Gangneung

It was only late March, but the cherry blossoms were already in full bloom. Pink and white petals topped the leafless trees, flanking the bicycle path like giant canopies and mirroring their beauty in the still waters of Lake Gyeongpo. Su-bin cycled along the winding path, humming the latest BTS tune. On days like this, the park was her sanctuary: quiet, serene, and blissfully free of the starry-eyed tourists from Seoul. She loved the solitude—a much-needed reprieve from the near-constant sirens and chatter of the ER. Unlike the competitive, cut-throat internship race in the capital, the shortage of doctors in this seaside town offered Su-bin ample opportunity to truly hone her craft. At twenty-five, she was just three years away from achieving her dream of becoming an emergency physician. A lifetime of toil and sacrifice was finally paying off.

The morning air carried a slight chill, though the sun was already high in the sky. A gentle breeze blew through the branches, catching a wisp of hair across her face as she pedalled at a leisurely pace. Early for her ER shift, she slowed to a wobble-free glide to enjoy the tranquility, basking in the warmth of the unseasonable sun.

A loud, high-pitched scream shattered the silence.

“Help! Someone please help!”

Su-bin brought her bike to an abrupt halt and scanned her surroundings. Following the voice, she spotted a small group beginning to congregate around a collapsed figure across the street. Though it was too far to discern the person’s face or the gravity of the situation, her instincts took over. She threw herself back onto the pedals and sprinted toward the crowd.

Reaching the site, she jumped off in haste and rushed to the patient. A man in his thirties lay wheezing on the ground. His face and lips were distorted by severe swelling, and angry red welts had erupted across his skin. Wiping her sweaty palms on her slacks, Su-bin turned to the frantic woman beside him.

“Did—did he just eat something?”

“No—not since last night!”

Su-bin whipped her head around. Her eyes landed on a swarm of bees hovering over a patch of foliage near the path; the early spring blooms had drawn them out, as if they, too, were confused by the sudden warmth. Steeling her voice with a projected calm she didn't entirely feel, she addressed the companion.

“I’m a medical intern at Cottage Hospital. He’s having an anaphylactic reaction, likely from a bee sting. Does he carry an EpiPen?”

“I—I don’t know! He never said anything about bee allergies or an EpiPen!” the woman sobbed, her words dissolving into incoherence as she huddled over the unresponsive man.

“Someone call 119! Tell them we have an unresponsive male in anaphylactic shock!” Su-bin commanded the frozen bystanders. As several people fumbled for their phones, an older man called out that an ambulance had already been dispatched.

The victim’s body went completely limp. His eyes glazed over, the lids fluttering shut as he slipped away.

“Please save him, Doctor! You can’t let him die!” the woman wailed, clutching tightly at Su-bin’s sleeve.

“I’ll do my best. Please, try to stay calm,” Su-bin said, her voice tight but controlled.

With help from a bystander, she laid the man flat on the grass and directed them to elevate his feet. Yanking down the zipper of his sporty quarter-zip, she spotted the sting site on his neck—the skin already purple and distended. She scraped the stinger away with her thumb, her mind already racing. She nudged him—firmly this time—and felt her stomach drop into a cold void.

“Mister! Mister! Can you hear me?”

No response. No eye flicker.

She pressed two fingers into the groove of his neck, searching for the carotid pulse. It was thready—a faint, rapid drumming that signaled his blood pressure was cratering.

“Why isn’t he moving? Doctor, do something!”

Think, Su-bin. Think.

The emergency protocols for advanced life support flashed like a screen across her vision. Without an EpiPen, she was losing the fight against his closing airway. She didn't wait for an answer. Kneeling over him, she gripped his jaw and pulled it forward to clear a path for his breath. A faint, terrifying whistle escaped his lips. He was strangling on nothing.

With no other options left, she pinched his nose and pressed her mouth to his, trying to force life back into him. She blew with everything she had, but her cheeks merely puffed out; the air hit a solid wall. His throat was too swollen to let anything through.

Terror clawed at her, but she shoved it aside. Though her stint as a doctor had been short, she had not lost a patient yet.

She moved her hands to the center of his chest, locking her arms straight. If she couldn't get air in, she would force his blood to move, keeping his brain alive on whatever oxygen was left.

One, two, three, four...

She threw her whole weight into the steady, bone-deep rhythm, counting out loud to drown out the frantic hammering in her own ears.

The distant wail of a siren grew into a deafening roar.

“EpiPen! Over here, hurry!” Su-bin shouted, flashing her hospital badge at the approaching paramedics.

The moment the device was in her hand, she jabbed it firmly into the man’s outer thigh. Almost instantly, his chest hitched and his eyes flickered. The paramedics moved with practiced precision, loading the patient onto a stretcher with oxygen and an IV line. As they hurried to the ambulance, the distraught woman climbed in, followed closely by Su-bin. Holding the IV bag high, Su-bin kept her eyes fixed on his vitals for the short, blurring drive to Cottage Hospital, completely unaware that this breath-stealing rescue would soon entangle her life with his forever.

