The hospital café smelled of cheaper burnt coffee and disinfectant, as Choi Eu-jin and the Hospital Director sat at a corner table, their faces etched with the weight of a silent tension.
The director took a slow sip from his cup before resting it carefully on the saucer.
‘What did you want to talk to me about?’ he asked, his voice calm but laced with the practiced authority of a man accustomed to endless requests.
Eu-jin straightened in his chair.
‘A researcher is conducting a study on tyrosine kinase inhibitors in minor cancers,’ he said.
‘I want to request cooperation with the Swedish for a phase-two clinical trial.’ A flicker of approval crossed the director’s face.
‘Of course,’ he said easily.
‘You already know you have carte blanche on these matters.’ He nodded, appreciative but not yet satisfied.
‘I also wanted to discuss the project’s management,’ he continued.
‘I was thinking of Wi Hae-yeon to lead it.’ The director leaned back slightly, his fingers interlacing as he considered his words.
A pause stretched between them, long enough for Eu-jin to sense resistance before he spoke.
‘Maybe you should consider Ahn Soo-bong for this position,’ he suggested.
Eu-jin blinked, momentarily unsettled.
‘But he’s not even working on this project,’ he said.
‘Why Ahn Soo-bong?’ The director sighed, as if the answer should have been obvious.
‘To be honest, Wi Hae-yeon is of childbearing age.
She could leave us at any moment.
Ahn Soo-bong won’t.’ He hesitated before adding, almost as an afterthought, ‘She can still participate in the project, of course.’ Eu-jin’s stomach clenched.
He stared at him, searching his face for any sign of irony, some indication that he was joking.
But there was none.
‘You’re suggesting Ahn Soo-bong just because he’s a man?’ he asked sharply.
‘I didn’t expect this from you.’ The director exhaled slowly.
‘It’s not what you think,’ he said.
‘Here, male and female researchers are treated equally.
They earn the same.’ A humorless smile flickered across Eu-jin’s lips.
‘And yet,’ he said, ‘how many women hold leadership positions here?
Or anywhere in the broader scientific community?’ The director patience was fraying.
‘That’s because, by nature, women can’t dedicate one hundred percent to their work,’ he said, as if explaining something obvious, something immutable.
There it was—the absolute law, spoken with the same certainty as the formulas scribbled on medical charts, as if it had been extracted from the marrow of the universe itself.
Eu-jin exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay composed.
‘I try to understand your perspective,’ he said measuredly, ‘but it’s difficult.
Tell me, is there any person—man or woman—who dedicates one hundred percent to their work?
And if there is, is that truly a healthy way to live?’ The director´s expression turned weary.
‘Eu-jin,’ he said, his voice softer now, as if trying to coax his into reason.
‘I’m trying to be practical.
Not everything is about values and ethics.’ Eu-jin studied him, the deep lines of his face, the eyes that had long since stopped looking for change.
He was not a bad man, he knew, only a man who had surrendered to the tides of tradition long ago.
He held his gaze, unwavering.
‘I’ll consider your suggestion,’ he said at last.
‘But Wi Hae-yeon deserves to lead this project.
She has worked harder than anyone.
She has earned it.’ The director studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly.
‘Think it over,’ he said.
‘If we secure co-participation with the Swedish, you’ll announce your decision.’ Eu-jin said nothing, only inclining his head in acknowledgment.
When the director left, Eu-jin remained seated for a long time, his mind racing in disbelief.
How was it possible that, even in a field like scientific research—one that was meant to be defined by its constant evolution, by its quest for progress —such archaic biases still persisted?
The contradiction was maddening.
The more he thought about it, the more absurd it seemed.
Science, above all, was about challenging the status quo, about pushing boundaries, and constantly questioning established norms.
And yet, here he was, facing a director who, despite his role in a progressive institution, clung to the very biases that science should be working to eradicate.
It wasn’t just the overt discrimination—the preference for a male candidate, the dismissal of Wi Hae-yeon’s qualifications based on tired stereotypes—it was the subtler, more insidious biases that stung the most.
The argument that women couldn’t ‘give one hundred percent’ to their work was particularly galling.
It wasn’t just a slight against Wi Hae-yeon, but a wider reflection of how women were systematically undermined.
The notion that women, more than men, had to prove themselves by sacrificing personal lives, that their professional worth was tied to their ability to conform to rigid, outdated ideals of dedication, was both insulting and unfounded.
Every researcher, regardless of gender, faced the challenge of balancing personal and professional commitments.
Yet somehow, it was only women who were penalized for it.
Women like Wi Hae-yeon were not exceptions—they were part of a much larger, deeply entrenched pattern.
They were constantly overlooked, dismissed, or held back, not for any lack of talent or ability, but because of their gender.
Eu-jin couldn’t help but wonder how many other brilliant female scientists had been passed over in similar ways.
How many ideas had been ignored, how many breakthroughs delayed, because the system simply didn’t believe women could be as dedicated as their male counterparts?
The realization made his stomach churn.
This wasn’t just about Wi Hae-yeon’s future.
In that moment, Eu-jin knew he could no longer accept this status quo.
