Between Miracle and Despair
"It makes me angry, senior."
"I know."
No matter that it was only acting, he could not calm the fury rising all the way to the top of his head. That was how devastating the performance had been.
Woo Dan-wol let out a small sigh. Knowing these events had really happened made it even more heartbreaking.
The opening sequence of the film had finished filming. Audiences would be swept up in discomfort and rage. What expressions would they wear when they saw those moments, refined and captured on screen?
They would surely be furious. That was what made the introduction so ironically perfect.
"Let's get ready."
"Yes, senior."
"This feels awkward."
"Now I'm the senior, after all."
On the set, preparing for the next scene, Woo Dan-wol and Han Da-sol stood in their suits, gazing at each other with slight discomfort. Thinking back to the opening they had just filmed, they sighed at the same time. Could they really pull this off?
They had confidence in their acting. Yet they could not shake the worry that audiences might fail to immerse themselves after such a brutal introduction. It was only natural.
The two of them were the protagonists, positioned in the middle both inside the film and in real life, as organ transplant coordinators.
Woo Dan-wol was Kim Tae-min. Han Da-sol was Ji Hyo-rin.
It was a movie about third-year coordinator Kim Tae-min and Ji Hyo-rin, who had just begun her probationary period. Although they were the leads, they were not the true main characters. The real protagonists of the film were the extras.
In a story where multiple personal tales unfolded, the supporting roles carrying each part were the true stars. That was why they had to be even more careful.
"Senior, try it. Come on, senior."
"...Senior."
"How cute."
She radiated worry and a heavy sense of responsibility. But neither of them was the type to be paralyzed by those feelings. Woo Dan-wol knew this well, and thanks to his teasing, Han Da-sol—who had been trying to steady her trembling heart—finally relaxed. Or rather, she was getting completely swept up in it.
"Ugh… Aack! This is weird. It's so weird."
"What's weird, Junior Da-sol?"
"Kyaaaaah!!"
He was clearly the younger one. Yet the cool-toned makeup, the crisp suit, and that relaxed aura suited him so perfectly that Han Da-sol's heart pounded despite her being his actual senior. She reacted even more dramatically to hide her feelings. Finding the sight adorable, Woo Dan-wol only teased her harder.
"I'll teach you properly. Just follow my lead."
"S-stop! Stop it. Stop!"
That sly smile. Those easy, confident eyes. Unable to even look at him directly, Han Da-sol held up both hands, trembling as she tried to fend him off.
"You're way too cute as a senior, you know?"
"Stop teasing me."
She was genuinely angry now, like a growling Pomeranian. The only issue was that it wasn't scary at all. Han Da-sol meant every word.
Anyway, the staff member's shout that filming was beginning brought their conversation to an end. Woo Dan-wol and Han Da-sol stepped onto the set. Several extras entered the classroom-like space as well.
Once preparations were complete, the director gave the signal. The acting began.
In a spacious auditorium, countless people sat staring at a woman standing on the dais. It was a kind of lecture.
Ji Hyo-rin sat among them, listening attentively. Right beside her was Kim Tae-min, her mentor.
After six months of training, they would begin working as organ transplant coordinators. Paired with their mentors, they would continue through the entire probationary period. In this line of work, that meant handling nearly everything, including promotional activities.
"Nice to meet you."
"Hello."
"From now on, you will not be able to say 'hello.'"
The lecturer continued. A few people looked startled, but most listened in silence.
Her voice echoed through the hall. The people they would meet from now on would not be well. Therefore, instead of "hello," they would greet them with "nice to meet you."
Six months of education did not mark the end. These coordinators might become villains to someone. They might become cruel people who tore open wounds. Yet it was work that had to be done.
During the break, the passionate mentee Ji Hyo-rin asked her mentor.
"Mentor."
"Yes."
"Why did you become a coordinator?"
"Hmm..."
Kim Tae-min thought for a moment before answering. It was not a happy profession. Hearing his reason brought back old memories.
"Most of us have similar stories, but..."
"Yes."
"I witnessed a miracle."
"A miracle..."
At the word miracle, Ji Hyo-rin's mouth closed. Her gaze dropped to the floor, but she did not look guilty. Instead, she seemed to be thinking deeply.
