Chapter 122

“Ugh.”

Yang Jaewon let out a sigh without realizing it.

Just like Baek Kang-hyuk said, the blade had pierced through the aorta and was embedded deep inside.

Kang-hyuk let Jaewon be, sighing as he was in the operating room.

Or rather, it was more accurate to say he didn’t have the attention to spare.

‘It’s not just the physical damage that’s the problem…’

Of course, that wasn’t to say physical damage was trivial.

They didn’t call it the aorta for nothing.

That name meant it was critical.

‘If an infection sets in, it’s over.’

Kang-hyuk recalled the site where the patient worked.

Since it involved steelwork, there had been plenty of dust and fumes.

And that blade had been lying around there.

To the naked eye, it might have looked clean.

But in reality, it should be considered highly contaminated.

‘First things first… gotta remove this thing as quickly as possible.’

Kang-hyuk shifted his gaze to the blade nearly touching the entrance to the heart.

“Professor, are you planning to suture right away? Or are you going to patch it?”

At that moment, Jaewon asked in an urgent voice.

In a situation that was already dire, his voice matched it perfectly.

But to Kang-hyuk, it was just annoying.

“Hold on a second. Stop rushing me.”

“Wait a second… you were the one freaking out earlier…”

Jaewon glared resentfully at Kang-hyuk, who had taken over and sutured the carotid artery he’d been doing just fine on.

But resentment only mattered if the target actually paid attention.

Kang-hyuk was staring only at the aorta and the blade, so it was all pointless.

“This is…”

Kang-hyuk tilted his head.

Both suturing and patching had pros and cons.

It was hard to choose one definitively.

‘If I try suturing… pulling the blade out will inevitably cause more trauma. And…’

Using a clamp might mitigate some of that.

But the bigger issue was the long laceration trailing behind the blade.

‘It scraped along the side as it went in… If I’m not careful, it could cause dissection or rupture.’

Patching, on the other hand, could eliminate those risks.

But the problem was the material used for patching.

Blood vessels weren’t clothing.

You couldn’t just slap a piece of cloth on them.

That would cause the clotting factors in the blood to stick to the patch, leading to a blockage.

And if one of those clots broke off and blocked another vessel, it could lead to death.

‘GORE-TEX, huh…’

That’s where artificial vessels came in—commonly called GORE-TEX in Korea.

It was a cutting-edge material that had saved countless lives.

Its only downside was its limited supply.

Gore-Tex Corp claimed they couldn’t match the pricing under Korea’s insurance system, so they exported only a small, limited quantity each year—now completely halted.

Meaning if Kang-hyuk used it on this patient, another patient might die due to the lack of it.

‘Come on. Since when have I ever thought about the aftermath when treating a patient?’

Kang-hyuk quickly came to a decision.

To uphold the principle he always lived by:

‘Save the patient in front of you first.’

“How much GORE-TEX do we have in stock?”

“Uh… GORE-TEX?”

Jang-mi frowned at Kang-hyuk’s question.

Not because she was annoyed—because she didn’t know.

“Why are you getting upset?”

“Who’s upset? We don’t have any in our department. We used to, but the central supply team took them back.”

The news might’ve just started talking about a GORE-TEX shortage recently, but the rumors had been around for years.

Doctors and hospitals had long tried to inform the government of the issue, only to be ignored.

The reason? Gore-Tex was too expensive.

And yes, it was expensive.

A single piece cost over 800,000 won.

But asking the company to supply it at 100,000 won? No business would accept that.

“Then go get one from central supply. Just one.”

“Will they… give it out that easily?”

This time, Jaewon shook his head.

Even though he’d been busy with the Severe Trauma Center lately, he’d still occasionally checked the hospital group chats.

The surgeons’ chatroom was filled with constant talk about GORE-TEX.

“I heard our hospital only has one left…”

“One? Goddamn it.”

Kang-hyuk cursed and looked down at the patient’s aorta again.

It might just be a synthetic vessel.

But in some situations, it could mean the difference between life and death.

Teet teet deek.

Just then, a strange sound came from the aorta.

Most people wouldn’t even recognize it—or hear it at all.

But Kang-hyuk knew exactly what it meant.

“Screw the one unit—go get it now!”

“Wh-What?!”

Jang-mi, who’d been calm this whole time, stared at Kang-hyuk with wide eyes as he shouted.

Gyeongwon and Jaewon didn’t say anything, but they looked at him like he’d lost his mind.

But of course, Kang-hyuk had a very good reason.

Pressing his palm on the aorta, he shouted again.

“Hurry! It’s going to burst! No—assume it already has!”

“What…?”

“Can’t you see me pressing it down?!”

“A-Ah, yes! Got it!”

The outer wall of an artery like the aorta was made of thick muscle.

It had to withstand the pressure of blood being pumped directly from the heart.

So it might pulsate, but it shouldn’t bulge.

