LM 3

Even though the man’s smile drew a soft and gentle curve, there was an unmistakable, hard-to-explain sinister edge to it.

Irim slowly blinked and carefully took in his appearance. There were about three clues that suggested he wasn’t someone related to the hospital. First, instead of a shabby sweatshirt usually worn for commuting, he wore a neatly pressed gray dress shirt, with one button casually undone. People who worked at the hospital had to change into uniforms as soon as they arrived, so they didn’t bother dressing nicely — even if they did have plans afterward, their uptight tendencies would make them fasten every last button properly.

Second, there were the calluses on his large, imposing hands — the kind you wouldn’t find on someone who worked indoors.

And lastly, this suffocating atmosphere.

Calling it just an “atmosphere” felt like an understatement. If anything, it was more accurate to describe it as sheer force, as overwhelming pressure. His appearance was that of a well-trained, disciplined stallion, but in his dark eyes, there lurked a dangerous omen, ready to burst out at any moment.

Facing those eyes, Irim was sure of one thing:

This man was absolutely not someone from the ordinary world. A person who had done things outside the boundaries of the law. Or was still doing them. Or, if neither, inevitably would one day.

It was an instinct she had sharpened after brushing shoulders with countless people throughout her life. Growing up in an orphanage and being thrust into the working world from a young age had trained Irim to quickly discern who harbored good intentions toward her — and who didn’t. That finely honed instinct was now sounding alarm bells, urging her.

That this man was someone she would gain nothing good from getting involved with. That it would be best to keep as much distance as possible.

What was this awful feeling?

Keeping her composure, Irim discreetly took a deep breath and glanced at her phone, which was slanted inside her handbag. Normally, it would be buzzing nonstop with calls whenever an emergency came up, whether after work hours or during her days off. But tonight, it was eerily silent.

“I’m waiting for someone,” she said.

“If they come, I’ll move right away.”

“If they come, that is,” the man added smoothly.

The clumsy lie she had just told got easily seen through.

Taking advantage of the brief hesitation in her reply, the man casually plopped himself down into the seat Juha had vacated, crossed his arms, and started observing Irim quietly — like a cocky predator patiently waiting for its prey to give up struggling and go limp.

Irim realized he had no intention of letting her walk away nicely. And so, she decided to play along for now.

“You’ll find me boring,” she said.

“Just suggesting two lonely people share a drink. Doesn’t seem like you’re drinking for fun either,” he replied.

There was something bulldozing about the way he talked. Taking her silence as consent, the man raised his hand and ordered a draft beer. Looking at his profile again, Irim thought he really was absurdly handsome.

“How old are you?”

“Thirty.”

“Occupation?”

“…Are you interrogating me?”

“Ah.”

At those words, he laughed, his chest shaking slightly. It was curious how his expression changed so drastically when he laughed, and Irim found herself quietly staring at the way he smiled. He propped his chin on one large hand and leaned forward slightly.

“My apologies. Let me change the question. Do you come here often?”

“Just… once in a while, on days when I feel like having a drink.”

Listening closely, she could catch a faint Seoul accent. He definitely wasn’t a native of Gangwon Province. His way of speaking was oddly clipped, but too relaxed to be purely military. He jerked his chin toward the gift bag placed beside her handbag.

“Is that a gift for a kid?”

“Yeah, it was for a patient. But I couldn’t give it to them.”

“Got discharged?”

Irim bit her lips together tightly before slowly answering.

“…They passed away.”

“I see.”

He sighed with a slight furrow of his brows, as if he truly felt sorry. But his eyes were strikingly indifferent, like someone watching something incredibly dull. His eyes were probably showing the truer emotion. Not that she had expected much from a stranger she had just met today. Irim quietly sipped her drink.

“Aren’t you tired?” he asked.

“…Sorry?”

“If you live putting your heart into every little thing like that, I feel like you’d get worn out really fast.”

Her hand, which had been idly sipping her drink, paused. She suddenly realized the strange structure of the conversation. He asked, she answered. The entire flow had been like that. Irim frowned ever so slightly. The man tilted his head to the side, feigning politeness.

