Chapter 124

“Ah.”

At the words “brain death,” Baek Kang-hyuk lowered his head.

It was as good as saying the situation was already over.

If the diagnosis was accurate, there was no doubt about it.

Still clinging to a shred of hope, Kang-hyuk turned to the new nurse and asked,

“Who… made the call?”

“Professor Choi Jun-yong is running tests with help from a ‘KODA’ coordinator.”

“Choi Jun-yong. Hm.”

Kang-hyuk recalled what he knew of Jun-yong.

Not only was he diligent, but he was also quite skilled.

He was considered among the best in Korea when it came to EEG interpretation.

Someone like that wouldn’t call in a coordinator for no reason.

‘Wait a second. A KODA coordinator is here?’

The Korean Organ Donation Agency.

Their coordinators didn’t just move around at random.

“That brain death test takes a while. Check how far along they are.”

“Yes, Professor.”

The new nurse immediately picked up the phone to call the ICU.

Meanwhile, Kang-hyuk turned to Jaewon and tapped on the patient’s opened chest.

“Slave, close up. As fast as you can.”

At that, Jaewon looked a little hurt.

That was becoming more common lately.

But today had been especially brutal.

They flew in with a helicopter rescue, the carotid artery ruptured, the aorta ruptured—

It was one of those days you couldn’t believe actually happened.

Just when he thought he could finally breathe, Kang-hyuk hit him with another “hurry up.”

“Couldn’t we… take it slow, since they’re already doing brain death tests?”

“You idiot. You think this isn’t your patient? Someone from another ward?”

“No… it’s not that, but…”

He swallowed the words ‘I’m just really tired.’

A quick glance showed Kang-hyuk’s eyes already spinning.

He clearly wanted to rush out and confirm the patient’s condition himself.

‘If it’s Professor Choi Jun-yong from Neurology… he’s the rising star in that field these days.’

There was no way a guy like him would mistake brain death.

Ordinary people might confuse it with a vegetative state, but not that professor.

The difference between the two was stark.

“Then hurry up and suture. It’s our patient.”

“Yes, sir.”

But no one could win against Kang-hyuk once he started pressuring you.

Especially not Jaewon, now so fully Slave in both name and spirit.

“Drill.”

“Yes, Professor.”

Kang-hyuk grabbed the drill and bored small holes along both sides of the sternum.

You couldn’t just stitch bone together with thread, after all.

The plan was to run wire through the holes and tie it off.

Naturally, it took him only moments.

‘Time to prep for transfer.’

Gyeongwon listened to the drill whirring and began adjusting the anesthesia.

They wouldn’t be waking the patient up, but there was a difference between deep surgical sedation and what was needed in the ICU.

And it had to be different.

The way this was handled could significantly affect whether the patient experienced [delirium] in the ICU.

“Alright. I’ll close here. You handle the neck.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t show off—use size 4 suture.”

Kang-hyuk stopped Jaewon from picking up the ultra-fine size 5 thread.

Jaewon hesitated for a second, then nodded.

“Understood…”

“Line up your layers. You know what happens if the skin puckers.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m decent at suturing now…”

It stung to realize he was still being judged just on suturing.

Weren’t second-year residents supposed to have this down already?

But watching Kang-hyuk made it clear—

‘Every surgery begins with incision and ends with closure…’

A line straight out of the surgery textbook.

Most people skimmed right over it.

Some didn’t even read it at all.

‘But that line was spot on.’

Sometimes, Kang-hyuk’s incisions felt more like art than surgery.

As if he already knew all the layers before he cut.

His sutures needed no comment.

Even now, the patient’s chest was closing as cleanly as if it had never been opened.

Compared to that, Jaewon’s work looked amateurish.

‘Back to basics. Go in perpendicular, come out perpendicular.’

The most basic of basics.

The first thing you were yelled at for as a new resident.

Something Jaewon himself had drilled into his juniors.

But now he realized—he’d never actually done it right himself.

“Well, you’re not completely useless anymore.”

Kang-hyuk mumbled as he looked at Jaewon’s careful, meticulous closure of the neck wound.

Anyone unfamiliar would’ve thought it was an insult.

But not the trauma team.

“D-Doctor…”

First, Jang-mi gave Jaewon a deeply moved look.

“You did it, senior.”

Then Gyeongwon congratulated him.

“Uh…”

The new nurse opened her mouth but couldn’t find the courage to speak—her lips just trembled.

And finally, the man of the hour, Jaewon, began to sob.

“Hrk. Hrrk.”

The OR fell momentarily silent.

After all the crap he’d endured, to break down over the words “not completely useless”…

Everyone on the team, who had seen and experienced it firsthand, felt the moment in unison.

And, of course, Kang-hyuk ruined it.

“Have you lost your mind? Crying during surgery?”

“Hrk. I-I’m not… I can’t stop the… hrk.”

“You know how filthy your tears are? You’re dumping sewage on the patient’s wound!”

He wasn’t wrong.

Surgeon sweat could occasionally be a source of infection.

Still, maybe a little compassion would’ve been nice.

