Chapter 117

Everyone fell silent and looked at Kang-hyuk.

Jaewon, especially, didn’t even dare breathe.

It wasn’t Kang-hyuk’s usual expression—he looked like he did in the OR while cutting into a major organ.

Having frequently assisted him in surgery, Jaewon instinctively tensed up.

“When you work at the Severe Trauma Center, everyone thinks about this at least once.”

Kang-hyuk glanced around at the group.

Everyone had put down their whiskey-filled urine test cups.

Only Kang-hyuk was slowly sipping his.

“Hmm.”

He savored the taste for a moment before continuing.

“‘Why are we going through all this hell for a death no one even cares about?’ Something like that.”

“Hmm…”

‘A death no one even cares about.’

The phrasing felt oddly uncomfortable.

But no one present could object to it.

After all, policy makers and hospital administrators only paid lip service, and nothing had changed.

Just today, a patient who could’ve been saved had ended up brain dead.

“Personally… I see this as my karma.”

Kang-hyuk placed his cup down in the silence.

But the sound of it hitting the table echoed loudly through the room.

At least to the people here, it did.

“Karma…?”

Jaewon, who had been quietly listening, tilted his head and asked.

Kang-hyuk offered him a faint smile.

“Yeah. Karma.”

“W-Why…?”

Jaewon trailed off, wondering if Baek Kang-hyuk had once killed someone by accident.

Jang-mi, Gyeongwon, and Jung-heon seemed to share similar thoughts, holding their breath.

“It was… let’s see, over twenty years ago now.”

Kang-hyuk murmured, his gaze distant.

His eyes were directed out the window, but he didn’t seem to be looking at the scenery.

It was as if he were wandering through his past.

“My father was a sanitation worker.”

At the word “sanitation worker,” Jang-mi swallowed hard.

Just recently, they had treated a sanitation worker who had been hit by a passing truck.

She remembered seeing several cases like that before.

“He was hit by a bus during cleaning work and died.”

“Ah…”

This time, Jaewon let out a sigh.

It was the first time Kang-hyuk had spoken about himself, and the story began with his father’s death.

“Whew…”

Even Jung-heon, who had ended up joining the dinner unexpectedly, looked stunned.

He didn’t know what to say or even what to do with his hands.

“Hmm.”

Gyeongwon simply kept sipping his drink.

He didn’t seem to be savoring the taste.

It just seemed like doing something—anything—might make Kang-hyuk’s words feel less heavy.

“Back then… I guess I just accepted it. Or maybe I was too overwhelmed. My father was the only family I had left.”

“Only…?”

Jaewon unconsciously repeated the unfamiliar word.

Kang-hyuk continued, unfazed.

His eyes remained fixed on the window.

“My mother died when I was very young. I don’t even remember it.”

“Ah…”

“Anyway, at the time, surviving came first. I did everything I could. Studied, worked part-time jobs.”

Survival came first.

That was something neither Jaewon nor Gyeongwon had ever truly experienced.

They both came from relatively well-off families, got into med school, and became doctors without much resistance.

“I happened to win a local scholarship quiz hosted by Muan University. They offered me a full scholarship and living expenses if I enrolled. Muan University… yeah, I knew it wasn’t a prestigious school. But what could I do? They were offering money.”

“Ah… so that’s why…”

Jaewon felt like a long-standing mystery had been solved.

He had always wondered why someone as talented as Kang-hyuk had gone to Muan University’s medical school.

All medical schools were competitive, but with Kang-hyuk’s skills, it wouldn’t have been surprising if he’d bulldozed his way into Hanguk University.

“I got into med school and started studying… and that’s when I realized.”

Kang-hyuk paused and took another sip from his paper cup.

It looked like he had poured more this time.

His expression looked more bitter than before.

It was like he was drinking soju, not whiskey.

“My father was a patient who didn’t have to die like that.”

“Ah…”

Everyone sighed, almost in unison.

“But there was one problem.”

“A problem?”

Only Jaewon had the nerve to respond.

The rest were too crushed by the weight of the moment to say a word.

“Yeah. The problem is that patients like my father are still dying. Isn’t that ridiculous? Korean medicine is now at a world-class level.”

“That’s…”

“Isn’t it? In fact, there are some fields where we’re the best in the world.”

Kang-hyuk took another sip.

And he wasn’t wrong.

Korea’s medical field had rapidly grown thanks to massive corporate hospitals like Chilseong Hospital and the corporatization of institutions like Hanguk University Hospital.

There were side effects, like the collapse of regional hospitals.

But the qualitative growth was undeniable.

“Look no further than this hospital’s liver transplant center. People come from all over the world to learn from it. Our premature infant survival rate is among the best too.”

“That’s true…”

“But what about severe trauma patients?”

“Hmm…”

No one had a clear answer.

Even putting aside the pitiful state of their own center…

None of them really knew how other countries handled things.

