When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|

(S02) Chapter 17

I straighten my posture slightly. “I am a doctor.”

Her eyes flicker with something unreadable before she leans back in her chair. “Anesthesiology, wasn’t it?”

I blink in surprise. “You… remember?”

She scoffs. “Of course I remember. You’re not the first doctor in the family, but you’re the only one who chose a specialty that doesn’t get much glory.”

I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult.

I tilt my head. “I didn’t choose it for glory.”

She hums, nodding slowly. “Good. Then you won’t be disappointed when no one sings your praises.”

I resist the urge to smile. This conversation feels like a test. And so far, I think I’m passing.

She eyes me for a long moment before exhaling sharply. “Fine. Get me some tea.”

I blink. “Really?”

She scoffs. “What? Did you expect me to refuse just to spite you?”

“…Yes.”

For a moment, she looks at me. Then, to my absolute shock—she laughs.

A real, genuine laugh.

I stare, almost forgetting to breathe.

When she calms down, she shakes her head. “You’re amusing. I’ll allow you to bring me tea.”

I make my way to the kitchen, feeling quite accomplished. Winning over Han Wool’s grandmother—step one, complete.

Step two?

Making tea.

I stare at the kitchen counter.

Right. This… could be a problem.

I’ve spent years mastering medical knowledge, handling patients, and memorizing every possible anesthetic dosage. But brewing a decent cup of tea?

That’s an entirely different challenge.

I glance around, trying to recall the few times I’ve seen someone else do it. I grab a teapot, some tea leaves, and hot water. Seems easy enough.

I pour the water into the pot and toss in a generous handful of tea leaves. The more, the better, right?

A strong aroma rises, and I nod in satisfaction. This is going well.

But then—

The tea starts boiling.

Wait. Is it supposed to do that?

Panic rises in my chest. Should I stir it? Add sugar?

I grab the first thing I see—honey—and pour in a big spoonful. Then, just for extra measure, I sprinkle in some cinnamon. It smells… interesting.

I pour the tea into a cup, take a deep breath, and head back to the living room.

Grandmother eyes the cup suspiciously as I set it in front of her. She lifts it, sniffs it, and then takes a sip.

Silence.

I hold my breath.

Then—

She chokes.

I freeze.

Her face contorts as she tries to swallow. “What… what in the name of—” She coughs again, staring at the cup like it personally betrayed her.