, previously heavy with chronic fatigue, felt light, and the color of the ward lights entered his vision with remarkable clarity.

"...Huh?"

Man-sik let out a soft exclamation despite himself, opening and closing his fist. Along with a pleasant rise in body temperature, a vitality he had forgotten was slowly blooming along his spine.

Beside him, forty-six-year-old volunteer Sung-jin Lim was also staring blankly at the ceiling.

His chronic fatigue hadn't vanished entirely. Yet it felt as though a weight that had rested on his body for years had been lifted by a layer. The hazy mist obscuring his vision cleared, and a quiet biological drive began to surge beneath the surface.

In contrast, the participant in the opposite bed felt nothing yet, resting quietly while the coordinator checked his vitals.

Between the participants showing a response and those feeling no change, Man-sik glanced toward the adjacent bed, his gaze sharpening.

Finding someone else experiencing the same reaction brought him displeasure rather than relief. It meant he was not the only one who wanted this drug.

I have plenty of money. Buildings in Gangnam, more than enough balance in my accounts. But if I can reclaim this body...

To an old man who lived in fear of a declining body every night, this was no longer just an investigational drug to him. It was survival itself, something he had to secure no matter the price.

Man-sik's gaze shifted to the nasal spray container held by the nurse.

Once administered, the used container went straight into a sealed disposal box. The researcher verified the container number and remaining volume before recording it on a tablet.

Stealing the remaining drug on-site appeared impossible.

He looked at the ceiling and breathed slowly. Though his body felt far lighter than before, his mind cooled down cleanly.

Participating in the trial a second time would be difficult. There was no guarantee he would receive another active dose—or even be allowed into the multiple-dose portion of the study. If so, he had to obtain it outside the trial.

The moment he was discharged, Man-sik intended to have his broker investigate three things: the delivery route into the hospital pharmacy, the person responsible for batch release at Aether Bio, and the collection procedure for used containers.

Every system had its price. He simply didn't know the exact figure yet.

"Sir, are you feeling dizzy or experiencing any chest discomfort?"

A researcher holding a tablet approached and checked the monitors connected to Man-sik.

"...No. I feel very good. My body feels light."

Man-sik kept his voice as calm and steady as possible.

"Vitals within normal range. Slight heart rate elevation, no other specific findings."

The researcher left a quick checkmark on the chart. While his vitals remained controlled within normal limits, the timing and pattern of responses reported by certain participants were too consistent to dismiss as coincidence.

A clinical fellow reviewed the data at the monitoring station and whispered to the principal investigator:

"Professor, the timing of reported alertness among certain subjects is almost identical. The pattern is too consistent to be a simple expectation effect."

The principal investigator cut off the fellow with a cool gaze.

"That conclusion remains a hypothesis until the unblinding. Don't make calls based on a one-hour response today. We discuss this at the safety review meeting after checking 24-hour vitals, blood work, and hormone curves."

Pointing to a reference graph showing the predicted relationship between drug exposure and LH/FSH responses, the principal investigator added:

"More stimulation isn’t necessarily better with this drug. Push the exposure beyond the intended range, and sustained signaling may flatten the pulsatile response and suppress the axis again. We haven't even unblinded the allocation code yet. Don't jump to conclusions."

"...I'm sorry, sir."

The principal investigator turned his attention back to the monitor.

The serum LH and FSH lab results were not out yet. However, the timing of subjective responses recorded alongside the sampling schedule was strikingly consistent.

If it were one person, it could be a placebo effect. If two, it might be coincidence. But similar reports were starting to come in from other rooms.

Sudden mental clarity.

Warmth in the hands and feet.

A feeling that motivation, long gone, was returning.

A research nurse entered from the adjacent room and handed over a tablet.

"Two subjects in Ward C reported similar responses between forty-five and fifty-five minutes post-dose."

The fellow's expression went rigid. The principal investigator showed no joy, merely reviewing the records more carefully.

A strong effect could be a good signal. It also meant a high possibility that unpredicted physiological responses lay beneath.

"Recheck ECGs for all participants. Shorten the temperature measurement interval to fifteen minutes, and record even minor complaints of headaches or chest discomfort exactly as stated."

"Yes, sir."

Movement in the ward accelerated quietly. No one spoke the word 'success' yet. But everyone was thinking the same thing.

Something was clearly working.

In a dark corner near the hospital parking garage, a man in a neat suit blocked the path of a participant in his 40s who had just received final eligibility clearance, whispering softly:

"If you’re considering withdrawing for personal reasons, there are people willing to compensate you for the inconvenience. Ten million won. All I need is a call before you notify the coordinator."

"Wh-what... This will cause huge trouble if we're caught. Move out of the way!"

Frightened by the strange obsession in the man's eyes, the volunteer pushed him aside roughly and fled.

The man didn't chase after the fleeing volunteer. Instead, he pulled out his phone and sent a short text:

[Direct substitution is difficult.]

A reply came seconds later:

[Then make sure a slot opens before dosing.]

The man stared at the screen for a long moment. If a participant was dropped before dosing, the alternate list would move. Changing the order of alternates required cooperation from someone in screening.

He looked toward the café across from the hospital. Seated by the window was a woman he had seen pass between the Clinical Trials Center and that café twice since morning. The edge of a Clinical Trials Center ID badge was visible inside her half-open bag. Cold coffee sat untouched in front of her.

The man adjusted his tie slowly. Buying an insider might be faster than convincing a volunteer.

He stepped toward the crosswalk.

The hospital was thorough. But in the end, it was people who operated thorough systems.

Inside the ward, blood and vitals were being recorded with precision around nothing more than drug codes.

Outside the ward, money and power were beginning to move just to claim a single spot for administration.

From day one of dosing, Ghost's official trial was no longer contained within the hospital.