His frustration was transforming into a powerful resolve.
… They made their way toward the neighborhood Sara had described as one of the most likely places she had visited earlier that morning.
Though, finding a specific building in such a sprawling metropolis felt nearly impossible.
It was like searching for a needle in an endless haystack, each street looking more indistinguishable than the last.
With towering high-rises, narrow alleyways, and streets lined with identical shops, the task ahead felt overwhelming.
They were searching for a place that only existed in fragments of Sara’s mind.
‘Does this neighborhood look familiar to you?’ Nari asked, her voice tinged with hope.
Sara exhaled, ‘They all look familiar to me, and yet none of them do,’ she murmured.
‘I remember there were trees lining the street, and the buildings weren’t so tall.
If I saw it, I’d recognize it immediately.
Buildings are my thing, after all.’ Nari glanced at the endless cityscape.
‘This is like trying to find a single grain of sand on an entire beach.’ Sara laughed softly, though there was a hint of resignation in her voice.
‘Maybe it’s destiny that we don’t see each other again,’ she said.
‘Perhaps it’s better this way.
The truth is, I don’t think I could have managed the whole ‘no-friend’ thing.
This will become a beautiful memory of Seoul, and we’ll both continue on our paths.’ Nari sighed.
‘I’m sorry.
I wish your trip had been perfect.’ Sara turned to her, smiling gently.
‘I think it has been.
I spent time with you, we laughed more than I can count, I met your amazing friends, and I visited my family.
I fell in love with Seoul all over again.
And I had a fleeting, intense story with a stranger.’ She let out a small chuckle.
‘Who else can boast of having all this in just a little over two weeks?’ Nari nodded.
‘That’s true…’ Sara glanced at her watch, her smile dimming slightly.
‘We’re getting late.
My flight is at eight o’clock.
Shall we start heading back?’ … Near the departure gates of the airport, the two friends stood side by side, their words weighed down by the inevitability of parting.
‘I had a wonderful time,’ Sara said.
‘Thank you for everything.
You made these days so special.’ ‘I enjoyed it too,’ Nari admitted.
‘Being with you makes me feel a little more daring.
You can’t imagine how much that helps me break out of my shell.’ Sara’s eyes softened.
‘You’re amazing.
Your friendship is the best thing I’ve gained from this trip.
I wish we could live in the same city.’ ‘Maybe one day we will.’ Sara smirked.
‘Do you know any construction companies in Seoul that would adopt me and accept my rebellious, bossy character?’ ‘You could give it a shot.’ Sara laughed, the sound bittersweet.
‘My father would have a heart attack.
He expects me to run the company one day.’ ‘Don’t think about such a distant future right now,’ Nari said.
‘Mmm…’ Sara mused.
‘I’ll be waiting for you in Barcelona.’ Nari grinned.
‘We’ll see each other again in eight months.’ ‘I can’t wait!
Get ready, I’ll show you every corner of the city.’ ‘I’m looking forward to it.’ Sara glanced at the time, her expression faltering.
‘I have to go…’ The awkwardness that had surrounded Sara’s arrival two week ago had long since faded.
Now, it felt entirely natural for their goodbye to be marked by a warm, lingering hug.
‘Te quiero, Dalí.’ Nari, blinking back tears, smiled.
‘Yo también te quiero, Ramyeon.’ And with that, Sara turned and walked toward the gate, disappearing swallowed by the sea of travelers.
… Sara settled into her seat on the plane, staring out at the tarmac as the weight of leaving settled heavily on her chest.
It wasn’t the first time she had left Korea—she had flown back to Spain before, and even as a child, she had come back to Italy without a second thought.
But this time was different.
Two weeks in Seoul had unraveled something inside her, something she hadn’t expected.
In the past, leaving had always meant returning to her life, her home, her routine.
Now, at thirty, she felt the full gravity of what it meant to leave behind a part of herself—her origins.
The thought of staying a little longer crossed her mind, lingering just long enough to sting before she forced it away.
She knew it was impossible.
Work awaited her in Barcelona, and duty weighed heavier than desire.
She was expected to be a good daughter.
And that meant following her father’s wishes, do not disappoint him, no matter how much of herself she had to leave behind.
She reached for the magazine tucked in the seat pocket in front of her, a reflex more than curiosity.
The glossy pages rustled under her touch, and then—her eyes landed on the front-page headline: ‘The Witches Are Coming Back’ A bittersweet smile flickered across her lips.
Fate, it seemed, had a way of winking at her, even in moments like these.
She leaned back into her seat.
The seatbelt light flickered on, the voice of the cabin crew announcing preparations for takeoff.
Sara closed her eyes to stop wishing.
A few hundred meters from Sara, Seon-woo stood amidst the streams of travelers in Incheon Airport, his phone pressed tightly against his ear.
The screen blinked insistently—’Call Failed.’ Again.
Each attempt was met with silence.
He let out a sigh, heavy with the tension that had built up over the long day, and lowered himself onto a bench.
All around him, life continued to pulse—families embracing, lovers parting and, of course, people rushing to catch their flights.
A bitter smile tugged at his lips as he recalled her words, and he closed his eyes.
He knew she was already gone.