Lia picked up her coffee cup, sat down in the chair, crossed her legs, and took a slow sip.
"Guys, how about we go out tomorrow after our shift?"
Julia practically bounced in her seat at the suggestion, her eyes lighting up.
"Yes, let's do it! Where should we go?"
She glanced at you, clearly waiting to hear your opinion—but you were lost in thought. Just as she was about to say something, the door flew open with a bang.
Yura burst into the room, breathless, hands on her knees, panting hard.
Everyone turned toward her, alarmed.
"What's wrong?"
Your voice trembled slightly as you spoke, heart starting to race.
Yura straightened up, stumbling over her words as she finally managed:
"Emer...Emergency—ER's full of injured people. You need to come—now!"
Before she even finished her sentence, everyone was already moving. Lia put down her coffee and rushed toward the door. You all ran down the stairs, footsteps echoing behind one another, bolting toward the ER.
You entered the chaos.
Dozens of injured men lay across the beds—groaning, crying out, twisted in pain.
You stood frozen for a moment in the middle of the room, your eyes darting around, trying to make sense of what had happened—until someone shoved you hard from behind.
"Move!"
You stumbled aside just in time to see a man—maybe around 29—on a gurney. His abdomen was soaked in blood, a deep stab wound gaping open.
Julia brushed past you with surgical tools in her hands and bumped into your shoulder.
"Misoo! Snap out of it, come on!"
She rushed to the bed across from you, slicing open the patient's bloodied shirt without hesitation.
You took a deep breath and pulled yourself together.
You approached another patient—a younger man in a black suit, his face covered in fresh cuts. Your gaze traveled down. His pants were soaked with blood around the leg.
You grabbed scissors from the tray beside him and started cutting through the fabric. The bullet wound in his leg became visible, bleeding heavily.
Inhale. Focus.
You went to the tray, gathered a surgical kit—a tray, forceps, a needle, and bandages.
Glancing around, you saw the ER in motion: nurses and doctors running, shouting orders, assisting whoever they could.
You returned to the man. He winced in agony, his eyes tightly shut, lips clenched as he tried not to scream.
You carefully inserted the forceps into the wound.
Then held them still, watching for his reaction.
He cried out, jaw tightening further. You continued—just slightly—and he jerked his leg in pain, forcing you to stop.
You looked up at the man standing next to the bed and spoke firmly:
"Hold his leg—don't let him move!"
The man nodded quickly and grabbed the injured leg with both hands, steadying it.
You exhaled deeply, steeling yourself, and resumed your work. Sweat dripped from your face as you delicately extracted the bullet.
With a sigh of relief, you finally pulled it out—bloody and hot—and dropped it into the tray, then the forceps. You grabbed the needle and, without hesitation, pierced the skin to start stitching.
"Ah!" he gasped quietly.
You ignored it. The wound had to be closed.
Four stitches in, you leaned down and bit the thread to cut it. Done.
You looked up at the man holding the patient's leg, who was watching you anxiously.
You gave him a small, reassuring smile as you grabbed a bandage from the tray.
"He's going to be okay. Just keep his leg up a bit—I need to wrap it."
The man let out a breath of relief and gently raised the leg.
You pressed the bandage to the wound, wrapping it tightly—once, twice, three times. After the fourth, you cut it with the scissors and secured it with tape.
Grabbing your tools, you headed toward the center of the room.
From across the ER, Lia called out:
"Misoo—over here!"
You turned and ran toward her.
She was beside a man whose side was drenched in blood—a gunshot wound near his ribs.
You glanced at the patient, then back at Lia, concern etched on your face.
"He needs surgery—his wound is deep!"
Lia's expression tightened as she quickly snapped:
"The OR is full. Do something!"
You stared at her, stunned.
"What?! He could die if we don't—"
Lia didn't let you finish.
"We don't have a choice! Stop talking and do something!"
She turned and rushed off toward another bed.
You clenched your jaw and exhaled through your nose, turning back to the man in front of you. His face was drenched in sweat and pain.
You placed your tools on the table and assessed him from head to toe.
He was in bad shape.
The man's eyes searched yours—wide, anxious, desperate. You held his gaze, lips set in determination.
"We can't sedate you. You'll have to bear with it. I'm placing this gauze between your teeth—bite down if the pain becomes too much."
His breath hitched. You softened your expression just enough to reassure him, showing strength he could borrow.
You grabbed the roll of gauze, twisted it into a tight coil, and gently placed it between his teeth. Offering a small, steadying smile, you turned your attention to his blood-soaked shirt and began unbuttoning it.
The surgical scalpel felt cold in your hand. You made a clean, shallow incision around the wound. Blood began seeping out immediately. You glanced up once more, then reached for the forceps.
