The atmosphere in the operating room was heavy. Behind his mask, Ashton sighed: yet another assistant who understood nothing. Just as he was about to intervene brusquely, a calm voice cut him off:
— The patient's heart rate is stable. We can resume.
Ashton, who had been keeping his eyes closed out of fatigue and annoyance, snapped them open. Standing across from him was a masked young man, his eyes hidden behind protective goggles. Nothing could be discerned of his face.
— Do it, Ashton murmured, his gaze now locked onto this stranger.
Dr. Douglas, the lead surgeon, remained frozen. How could this intern have noticed a micro-detail that he, with thirty years of experience, had missed? Ashton, meanwhile, felt a surge of adrenaline. He knew he was about to break every rule, but his instinct never failed him.
— Switch places. Now.
— What? Douglas stammered, caught off guard.
— Immediately.
The swap took place in a deathly silence. The intern seemed to hesitate for a second, then regained his composure. Ashton settled in to observe, fingers crossed, eyes fixed on the control monitor.
He began barking orders. They came so fast that a normal ear could barely keep up, and yet, the young man executed them without a single mistake.
Ashton was fascinated. This kid wasn't just fast. It was as if he were predicting the master's words before they were even spoken. His hands moved with hallucinating precision and speed.
Was he a genius?
Once the surgery was over, as the nurses were counting the equipment, Ashton placed a hand over his mouth. Beneath his mask, a smile spread. He had finally found what he was looking for: a partner on his level. Without a word, he stood up and left the room like a whirlwind.
On the other side, as they left the surgical block, everyone was congratulating Tae-Hee. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but his eyes searched for one specific person. He wanted to know what Ashton had thought.
But the great surgeon had already vanished, followed closely by a furious Dr. Douglas.
Tae-Hee felt a pang in his heart, but he was quickly pulled back to reality by his peers rushing toward the locker rooms. They had to pack their bags: their mission here was already over.
Tae-Hee reflected on those fifteen minutes spent working under his idol's command. Some would have killed to be in his shoes. Now, it was a certainty: he was made for this profession. He wanted to heal, to learn, and above all, to encounter that grey gaze that had pierced right through him once more.
He was shaken from his thoughts when he was called to board the van. The vehicle pulled away, leaving the cutting-edge hospital behind to return them to their routine at the Downtown Hospital. But deep down, Tae-Hee knew that something had changed radically.
Tae-Hee finally arrived in his neighborhood, a maze of streets where the peeling facades seemed to lean on one another for support. In a rare burst of generosity following the surgery's success, the department head had given them the afternoon off. His colleagues were already busy planning a night to remember at a club, but Tae-Hee had only one thing on his mind: retreating to his sanctuary.
As he passed the small corner shop, he spotted Max Well behind the counter. Max was a man with tired eyes, his features worn by a messy divorce that had left him with nothing but this store as his anchor. His brown goatee twitched every time he shared one of his endless anecdotes. Between them, a silent pact had formed: Max provided the occasional free item, and in exchange, Tae-Hee provided a listening ear.
— You free today, Tei? Max called out, butchering the young man's name as usual.
— Not this time, Max! Next time for sure! Tae-Hee shouted back without slowing down, a small smile tugging at his lips.
He climbed the stairs of his building, the wood creaking beneath his feet, and pushed his door open without even reaching for a key. The lock had been broken for nearly a year, and his student budget didn't allow for such luxuries.
So far, nothing had gone missing. Nobody would bother stealing from a place like this anyway, he thought bitterly, glancing over his thirty-five-square-meter apartment.
The space served every purpose: bedroom, living room, and kitchen. The lack of a shower usually meant he washed up at the hospital—a habit he'd forgotten today in the euphoria of the operating room.
— Damn, I forgot to hit the showers...he muttered, sniffing his sleeve.
The scent of the hospital—that clinical mix of antiseptic and ether—clung to his skin. He glanced at the corner where a mountain of laundry was piling up. Digging through his pockets, he fished out a few coins. It was time for the laundromat.
He headed back out, laundry basket tucked under his arm, making sure the door was pulled shut—or at least firmly pushed into place. Walking along the sidewalk, he realized just how foreign this neighborhood felt, even after five years. His life was a fixed triangle: the hospital, Max's shop, and the laundromat. The rest of the world was just a blur he passed by on the bus.
When he reached the 24-hour laundromat, disappointment was waiting for him. A thick crowd filled the space, and every machine was spinning at full speed. Too exhausted to turn back, he sank into one of the rigid plastic chairs, the basket balanced on his knees.
The steady hum of the drums, the humid warmth of the steam, and the scent of detergent began to numb his senses. His eyelids, heavy from hours of high-stakes tension, closed on their own.
While the world outside continued its frantic pace, Tae-Hee drifted into a deep sleep, his mind filled with nothing but the gleam of surgical steel and the piercing gaze of Dr. Ashton.