Chapter 125

“The family didn’t consent? Then how did the brain death committee even convene?”

Baek Kang-hyuk looked at the coordinator and Professor Choi with clear suspicion in his eyes.

The coordinator responded with a somewhat surprised expression.

“Are you familiar with the protocol?”

“Isn’t that basic? Even if the person signed up as a donor during their lifetime, without family consent, it can’t proceed, right?”

“Well…”

The coordinator hesitated.

Meanwhile, Yang Jaewon looked up at Kang-hyuk as if he were some kind of alien.

This wasn’t even a medical issue.

It was about procedures.

As far as Jaewon knew, Kang-hyuk didn’t care for hospital policy or legal rules.

In fact, he actively ignored them.

‘But he knows this? I’ve never even heard of it… Where does he learn this stuff?’

When it came to saving lives, he was frighteningly sharp.

To the point that it was borderline obsessive.

“Well? What happened?”

Kang-hyuk turned his gaze from the coordinator to Professor Choi Jun-yong.

Jun-yong scratched the back of his head as he answered.

“Well… initially, the family did give consent. But they changed their mind halfway through.”

“They changed their mind? What happened?”

This time, the coordinator jumped back in.

“Apparently, they texted some friends saying they decided to donate. But one of those friends sent them this article…”

Kang-hyuk looked at the article on the coordinator’s phone.

He’d never seen this article firsthand.

He’d been in Syria at the time.

Those days had been so intense, he couldn’t even keep up with the local news, let alone something from back in Korea.

“Oh, this.”

But he’d heard of it.

It was the article that had caused the slowly growing organ donation rate to plummet overnight.

“This has nothing to do with the Korean Organ Donation Agency. And didn’t they even strengthen donor honors after this?”

“Yes, that’s true… but you know how it is. The average person doesn’t even realize there’s more than one donation organization. And also…”

“And also?”

“I didn’t really establish any rapport with the guardian…”

Kang-hyuk’s gaze shifted back to Professor Choi.

He’d been the attending physician, checking in on the patient every day since they were admitted.

But Jun-yong just shook his head.

“I, uh… haven’t really talked to the family much either.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. Where are they? I’ll go.”

Kang-hyuk said, heading for the door.

Silence fell.

Everyone just stared at him.

Even someone like Baek Kang-hyuk had to flinch at that kind of tension.

“What? I’m great with rapport.”

“Well…”

Unable to bear it any longer, Jang-mi stepped in.

“Professor, you’re not exactly… persuasive.”

Kang-hyuk exploded.

“Why not?! You think Han Yoo-rim became one of us out of nowhere?”

“That wasn’t persuasion… You saved his daughter. He’s just repaying a debt.”

Jang-mi’s sharp jab made Kang-hyuk pause.

Now that she mentioned it, he couldn’t recall ever saying much to Han Yoo-rim.

Still, Kang-hyuk wasn’t ready to concede just yet.

“Then what about the board meeting! I got extra staff approved—everything! That was all me!”

And it was true.

He’d pulled off something no one thought possible.

But the way he did it had been questionable.

“Yeah… but that wasn’t really persuasion either.”

“Then what was it?”

“Scamming?”

“Scam?! You really say whatever pops into your head.”

“Blackmail?”

“Blackmail… Hmm.”

Now that she said it, it did feel more like blackmail than persuasion.

‘You can’t do that to a grieving family…’

Sure, he could if he wanted.

Kang-hyuk was good at intimidation.

Even before Syria, he was like that.

After Syria, it became practically second nature.

“Then who? Who else here has rapport with them?”

Everyone turned to Jaewon.

“Dr. Yang handled most of the family conversations.”

“Ah. Did he?”

“Come on, Professor. When you talk to families, they only ever have two reactions.”

Anger or tears.

It was only natural—Kang-hyuk would rattle off medical jargon, and when they asked what it meant, he’d say, “They could die.”

After that kept happening, Jang-mi had enforced a new rule.

If possible, Jaewon would handle family talks. If not, she would.

Satisfaction rates went way up after that. Naturally.

“Hmm.”

Even Kang-hyuk had enough conscience to silently nod.

He couldn’t argue against what had actually happened.

That wasn’t just human decency—it was scientific responsibility.

In an era ruled by evidence-based medicine, he couldn’t just deny the results.

“Wait, so… you want me to go?”

Jaewon asked with a shaky voice, clearly caught off guard.

Even Jang-mi gave him a skeptical look.

“I’m really not feeling confident about this…”

Jaewon ignored her and looked at the coordinator.

