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“Some people say I have the hands of God, but let me tell you, it’s practice. When I slice an apple, when I cut a Cutlet, I practice, I practice when I sew a button on my shirt, practice.

“You have decided to dedicate your lives to saving lives, and to do so, you must be acquainted with death. Please uncover your new friends. Today you are going to open them up, find out all you can about them and sew them up so delicately that I can barely see your stitches.

“Why does she have to be so dramatic?” Gon whispered.

“She’s the best, tchincha,” Soo-Hae sighed in admiration; the professor was what she aspired to become, and so she drank every word as though it was Sam Da Soo water.

“I think I’m going to puke,” Gong-Won said before backing away from the corpse.

“If you do that, it will be the 2nd pair of Prada’s you kill this week,” his sister reminded.

Like a telepath, the professor automatically yelled out, “Nam Gong-Won Ssi, if you vomit today, I’ll make you pick up and analyze your vomit, for which you will hand me a 5-page report.”

The professor’s words were like a digestive sending the jerking vibes back where they came from deep down in his stomach.

Becoming a doctor was not a vocation but a prerogative; his family owned Med Tech, a company that excelled in fabricating hospital material. It was a tradition to have the future CEO graduate from med school. This way, he would better understand the hospital facility’s needs, which was the best marketing plan. Gong-Won had the brain, but he lacked in guts.

On the other hand, as Ji-Seong observed, Nam Soo-Hae possessed the total package, the first girl born in a long line of men. She was entitled to sit idly and wait for her dollars signed marriage, but with a genuine passion for medicine, the girl followed the family traditions.

As the young woman slid the scalpel along the corpse’s thoracics, she named Puripuri with the sparkling eyes Ji-Seong imagined a serial killer would have; Soo-Hae confirmed what he sensed the first time they met.

Soo-Hae was a female player with a database of information. She observed and adapted in consequence. Barely 5.2ft and as light as a feather, the girl was a heavyweight in manipulation Ji-Seong could tell and far from innocent Kyeong Sonmi, who was an authentic, pure being.

The glasses were a disguise that fooled her brother and entourage. Unlike Lee seongsaengnim, who showed her claws at the first encounter, Soo-Hae seemed to hide hers, keeping them sharp for the right moment. Ji-Seong found it both sexy and frightening.

Soo-Hae lifted her head and smiled as though she heard Ji-Seong’s thoughts. The girl was one of a kind; the top-ranked student made a mental note to beware of her.

Professor Lee moved around the ranks, looking and asking questions.

Ji-Seong’s eyes followed her; Sa-rang treated him like an errand boy.

She was nothing like he expected, but what did he expect?

Min Bok-Ji entered the room; the Secretary carried three folders, which were apparently heavy judging from the way she swayed from side to side as she walked to the professor’s desk, slamming them down in a thump which made everyone raise their head to look.

“Lee gyosunim, here are the notes you asked for.”

“Ah, kuré, thank you. Chae Ji-Seong Ssi.”

“Nae, sesongsaengnim,” Ji-Seong hurried to her desk.

Here are my notes for the university’s research department. I must publish them by next week. I have no time to write them up, so here your first responsibility.

Sa-Rang hated publishing, but it was one of the duties her position required. What bothered her more was the fact that no one read the pompous essays. Even she, who used to devour her mentors’ conclusions, found no time to read the papers.

Many told her to quit being a surgeon to be a full-time professor; Sa-rang found the perspective boring. She preferred thriving on the controlled amount of stress generated by juggling between the two functions.

Still, publishing was an annoying task which she didn’t mind delegating.

Ji-Seong’s eyes widened as he discovered the handwritten notes.


“Is there a problem?”

“These are hieroglyphs.”

“Mwo,” Sa-Rang’s face twisted with horror, and the rest of the students already imagined Ji-Seong’s body lying on the autopsy table, for his comment brought him one step closer to the grave.

“What did you just say? Have you got a problem with my way of taking notes?”

“Gyosunim, is this true hangul? It will take me weeks, if not months, to dissect this.”

A giggle escaped from one of the students; Sa-rang’s face switched like a light bulb to a vivid red.

“Min bok-Ju Ssi.”

“Nae, gyosunim,” the Secretary hostage of the altercation replied.

“How many folders are left?”

“Ten, if I don’t exclude these.”

“Okay, have them transferred to my beloved team of top rankers.”

“Andé,” Dae-Jung said, jolting up from his seat.

“What’s the problem?”

“It’s justㅡ.”

“Come on, Dae Jung, let it out.” Sa-rang urged.

“It’s just Ji-Seong provoked you. I don’t understand why we should all receive the punishment.”

“First, it isn’t a punishment. You should see and live it as an honor. Secondly, you are a team. If you remember your military service, you should consider yourselves as a unit. Your team leader Chae Ji-Seong has acquired this duty, and as a group, you will assist him and memorize every inch of essays while you recopy them in the format of an academic for your peers to see.”

As Sa-rang spoke, she was happy to have found at least five readers.

“Gosh, how I’m so happy not to be a top ranker,” a student whispered.

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