Chapter 161

<He really tore it up.>
<That was an explosion of pure swagger…>
<I never thought I’d end up fangirling over a doctor, fr.>

In the blink of an eye, posts about Baek Kang-hyuk flooded every major online community.

You could even call it spamming at this point.

Yet no one was complaining.

Well, barely anyone.

After all, Baek Kang-hyuk had just become a national hero, following in the footsteps of Captain Lee Hyun-jong.

<Wasn’t he born rich? Who just casually drops 700–800 million won? Dude probably does this doctor stuff as a hobby. In that case, I’d do it too.>
<You crazy? Who stays up all night saving lives just for fun?>

<Link me that dumb post. You’ve got 3 seconds.>

There were some trying to stir the pot, but they were quickly shut down.

“Can he really get away with talking like that?”

Of course, there were people expressing concerns in real life too.

“If something goes wrong after saying all that, he’s done for.”

Naturally, those were people who had disliked Kang-hyuk from the start.

“Have the surgical records been released?”

Director Choi Jo-eun leaned back in the plush chair of his office as he asked.

Hong Jae-hoon, the chief of planning who still hadn’t taken his eyes off the TV, shrugged his shoulders.

“Not yet.”

Unlike Hong Jae-hoon, Department Head Jin Tae-rim of Anesthesiology wasn’t even glancing at the TV.

She was already working the computer in the director’s office, pulling up Captain Lee Hyun-jong’s medical records.

Surgical records, admission notes, and progress reports written by Jaewon all popped up on the screen.

The busier a department, the more likely they were to be sloppy with documentation.

Some residents would even just jot down periods for symptoms, assessments, and treatment plans.

Considering they had to juggle over 40 inpatients, surgeries, and night shifts—it was bound to happen.

“Surprisingly thorough.”

But the trauma surgery notes weren’t just detailed—they were downright heartfelt.

That was because Kang-hyuk always emphasized that documenting was a form of studying.

Jaewon had resisted at first, but after trying it a few times, he realized it genuinely helped.

Kang-hyuk didn’t just check the records—he corrected them too.

Thanks to that, the records now bordered on perfection.

“What do you think? Does it really look like he’s going to make it?”

Prompted by the director’s question, Jin Tae-rim quickly scrolled down using the mouse wheel.

The records were so detailed, she couldn’t take it all in at once.

‘Who even lists out the incisions this thoroughly?’

Muttering under her breath, she read through the surgical notes line by line.

Had she seen how Jaewon’s documentation used to look, she would’ve been even more shocked.

There were even surgical photos attached before.

That too was by Kang-hyuk’s order.

The reason was to avoid reductions from the Health Insurance Review and Assessment Service, but sadly, it had never worked.

Their standards for reimbursement cuts had nothing to do with actual medicine.

“This is…”

Despite her intentions to take Kang-hyuk down, Jin Tae-rim did have basic surgical knowledge befitting the head of anesthesiology.

In other words, she was at least competent.

That’s why she was able to infer the patient’s current state fairly quickly just by reviewing the documentation.

“He might actually live? For real?”

“Really?”

Director Choi Jo-eun leaned forward in his chair.

He looked genuinely urgent now, as if that indentation on the backrest had never existed.

“Yes.”

“Wait, wait. Hold on. I heard the infection was really severe, though?”

Hong Jae-hoon, the chief of planning, cut in between them.

Although he had basically stopped practicing medicine due to administrative work, he was still a renowned professor of infectious diseases at Hanguk University Hospital.

At least in terms of infections, there were few in Korea better than him.

“They also uploaded records from the other hospital. Was it Yang Jaewon? Does that guy even sleep?”

Jin Tae-rim clicked her tongue while reviewing the progress notes.

Apparently, he’d transcribed all the important parts from Royal Sheikh Khalifa Hospital.

‘That air ambulance was basically a flying ICU…’

Even though the directors had gathered to hinder Kang-hyuk, they were still doctors.

It wasn’t that they didn’t care about lives.

They just had other priorities.

Anyway, based on her own research, air ambulances were far more than just flying ambulances.

‘Looking at the patient’s condition, he must’ve needed constant treatment even in the air.’

And that wasn’t just her imagination.

That’s exactly what had happened in the air ambulance.

‘But he performed surgery ‘and’ documented everything this thoroughly? This guy’s…’

She couldn’t help but think Kang-hyuk was an incredible doctor.

And it made her wonder if trying to smear someone like him was really the right thing to do.

“Move over a sec. Let me see…”

But then she looked at the chief of planning, and her thirst for status flared up again.

In her view, Hong Jae-hoon wasn’t particularly skilled in hospital politics.

He’d simply gotten to where he was by choosing the right people to follow.

‘And now he’s even eyeing the director’s seat.’

The director of Hanguk University Hospital.

It might not mean much to outsiders, but among doctors, it was the highest honor.

It was the best hospital in the country, after all.

In Jin Tae-rim’s mind, if someone like Hong Jae-hoon could become director, there was no reason she couldn’t.

Even though anesthesiology wasn’t as large a department as internal medicine, it wielded immense power.

‘Yeah… they’re the ones in the wrong.’

And so Jin Tae-rim rationalized her own actions.