Slowly she raised her head and smiled. It was in response to her mentor's question.
"Then what about you, mentee? You must have had some preconceptions."
"I, too, survived by a miracle."
"I see."
Ji Hyo-rin was someone who had lived because of a miracle. She did not remember it; it had happened when she was a newborn.
Born with a congenitally weak heart, she had survived thanks to a transplant and grown up safely. After learning the truth later, Ji Hyo-rin developed a habit of placing her hand over her chest whenever she had a spare moment. The steady heartbeat thumped beneath her palm.
This heart had once belonged to another child. The miracle was fleeting. Reality proved far harsher than expected. Receiving a transplant meant someone had given theirs up.
That was why she had decided to become an organ transplant coordinator. Of course, the difficulties would far outweigh the rewards.
Most people came from nursing backgrounds, so the amount of studying required was enormous. Still, she worked hard every day in pursuit of another miracle.
Like a calm, everyday routine, the atmosphere of the film began. Compared to the painful introduction that touched on tragic events, it felt incredibly peaceful.
Gradually, the tone of the work was shifting.
After finishing her training and beginning her probationary work, Ji Hyo-rin moved with her mentor Kim Tae-min. Looking at his smartphone, he spoke.
"...Let's move."
"Yes."
"A potential brain death case has been reported. We're heading to the hospital."
The two climbed into the car. Ji Hyo-rin's expression stiffened. This was her first dispatch after completing six months of training and entering her probationary period.
"Since you're still a trainee, I'll take the lead. But stay alert so you don't freeze up."
"Yes, mentor."
"You may hear curses. We never know what kind of guardian we'll face."
"Understood."
The pair drove toward the hospital. Kim Tae-min listed the details of the potential brain death case.
"Twenty-two-year-old male. He entered a brain-dead state due to head trauma."
"Head trauma… so a fall?"
"That's possible, but a traffic accident is more likely."
"I see..."
"Still, we must not assume anything before meeting the guardian. It could be an extreme choice. We have to consider every possibility."
"Yes."
Each year, more than two thousand potential brain death cases occur nationwide. Yet according to 2022 figures, the number of brain death donors is only around four hundred. An extremely low rate.
In probability terms, that is twenty percent. One out of every five.
"So even if we fail to persuade them today, don't take it to heart."
"Understood."
"That's simply how this job is."
Indeed. Organ transplant coordinator. A profession standing in the space between miracle and despair. That was its nature.
The two arrived at the hospital. Kim Tae-min and Ji Hyo-rin entered the room and addressed a middle-aged woman whose face was etched with grief.
"Nice to meet you. My name is Kim Tae-min from the Korea Organ Donation Agency."
"...What did you say?"
Upon hearing his introduction, the mother's expression darkened further. Yet Kim Tae-min continued, delivering his message to the end.
"We are here to ask for your consent to donate the organs of a patient presumed brain dead, for the sake of more than forty thousand people waiting for transplants."
"......"
She looked at him as if he were a villain. Her eyes moved from her child lying in the bed back to him. The mother of a twenty-two-year-old tried to spit out curses but could not bring herself to hurl them at the young man in his twenties.
"...Leave."
"......"
"Get out. If I hear any more, I'll start cursing. So just go."
"Yes. Hyo-rin, let's go."
"Tae-min..."
"We are truly sorry for the intrusion. Please excuse us."
Persuasion? Confusion flooded Ji Hyo-rin's eyes. Kim Tae-min, head bowed, turned on his heel at once.
He led her out of the room. Though Ji Hyo-rin called after him urgently, he waited until they had moved farther down the corridor before speaking.
"Mentor..."
"Shall we get something to eat?"
"...Yes."
How could anyone impose judgment on a person enduring such pain, depression, and sorrow? Kim Tae-min said nothing, but his face carried a storm of emotions.
A job that required making the hardest request to the person suffering most. That was what an organ donation coordinator was.
"Do you like soup and rice?"
"Yes, mentor."
"Let's go."
It was a smile, but one heavy with sadness. As the two walked away, the hospital room filled with the steady beep of monitors. The mother held her son's hand. In the quiet room, only the sound of her sobs echoed.