Morning came too soon.
I had only fallen asleep around two in the morning after finishing the backlog of patient reports. My body was screaming for rest, but my mind kept running like an engine that didn't know how to stop. That man's face surfaced again—Kang Tae-jun—and I couldn't force myself not to think about him.
We'd only met once. Or maybe twice, if our next meeting really counted. But there was something about him that made me curious. Not romantically. I tried to convince myself of that—really tried.
I stood in front of the mirror, tying my hair back. “He's just a patient,” I told my reflection, as if repeating it would make the statement more real. “A patient. So stop it.”
I grabbed my bag and left the apartment.
Unfortunately—or maybe fortunately, I still wasn't sure—as soon as I arrived at the hospital, all that reassurance fell apart.
Because he was there.
I saw him at the end of the hallway. Kang Tae-jun stood alone by the window, wearing a black shirt and a long coat that made him look like a character from a movie I wasn't supposed to like. There was no expression on his face. His hands were buried in his pockets as he stared outside, as if waiting for someone who might never come.
I stopped walking.
My heart beat faster than usual, and I didn't know why. He turned, and our eyes met for a moment that felt far longer than it should have. Then he walked toward me with calm, measured steps.
“Doctor Han.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You remember my name?”
“I remember.”
“Even though I only introduced myself once.”
“Is your memory bad?”
He fell silent. I almost laughed at how confused he looked—apparently, this man could be thrown off, too.
“Why are you here?”
“I have business to take care of.”
“Business?” I studied his face. “Did you come for a follow-up?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“To meet someone.”
I nodded and started to leave, but stopped when he said,
“Doctor Han.”
I turned around. “Yes?”
“Thank you for that night.”
I shrugged. “It was my job.”
He stared at me for several seconds in a way that left me unsure what to say. “Maybe,” he said at last, and before I could ask what he meant, a nurse called from the end of the hallway.
“Doctor Han! Operating room!”
“I’m coming,” I answered, then looked back at Tae-jun. “We’ll talk later.”
I didn't know why I'd said it—not “excuse me” or “see you later,” but “we'll talk later”—and he nodded as if it were a meaningful promise.
“Okay.”
I turned and jogged toward the operating room. I didn't see him again until the afternoon.
At 5:20 p.m., I came out of the operating room.
It had been a long day. Far too long to simply let it pass without a second thought. I took off my mask and headed for the break room, trying to think of nothing but the glass of cold water waiting for me there.
As soon as I opened the door, he was sitting on the sofa.
I stopped. “You're still here?”
He looked up from his phone. “Yes.”
“All day?”
“More or less.”
I carefully set my files on the table. “Don't you have work?”
“I do.”
“Then?”
“It's finished.”
There was something about the way he answered that didn't feel entirely honest, but I didn't press him. Instead, I gave him a suspicious look. “Why does it feel like you're following me?”
The corner of his mouth twitched slightly—almost like a smile. “I'm not following you.”
“Good.” I picked up a bottle of water. “Because if you were following me, that would be kind of creepy.”
“I didn't mean to be creepy.”
I let out a small laugh. “Unfortunately, your face already looks that way.”
He looked at me, and I looked back. Several seconds passed in a silence that wasn't uncomfortable. Then, without warning, he let out a small laugh. It was so quiet I might not have heard it if I hadn't been paying attention.
I stopped opening the bottle. “Did you just laugh?”
His expression immediately went blank again. “No.”
“I saw it.”
“You're mistaken.”
“I'm a doctor. My eyesight is better than an ordinary person's.”
He sighed. “You talk a lot.”
“And you talk too little.”
“Balanced.”
I smiled. There was something inexplicably pleasant about that simple conversation—nothing special, no grand discussion, just two people who happened to be in the same room. And yet I was beginning to like having him around, and that frightened me a little. Because I knew how feelings like that usually began—simply, slowly, almost imperceptibly, until one day we realized someone had already entered too deeply into our lives.
I didn't want that to happen. At least not yet.
“Are you from Russia?”
The question slipped out when we were walking toward the hospital's exit.
He turned to me. “Why do you ask?”
“I don't know.” I gestured toward the way he spoke. “Your accent.”
“I'm Korean.”