Only Jung-heon, who had been on a work trip to Japan, had some perspective.

“Compared to neighboring countries, we’re terrible…”

“Exactly. In most other fields we’re equal or even ahead, but when it comes to Severe Trauma Centers, it’s embarrassing. Same story when compared to the US, UK…”

After saying that, Kang-hyuk slowly opened the box of chicken.

He’d made his speech, but drinking on an empty stomach was starting to take its toll.

“Ugh. Anyway, yeah. I just don’t want there to be more patients like my father. That’s my wish… and that’s what I’m working for.”

As Kang-hyuk gnawed on a chicken drumstick, the mood eased a little.

“I see. So that’s why you’ve been working us to death.”

Jang-mi, emboldened by the shift in atmosphere, picked up another piece and joined in.

Kang-hyuk didn’t push the serious tone any further and focused on chewing.

“Well… it’s fun sometimes too. It’s not like we get to do the same operation twice.”

“That’s true. I’ve already done dozens of surgeries here I’d never seen before.”

Jaewon nodded and took a bite of his chicken.

“You guys should think about it too. Maybe you don’t have the same reasons I do… but you should at least have a reason for walking this tough path. Otherwise, you won’t make it.”

Kang-hyuk recalled the frustration he experienced before heading to Syria, back when he worked at Muan University.

He had put his all into establishing a Trauma Surgery Department and launching a Severe Trauma Center at the regional hospital.

But in the end, all the other medical staff resigned, and the project collapsed.

Uncompensated sacrifice always led to disaster eventually.

“Yes, sir. I’ll take your words to heart and work hard.”

Gyeongwon, ever the rule-follower, struck a fighting pose.

His mouth was already stuffed with chicken.

He had gone so long working nonstop that he couldn’t help but indulge.

Kang-hyuk had no intention of blaming him.

He, too, was glad to have some chicken and pizza.

“I should be helping you too… I’m sorry for being pushed into a quiet corner like this.”

Jung-heon finally spoke up.

Kang-hyuk, the one who had invited him, shook his head.

“No, no. Honestly, the way the Central Rescue Unit handled things was unusual to begin with. Ideally, every hospital should have at least one doctor helicopter.”

As he said it, Kang-hyuk thought of the hospital directors.

They wouldn’t even build a helipad—there was no way they’d buy a helicopter.

‘Well, I guess helicopter dispatches are out of the question for a while.’

The hospital ambulances were decently equipped, which was fortunate.

Still, they couldn’t compare to a doctor helicopter.

Noticing the gloom in Kang-hyuk’s expression, Jung-heon spoke again.

“Actually, about that…”

“Hm?”

“I may not look it, but I’ve got quite the network—at least within the fire department.”

“And?”

Considering Jung-heon’s age and personality, it was believable.

He probably had full support from his juniors too.

He was the kind of person who liked to get involved personally.

“A junior of mine from one year behind just got assigned to the rescue unit in Gyeonggi Fire Department… he says it’s a shame their doctor helicopter isn’t being used.”

“They’ve got one too?”

“Not the EC 225 like the central unit. It’s an AW139. But yeah, they’ve got one.”

“Just one, huh…”

“Yeah, it’s not much. But you know how it is—no one’s using it anyway.”

Even the Central Rescue Unit’s EC 225 was mostly sitting idle.

There was no reason to expect things were different for Gyeonggi.

“That’s good news. Or… is it?”

“Well… it depends on how you look at it. Anyway, that junior heard about your work, and he’s very interested. The fire commissioner didn’t say it outright, but…”

Jung-heon remembered how the commissioner had gotten furious, saying the Central Rescue Unit helicopter wasn’t Kang-hyuk’s personal taxi.

He didn’t know the details, but Jung-heon was sure his sudden reassignment had something to do with cooperating with Baek Kang-hyuk.

A brutal journey to save lives was being actively hindered by others.

“I don’t care what the commissioner says. What’s your junior’s contact info?”

“Here. I’ll also give him a heads-up separately, if you’re interested.”

“Interested? Say no more. The core of any Severe Trauma Center is ‘air evacuation.’ Without that, everything falls apart.”

Saving patients who somehow made it to the hospital was important too.

But in Korea’s convoluted road system, if a patient could survive the trip, they likely had a decent shot once they met the right medical team.

‘To save patients within the golden hour, helicopters are essential.’

Kang-hyuk had seen it firsthand overseas.

For the same patient, prognosis drastically changed depending on the transport time.

“Alright, I’ll make the arrangements.”

“Thanks. At least we’re getting support from somewhere.”

“You said it yourself—I’m part of the team too. I’ll help however I can.”

“Yeah. That’s reassuring.”

What the massive powers refused to do…

No, what they chose not to do—was being picked up by ants.

Kang-hyuk understood that better than anyone.

But he didn’t say it out loud.

He believed that kind of burden should rest solely on the team leader’s shoulders.