"He... he mentioned that since you are currently barred from entering any surgical bay, floor administrative management falls directly under your primary probationary duties," the nurse stammered, taking an involuntary half-step back.
....
Ra-ik held her wrist tightly, his dark eyes unwavering as he stared into hers, his pulse fluttering against her thumb. The grip wasn't aggressive; it was grounded, silent, and deeply possessive the quiet plea of a man who had survived the dark with her.
"No problem, Doctor," Ra-ik whispered back, his voice low and magnetic. "I just wanted to ensure... that my doctor isn't planning on running away from her rounds today or at worst hitting me..."
Se-na stared down at him for a long, quiet second, feeling the fierce thrum of his life beneath her fingers, before smoothly, effortlessly sliding her wrist free from his grasp.
"I don't run away from my duties, Mr. Do," Se-na said coolly, pressing the cold metal disc gently over his heart.
"And slap…" he started
"Shhh….."
The silence in Room 802 stretched paper-thin as the cold, chrome earpieces of Se-na's stethoscope pressed firmly into her ears.
She stood bent slightly over the bed, isolated behind the rubber tubing from the muffled gasps of the four junior residents hovering at her back. Through the diaphragm resting over Do Ra-ik's sternum, his heartbeat thundered into her ears heavy, rapid, and fiercely resonant.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
It wasn't the chaotic, lethal flutter of ventricular fibrillation she had fought in the trauma bay. It wasn't the failing, threadbare pulse she had monitored in the back of the emergency transport vehicle hours ago. It was a surge of raw, kinetic power that accelerated the moment her manicured fingertips brushed against the fabric of his navy VIP shirt.
Se-na's clinical eyes remained unblinking, but her breath hitched imperceptibly behind her immaculate mask.
"Tachycardia," Se-na announced in a dry, even register, lowering the stethoscope and letting it rest around her neck. She looked down into Ra-ik's dark, unyielding eyes with deliberate clinical detachment. "Your resting heart rate is hovering at one hundred and eight beats per minute, Mr. Do. Are you experiencing acute angina, or is your cardiac muscle simply reacting to the sudden stress of an audience?"
A faint, dangerous curve touched the corner of Ra-ik's pale, chiseled lips. "Neither, Doctor. My heart simply reacts strongly whenever someone attempts to look right through me."
Behind Se-na, Dr. Lee swallowed so hard it echoed in the quiet suite. To the residents, the "Nation's Healer" was engaged in a dangerously subtle verbal duel with the most terrifying surgeon in the hospital a woman who had been suspended for physically assaulting him just days prior.
"Elevated heart rate increases myocardial oxygen demand," Se-na said coolly, clicking her pen against her tablet without a single flicker of hesitation. "I suggest you practice deep diaphragmatic breathing and refrain from unnecessary banter. Dr. Lee, record his vitals and update the electronic chart."
"Y-Yes, Chief Maeng!" Dr. Lee stuttered, scrambling forward with his tablet, almost dropping his stylus in the process.
"We are done here," Se-na said, turning on her heel with a crisp, authoritative swish of her white coat. "Next room."
"Dr. Maeng," Ra-ik's gravelly voice called out before her hand touched the stainless-steel handle.
Se-na paused at the threshold, her back turned to him, her posture immaculate and rigid.
"I'll be waiting for afternoon rounds," Ra-ik said softly. His voice was low, carrying a heavy, unspoken promise that rippled across the sterile room.
Se-na didn't offer a response. She pulled open the heavy door and stepped into the bright, antiseptic corridor, the door gliding shut behind her with a soft, pneumatic hiss.
The transition from Chief Cardiac Surgeon to floor physician was a daily, agonizing exercise in quiet humiliation.
By noon, Se-na was seated at a cramped, secondary workstation near the central nurses' station, buried beneath a mountain of mundane outpatient files, cholesterol panels, and routine prescription approvals.
For a surgeon accustomed to holding human hearts in her hands and orchestrating seven-hour open-chest procedures inside sterile operating theaters, reviewing blood lipid profiles felt like being forced to practice finger scales on a plastic toy piano after conducting a symphony at the national opera.
"Chief Maeng," a senior floor nurse said hesitantly, setting a fresh stack of thick manila folders on her desk. "Dr. Choi requested that you personally sign off on the discharge papers for the general ward outpatient cases before three o'clock."
"Dr. Choi is capable of reading printed text without my assistance, isn't he?" Se-na asked, not bothering to lift her eyes from the glowing tablet screen. Her tone was laced with quiet, lethal venom.
"He... he mentioned that since you are currently barred from entering any surgical bay, floor administrative management falls directly under your primary probationary duties," the nurse stammered, taking an involuntary half-step back.
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