The Girl He Should Have Killed

Lia picked up her cup of coffee, crossed one leg over the other as she sat down, and took a small sip. “Girls, how about we go out tomorrow after our shift?” Julia practically jumped from her seat the second she heard it, eyes glowing with excitement. “Yes! Let’s go! Where are we thinking?” She glanced at Misu to hear her opinion, but instead found the girl completely lost in her thoughts. She opened her mouth to ask again—when the door suddenly burst open. Yura stumbled inside, breathless, hands braced on her knees as she panted. Everyone stared at her, startled. “What happened?” Misu asked with worry, tightening her voice. Yura straightened up, trying to speak through the words catching in her throat. “E–Emergency… the ER is full of injured men. Hurry!” She hadn’t even finished her sentence before all of them shot to their feet. Lia slammed her coffee cup onto the table and sprinted toward the door. They rushed down the stairs and ran toward the emergency ward. The moment they stepped inside, the chaos hit them—every bed occupied by wounded men twisting in agony. Misoo stood frozen in the middle of the room, trying to take in the scene, when a shout behind her snapped her back: “Move! Out of the way!” She looked over at the incoming stretcher— A man, maybe twenty-nine, lay on it with a deep stab wound to his abdomen, drenched in blood. Julia shoved past her with the surgical tray in hand. “Misu! Snap out of it, girl!” Misoo blinked hard, forcing herself to focus. She rushed to the patient on the nearest bed—a young man in a black suit, his face covered in fresh cuts. Her gaze dropped lower, to the soaked fabric of his pant leg. Blood. A lot of it. She grabbed the scissors from the small side table and cut through the fabric. The gunshot wound on his leg was now fully exposed. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she reached for a surgical tray. All around her, nurses and doctors were running, voices overlapping, chaos everywhere— Everyone is trying desperately to get to their patients in time. She hurried to the man and set the tray of tools down beside the bed. His eyes were squeezed shut from pain, his jaw clenched as he kept biting down on his lower lip. Misu drew in a steadying breath, trying to calm the frantic thumping of her own heart. She picked up the forceps and gently slid them into the wound. She held them still, waiting for the man’s reaction. His scream cracked through the room, his lips pressing together even harder. Misu moved the forceps again—only to stop when the man’s leg jerked violently. She glanced at the man standing beside the bed. “Hold his leg. Don’t let him move.” He nodded quickly and grabbed the injured leg with both hands, pinning it down firmly. Only when she was sure the limb wouldn’t jerk again did she allow herself another deep breath. Her face was damp with stress as she continued working. Carefully, she extracted the bullet. The second she spotted the blood-coated metal between the forceps, she exhaled in relief. She dropped it into the tray, then tossed the stained forceps aside and reached for a needle with her bloodied fingers. The man let out a quiet groan as the needle pierced his skin, but she didn’t look up—she just kept stitching. Four neat sutures later, she bent down and cut the thread with her teeth. She looked up at the worried companion standing beside the bed. Offering him a small, reassuring smile, she picked up a roll of bandage. “Don’t worry. He’s going to be fine… just lift his leg a bit so I can wrap it.” The man let out a breath of relief and lifted the patient’s leg slightly. Misu pressed the end of the bandage to the wound and wound it around four tight circles. Then she snipped the bandage and taped it in place. She grabbed her tools and stepped into the middle of the room—when Lia’s voice rang out from across the ER. “Misu! Over here!” Misu looked up and immediately ran toward her. Lia stood beside a man with a gunshot wound to his side, blood spreading fast beneath him. Misu’s gaze dropped to the injury, then snapped back up to Lia, her voice urgent. “He needs the operating room. The wound is deep!” Lia blinked, shocked, her lips parting as she rushed to respond. “The ORs are full—do something!” Misu’s head snapped up, stunned. “What do you mean they’re full!? He could die like this!” Lia shot her an irritated glare. “Arguing won’t help. Move!” She didn’t wait for a reply and sprinted toward another patient. Misu let out an angry, shaky breath and looked down at the man on the bed. His face was drenched in sweat, twisted with agony. She set the tray of tools beside him, scanning his body. His condition was bad—dangerously bad. There was no time. She leaned closer, voice steady despite the panic clawing at her chest. “We don’t have the equipment to put you under… so you’ll have to endure it. I’ll put this bandage between your teeth. Bite down when it hurts, okay?” The man’s frightened eyes flicked up to hers. Misu forced a firm, encouraging smile—she needed him calm, or at least less terrified. She rolled up the bandage and slid it between his teeth. Picking up the scalpel, she made a small incision around the wound—blood immediately welled up. She grabbed the forceps and pushed them inside. The man’s muffled scream tore through the ER, lost among all the other cries. She tried pulling the bullet higher, but it wouldn’t budge. Dropping the forceps, she shoved two fingers into the wound. The man’s body jerked—and then went limp. He had passed out. Misu’s breath caught, but she didn’t waste a second. She pulled the bullet free and tossed it into the tray, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her blood-covered hand. Her gaze darted to Lia at the next bed over, finishing a bandage. “Lia, finish the sutures on this one!” Lia nodded, moving over with a needle and immediately beginning to stitch. Misu turned—lost for a moment in the chaos. Which dying body should she run to next? Then she spotted Julia. Her face was splattered with blood as she fought to stop the torrent pouring from a man’s abdomen. Misu rushed over, grabbing Julia’s trembling hands. “Pressure—hold it! Someone bring bandages!” She glanced at the monitor. His blood pressure was crashing fast. Julia’s wide, terrified eyes met hers as she pressed harder on the wound. Yura hurried over with a stack of bandages. Misu snatched them, shoved them onto the wound, and leaned her full weight forward. “Julia! Get the defibrillator! He’s going into cardiac arrest!” Julia jolted into motion, sprinting toward the door. The monitor’s numbers dropped lower… lower… “Where’s that damn defibrillator!?” Julia stumbled back with the machine, dragging it toward the bed. Misu lifted her hands from the wound just long enough for Julia to replace them. The machine wailed a long, sharp beep. Misu hooked her fingers into the patient’s shirt, ripped it open, smeared gel on the paddles, and set the charge to 100 joules. She inhaled once—deeply. “Clear!” The shock hit him, lifting his torso off the bed— but the monitor stayed flat. She increased the voltage. “Clear!” This time, the monitor beeped—once, then twice—then a rhythm returned. Misu exhaled, shoulders shaking in relief. She placed a steadying hand on Julia’s trembling fingers. “It’s okay… he’s stable now.” Julia wiped blood and tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. Misu held her gaze, voice calm but firm: “Just follow my lead. We’ll get through this.” Julia nodded quickly and did exactly what she was told. After nearly half an hour, the man was finally stabilized. And the chaos continued— until 3:45 a.m. When it was finally over, the medical team collapsed into the staff room like an army that had just survived a war. Misu sank onto the couch, hands still stained red, her eyes half-shut, exhaustion weighing down her bones. Others lay across the beds or were already asleep where they’d fallen. She rolled her neck, wincing at the stiffness, and pushed herself up. Dragging her feet, she headed toward the bathroom. The moment she turned on the tap, the sink filled with swirling red water as she scrubbed her hands. She looked at her reflection—pale, drained, barely holding it together. She forced a small, tired smile at herself, splashed her face with cold water, and stepped out of the bathroom. --- “She thought the nightmare ended the moment she saved her last patient… She had no idea the person she would soon face was the very killer whose name had been buried in case files for years.”