He understood the gist.

They were asking him to help fulfill the patient’s wish to donate.

But beyond that, he had no clue.

“What do I even say?”

And with that, he crushed whatever little faith anyone still had in him.

The coordinator looked conflicted as he flipped through his materials.

Kang-hyuk peeked over—just promotional brochures from the organ donation agency.

Maybe useful for the public, but not for doctors.

“Ugh, forget those. Here—watch this.”

Kang-hyuk handed him his phone.

A video started playing with upbeat music and three doctors greeting the viewer.

“What’s this…?”

“Just shut up and watch. It’ll help. One of them actually donated stem cells and really understands the emotional side of things.”

“Okay.”

Jaewon wasn’t the kind of guy to fake knowledge about things he didn’t understand.

He liked learning.

And the video was actually pretty good—informative and engaging.

When it ended, Jaewon looked a little different.

“Well? Think you can do it?”

He gave a calm nod.

Kang-hyuk patted him on the shoulder and spoke.

“Good. This is a noble sacrifice. Today, he’ll save more lives than I ever could. Lives no one else could save.”

“Yes, Professor.”

Jaewon took a moment to collect his thoughts and stepped outside.

There, slumped near the door, was the patient’s wife—neither sitting nor standing, just crying.

She rushed over the moment she saw Jaewon.

He’d been the one talking to her every day.

“Doctor…”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“My… my husband… there’s no hope, is there?”

It seemed the coordinator and Professor Choi had already explained everything.

But from her eyes, she still held onto a sliver of hope.

Maybe a doctor wouldn’t get it.

But someone who’d spoken to her every day would understand.

Her husband was young—the family’s breadwinner.

“No, there isn’t.”

But as a doctor, emotions couldn’t get in the way.

When delivering news, he had to be objective and precise.

It might be painful now, but in the long run, it helped.

“I see…”

Thankfully, she had already begun to accept his death.

They’d gone over the situation the day the accident happened.

‘Come to think of it, Professor didn’t say much about the national rescue team that day…’

Back then, Jaewon had wanted to rant about how they delayed the helicopter.

It had frustrated him.

But after hearing Kang-hyuk’s reasoning, he’d understood.

‘It’s not about blaming the higher-ups. You can’t throw the people on the ground under the bus. We’re all trying to save lives.’

So he’d held his tongue.

Still, now that the patient was gone, the memory resurfaced.

But he couldn’t linger in the past forever.

Especially not in front of the patient’s grieving wife.

“Ma’am.”

“I’m listening.”

“I believe you heard a bit earlier…”

Jaewon glanced back toward the ICU.

She followed his gaze and nodded solemnly.

Her face darkened even more.

“Your husband had signed up to be an organ donor during his lifetime.”

“Yes… he had…”

He’d always been kind to a fault.

Even when it meant losing out himself, he’d just laugh and move on.

That’s why his business had never made much money.

And even in death, he had signed a pledge to give something to others.

Her tears poured out again.

“As you know… there are many people who can only survive with a transplant.”

“I know. I know it’s a good thing. But the thought of cutting into his body again…”

“Of course. Many people have regrets afterward.”

“Will I feel the same?”

“But many others say they don’t.”

In truth, while most brain-dead patients were elderly, it was the younger ones who most often became donors.

That was because their parents wanted some part of them to remain in the world.

Jaewon blinked away tears and shared that story.

And the guardian cried for a long time.

Jaewon, not wanting her to cry alone, started talking again—about anything.

“In Korea… over 1,900 people die every year waiting for an organ transplant. That’s more than five a day…”

It was a staggering number.

Of course, none of it reached her ears.

She was quietly saying goodbye to her husband.

It was nearly 20 minutes before she raised her head.

“Okay… I understand. I can’t go against my husband’s wish…”

“Then?”

“I’ll donate.”

She composed herself and signed the consent form.

The coordinator then made calls to the transplant registry.

One of the recipients was at Hanguk University Hospital.

The rest were from other hospitals.

“Five people will live thanks to your husband. Thank you.”

The coordinator bowed deeply.

Then, together with Professor Choi and other medical staff, they moved the patient to the OR.

Kang-hyuk silently watched them go, then bowed his head.

And gently pushed Jaewon’s head down, too.

“Thank you.”

“Ah, th-thank you.”

“Thank you.”

The small murmurs became a chorus that filled the ICU.

Jaewon hoped that this shared gratitude would bring comfort to the soul departing and to the loved one left behind.

He said it one more time.

“Truly… thank you.”