Chapter 134

Fortunately, inserting the catheter into Kang-hyuk wasn’t difficult.

He was still too young to have [benign prostatic hyperplasia], and since he was completely limp, his muscles were relaxed.
(T/N: [Benign Prostatic Hyperplasia] is a non-cancerous enlargement of the prostate gland that can obstruct urine flow, commonly occurring in older men.)

Drip, drip, drip—

As urine flowed through the inserted catheter, Gyeongwon let out a breath of relief and nodded.

The color was a bit dark, suggesting dehydration—

But urine was coming out.

It meant his kidneys weren’t failing—at least they weren’t in the worst-case scenario.

“ECG results are out.”

While Gyeongwon was checking the catheter, the intern had finished running the ECG.

Modern ECG machines printed preliminary interpretations.

If there was an abnormality, a physician would need to confirm.

But if it read as normal, they could usually trust the machine.

“Hmm… conduction looks fine… but his heart rate’s fast. Guess that blood donation really took a toll.”

Gyeongwon muttered as he saw the heart rate at 110.

As he said, the conduction was normal.

No damage to the heart.

“So… as long as we replace the blood loss… we can decide on transfusion once the test results come in.”

“Yes, it’s on the way.”

When he turned to look, Jang-mi was already connecting the IV line.

In her other hand, a syringe filled with blood.

It was more than enough to run most of the needed tests.

“Good. But… where should we keep the professor?”

Everyone paused at Gyeongwon’s question.

It felt wrong to assign a patient room now.

They didn’t want other departments knowing Kang-hyuk had collapsed.

Emergency Medicine was fine—they were basically allies.

That’s when Jang-mi gave her answer.

“Let’s just keep him in our ICU. We’ve got extra beds anyway.”

“Ah… that’s best. We’re the ones who should monitor him.”

“Shall we move him, then? The kid’s not fully closed yet…”

“Right. Then intern, we’ll count on you.”

Neither Gyeongwon nor Jang-mi could leave the OR right now, even for Kang-hyuk.

Based on the current findings, he wasn’t in critical danger—just overworked and hypovolemic.

But the child was still under general anesthesia and had suffered major trauma.

Even though Kang-hyuk had practically perfected the treatment—

He was still an ICU-level patient.

He required close observation.

“Yes, understood.”

With a short response, the intern moved Kang-hyuk into a wheelchair and headed for the ICU.

Kang-hyuk hadn’t woken up yet.

He’d flinched a little during the IV and catheter insertion,

But otherwise, he remained in deep sleep.

That thought stirred another wave of unease.

‘He took a fair bit of shock when I moved him to the chair, but… he’s still out cold…’

Gyeongwon hesitated, then called out to the intern just as he was about to leave the room.

“Wait. Just in case—let’s get a brain CT. I’ll call ahead. Go straight to the scanner—you shouldn’t need to wait.”

“Ah… okay.”

“Treat him as unconscious. Stay by his side.”

“Yes, sir.”

No one was more obedient and inexperienced than a March intern.

Even knowing he’d be exposed to radiation, he didn’t argue and headed straight for the CT room.

Meanwhile, Gyeongwon called ahead to notify the staff.

As expected, the technician readily agreed.

Soon, the images were transmitted via PACS (T/N: [PACS] refers to a Picture Archiving and Communication System used to view medical images).

“Good… there’s no sign of anything abnormal. Looks like he really just passed out from exhaustion.”

“Yeah, he’s been pushing himself. He sleeps less than I do.”

“He was working on the HIRA appeal materials right before he passed out, right?”

“Yep. And you know no one’s even going to care about that…”

Jaewon had never worked directly with [HIRA] (T/N: Health Insurance Review and Assessment Service), but—

During his residency, he’d seen enough directives from above to understand that HIRA was always a “we say so” agency.

If they said something counted, it did. If they said it didn’t, it didn’t.

Even professors with decades of experience couldn’t override them.

‘I’ve helped out with those appeals…’

Jaewon once sent in supporting materials using everything from international conference data to national health statistics—trying to prove the treatment was valid.

They never even got a reply.

His professor, frustrated, looked into it personally and found out the HIRA staff had tossed the sealed documents into a corner.

Even after being pressured to review it, the final response they received was absurdly brief and disappointing.

– “We acknowledge your opinion. However, HIRA’s guidelines remain unchanged.”

In short, all of Kang-hyuk’s sleepless effort would probably go to waste.

Jaewon had told him as much, multiple times.

But Kang-hyuk wasn’t someone who listened to others.

Which was probably why things had ended up like this today.

“Haa…”

Jaewon let out a short sigh and patted the child’s freshly closed abdomen.

One side of the incision had a perfectly constructed stoma.

It was intended to be temporary—

But was solid enough to serve as permanent if needed.

“All done.”

“Then shall we head out?”

“Oh, you’re ready?”

“Of course.”

Gyeongwon was used to adjusting patient care based on Kang-hyuk’s fast surgical pace.