“Don’t call it sewage… it’s just water from my eyes.”

“Didn’t you go to med school? You think there’s no bacteria in there?”

“I mean… probably, yeah…”

“Anyway. We’re closed. Let’s move him. Oh—and what happened with the brain death test?”

Kang-hyuk shoved Jaewon aside and turned to the new nurse.

She flinched at suddenly being addressed.

But she’d volunteered for the trauma center, the one everyone called a “shitshow.”

She straightened up and responded calmly.

“They confirmed [flat EEG] and have convened the brain death committee.”

(T/N: A flat EEG means no electrical activity in the brain—confirmation of brain death.)

“Flat EEG… how long?”

“Uh…”

“Thirty minutes?”

“Yes.”

Kang-hyuk nodded as the new nurse confirmed it.

Whatever hope he’d held onto was extinguished.

A flat EEG lasting over thirty minutes meant brain function had fully stopped.

Soon, the patient’s heart and lungs would stop too.

‘If it were [uremic coma], hypothermia, or shock, maybe…’

(T/N: A loss of consciousness caused by the buildup of toxins in the blood due to severe kidney failure.)

But this patient had been in the ICU the entire time.

Kang-hyuk knew better than anyone—that wasn’t the case here.

“Alright. Let’s head out.”

His voice had lost a bit of strength.

Thanks to Gyeongwon already adjusting the meds, the patient was ready for immediate transfer to the ICU.

The emergency ICU was on the same floor as the OR, so they arrived quickly.

Hiss. Hiss.

The moment they entered, the sound of the ventilator was loud and clear.

Looking over, they saw the patient.

His eyes couldn’t close on their own, so gauze had been taped over them.

Though restraints were in place, his limbs had never moved—not even once.

Maybe the patient had been dying from the very beginning.

Held in place only by the will of the doctors and family.

“Where’s the bed?”

Kang-hyuk deliberately avoided looking at the patient as he asked for the newly operated one’s spot.

Jang-mi stared at him quietly.

There was a clearly vacant bed.

‘Looks like he’s a little mentally shaken…’

Her eyes were full of concern.

But Kang-hyuk was stronger than her worries.

Part of it was natural, but most came from his experience in Syria.

“The wound itself is cleanly closed.”

Kang-hyuk had already begun briefing on the new patient.

“But infection is a concern. When were the antibiotics given?”

“Three hours ago.”

Jang-mi was newly surprised to realize this massive surgery had taken only three hours.

“Three hours… alright, then get a [blood culture] and call Infectious Disease.”

(T/N: Blood culture is a test to detect infection in the bloodstream.)

“Yes, Professor.”

Gyeongwon nodded.

Ordinarily, that’d be Jaewon’s job.

But in the trauma center, there was no ‘your task’ or ‘my task.’

Whoever could do it, did it.

“Where’s the brain death committee meeting?”

At Kang-hyuk’s question, a nurse who had been assisting during surgery pointed to a corner of the ICU.

It was a small breakroom also used as a meeting room.

Inside were Jun-yong, an unfamiliar doctor, and a KODA coordinator.

“Alright. Slave, you’re coming with me.”

“Uh… okay.”

Jaewon knew there was no point resisting—and no reason to.

Clack.

Kang-hyuk walked in without knocking.

The unfamiliar doctor looked startled, but Jun-yong and the coordinator were calm.

They knew the patient was Kang-hyuk’s and knew his personality.

After hearing the OR commotion earlier, they’d been expecting him to walk in.

“Is my patient really brain-dead?”

Kang-hyuk looked at Jun-yong and asked.

Jun-yong gave a bitter smile and nodded.

“Yes. I checked the EEG myself. I also ran the physical exams.”

By physical exams, he meant things like pupillary reflex, brainstem reflexes, and spontaneous breathing.

Kang-hyuk himself had been checking those daily.

“No doubt, then…”

“None. The committee agreed unanimously.”

When Kang-hyuk turned to the unfamiliar doctor, his badge read ‘Neurology.’

At Hanguk University Hospital, that meant verified skill.

Not even Kang-hyuk was planning to overturn the diagnosis.

“But if the coordinator is here… did the deceased sign up as a donor?”

So he changed his question.

The coordinator stood up.

He had previously worked with Kang-hyuk to save lives.

“Yes. He registered during his lifetime.”

“That’s… quite something.”

Kang-hyuk closed his eyes for a moment, genuinely moved.

Two brain-dead cases since coming here, and both had been donors.

Statistically, that was 100%.

“What’s… so surprising about that?”

Jaewon tilted his head.

“It is surprising. In the U.S., 54% of people are organ donors. In Korea, it’s under 3%. Yet both our patients here were donors.”

“Ah, I see…”

Jaewon nodded, murmuring.

Not that it was shocking—he hadn’t registered as a donor either.

“Where’d you learn that? It’s not in textbooks.”

“That’s basic knowledge. You really need someone to teach you everything?”

As usual, Kang-hyuk was scolding Jaewon when the coordinator interjected.

“There’s one problem.”

“Problem?”

“The family… hasn’t agreed yet.”