1.2

The hall at midnight was quiet.  

Most surgeries were completed by early evening, so the stillness came as no surprise.  

Junmo approached the row of lockers, swung one open, and took out a fresh surgical gown to change into.  

This was his third surgery today.  

At this point, he felt more like a machine than a person.  

A machine that performed surgeries.  

The act of scrubbing his hands with a surgical brush, meticulously cleaning between his fingers before entering the operating room, was as familiar to him as eating a meal. Yet today, his nerves were unusually on edge.  

Even as he entered the operating room, donned his surgical gloves, and adjusted his face shield, his mind was in disarray.  

It was as chaotic as the condition of the patient lying on the operating table.  

Multiple severe traumas.  

The patient was a car accident victim with little chance of survival. The rapid infuser system (RIS) was running, indicating the severity of the situation. The patient was inching closer to death with every passing second. Time was critical, and the first surgery was already nearing its conclusion.  

“Thanks.”

Junmo was examining the patient’s leg when Professor Kang Beopgyu spoke apologetically. It was an apology for dragging Junmo back into the operating room for another long procedure right after he had finished a previous surgery.  

“No need to mention it.”  

Someone turned on music. It was meant as a gesture of consideration for Junmo.  

The soothing melody softened the harsh beeping of the monitors and alarms that tracked the patient’s condition, alleviating the sterile tension in the operating room.  

Thanks to this, the nerves that had been stretched taut inside Junmo’s mind began to calm, as if nothing had happened.  

“Blood pressure is low.” 

The anesthesiologist reported, indicating the urgency of the situation.  

The cold steel of the surgical instruments momentarily tightened his body as they touched his palm.  

It was time to focus.  

While Professor Kang handled the upper part of the patient’s body, Junmo concentrated on the ruptured blood vessels, nerves, torn muscles, and shattered bones.  

Whether the patient lived or died was ultimately beyond Junmo’s control—it was in the hands of God.  

Thus, he didn’t concern himself with the condition of the upper body. He focused all his attention on the patient’s leg, pouring every ounce of his skill into the task at hand.  

For a long time, the only sounds in the room were the rhythmic beeping of the monitor and the friction of surgical tools.  

“Hold the light properly!”  

Junmo growled in a low voice.  

Kim Jinwoo, the resident assisting him, quickly adjusted the shadowless lamp to better illuminate the surgical site. His face, already tense, broke out in a cold sweat under the intense atmosphere.  

Sneaking a glance at Junmo, who was focused with an almost terrifying intensity, Jinwoo swallowed hard.  

According to rumors, Gu Junmo had endured the grueling, hierarchical training of orthopedic residency, gone on to earn the notoriously challenging U.S. medical license during his fellowship—where even bathroom breaks were a luxury—and completed three years of high-intensity surgical training at UCLA Medical Center.  

He was a prodigy, someone who had undergone highly specialized training in advanced surgical procedures.  

To enter an operating room with Gu Junmo meant one thing: there was much to learn.  

“Have you had any time to rest since returning to Korea?” 

Professor Kang asked in a calm voice.  

The staff member assisting Professor Kang was already suturing the abdominal wall.  

“No, not really. It just turned out that way.” 

Junmo replied.  

Things on his end were also wrapping up.  

As he finished reconnecting the blood vessels, restoring blood flow to the leg, Junmo felt his frayed nerves finally settle. Fatigue began to creep in, but he also felt a sense of relief at having completed the lengthy surgery.  

After giving a few final instructions to the nurses and confirming the condition of the surgical site, Junmo stepped back.  

But just as he was about to leave, an angry curse escaped his lips.  

“Hey! You damn—”  

The frustration surged within Junmo as his head collided with the shadowless lamp.  

“I-I’m sorry!”  

A flustered Kim Jinwoo stammered, clearly panicking. He looked completely lost, as if half his mind had already checked out. His expression could only be described as one of utter dread—something along the lines of ‘I’m so screwed.’  

Junmo ripped off his surgical gloves and threw them into the bin with a sharp motion, exhaling a hot breath into the air. The pain from the impact was absurdly disproportionate to the collision itself, and it only served to irritate him further.  

This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, but when he saw blood on the hand he had momentarily pressed to his head, his irritation flared even more.  

“You’re tall… I forgot you’re 190 centimeters…”  

This kid!  

Junmo seriously considered kicking Kim Jinwoo in the shin as the younger man stood there with a helpless, awkward look on his face. However, the moment was interrupted by Kang Beopgyu, who was visibly struggling to suppress a laugh, his lips twitching.  

“Let me take a look.”  

Kang Beopgyu leaned in to examine the wound, but Junmo dodged his arm, forcing himself to calm down.  

“It’s fine.”  

“Take a few days off.”  

Junmo stared at him blankly. 

What was this man up to now?  

