His gaze shifted toward the operating room window, where the faint silhouettes of a surgical team moved under the bright light.
"See that nurse over there? Her left hand's a bit stiff…"
He glanced at me briefly, the sterile light reflecting off his glasses, then directed his attention toward the instrument table.
"She's probably still learning the retracting technique."
I followed his gaze, the faint clink of metal tools mixing with the steady hiss of the ventilator, trying to spot what he meant.
"Why pay attention to that?"
"Because every detail here decides whether the person on that table lives or dies," he replied quietly but firmly. "If you want to learn medicine, start by learning how to see."
I fell silent, the smell of antiseptic heavy in my nose, trying to take in his words. Around us, the steady beeping of the monitor counted seconds we couldn't waste.