It took less than a second for Baek Kang-hyuk’s group to be recast in her mind from “heroic life-saving doctors” to “useless trash who only hinder hospital operations.”

While she was justifying herself, Hong Jae-hoon managed to piece together some of the records.

Even in the earliest hospital reports, Captain Lee Hyun-jong had basically been declared a lost cause.

‘His ESR and CRP levels are through the roof…’

ESR (Erythrocyte Sedimentation Rate) was several times the normal level.

But CRP (C-Reactive Protein) was dozens of times higher.

Meanwhile, his white blood cell count was actually low.

That meant the infection was beyond what his body could handle.

‘Looks like things turned around after the first surgery or whatever that was…’

Whatever kind of decontamination had been done afterward, it had stabilized the numbers.

And now, based on the latest post-op test results, things had drastically improved.

It was likely because the source of the infection inside his abdomen had been completely removed.

“He might seriously survive.”

With both an anesthesiologist and an infectious disease expert saying so, Director Choi Jo-eun reacted even more strongly.

“Hmm. You’re saying this is real?”

“Yes. But… what do we tell ‘them’?”

When Professor Hong said “them,” he didn’t mean the director—he meant the real higher-ups.

The board members who actually owned shares in the hospital.

Director Choi stared silently at Hong’s troubled expression, then burst into a hearty laugh.

As if to say, what are you even worried about?

“What do you mean, what do we tell them? We say Professor Baek Kang-hyuk was sent there by us from the start.”

“Wait, what? But…”

Hong Jae-hoon looked utterly dumbfounded.

He stared at the director like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Meanwhile, Director Choi looked completely shameless.

“Weren’t we worried that Baek Kang-hyuk would go there and mess everything up, get Captain Lee killed?”

“Well… yeah, that’s true.”

“But he saved him, didn’t he? That’s a win. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“I… I guess that’s one way to look at it?”

Now that he heard it, it sort of made sense.

Hanguk University Hospital had long since stopped being a state-run institution, but public perception was still that it operated on government funding.

So doing something this commendable would only boost their image.

The board members were sure to love that.

“Then let’s start publicizing this as soon as—”

“Director.”

Just as Choi was about to suggest a PR push, Jin Tae-rim interrupted him.

Her face was even graver than Hong’s.

“What is it?”

“Take a look at that.”

Jin Tae-rim extended her index finger toward the TV.

They thought the broadcast was over, but Kang-hyuk was still on screen.

And he wasn’t just standing there—he was ‘saying’ something.

“What’s he saying?”

“I’ll raise the volume.”

Hong had turned it down earlier during their conversation.

Desperate to win favor with the director, he often went overboard with flattery—even if it was just on the surface.

Anyway, once he raised the volume, the three of them finally heard what Kang-hyuk was saying.

“Professor Baek Kang-hyuk, are you saying the hospital provided no support whatsoever for this operation?”

Right then, an incredibly pointed question rang out.

“What the hell?”

Director Choi’s face twisted at this unexpected development.

But he should’ve saved that reaction for after hearing Kang-hyuk’s response.

He was about to run out of facial expressions to show how pissed off he was.

“Not only did I receive no support—I was even threatened. Take a look at this.”

With that, Kang-hyuk clicked the switch on a pen from his coat pocket.

Turns out, it wasn’t a pen—it was a recorder.

‘If you screw this up, don’t expect the hospital to protect you. Not in the media, not anywhere. You’re on your own.’ (T/N: YES!!! YESSS!!! YESSS!! Checkmate you dumb fkers!)

Anyone could tell exactly whose voice that was.

Director Choi and Jin Tae-rim simultaneously turned to look at Hong Jae-hoon.

“I… I didn’t…”

“You should’ve checked if you were being recorded first, you idiot!”

“I-I just…”

“And that crazy bastard…! What the hell does he think he’s doing, turning the hospital into his enemy?!”

Director Choi grabbed something off the desk and threw it at the TV.

It would’ve looked cooler if the screen had cracked or the monitor had toppled over.

But clearly, he hadn’t exercised in a while.

The object just fell limply in front of the desk.

Which meant the TV continued to show Kang-hyuk’s face.

He looked at the dumbfounded reporter and gave a bitter smile.

‘They probably think I’ve lost my mind.’

University hospitals were far more massive and powerful than most people realized.

To doctors, they were practically untouchable institutions.

And here he was, taking one on in the middle of a live broadcast. Of course people would think he was crazy.

But when he really thought about it, nothing had changed for him.

The hospital had always been hostile toward him.

If anything, he was gaining allies.

“So please, everyone. Don’t overlook our Severe Trauma Center. I’m publicly requesting this from the government. If you’re funding us, then make sure that funding is actually reaching us. Come see for yourselves the conditions we’re working under to save lives.”

“That… that lunatic…!”

Naturally, Director Choi completely lost it.

Hong Jae-hoon scrambled to calm him down.

“What could possibly come of this? The media will stir for a bit and then settle down. Just a minor outburst, that’s all. That guy has plenty of haters.”

“Y-Yeah… yeah, that’s right… Who does he think he is…? Like anyone would listen to that crap.”

Director Choi muttered, trying to reassure himself.

But someone ‘was’ listening.

Someone pretty high up.

“Severe Trauma Center? