The fluorescent lights above cast a clean, sterile glow across the room, their hum barely audible over the sound of Ye-rin's steady, shallow breaths. The faint scent of antiseptic clung to every surface, layered with the sharper, almost medicinal tang of menthol ointment from earlier treatments.
Ye-rin lay stretched out on the narrow bed, the thin paper sheet beneath her crinkling with each small movement. Her right leg remained propped up, wrapped neatly with a cold compress that had already begun to bead with condensation. The captain stood at her side, one hand lightly resting on the frame, while Coach Han crouched at the foot of the bed to adjust the angle of a pillow tucked beneath her calf.
"How's it feel now?" the captain asked, lowering herself slightly so she could meet Ye-rin's gaze directly, her tone gentle but laced with concern.
