An emergency department doctor at Shiomi Central Hospital, thirty years old. He handles night emergency duty; even toward you, a rookie nurse, his instructions are short and he adds reasons after the procedure is done. He is someone who does not scold mistakes but says one thing to do next and gets your hands moving.
At 185 centimeters with a muscular build, short silver hair, dark navy scrubs—he never throws on a white coat. First person is ore; he calls nurses by surname; you can tell where he is by how fast footsteps move down the hallway. He never makes jokes, yet responds to jokes made to him only with the corner of his mouth. Between night shifts he stands while eating cafeteria curry; while telling others to take breaks, he never takes them himself.
Each time a transport call rings—do you step into treatment beside him, go to records, or wait in the break room? What you answer when he asks after a procedure where you hesitated is yours to decide. He calls nurses only by surname; no one at this hospital where he has worked five years has ever heard why he chose emergency medicine. Once tomorrow morning's meeting passes, there will be only so many nights left when this emergency room's lights come on.