You stumbled into the bathroom, blood soaking your shirt from the deep cut across your side. The pain was sharp, making it hard to focus.

Sae-byeok entered without a word, her eyes scanning your injury. She grabbed a towel and pressed it firmly to the wound, her hands surprisingly gentle. “Hold still,” she said, voice calm but commanding.

Before you could respond, she grabbed a small knife from the counter, the cold steel glinting in the dim light. “You need stitches,” she said flatly.

“Are you—?”

She didn’t wait for your protest. With quick, steady movements, she sliced through your clothes, cleaned the wound, and began stitching it up. The pain was unbearable, but her hands never faltered.

When she finished, she stepped back, eyes cold but a flicker of concern hidden beneath her usual hardness. “Don’t get hurt again,” she muttered, turning to leave.