That was normal.

But this aorta wasn’t behaving normally.

The section scraped by the blade had a clear, linear muscle separation.

“Move your ass!”

“Yes!”

Jaewon finally grasped the situation and dashed out without even taking off his gown.

Jang-mi, now fully alarmed, shouted after him.

“Wh-What should I do?!”

“You! You too! You’re way faster than him—get going!”

“Ah, yes!”

She bolted out after him.

Even just the sound of her running was on another level compared to Jaewon.

Her strong strides made it obvious she’d catch up in no time.

“Huh?”

Sure enough, Jaewon’s weakened voice soon echoed down the hall.

Jang-mi flew past him like a bullet and shouted:

“Keep running just in case! They might not listen to me!”

“Listen? Oh, right!”

That’s when Jaewon remembered—

Outside the trauma center, Jang-mi was just seen as another nurse.

Hospitals had a weird quirk where nothing moved unless a doctor made the request.

A nasty tradition that refused to die.

Thud thud thud thud.

Jang-mi raced down to B2, where the central supply room was located.

It was the place that sterilized and managed all equipment for every ward, OR, and center.

The moment she entered, heat and a strange antiseptic smell hit her.

“Why are you here?”

A gruff employee at the entrance asked.

Jang-mi replied cautiously.

“Yes! I’m Nurse Cheon Jang-mi from the Severe Trauma Center.”

“Severe… hmm.”

The staff member scratched her chin, recalling what the supply room director had recently said.

‘Not that it’ll happen, but if anyone from the Severe Trauma Center requests something—ignore them. That’s straight from the director’s office.’

It wasn’t hard to remember.

They heard it nearly every meeting.

So the staffer crossed her arms and stared at Jang-mi.

“Why are you here?”

“I’m here to request GORE-TEX.”

“GORE-TEX?”

It was a familiar term.

Since the hospital had just three left, central supply had taken over their management.

“That’s going to be a problem.”

“We suspect an aortic rupture! Without it, the patient will die!”

The mention of death made the staffer flinch.

But she quickly regained composure.

After all, people died in hospitals every day.

The bigger the hospital, the more common it was.

“That requires the director’s approval. GORE-TEX does.”

“Approval… Where is he? I’ll get it myself.”

Before the trauma center, Jang-mi had worked in the emergency department.

Which meant she’d been in plenty of situations where she had to beg other departments.

She knew exactly how to handle bureaucratic red tape.

If she just waited, the patient would die.

And if that happened, Kang-hyuk would probably kill her too.

She couldn’t let that happen.

“What’s going on?”

Just then, a middle-aged man passing by asked them.

His name tag said he was the supply room director.

Jang-mi stopped arguing with the staffer and approached him.

“You’re the director, right? I’m Nurse Cheon Jang-mi from the Severe Trauma Center.”

“Yes. And?”

He folded his arms and stared at her.

“We’re requesting GORE-TEX. We have a patient with suspected aortic rupture.”

“GORE-TEX…? That needs approval from the hospital director.”

He looked apologetic and tried to walk past her.

Clack.

At that moment, the door burst open and Jaewon staggered in, panting.

“Wa-Wait a second…”

“What is it?”

The director asked, looking at Jaewon who had grabbed his collar.

Jaewon wiped the sweat from his forehead and spoke.

It was the result of constant work, no exercise, and a diet of junk food.

“Did I hear right… You said you can’t give us GORE-TEX?”

“Ah, you’re also from the trauma center. Yes, I did. Approval is required.”

“To… save a life… you need approval…?”

Jaewon’s words almost sounded like Kang-hyuk himself was speaking.

His breath was ragged and his voice was slurred, but something about it rang deep.

Still, it didn’t reach those who didn’t care to listen.

“Yes, we do. This hospital doesn’t run on chaos.”

“You’ve got to be—”

The one person who was moved was Jang-mi, Jaewon’s long-time colleague and comrade.

She walked past the defeated-looking Jaewon and grabbed the director by the back of the neck.

Had Kang-hyuk seen it, he would’ve said, “That’s my gangster.”

“Hold on!”

The director was visibly startled.

It was probably the first time he’d faced physical intimidation at his age.

“W-What are you doing? We’re done talking, aren’t we? I said no!”

“No. I’m taking it.”

“What?! I said no! How?”

“I’m taking it. The patient is dying.”

Jang-mi released him and stormed inside.

The central supply room at Hanguk University Hospital was run as tightly as the hospital’s reputation demanded.

Even a first-timer could easily find what they were looking for.

“Y-You! Are you crazy?! You’ll get fired!”

Jang-mi returned quickly.

Before the director could even calm his pounding chest.

GORE-TEX was already in her hands.

She clutched it to her chest and replied:

“If I get fired for saving a life, so be it.”

“Wha—”

“That’s all. We’re in a real emergency. Let’s go, Dr. Yang.”