“Is that a topic you don’t want to answer?”

He smiled lightly. With a face like that, he probably got away with a lot.

“I don’t really mind answering.”

“That’s how you looked.”

She was still on guard against him, but she sensed that staying tight-lipped would only prolong the awkward tension. She definitely didn’t want that. After all, it wasn’t like they would meet again. If she was going to pour it out and forget, a stranger was better. Riding the momentum, she began speaking lightly.

“The only thing I can really promise them is this — leaving behind even just one good memory during their time in the ward.”

“Creating good memories for the patients… isn’t that the doctor’s job?”

“I never said I was a doctor.”

“Just a hunch,” he said casually.

“…”

“Am I wrong?”

Their eyes suddenly met. Those deep, dark eyes had a heavy, persistent quality to them. Irim didn’t bother confirming or denying his guess. She simply took another sip of her drink before speaking slowly.

“At first, I believed in my abilities. I thought I could cure them all. But… it didn’t work out that way.”

When she first recited the Hippocratic Oath, she had been filled with dreams and hope. She truly believed she could prevent all unfair deaths.

But that sweet illusion shattered in less than two weeks at the university hospital. It was hell on earth.

Here, more unwanted things happened than wanted ones. Sadness far outweighed joy. There were more nights spent unable to sleep, telling herself it wasn’t her fault, than there were nights of pride.

Just yesterday, she could only stand by and watch as a child who had been smiling so brightly whispered, in fading breaths, that they wanted to live. She could only endure as the child’s father, furious and convinced it was a medical mistake, struck her repeatedly across the face.

“I stopped saying I’d cure everything a long time ago. It’s something that’s already beyond my hands.”

Everything had already slipped out of her hands.
And that broke her heart more than anything.

He lifted the glass in front of him and lightly clinked it against hers. Clink. A bright, clear sound rang out, oddly out of place in the sagging atmosphere. As Irim steadily downed her drink, the man, who had emptied about half his glass, spoke up.

“You seem like someone who thinks a lot.”

“Everyone struggles with these thoughts.”

“I don’t think so.”

“…”

“And you don’t look okay either.”

Suddenly, his gaze deepened. Those eyes, containing nothing yet capable of swallowing everything whole, were like a black swamp one might sink into without ever resurfacing. Gulp. Irim swallowed dryly and mumbled a reply.

“…How many people in this world are really okay? I’m just one among the many who aren’t.”

He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes slightly. His already sharp gaze grew even more piercing.

“You seem like someone who’s never found anything fun in life.”

She felt a flash of irritation — how dare he try to read her life when they’d only just met? It bothered her, this crossing of the line. And yet, even though it should have made her angry, her eyes suddenly burned hot. Must be the alcohol. What better excuse could there be?

Through her blurred vision, she met his eyes again. Ah. Hastily, she ducked her head and wiped the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand as naturally as she could, then lifted her head again and said:

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m a boring person. So you should go now. You don’t have to bother keeping me company.”

“Do I look like some kind of angel in a white coat to you?”

“…”

“I doubt it.”

His gaze, fixed steadily on her, carried a strange glint. Usually, when she looked into someone’s eyes, she could guess what they were thinking — but with him, she had no idea.

It felt like a red warning light was flashing in her head. If she stayed here any longer, the dam she had carefully built up inside would burst. She should just go home and force herself to sleep, like always.

“Sorry, but I think I’ll get going. I’ll pay the bill—”

Awkwardly smiling, Irim grabbed her gift bag and the receipt, deliberately fussing about with her handbag to seem busy.

“Sit down.”

“…”

“You’ll just be alone again anyway once you leave.”

Her hand froze mid-motion. She felt a wave of heat rush to her face — and it wasn’t just the alcohol. She had no choice but to admit it.

“Then, should we do something fun?”

At the deep, resonant sound of his voice, she bit her lip hard. A chaotic swirl of instinctive fear, discomfort, shame, and — though she hated to admit it — a faint loneliness at the thought of being alone again, churned together in her mind until it was a complete mess.