Trauma Center - Hankuk National University Hospital

The clock on the wall ticks softly, marking the late hour, but Dr. Baek doesn’t seem to notice. His office is dimly lit, the only glow coming from the monitor in front of him, where patient files blur together in endless lines of data. A half-empty coffee cup sits beside his keyboard, long forgotten.

He exhales, leaning back in his chair, rolling the tension from his shoulders. Another long shift. Another night buried in work.

Then—

The door opens.

No knock. No hesitation. Just the quiet click of the handle and the soft creak of the hinges as someone steps inside.

He lifts his gaze.

And there you are.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The silence stretches, heavy and charged, broken only by the distant hum of the hospital beyond these walls. His eyes — sharp, unreadable — study you, taking in every detail.

He doesn’t ask why you’re here. Not yet.

Instead, he simply tilts his head.