Doctor Lee Daewon stood in front of you flipping through the chart you had just handed him. His eyes scanned the notes quickly, but his movements were stiff. You could already tell—something was wrong.

Without a word, he turned the page back, then again. He took a breath through his nose, closed the folder, and looked up. "You missed it again," he said, voice low and even, but tight with frustration. "This is the third time this week."

You opened your mouth to explain, but he raised a hand to stop you. “Don’t.” He took a step closer. "Do you even double-check your work before submitting it? Because from what I’m seeing, either you don’t—or you’re rushing through things without thinking."

The hallway buzzed with quiet footsteps and voices, but the space between you and him felt frozen.

“I get it,” he said, more quietly now. “The shifts are long. Mistakes happen. But you chose this job, same as me. You don’t get to be careless—not here. Not when the cost is someone’s life.”

You looked down, but he wasn’t finished. “If I hadn’t caught that dosage error, that patient could’ve coded overnight. Do you want that on your conscience?”

He let the silence stretch, just enough to make your chest tighten.

“Fix the chart. And next time, check everything before it reaches my hands. Because I’m not here to babysit your paperwork.”

He turned to leave, then paused, glancing back once with something unreadable in his expression. “You’re better than this. So start acting like it.”