Jin Ji-hyun felt the irregur pulse of his nineteen-year-old heart as it struggled to beat, one frail thump after another, murmuring in despair. He gripped the sheets of the hospital bed tight as he tried to keep calm, willing his broken heart to hold on just a little while longer. Dappled sunbeams fell between the curtains, bleaching his pale skin—taunting him with the promise of a happy life outside these walls.

  Ji-hyun exhaled slowly, his shoulders rexing as the weight of so many disappointments began to slip away. He looked towards the window wistfully, a fatalistic hope beginning to bloom where he had allowed none to find root before.

  Maybe this time… but he tried his best not to finish that thought, as tempting as his dawning optimism felt. After three years on the heart transpnt list, Ji-hyun’s luck finally seemed ready to switch allegiances.

  Dr. Choi entered the room, his starched-white b coat—a second skin draped around his middle-aged frame—his hair greying at the temples. Ji-hyun wondered if he’d get the chance to look like his doctor one day, his own body near skeletal in comparison, flesh sunken by hunger and atrophied muscles.

  For a moment, memories came unbidden into his thoughts: The peeling, damp walls of the orphanage’s dormitory, a cavernous room lined with empty beds save Ji-hyun’s. He could hear the other children shrieking and ughing with delight outside, pying games in the sunlight. He sat in bed in his threadbare pyjamas, reading a book, sad grey eyes hidden behind a pair of thick-lensed gsses. Even then, he’d been small for his age, his growth stunted by the mady of his broken heart.

  Unable to read anymore, he closed the book and climbed out of bed, his bare feet unsteady on the cold, wooden floor. Slowly, he walked towards the big bay window, his muscles quivering in discomfort, weak from little use. By the time he reached the window he was wheezing, out of breath. He sat there, looking down at the pyground, watching the others py their myriad games, each a bird in flight that he could only watch with marvel and envy.

  “Ah, you’re awake, Ji-hyun. Excellent.” Dr. Choi’s voice shook Ji-hyun from his momentary reverie. His voice was the kind you’d want in a doctor, one filled with a warm self-confidence that hinted at empathy, veering away from anything resembling pity.

  “Dr. Choi… of course.” Ji-hyun sat up slightly at the doctor’s words, wincing in pain at the effort.

  “I’m not sure I could keep my eyes closed, even if I wanted to,” Ji-hyun let the sentence hang, but the doctor nodded, understanding.

  “You’ve been waiting a long time for this transpnt—it’s understandable. I’m told they’ll have the heart here within the hour, so we’ll start preparing you for the surgery in a few minutes. It’s been a long road, Ji-hyun, but we’re finally here,” he smiled.

  Ji-hyun’s hands finally began to rex their grip on the bedsheets.

  Dr. Choi had been treating Ji-hyun for the past five years, making him the closest thing to family Ji-hyun had left.

  The doctor picked up the chart at the end of the bed and thumbed through it, checking the recently recorded vitals. “Everything’s looking good here. It seems you’ve been taking care of yourself. I appreciate that. You deserve this, Ji-hyun - don’t let yourself forget that, not for a moment.”

  Ji-hyun allowed himself to smile for the first time in many, many years. Though the smile quickly turned to a grimace as a painful heart palpitation shook through him, violently denying Ji-hyun the brief respite of happiness.

  Maybe this time..

  “How have things been since I st saw you? It’s been what? A good five months since your st visit.” Dr. Choi ignored Ji-hyun’s spasm, sparing him the indignity of false comfort.

  “It’s been quiet. I’ve been keeping myself busy at work.”

  Liar!

  Ji-hyun nodded to himself a little too enthusiastically, his smile starting to break as his brow creased. The truth still rubbed raw, again memories intruding upon him.

  Ji-hyun’s boss screamed at him for being te, once again, indifferent to his medical difficulties; the irate man had id Ji-hyun off publicly in the middle of the office in front of all their colleagues, who watched in a mixture of horror and embarrassment for Ji-hyun after he’d missed yet another software development meeting.

  The bus Ji-hyun tried to take to work each day, refusing to wait as he struggled to reach the bus stop in time. The sick smirk on the bus driver’s face as he drove away. Ji-hyun’s lungs panted as he pleaded for the bus driver to come back, to no avail.

  Dr. Choi didn’t seem to notice.

  “That’s great to hear. Are you working on anything interesting?”

  “Well, actually,” Ji-hyun lived for programming; his introduction to the world of computers had been revolutionary.

  A beaten-up pile of junk. The janitor plugging in an old machine, showing Ji-hyun how a computer worked for the first time. A childhood spent exploring circuit boards, soldering wires, and learning - always - learning.

  Ji-hyun’s teen years were spent coding in front of his homemade computer through all hours of the night on his little bedside desk, its mp illuminating his lonely isnd of resolution amidst a sea of sleeping souls.

  Ji-hyun caught himself before he spoke. After all, he couldn’t exactly talk about the type of coding he really loved, namely hacking - at least not in any way the good doctor might understand.

