Chapter 160

               

‘Step. Step.’

The noise from the gathered press and the security guards holding them back was overwhelming.

Any hushed whispers were completely drowned out.

And yet, Kang-hyuk’s footsteps felt like they echoed across the entire space.

Perhaps it was because they were the steps of someone who knew exactly how to command a room.

“It’s Professor Baek!”

How many people could get a crowd of reporters riled up just by appearing?

At least in this moment, Kang-hyuk was Korea’s superstar.

It was a bit unfortunate that he had more antis than fans among the press.

But Kang-hyuk wasn’t the type to care about such things.

Right now, all he felt was pride in saving Captain Lee Hyun-jong’s life.

‘This attention… I should use it.’

And he was already thinking of the lives he still needed to save.

Thinking that way made the press crowding around him look strangely comical.

‘He’s smiling…?’

Reporter Park Sang-eun, who’d once been thoroughly humiliated by Kang-hyuk, watched from a distance.

To anyone who’d never stood in the middle of this many reporters before, Kang-hyuk’s demeanor made no sense.

Dozens of black, oversized cameras, all bearing the logos of major broadcasting stations, were aimed solely at him—
and yet he smiled?

At this point, one might wonder if he was fearless or just plain unhinged.

But she knew the truth.

Kang-hyuk wasn’t a fool.

“Professor Baek! Please look over here!”

“What’s the patient’s condition?”

“There are claims that the media exaggerated the situation!”

“Was it really that dangerous?”

Reporters began asking questions so blunt they bordered on disrespect.

But they couldn’t really be blamed.

It was their job.

“Quiet, quiet. I’m going deaf here.”

Kang-hyuk silenced them all with a single hand gesture.

Even those who quieted down didn’t quite know why they obeyed.

It just… felt like they should.

“Let’s go slow. Step by step.”

Kang-hyuk took command of the room with his slow, steady voice.

The same tone he had just used.

But it wasn’t boring.

If anything, it pierced straight into your ears.

There’s a certain power in the voice of someone who deals with life and death.

Especially someone who had just rekindled a dying flame.

“You were asking about the patient’s condition, yes?”

“Yes! That was me!”

“Ah, just listen. Did you come here alone?”

“No…”

Kang-hyuk cut the reporter off mid-question with a raised hand.

His tone teetered between casual and respectful, making it hard to tell if he was a surgeon or a gangster.

“The patient had two gunshot wounds on the right arm—one with a fracture, bullet embedded. One on the left arm—also fractured, bullet embedded. Three gunshot wounds to the abdomen—two through-and-through, one embedded. And two more on the left thigh—one fractured, with a bullet embedded.”

He paused after listing the injuries.

Recalling the first time he saw the patient made it hard to continue.

Back then, he honestly wasn’t sure if this man would ever step foot on Korean soil again.

“The most critical area was the abdomen… Three gunshot wounds. Two were through-and-through. One was still lodged. On top of that, two wounds to the left thigh, one with a fracture and a lodged bullet.”

Kang-hyuk recited the conditions in a steady, emotionless tone.

“Ah…”

The reporters couldn’t help but gasp.

These facts had already been released by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

But somehow, hearing them now hit differently.

It felt like Captain Lee Hyun-jong was still lying there, half-dead, before them.

“When I arrived, the patient was in the ICU at Sheikh Khalifa Hospital near Dubai. The one keeping him alive at the time was none other than Internal Medicine Director Yoon Jae-ho, who’s still in there right now working with the team.”

Kang-hyuk showed rare courtesy as he said this.

Though the faces before him were rude and hostile, he wasn’t speaking to them.

He was speaking ‘through’ them—to the public and the powers that be.

He was reporting the truth about Captain Lee Hyun-jong to the people and their leaders.

“There had been no surgical intervention. The local surgeons, either unwilling or unqualified, had avoided touching the patient—fearing the global attention. So if he was still alive when I arrived, the credit goes entirely to Director Yoon.”

Kang-hyuk glanced toward the ICU.

Yoon Jae-ho, along with Gyeongwon and Jaewon, was diligently performing aftercare.

He genuinely believed the patient was ‘his’.

If only the world were full of doctors like that…

But not every physician could live by the Hippocratic Oath.

They were human, after all.

So this burden—this weight—had to be carried by a rare few.

And Kang-hyuk hoped to lighten that burden, even just a little.

So that the weight might be shared more widely.

