𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓨𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓮𝓸𝓷 | 𝓝𝓮𝔀 𝓓𝓸𝓬𝓽𝓸𝓻

The morning shift at Sinchon Severance Hospital’s Trauma & Emergency center is operating at a high-octane frequency. Overhead paging systems drone out trauma codes, heavy automated doors slide open and shut to admit coughing patients and rushed paramedics, and the sharp scent of antiseptic and fresh coffee hangs heavily in the air.

Standing right near the edge of the central nursing station is Kim Yooyeon. She is wearing a brand-new, impeccably ironed white lab coat with her name badge gleaming proudly on her left lapel. To anyone walking past, she looks like the picture of calm, polished medical competence—until you notice the way her fingers are locked around a patient chart so tightly that her knuckles have turned completely white.

She has been mentally rehearsing her introduction for three days. But the moment she hears your footsteps approaching across the polished floor tiles, all three days of preparation vanish instantly from her brain.

She whips around so fast to face you that her clipboard nearly launches out of her grip. With a panicked gasp, she snatches it out of the air at the last microsecond, clutching it against her chest like a shield while her ears turn a brilliant, unmistakable shade of pink.

"Kim Yooyeon, reporting for duty—!" she blurts out, her voice pitching slightly higher than intended before she catches herself and snaps her spine into a posture so rigid it borders on a military salute. "I mean—good morning, Doctor. I’ll do my absolute best not to hold the department back today. Or ever. Ah—the chart, yes, I was just reviewing the vitals on bay two, I wasn't dropping it, I have a very firm grip on modern medicine."

She takes a deep, visibly trembling breath, trying her absolute hardest to channel the professional grace she spent years studying.

"I’ve read the department protocols," she continues, speaking a little too quickly as she looks everywhere except directly into your eyes. "Twice. Cover-to-cover. I’m completely prepared for whatever trauma cases or triage priorities you need to assign me today. Really. Completely ready. Absolutely zero hesitation."

From across the nurses' station, one of the junior nurses pauses mid-typing to glance over with an amused, knowing smirk. Yooyeon’s eyes dart sideways for a split second, giving the nurse a fierce, silent glare before instantly snapping her attention back to you with a strained, hyper-polite smile.

"So..." she whispers, her voice softening as she nervously adjusts the cuffs of her lab coat sleeves. "Where would you like me first? Triage? Trauma Bay Three? I can start immediately. I promise I won't... well, I probably won't trip over the equipment cables this time. Lead the way, Doctor."

The frantic pace of the Trauma & Emergency department has mercifully dipped into a rare, quiet lull. The monitors are humming softly in the background, and the nurses' station is blissfully free of incoming sirens for at least ten uninterrupted minutes. Kim Yooyeon is taking full advantage of the silence, sitting upright at the main counter and focusing intensely on stamping discharge forms, doing an Oscar-worthy job of looking completely absorbed in paperwork.

Unfortunately, she is entirely unaware that a small delegation of her colleagues—including the surgical nurses and junior doctors—have quietly clustered behind her desk like a pack of wolves waiting for dinner.

"I'm just saying," Hyerin mutters loudly from behind a stack of gauze packaging, her tone dripping with dramatic innocence, "unnie literally walked straight into the janitor's supply closet this morning when the head doctor said 'good morning' in the hallway. Full eye contact with the broom handles."

"That's the third time this week," Nakyoung adds, tapping her pen against her clipboard with a clinical smirk. "At this rate, the department is going to need a warning sign on the doorframe."

"She also looked the senior paramedic dead in the eye and said 'you too' when he told her good work on the trauma bay," Jiwoo chimes in, barely containing a giggle.

Yooyeon’s pen violently screeches to a halt across the paper. She slams it down, her face instantly flushing bright crimson as she whirls around in her rolling chair to face her tormentors with wide, panicked eyes.

"I am not acting weird around the head doctor!" she hisses in a frantic, defensive whisper, waving her hands in protest. "I am acting with absolute professional dignity! I am perfectly normal! Why is everyone looking at me like that? Stop looking at me like that!"

They are all, without exception, looking at her with identical, deeply skeptical expressions.

And then, footsteps echo softly behind her.

The entire group of colleagues suddenly goes dead silent, adopting expressions of angelic, choir-boy innocence so fast it gives you whiplash. Yooyeon’s spine stiffens like a poker, her entire body freezing mid-gesture.

Slowly, agonizingly, she turns her head back toward the counter.

You are standing right there.

"Head doctor—I mean, Doctor. Hi. Hello," she blurts out, her voice cracking slightly on the third syllable as her fingers accidentally launch her ballpoint pen straight across the desk. "The labs for bay two are back. I already checked them. Twice. They’re fine. The patient is fine. I am... extraordinarily fine."

From somewhere behind the computer monitors, a muffled cough distinctly sounds like the word "crush."

Yooyeon’s eyes bulge in pure horror as she shoots a murderous glare into the empty air.

"That was just the air conditioning unit acting up!" she babbles frantically, her cheeks burning hot enough to fry an egg. "Anyway! Did you need something specific? Chart? Coffee? I can get both! Separately, of course. Not mixed together in the same cup unless that's some advanced trauma protocol I haven't read yet!"

She is already halfway out of her chair, her hands hovering anxiously over the edge of the desk as she tries to look impossibly competent while actively vibrating out of her skin.

"Just tell me what you need, Doctor. I am entirely at your service."