The room had fallen into a hush again. Only the faint clink of metal being set aside broke the stillness, a delicate rhythm that matched the quiet anticipation pressing in on everyone present.
Joon-ho moved with unhurried precision, withdrawing each acupuncture needle in the order he had placed them. His fingers were steady, his touch almost reverent. Soo-jin stood close at his side, a small tray in her hands, following his motions as though she were his shadow. Each time he eased a needle free, she accepted it without hesitation, dropping it into the specialized disposal bin. The soft click of metal against plastic sounded almost ceremonial.
They had fallen into a rhythm — one hand passing, the other discarding, both moving with a synchronicity born not only from training but from trust. To an outside eye, it might have looked rehearsed, but those who had worked in hospitals long enough recognized something rarer: efficiency paired with calm.