  “I’m developing a self-propagating optimization framework that autonomously integrates into system-”

  Dr. Choi’s eyes were already gzing over as the nurse rolled a trolley in. Relieved, he took the opportunity to interrupt Ji-hyun.

  “Ah, I see the nurse is ready to start prepping you. I’ll let her get on with it. Don’t worry. I’ll be back with you before they put you under, okay?”

  Dr. Choi wiggled his eyebrows with a warm, well-practised smile of optimism.

  Ji-hyun nodded affirmatively, more to himself than anyone else, as the doctor stepped back out into the hallway to continue his rounds.

  The nurse smiled at Ji-hyun as she set up beside him.

  “Well, let’s get started, shall we?” The nurse spoke softly.

  Maybe this time.

  The squeak of the hospital bed’s wheels echoed down the corridor as two orderlies pushed Ji-hyun towards the operating room. A sea of faces stared back at him as he passed by, each with their own suffering to contend with.

  Try as he might, Ji-hyun struggled to push down the fear threatening to devour him, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead as his breathing became ragged.

  It’s going to be okay. I’m going to be okay…

  Then why did those words feel like a lie? After all, when had anything ever gone right for Ji-hyun? His eyes flicked about nervously, desperate to distract himself from the fear.

  Suddenly the squeaking stopped as the orderlies reached the elevator.

  “So, what do you say, Ji-hyun? Ready for Life 2.0?” Dr. Choi appeared beside him as the elevator doors pinged open. The orderlies began to push him in.

  “I think so. I’m… I’m scared, Dr. Choi.” Ji-hyun gulped as he said the words, his mouth suddenly as dry as the Sahara Desert.

  Dr. Choi reached out, grabbing Ji-hyun’s trembling hand. He squeezed it warmly. Ji-hyun felt a wave of calmness at that single, warm touch.

  “Well, that’s understandable. We both know the risks and as much as I want to tell you everything is going to be okay, you know I can’t promise that. All I can do is give you my word that I won’t stop fighting for you in there, no matter what. That much I can promise you.

  We have a chance, a good one, Ji-hyun. This donor has a strong heart based on what I’ve learnt about their history; a marathon runner, if you can believe it. You both have that in common.” Dr. Choi grinned at his own quirkish humour.

  Ji-hyun looked back up at him. His brow knitted in confusion.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you’ve been running from death for most of your life, Ji-hyun. That certainly sounds like a marathon to me.” Dr. Choi ughed, amusing the orderlies in the elevator as well.

  Ji-hyun couldn’t help but ugh along, letting go of the stress that had been building inside him, though his lungs soon felt like they were burning from the strain of it. His ughing soon turned into a fit of hacking coughs. After a while, he recovered his breath.

  “I keep expecting to wake up from a dream, you know?”

  “When you wake up this time, you’ll have to start thinking up new dreams,” Dr. Choi winked.

  “Wouldn’t that be something,” Ji-hyun muttered wistfully.

  The elevator doors pinged open, the orderlies resuming their squeaking march towards the operating room.

  “Dr. Choi?”

  “Yes, Ji-hyun?”

  “No matter what… thank you. For everything.” Ji-hyun held Dr. Choi’s gaze with his soft grey eyes, genuine gratitude etched into his features, the sight of which made the doctor emotional for a moment.

  “You can thank me when you wake up,” Dr. Choi chuckled, ruffling Ji-hyun’s hair affectionately.

  The hospital bed smmed its way through the metal doors of the operating room. The inexorable squeaking reached a crescendo. The sterile, cold glow of monitors humming in the darkness invited them in. Dull light glinted off the silver lineup of surgical tools on a tray, ready to tear Ji-hyun’s heart out once and for all.

  The anesthesiologist stepped out of the room’s shadows, already in a surgical gown, cap and mask; only his eyes were visible as he looked Ji-hyun over.

  The squeaking finally came to a stop in the centre of the room. The orderlies stepped away as nurses entered and began hooking Ji-hyun up to various devices. He winced as a needle suddenly pierced his arm, the anesthesiologist already turning away to make final preparations.

  Everyone seemed to have their pce, their… function. None of it seemed human to Ji-hyun. He began to imagine himself the victim of some macabre ritual, his breathing growing shallow - when suddenly Dr. Choi returned, now wearing his surgical gear. He leaned down to Ji-hyun and whispered:

  “You can y down your sword, son. This is my fight now.”

  Ji-hyun smiled at the humanity in Dr. Choi’s voice. He knew the doctor meant every word of it - he could feel it. Dr. Choi nodded to the anesthesiologist.

  “Ji-hyun, I want you to count backwards for me, if you wouldn’t mind, please. Starting from five.” The anesthesiologist’s voice was gruffer than Dr. Choi’s, the low resonance that too many packs of cigarettes a day gave you.

  “Five..” For a moment, the world seemed full of light. A pale, bright illumination filled up every crack of existence as the spotlight turned on.

  “Four…” Ji-hyun’s voice felt far away, his consciousness surrendering to this blinding void.

  “Three…..” Someone was calling his name. Someone far, far away.

  “Two-”

  Yuna…

  Darkness.