So matching the slower Jaewon was no problem.

“Then let’s go.”

“Yes.”

Jaewon, Gyeongwon, and Jang-mi wheeled the patient to the ICU.

Along the way, Jaewon caught sight of the boy’s father.

No one else would’ve recognized him—but Jaewon did.

‘He must be out of his mind with worry…’

Jaewon had never been married, much less had a kid.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t understand a parent’s heart.

“Go on ahead. I’ll speak with the guardian and catch up.”

“Ah… okay, Doctor.”

Jang-mi nodded with a soft smile, seeming to appreciate Jaewon’s kindness.

It was something they rarely saw when Kang-hyuk escorted patients himself.

He focused solely on saving lives.

He never spared attention or vision for anything else.

That’s why guardians were always left to Jang-mi or Jaewon.

“You must be the father?”

Jaewon addressed the man whose tears had dried up from crying too much.

The father slowly turned his head, half in a daze.

His face was full of worry—

But more than that, guilt.

Guilt for leaving his child in a dangerous factory because he had no wife to help.

It couldn’t be helped—but parents in these situations always blamed themselves.

“Y-yes… that’s right. I, uh…”

The man couldn’t bring himself to ask how his son was doing.

He just kept rubbing his grease-stained hands.

So much so, the skin had started to peel.

“Sir…”

Jaewon gently took hold of one of his hands and began to speak.

The man stopped his self-harm for the first time.

He didn’t even realize he’d been doing it.

His dazed face showed he hadn’t even felt the pain.

“Your child is alive.”

Jaewon met his eyes and spoke with conviction.

Even though he wasn’t wearing an undershirt, and his collarbone was almost visible—

He radiated a strange sense of trust.

It was the atmosphere of someone who had crossed death’s threshold more than once.

“Ah… ah…”

The father, though hearing the one thing he wanted most, couldn’t react right away.

He just kept repeating vague, emotion-laden sounds.

“Ah… th-tha…”

“I’d like to let you see him right away, but he’s still recovering.”

Jaewon continued gently and looked toward the ICU.

No matter how clean the surgery had been, a fresh post-op patient looked awful.

There’d be blood stains and tangled tubes everywhere.

‘They’re probably tidying him up now.’

Jang-mi wasn’t a veteran for nothing.

She took care of the patient, and considered the guardian too.

“You’ll probably be allowed in within 15 minutes. You can see him then—and I’ll explain more. If you have any questions, just contact the ICU. We’ll answer everything we can.”

“Ah…”

“See you soon.”

With that, Jaewon turned and walked toward the ICU.

He was concerned about both the child and Kang-hyuk, but he didn’t run.

It wasn’t good to show the guardian that kind of urgency.

‘He’s probably anxious enough already…’

So he walked deliberately—but firmly.

The father stared blankly at Jaewon’s back, then, just before he disappeared inside, finally spoke.

He’d been holding those words back for a long time.

“Th-thank you…”

Inside, they were indeed tidying up the child.

Kang-hyuk, lying nearby, was still sound asleep—like a mouse in hiding.

Whether Gyeongwon had called him or not, Department Head Han Yoo-rim was also there.

“What happened?”

Yoo-rim asked worriedly, pointing to Kang-hyuk.

Funny, considering he usually wanted to eat him alive.

Jaewon found the change amusing and stayed quiet for a moment, then finally replied.

“Looks like he pushed himself too hard. He even donated blood to the kid during the helicopter ride…”

“What? What the hell are you talking about?”

Even Jaewon hadn’t fully understood it—

So it was only natural Yoo-rim, who hadn’t been there, couldn’t grasp it.

It took Jaewon explaining the whole thing at length before Yoo-rim finally nodded.

“I see… Jeez. Always has to be extra. Did the surgery go well?”

After all that chaos, if the kid had died, it would’ve been a disaster.

Thankfully, Jaewon nodded confidently.

“Yes. We’ll have to monitor long-term outcomes—but for now, the critical phase is over.”

“He’s amazing, huh?”

“Absolutely. The best.”

“Too rough around the edges, though… seriously…”

Yoo-rim had just gotten chewed out by the director again.

But he looked oddly satisfied—and Jaewon thought he knew why.

“Did… something happen?”

Jaewon had worked under Yoo-rim for nearly a year and could tell something was up.

Yoo-rim looked at Kang-hyuk for a moment, then turned back to Jaewon.

The atmosphere felt tense.

Even Gyeongwon and Jang-mi gulped dryly.

“You’re still flying missions under Gyeonggi Fire Department support, right?”

“Ah, yes. We had one today too.”

“I hear there’s a complaint being filed.”

“A complaint? What kind of complaint?”

“Apparently… residents near the helipad. Someone collected signatures and submitted them to the district office… and it seems like…”

Yoo-rim glanced upward as he spoke.

All they could see was the ceiling.

But everyone in the room understood what he meant.

This had started from the director’s level.