“I know.”
“But?”
“You sound different.”
He was silent for a moment before answering. “I grew up in Russia.”
I nodded. “That explains it.”
“Why?”
“I don't know. Maybe because you look like someone who doesn't like summer.” He looked at me. “Is that a medical analysis?”
I laughed. “No.”
“Good. Because if that was a medical analysis, I'd have to question your credentials.”
I lightly hit his arm. He didn't move away. Only then did I realize what I'd done, and my hand quickly retreated. “Sorry.”
“For what?”
“Never mind.”
We kept walking. Outside the hospital, the rain had just stopped, and the air felt cold. The streetlights were beginning to come on, making Seoul look like a freshly painted picture.
“I should go home,” I said.
“I'll take you.”
I turned to him. “You don't have to.”
“I brought a car.”
“So did I.”
“Then we can go together,” he said with strange logic.
I frowned. “That doesn't make sense.”
He fell silent.
I laughed. “All right. I get it.”
“What?”
“You want to drive me home.”
He didn't answer, which was an answer in itself. I smiled. “Thank you. But I can go by myself.”
I walked toward the parking lot, but stopped when he said,
“Wait.”
I stopped. He stood a few steps behind me. “Are you working tomorrow?”
“Why?”
“I want to see you again.”
The sentence was simple, but for some reason it made my chest feel warm. I lowered my head for a moment. “If you don't get hurt again, maybe.”
“So I have to get hurt first?”
I laughed. “Don't be stupid.”
For the first time, a small smile was clearly visible on his face. “Tomorrow.”
I nodded. “Tomorrow.”
I got into my car. Before I closed the door, I caught one last glimpse of him still standing in the same spot. I didn't know why I smiled all the way home.
That night, my phone received a message from an unknown number.
“Don't get too close to him.”
I read the message twice. Then a third time. My heart suddenly felt uneasy. I typed: “Who is this?”
There was no reply. One minute passed. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Nothing. I finally blocked the number.
Maybe someone had simply sent the message to the wrong person.
I tried not to think about it, but deep down, something felt strange. I didn't know who had sent the message or what they meant by “him.” But one thing made me uneasy—the message had arrived a few minutes after I left the hospital with Tae-jun, as if someone had been watching my every move.
I set my phone on the table and tried to sleep. I failed.
Elsewhere, several kilometers away, Tae-jun stood in a dark room.
In front of him stood a man nervously waiting for an order. “Why haven't you left yet?” Tae-jun asked.
“I'm sorry.”
Tae-jun's gaze turned cold. “I asked why you're still here.”
“We found something.”
“What?”
The man handed him a black file folder. Tae-jun opened it. On the first page was a photograph—a woman. Han Seo-yeon. Tae-jun's expression shifted in a way so subtle yet unmistakable.
“Why were you investigating her?”
“We found her by accident.”
“Who ordered it?”
“No one.”
Tae-jun closed the file folder. “Stop.”
“But…”
“I said stop.”
The man left without another word. Tae-jun remained standing, his eyes once again fixed on the photograph. He didn't know why that name had appeared in the organization's report. He only knew one thing for certain—there was something about that woman that someone was hiding.
For the first time in all his years as part of Black Hawk, Tae-jun decided to do something unusual. He would find out for himself. Not as Black Hawk's right-hand man. Not on orders. But as a man beginning to develop feelings for a woman who should never have entered his life.
Without realizing it, an invisible line had begun to form between them—a line connecting Tae-jun's past to Seo-yeon's family in a way they did not yet understand.
And somewhere far from both of them, an old man stood by a window holding a glass of wine. He had just received a report. Photographs of Tae-jun and Seo-yeon lay on the table.
The man stared at them in prolonged silence.
Then he smiled faintly.
“So you finally met.”
No one in the room dared ask what he meant. Because that man was the only person in the world who knew the truth that neither Tae-jun nor Seo-yeon had yet discovered. The truth that had connected them for a long time, long before they had ever met eyes in a hospital on a rainy night.
For now, he chose to remain silent. Because sometimes, a secret became far more intriguing when the two people at its center had yet to realize that their lives had actually been connected for a long time, waiting to find each other at a crossroads of fate arranged long ago.