***

A team of ER doctors and nurses waited at the bay as the ambulance pulled up, its lights painting the entrance in rhythmic flashes of red and blue.

“Bee sting. Anaphylaxis. Stabilizing now,” Su-bin reported, helping transfer the patient onto the waiting gurney.

As her colleagues wheeled the patient through the double doors, Su-bin remained rooted to the tarmac. She wiped her brow, only now realizing how heavily she was breathing. It wasn't from physical exertion, but from the raw adrenaline of her first solo save. Though she had interned in the ER for six months, an attending physician had always been there to catch her if she stumbled. Saving a life out in the field—without the safety net of the hospital—solidified a truth deep in her bones: she had chosen the right path.

A sudden knot formed in her throat as she thought of the two women who had sacrificed everything to get her here, neither surviving long enough to see her wear the white coat. Kidney disease had taken her mother; old age had taken her grandmother. Now, only her biological father remained.

Swallowing the grief, Su-bin forced herself to recall her mother’s favorite refrain: Always think happy thoughts, my dear. Happy thoughts heal what logic cannot.

Right on cue, the overcast sky seemed to yield, allowing a sliver of sunlight to break through the clouds. Su-bin took a long, steadying breath, let out a quiet sigh of relief, and followed the team inside.

In the treatment bay, Dr. Chun looked up from the patient and walked over to her. “Dr. Kim, excellent work out there. Your quick action kept this from becoming a tragedy.”

Su-bin deflected the praise, her gaze dropping to her shoes as she offered a deep, respectful bow. “I just happened to be in the right place at the right time, Doctor. Anyone would have done the same.”

***

After washing up and changing into clean scrubs, curiosity got the better of Su-bin. She decided to check on the patient.

On record, he was no longer her responsibility, but a lingering sense of accountability drew her toward the west wing. He had been moved to a private room—a telling detail. As one of the smaller hospitals in Gangneung, these rare rooms were typically reserved for VIPs or those with serious connections.

When she stepped inside, she found the oxygen mask had been replaced with a nasal cannula, and the swelling had visibly gone down. His face had returned to its natural state, though he was still hooked to an IV. He looked peaceful, his chest rising and falling in a steady, quiet rhythm.

Picking up the chart at the foot of the bed, Su-bin scanned the page. There, in the top left corner, three bold Hangul characters stared back at her.

Lee Min-jun.

She whispered the name to herself, one syllable at a time. A gentle smile touched her lips. It was a common but classic Korean name, meaning clever and handsome.

Stepping closer to the bedside, she couldn't help but notice how well the name suited him. He possessed a rugged elegance—a strong, square jaw and high cheekbones, balanced by a slightly crooked nose and perfectly shaped lips.

Suddenly, a vivid memory flashed through her mind, and a hot blush crept up her neck. It wasn't the warmth of a romantic gesture, but the frantic, desperate pressure of the rescue. Recalling the sensation of the mouth-to-mouth—his lips cold but soft against hers as she fought to breathe life back into him—a strange, foreign thrill raced through her.

A wave of mortification immediately followed. What is wrong with me? she thought, utterly humiliated by her own reaction. The sudden attraction felt uncharacteristic and unprofessional, a flush of heat she couldn't suppress. She waved a hand in front of her face, trying to fan away the embarrassment.

Snapping herself out of the trance, she firmly reminded herself of her boundaries: he was a patient, and she was a doctor. Nothing more.

She turned to verify that the IV drip was flowing correctly, tucked her hands into her coat pockets, and turned toward the exit.

Before she could reach it, the heavy door swung open with sudden force, nearly colliding with her. The young woman from the scene scrambled inside. Though still pale, her frantic desperation had given way to a more controlled urgency.

Even in her disheveled state, the woman was striking. Her long chestnut hair swayed with a weightless grace that reminded Su-bin of a shampoo commercial. She wore an off-the-shoulder jumpsuit, its ruched waist accentuating her figure.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” the woman gasped, rushing past Su-bin to the bedside before turning back with animated gratitude. She introduced herself as the gentleman’s fiancée, her thanks so profuse that Su-bin felt her cheeks warming up all over again—this time fueled by a sharp sting of guilt for having just admired another woman's partner.

“We came to Gangneung to celebrate my birthday, and he proposed to me just last night,” the woman said, her face glowing as she held up her hand. She looked directly at Su-bin, her eyes bright. “The wedding is next April. You absolutely must come!”

“Congratulations,” Su-bin stammered, caught entirely off guard. Her voice trailed off into a polite whisper. “And thank you for the invitation, but please, you don't have to do that. I was simply doing my job.”

Desperate to escape the suffocating wave of embarrassment, Su-bin quickly composed her features. She offered professional reassurance, stating matter-of-factly that any trained medic would have done the same. With a polite, formal bow, she slipped out into the corridor and let the heavy door click shut behind her.

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