"Given these developments," Chief Kwon said, his tone turning strictly bureaucratic, "the disciplinary committee met in an emergency session half an hour ago. Your indefinite suspension has been commuted."
A faint, victorious smirk almost touched Se-na's lips, but Chief Kwon held up a stern hand.
"Do not celebrate just yet, Dr. Maeng. Your punishment has been commuted to a strict four-week probationary period," Kwon clarified firmly. "During these four weeks, you are strictly prohibited from stepping foot into any Operating Theater, scrub room, or surgical bay. You will not touch a scalpel. Instead, you will carry out general floor duties outpatient consultations and daily ward rounds."
For a surgeon of Se-na's caliber, being barred from the OT was like forcing a maestro to play a plastic whistle. It was a petty, bureaucratic humiliation. But having her coat back was an asset and Se-na never turned down an asset.
"Four weeks of floor rounds," Se-na said smoothly, her voice laced with quiet condescension. "I suppose someone needs to teach the residents how to read a chart without fainting. I will report at seven sharp, Chief Kwon."
The next morning, the clinical hum of Hankuk National University Hospital returned with relentless force.
Se-na stood before the floor-length mirror in the senior staff lounge, meticulously adjusting the collar of her crisp, white doctor's coat.
She inspected her reflection with uncompromising rigor: her hair pinned into a flawless, immovable bun, her tailored maroon trousers immaculate, her designer leather heels polished to a high sheen. For weeks, the white coat had felt stripped away. Today, putting it back on felt like putting on royal armor even if the hospital had temporarily confiscated her sword.
She picked up her tablet, took a slow, measured breath, and stepped out into the VIP corridor, where four junior residents were waiting nervously.
"Good morning, Chief Maeng," the residents chorused hastily, shuffling their feet and standing up straight like soldiers facing a general.
Se-na's sharp eyes swept over the group, lingering for a scathing second on the scuffed toes of the lead resident's shoes.
"If your clinical observations are as sloppy as your footwear, Dr. Lee, we are going to have a very miserable four weeks together," Se-na said coldly, not pausing her pace. "Focus on the patient charts, not my face. Room 801 is clear. We are moving to Room 802."
The residents exchanged terrified, wide-eyed glances, practically tripping over themselves as they fell in line behind her.
The group stopped outside the heavy, dark-wood door of Room 802.
Se-na didn't hesitate. She grabbed the handle, pushed the door open, and glided into the softly lit suite with effortless authority.
Do Ra-ik was awake.
He was propped up against a stack of white pillows, wearing the standard dark navy VIP hospital shirt. His dark hair was brushed back from his forehead, exposing the sharp, striking angles of his face. Though his skin remained pale and marked by exhaustion, his dark eyes were bright, razor-focused, and utterly arresting.
The moment Se-na stepped through the threshold, Ra-ik's gaze locked onto her.
The room seemed to shrink instantly. The sterile smell of antiseptic dissolved, replaced by the ghost of last night the tearful confrontation at her doorway, the bitter screams of shared trauma, her humiliating sobs against the wooden door, and his sudden collapse onto her dark entryway tiles.
Se-na's internal pulse gave a violent, traitorous thud against her ribs, but her clinical armor locked into place with absolute perfection. She didn't let a single flicker of vulnerability cross her face.
"Good morning, Mr. Do," Se-na announced, her voice dropping into a smooth, icy, and impeccably formal register as she stepped to the foot of his bed. The residents filed in behind her like nervous ducklings. "I am Dr. Maeng Se-na, overseeing floor rounds for this ward today."
A faint, dangerous curve touched the corner of Ra-ik's lips. His dark eyes burned into hers, searching her guarded face for even a sliver of the woman who had wept in front of him twelve hours ago.
"Good morning, Dr. Maeng," Ra-ik rasped softly, his deep, gravelly voice sending a subtle shiver down her spine. "It seems you've recovered your professional composure quite rapidly."
Se-na ignored the jab entirely, clicking her pen against her tablet without blinking. "Patient exhibits stable oxygen saturation at ninety-eight percent. Blood pressure is one-twenty over eighty. Resting pulse is... seventy-two bpm."
She took two deliberate steps toward the side of the bed, her white coat flaring elegantly. "I need to inspect the dressing on your sternum to verify there is no local inflammation or suture tearing following your little... unauthorized midnight excursion."
Se-na reached out with her stethoscope.
Before she could pull her hand back, his large, scarred fingers moved on pure instinct wrapping gently, firmly around her delicate wrist, stopping her movement mid-air.
The junior residents behind her gasped in unison, horrified, fully expecting Dr. Maeng to strike the patient again.
Se-na froze.
The cold of his palm against her pulse point was blinding, threatening to tear down every defense she had built over a lifetime. She slowly lifted her head, her sharp, intelligent eyes meeting his intense, desperate gaze from mere inches away.
"Is there a problem, Mr. Do or I file a harassment case against you?" Se-na whispered, her voice tight and laced with a quiet, lethal warning, commanding him with her eyes not to expose their shared nightmare in front of an audience.
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