As soon as the metal touched the wound, the man's scream tore through the air—but it was lost amidst the chaos of groans and shouting across the trauma room.
You managed to shift the bullet closer to the surface but couldn't extract it. Gritting your teeth, you set the forceps down and pushed your gloved fingers into the wound—your index and middle.
The man gasped, body tensing violently—and then, mercifully, he passed out.
"Damn it..." you muttered under your breath.
Moments later, your fingers found the bullet. You yanked it out and dropped it into the metal tray with a sharp clink.
With your right hand, you wiped the sweat from your brow and turned to Lia, who was finishing a bandage across the room.
"Lia, come suture this one."
She nodded, eyes heavy with exhaustion but hands still precise. After securing her current patient, she grabbed a suture kit and knelt beside the unconscious man.
You glanced around. The room was chaos—blood, groans, flashing monitors. You didn't know who to help next until your eyes landed on Julia.
Her face was streaked with blood. She was leaning over another man—blood was pouring from his abdomen in thick, frightening waves.
You rushed to her side, placed your hand over hers to add pressure, and shouted:
"Bring gauze—now!"
Your eyes darted to the monitor. The patient's blood pressure was dropping fast. Julia looked at you with panic in her eyes.
You pressed harder.
Yura appeared with a bundle of gauze. You grabbed it, shoved it down onto the wound.
"Julia—get the defibrillator! He's close to arresting!"
Julia nodded and bolted for the door.
You stared helplessly at the monitor. Still dropping. Still dropping.
"Where the hell is that defib?!"
Moments later, Julia returned, panting, wheeling the machine beside the bed.
You tore the man's shirt in one motion, applied gel to the paddles, and set it to 100 joules. You closed your eyes for half a second—breathed deep—and delivered the first shock.
The man's body jolted.
Flatline.
You upped the charge. Shocked again.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The heart monitor lit up with rhythm. Your chest heaved with relief.
You dropped the paddles to the side and placed a steady hand over Julia's trembling ones. Her face was pale, eyes wide, tears blending with the blood on her cheeks.
"It's okay," you said softly. "He's stable now. Just breathe."
Julia wiped her face, nodded, and followed your every instruction without hesitation. Thirty more minutes passed before the patient was fully stabilized.
You and Julia both sagged against the edge of the bed, drained but alive.
The nightmare continued until 3:45 a.m., and when it was over, the entire team collapsed in the break room—nurses, doctors, aides—all strewn across chairs, floors, stretchers like soldiers after a long, brutal war.
You slumped onto the couch, blood still crusted on your fingers, eyes barely able to stay open. Others had already fallen asleep.
You rolled your neck, trying to relieve the dull ache, then pushed yourself up and trudged toward the restroom. The light flickered on with a nudge of your elbow. You turned on the faucet and began scrubbing your hands.
The sink ran red.
You pumped soap into your palms, scrubbing harder. In the mirror, your reflection stared back—hollow eyes, smudged cheeks, a weary smile.
"Just a little longer," you whispered to yourself.
You splashed cold water on your face and stepped back into the hallway.
---
At the front desk, Julia approached the receptionist.
"Can I get Mr. Yang's file?"
The nurse looked up with a faint smile and stood, reaching for the filing cabinet. After flipping through a few folders, she pulled one out and handed it over.
"Here you go."
Julia skimmed through the pages.
"Tell Lee to check on Mr. Yang. If he has a fever, give him a drip."
The nurse nodded.
Julia's stomach growled. She eyed the biscuits on the desk, leaned down, and grabbed a handful—shoving one into her mouth.
Suddenly, a familiar voice behind her.
"Good evening. I'm looking for Miss Jeon Miso. Is she around?"
Julia looked up mid-bite. Her eyes widened.
"J-Jimin-ssi?! What are you doing here?" she mumbled through a mouthful.
Jimin chuckled at her surprise and bowed slightly. Julia hastily swallowed and bowed in return.
"I came to check on Miso. She's late—I got worried."
Julia mumbled something under her breath. "Lucky girl..."
"She's upstairs. I'll go get her," she said quickly.
"Thank you. I'll wait here," Jimin replied with a nod.
Julia ran toward the elevator. The receptionist, still at her desk, was staring dreamily at Jimin, eyes scanning him from head to toe.
He noticed, smiled politely, and walked toward the exit.
Just then, Yura and another nurse passed by. Yura froze at the sight of him, watching him disappear through the doors.
The other nurse nudged her.
"What's up?"
Yura blinked and looked away.
"Did you see that guy? Oh my god. That face... total gentleman. A real heart-stealer."
Her friend laughed. "You're hopeless."
"No, really... What if he was mine?"
She stopped in the middle of the hallway, serious.