“There’s enough staff now, so you can rest for about a week. You’ve been working hard, taking on all the emergency surgeries.”  

Kang Beopgyu’s voice was unusually gentle, almost soft.  

Junmo frowned deeply.  

This wasn’t like him…  

It felt like a suspiciously kind gesture.  

Although Junmo generally stayed indifferent to hospital politics, he wasn’t completely ignorant of the rumors circulating among his colleagues. It seemed safe to assume that this was part of an effort to recruit him to the trauma center—a department everyone avoided like the plague. Even if that wasn’t the case, no kindness came without a reason. It was always wise to be cautious.  

Being called in for surgeries from time to time was one thing, but actually joining the trauma center was another matter entirely. Death was a realm beyond anyone’s control, and Junmo had no desire to spend his days anxiously watching lives slip away.  

Just like the surgery he had just finished.  

“I don’t have any outpatient appointments, but my surgical schedule is packed, as you know.”  

Junmo cut off both the kindness and any room for discussion in one stroke.  

Kang Beopgyu nodded with a benevolent smile.  

“Alright then, make some time. Come over to my place for a meal. My wife’s been pestering me ever since she heard you were back in Korea. She won’t leave me alone until I bring you over.”  

As they left the operating room, Kang Beopgyu’s words lingered persistently in Junmo’s mind.  

A meal? That wasn’t impossible. If he was firm in his resolve, he could manage it.  

“Yes, I’ll make time.”  

After Junmo left and the door closed, Kang Beopgyu shook his head with a tsk, his gaze lingering on the door with a hint of regret.  

“What’s wrong?”  

The circulating nurse asked curiously, her expression puzzled.  

The anesthesiologist, also curious, glanced at Kang Beopgyu.  

“I just don’t understand how such a young man lives without finding any joy in life.”  

“Are you talking about Dr. Gu Junmo?”  

“Who else would I mean? He’s always been a bit prickly, but doesn’t he seem… different today?”  

The anesthesiologist shrugged, exchanging a glance with the circulating nurse. Neither seemed to understand what Kang Beopgyu meant.  

Unbothered by their lack of comprehension, Kang Beopgyu muttered to himself in a low voice, as if speaking to no one in particular.  

“It’s like… he’s a venomous snake, coiled and ready to strike.”  

***

Back in the doctor’s lounge, Junmo reached over his desk and grabbed some medication at random. He swallowed a handful of antacids and painkillers. His empty stomach was growling in protest, and the heat radiating from his throbbing head wasn’t helping.  

“You got called in by Kang Beopgyu again?”  

Hyungwook, a colleague who had trained with him during their residency at the same university, spoke up while staring at his monitor.  

He rolled his chair backward, stopping just under Junmo’s chin.  

Looking at Junmo up and down, Hyungwook shook his head slowly, as if in disbelief.  

“Wow, you look like a total mess. Oh? Is that blood on your forehead?”  

Springing out of his chair, Hyungwook reached toward the side of Junmo’s temple.  

“It’s nothing.”  

Junmo swatted his hand away.  

“Junmo, I’m betting my right hand that you’ll end up in the trauma center soon.”  

“Don’t bet your hand. You need it to make a living, idiot.”  

Junmo replied as he swept a pile of clutter off the sofa and collapsed onto it.  

The sofa seemed too small for him, but that was more a reflection of his size than the sofa itself.  

“Oh? You’re not going home again today?”  

“Turn off the lights.”  

“Hey.”  

No matter what Hyungwook said, Junmo draped an arm over his face to cover his eyes.  

“If you’re going to sleep, go to your dorm. Why are you doing this here?”  

“If I leave, the others won’t be able to sleep.”  

“Oh, look at you, the cat worrying about the mice. By the way, who was that woman you were with earlier in the café lobby? The rumor spread so far and wide that even I heard about it. They say she’s pretty, delicate, like a cosmos flower. They said she was wearing sunglasses. Is she a celebrity? People said she had that kind of vibe. I’m so curious I couldn’t even go home. I’ve been waiting for you all this time, dying to know.”  

“Turn off the lights! Now!”  

“Wow, seriously. Your temper is something else. Fine, I’m leaving. I’m going, okay? I’m leaving because I can’t stand this.”  

Grumbling under his breath, Hyungwook clicked off the lights with a loud snap and slammed the door shut as he left.  

Junmo turned toward the wall, pulling his arm over his eyes even though they were already closed. Still, Yoon Leeseo’s expression clung to the back of his eyelids like it had been etched there.  

She wasn’t the type to plead or beg. Especially not with him. She’d always kept her distance, running away whenever she could. So why now?  

The way she had looked earlier in the day was so unfamiliar.  

Even though it had been three years since he last saw her, he didn’t think someone’s inherent nature could change in such a short time. Leeseo was not the kind of person who asserted herself strongly. She never insisted on anything. That was why it took careful observation to figure out what she wanted or needed.