When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|

(S02) Chapter 2

"On my way," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Then, without another glance at the street where Han Wool had disappeared, I turned and ran.
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I stepped out of the operating room, peeling off my gloves and discarding them into the bin. The surgery had been a success, but the exhaustion clung to me like a second skin.

My back ached from standing for hours, my mind buzzing with everything that had happened that morning—rushing in late, nearly getting hit by a car, and him.

Han Wool.

I shook my head. Not now.

After scrubbing out, I checked the time—past noon. No time for a break. Residency was relentless, and as an anesthesiology resident, I was always on call for the next emergency.

I barely had time to breathe before a nurse approached me. "Dr. Ye Na, there’s a patient coming in for an emergency intubation. Dr. Kang asked if you could handle the airway management while they prep for surgery."

I nodded, instantly shifting gears. "Where?"

"ER, bay four."

I quickly grabbed a fresh pair of gloves and followed her down the hall. The ER was controlled chaos—nurses moving with urgency, the distant sounds of monitors beeping, the tension thick in the air.

A patient lay on the bed, struggling to breathe. His oxygen levels were plummeting, and his face was pale, chest rising and falling rapidly. A team of doctors worked around him, inserting IVs and preparing medications.

I took a steadying breath, focusing only on my task. "What’s his status?" I asked as I approached.

"Severe anaphylaxis. His airway is closing up. We’ve given epinephrine, but he’s not improving," a nurse replied.

"Alright, I’ll intubate."

I reached for the laryngoscope, positioning myself at the head of the bed. This was my job—managing the airway, ensuring the patient could breathe. Every second counted.

"35 mg of ketamine, 100 mg of succinylcholine," I ordered, my voice steady despite the tension. The nurse handed me the medications, and I administered them swiftly.

I positioned the endotracheal tube, sliding it past the vocal cords with practiced precision. "Tube in," I announced.

"Confirming placement," another doctor said, placing a stethoscope against the patient’s chest. After a moment, he nodded. "Good breath sounds bilaterally."

Relief flooded me, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it. "Get him to the OR," I instructed. "I’ll monitor him until he’s stable."

The patient was wheeled away, and I finally let out a slow breath. Another life stabilized.

Another reminder of why I was here.

I stepped away, pulling off my gloves and tossing them in the bin. Just as I was about to head to the anesthesia workroom for a moment of rest, my phone buzzed.

A message from Dr. Kang:
“Another case coming in. Be ready.”

I sighed and grabbed my tablet, checking the patient list. My day was far from over. But no matter how many cases I handled, how many patients I stabilized, my mind kept drifting back to him.

Had Han Wool really forgotten me?

I clenched my jaw, shoving the thought away.
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The hospital halls were quieter in the evening, a stark contrast to the chaos of the day. I had barely eaten, barely rested, moving from one patient to the next, stabilizing airways, managing pain, assisting in surgeries.