Haesin University Hospital always smelled faintly of antiseptic and the wet earth outside its walls. Rain had come and gone through the night, leaving streaks of water on the tall glass windows that reflected the first pale hints of dawn. Inside, the corridors were awake before the city was, nurses gliding past with quiet steps, their carts softly rattling over polished floors.
Dr. Seo Yoon walked through the cardiothoracic wing with her usual quiet authority, her white coat swaying gently behind her, a tablet in one hand, her other hand brushing back a strand of hair that had fallen loose from her neat bun. She greeted no one first, but when a nurse bowed and murmured, "Good morning, Doctor," she replied softly, a polite nod before her eyes returned to the screen.
The screen did not hold her attention, though.
Not today.
Today, something waited for her in the basement archives.
---
She completed her early rounds mechanically, checking on a young man post-valve replacement, nodding at the boy clutching his mother's hand in the pediatric wing, updating a chart with practiced neatness. Her words were kind but measured, her presence steady enough to calm even the most anxious relatives.
"Doctor, will my son be okay?" a woman asked, her voice trembling.
Seo Yoon placed a hand lightly on her shoulder, her eyes calm.
"He's strong. We are taking good care of him," she replied.
A soft smile, a slight incline of her head, and she moved on, leaving behind a small ripple of hope.
---
At 6:55 AM, she slipped away, unnoticed, into the stairwell, descending each step in silence. She passed by the fourth floor, then the third, down to the basement level, where the smell shifted to damp concrete and old paper. A small fluorescent light flickered outside the door marked Records Archive.
She paused for a moment, listening. The basement was silent, save for the hum of the old generator and the ticking of the clock above the doorway.
With a soft click, she opened the door.
Inside, rows of metal shelves held folders, some crumbling at the edges, some marked with dates from decades past. The lights above buzzed softly, creating islands of illumination amid the shadows.
Seo Yoon moved with familiarity, walking past the older oncology files, past the dusty orthopedic records, until she reached the section labeled Cardiology: 3-8 Years Prior.
She scanned the labels with her finger until she found the name:
> Han Min Gyu
She pulled the file from the shelf. It was thicker than most, with a red clip on the top edge, marking it for special status.
She took it to the small table in the corner, brushed aside a stray cobweb, and opened the file.
---
The first few pages were routine: patient intake forms, insurance data, pre-operative reports. She flipped through them without care, her eyes moving fast, seeking what she knew would be there.
It was on page 17.
A police report, folded and stapled awkwardly into the file, nearly hidden behind lab results. She carefully pulled it free, unfolding the thin paper.
Complainant: Jang Mi So, 22, hostess, filed at Gangneung Police Station. Accusation: Sexual harassment, threats of violence. Accused: Han Min Gyu. Outcome: Dismissed due to lack of evidence and complainant withdrawing under pressure.
Seo Yoon's eyes did not blink as she read it once, twice, three times, the words sinking into her mind without ripple.
She closed the file slowly and placed it back into its slot on the shelf, but the police report remained in her hand, folded again, carefully, precisely, and slipped into the inner pocket of her white coat.
---
On her way back up, she paused on the second-floor landing, pulling out her phone, opening a plain, encrypted note.
She typed:
> H.M.G.
Below it, other initials already waited, typed in a neat, identical font:
> N.T.J. P.J.S. S.K.H.
She stared at the screen for a long moment, her thumb hovering before she locked it and slipped the phone back into her pocket.
---
Seo Yoon returned to the staff lounge before the morning conference, washing her hands with precise movements, scrubbing under her nails with a disposable brush. She could see her reflection in the small metal panel above the sink: calm, composed, the perfect image of a dedicated doctor.
She reached into her pocket and touched the folded report once, briefly.
Behind her, the door creaked, but she didn't turn immediately.
"Unnie?"
The soft voice was almost a whisper.
Seo Yoon turned, her eyes softening for a moment. A young nurse stood there, no older than twenty-three, holding a stack of blood sample forms.
"What is it, Soo Ah?" Seo Yoon asked.
"I, um, I just wanted to say, thank you for helping with my mother's check-up last week," Soo Ah stammered, bowing quickly.
Seo Yoon nodded, a faint smile on her lips. "It was nothing."
Soo Ah hesitated, then left, leaving the scent of lavender soap in the air.
Seo Yoon's eyes returned to the mirror, and for a moment, something moved in the reflection behind her.
A faint shift, a shadow, almost like the shape of another person, standing behind her, watching.
She didn't flinch.
"Soon," she whispered softly.
The shadow did not respond, but the silence seemed to deepen, as if it was listening.
---
The morning meeting was routine, doctors presenting patient updates, nurses reporting supply needs, the hospital director praising recovery rates. Seo Yoon took notes quietly, nodding at the appropriate moments.
Her mind was elsewhere.
When the meeting ended, she walked down the hallway, back straight, eyes calm, each step measured.
As she passed the nurses' station, she caught Soo Ah watching her, eyes wide, almost afraid.
Seo Yoon stopped, turning her head just slightly, offering a small, calm smile.
"Have a good day," she said softly.
Soo Ah bowed quickly, stammering out a reply, and Seo Yoon walked on, her eyes forward, her mind already calculating.
---
That evening, the hospital cafeteria was nearly empty, the sky outside darkening to a muted blue. Seo Yoon sat alone at a corner table with a cup of barley tea, her coat draped over the chair beside her.
Her phone buzzed once. A message from the nurse's desk: "Discharge papers ready for patient 317."
She stood, collecting her coat. Before she left, she slipped her hand into the inner pocket, feeling the thin paper inside.
She took it out once more, unfolding it carefully, reading the words again under the dim cafeteria light.
Han Min Gyu. Dismissed. Withdrawn. Untouched.
Her eyes closed briefly, her breath leaving her chest in a calm, controlled exhale.
When she opened her eyes again, they were clear, cold, and steady.
She folded the paper, placed it back inside her coat, and walked out into the hall, her footsteps quiet, her presence calm.
Outside, the rain had started again, tapping softly against the glass, a quiet reminder that the world moved on, uncaring, unknowing.
But Seo Yoon knew.
And soon, Han Min Gyu would know too.
---
End of Chapter 6.