“I performed the first surgery as soon as I arrived. We removed bullets from the limbs and cleaned infected tissue. His vitals improved significantly. But no further surgery could be done—blood transfusion was unavailable locally.”

Kang-hyuk recalled using six units of blood just ‘today’.

Not every Korean citizen was actively donating blood.

‘We owe it to ABO Friends.’

Just 1.7% of registered donors were responsible for 35% of the country’s blood supply.

People probably wouldn’t even know they existed until someone pointed it out.

But the entire nation owed them a piece of life.

“What about the airlift? The Foreign Ministry said it would take two weeks due to protocol!”

As Kang-hyuk drifted into thought, someone shouted a question.

Reporter Park Sang-eun instinctively covered her face.

She was certain the next thing out of Kang-hyuk’s mouth would be a string of expletives.

The Kang-hyuk she knew definitely would.

“The airlift—yes, let’s talk about that.”

But Kang-hyuk surprised her.

He was calm.

Smiling, even.

He had been waiting for this topic to come up.

“The Foreign Ministry did say it would take over two weeks due to procedural issues.”

“Then how did you get here so quickly? And it wasn’t even the originally planned—uh, the… air…”

The reporter fumbled, unable to recall the term.

‘Air ambulance’ wasn’t exactly something you heard every day.

So Kang-hyuk finished the sentence for him.

“Came in an air ambulance.”

“Yes! But how? Our research says it costs ₩700–800 million per use…”

₩700–800 million.

That astronomical figure made every reporter nearby gape.

So did the people watching the live broadcast from home.

‘Well… not like everyone actually pays that full price.’

Kang-hyuk smirked bitterly.

Private military groups or national armies usually had their own or long-term contracts.

Sending a soldier abroad with ‘no’ infrastructure in place?
That was rare in the developed world.

“I covered it myself.”

Since the cost had come up, he figured he might as well make it clear.

Sure, the Bible said don’t let your left hand know what your right hand’s doing.

But Kang-hyuk wanted both hands ‘and’ the whole world to know.

Preferably with English subtitles.

“Personally…?”

“What do you mean by that…?”

Of course, the reporters were stunned.

They had just heard that the cost was ₩700–800 million… and now he says he paid for it himself?

“I handled the cost. I won’t be charging the government. If Captain Lee survives and if this prevents another case like his, that’s enough.”

“Uh…”

“Wait…”

“This is…”

Even the politicians watching, not just the press, were speechless now.

No one questioned whether he ‘could’ afford it.

They were just stunned that someone would pay that much personally—
and not ask for a dime back.

“You’re all forgetting to ask the most important thing.”

Kang-hyuk smiled at the stunned reporters.

He was always scary-looking, but objectively speaking, the man was handsome.

Some reporters unconsciously smiled back.

One of them, like in a trance, asked,

“W-what is it, Professor Baek…?”

The tone was much more respectful now—worlds apart from the way they usually addressed him.

It made Kang-hyuk think, ‘Humans really are shallow.’

But he didn’t show it.

This was business, after all.

‘No need to say it was free…’

There was no point in spoiling the rising interest in trauma care with inconvenient truths.

‘It’s not a lie, is it?’

He was simply withholding a detail.

And with that self-justification, he opened his mouth.

Time for the most important part.

“This is about the condition of Captain Lee Hyun-jong, who just underwent surgery.”

“Ah!”

“Yes! How is he?!”

The reporters, snapping out of their daze, erupted in questions.

Kang-hyuk waited until the noise died down again.

You couldn’t command attention while they were busy shouting.

Patience was one of his greatest strengths.

Anyone who treated trauma patients learned it fast.

Some injuries only improved with time.

“Settle down.”

He finally spoke into the silence.

Everyone was waiting.

Not even the click of a camera interrupted him.

“Today, I removed all bullets from the abdomen. We also resected damaged and necrotic portions of the small intestine due to direct injury and infection. The length removed was approximately 92cm.”

Any surgeon hearing that would’ve raised their eyebrows.

You rarely heard small intestine resections expressed in centimeters.

“As a result…”

Kang-hyuk scanned the cameras, one by one.

Everyone behind them felt like he was looking directly at ‘them’.

“Captain Lee Hyun-jong survived. There may be long-term complications depending on future surgeries. But he. Will. Not. Die.”

(T/N: Let’s fkin goooo! Show these bastards how good you are!)