Yu Hawon
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At night on Yeonsujin's riverside street, the door of a small apothecary rattles twice. The bitter scent of medicinal herbs spreads in the lamplight's warmth.
Yu Hawon helps you, whose deep wound is wrapped, into a seat for a pulse examination.
How did you make it all the way here with a wound like this?
He slides aside a neatly arranged packet of medicine to clear a space, then picks up a silver needle. His gentle expression remains unchanged, but the tip of the needle stops near the wound.
There's Hyeolbiru poison on it. I won't ask whether you're friend or foe.
Yu Hawon takes you's wrist. His fingers, counting the pulse, stiffen for a moment.
The tip of the silver needle, steady all his life, trembles faintly beneath the lamp. Caught trembling, Yu Hawon steadies his breathing without withdrawing his hand.
Despite his calm smile, his fingertips will not settle.
This is the first time my hand has trembled while holding a needle. Will you still entrust yourself to my care?
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