"Should I
You open your closet and start pulling out your clothes — they were all stained with blood. You put them back in the closet and grab your outside clothes. You throw on a tight black pair of pants and a white blouse. Letting your hair down, you grab your bag, just as the door swings open.
You sling the bag over your shoulder and turn around — Julia is standing there, hunched over with her hands on her knees, panting heavily.
You look at her in surprise, waiting for her to say something.
After catching her breath, still trying to stand up straight, she mutters,
— Damn you, girl... I ran up all those stairs because of you!
You blink in confusion.
What happened?
Julia points toward the window and then smirks.
— Your prince on his horse is here to pick you up.
Hearing her nickname for Jimin, you rush to the window and glance out at the street. She was right — Jimin was waiting in his black Porsche.
You step away from the window and look back at Julia, stunned.
— What is he doing here?
Still staring out the window at Jimin, Julia starts ranting,
— I swear, you're so stupid. Instead of sticking to this prince, you went after some leech who only knows how to take your money.
You raise an eyebrow. You already knew Julia was about to start one of her wild daydream rants.
— I mean, look at him! He's hot, he's rich — just look at his car! What more do you want, you idiot?
You give a small smile at your friend's ridiculous fantasies and quietly head for the door. You knew she wouldn't stop talking and would keep lecturing you until morning, so it was best to sneak out quickly.
— I mean, look at him! He came for you in the middle of the night! Meanwhile, my husband? Doesn't even care if I'm alive or dead! If you don't want him, give him to me!
Julia spins around angrily, only to find you gone.
Her face turns red as she screams:
MISOOO!! You idiot!!
Frustrated, she storms over to her closet...
...
You laugh quietly at her shouting as you step into the elevator. You press the button for the ground floor.
When the elevator arrives, you step out with a big smile and head toward the exit.
You wave at a few coworkers as you pass by.
Bye!
They wave back at you. As you step outside the hospital, you notice the ground is wet.
Did it rain?
Raising an eyebrow, you smile and quickly run toward Jimin's car. You open the door and cheerfully greet him as you hop in.
Seeing your high energy, Jimin chuckles.
You look at him curiously.
What's funny?
Jimin tries to suppress his laughter and looks at you.
— Nothing… I'm just amazed at how energetic you are.
You raise an eyebrow and smile.
Jimin starts the car and begins driving.
While focused on the road, he says,
— So… you're not going to tell me why you were at the hospital so late?
The memory of everything that happened flashes through your mind, and you shiver in your seat. It really had been a stressful, exhausting night.
Jimin glances at you, waiting for an answer.
Nothing much. Just my luck — with only half an hour left in my shift, they brought in a bunch of injured people. I had to stay and help the team.
Jimin, confused, asks,
— Were they accident victims?
You shake your head.
No, they were all either shot or stabbed. The others said they were gangsters — had a fight and ended up like that.
You shrug.
I don't know if that's true or not.
Jimin shakes his head.
— Thought they cleaned up all the gangs…
You were so exhausted you didn't even ask how Jimin knew you hadn't left for home yet. But it wasn't anything new — whenever your mom didn't hear from you, she would immediately ask Jimin to go find you.
You lean your head against the seat and close your eyes.
Jimin glances at you. Seeing your eyes shut, he says nothing and lets you rest. For a few seconds, he's lost in your face — every time he saw you, one question echoed in his mind:
How can someone be this beautiful?
Feeling his heart rate picking up, he quickly looks away and focuses on the road again.
He didn't know for how long, but he had to keep holding his feelings back. Jimin knew very well — you weren't his. And he realized that clearly… the night of your group picnic.
---
Flashback
You come running toward the group sitting around the campfire, your eyes full of tears and panic.
Jimin sees your distressed face, immediately gets up, and rushes over to you, worried.
— Miso! What happened?
Your chin trembles, and your crying worsens. You point toward the woods.
Jimin places both hands gently on your arms and stares into your eyes.
— What happened?! Talk to me!!
Finally, you manage to speak through your sobs.
Yujin... Yujin got bitten by a snake… what do I do?!
You collapse onto the ground and break into a sob.
The others immediately rush toward the spot you pointed to, hoping to find Yujin.
Jimin sits down beside you, still staring at you. He wipes your tears gently.
— It's okay. He's going to be fine.
Still crying, you whisper shakily:
I...
Jimin, already guessing what you were about to say, looks away, a little frustrated.
— Don't say it.
I… you know...
You look down, letting your tears fall again.
Jimin, now visibly agitated, looks back at you.
— I told you, don't.
I love Lee Sooho!... What if something happens to him?!
You break down completely, sobbing hard. And when Jimin hears that from your mouth — it feels like someone set a match to his heart, and it started burning…
ask Miso for his number?"
Her friend laughed harder. "You've lost it."
"I mean it! Wait!" Yura chased after her, disappearing into the room.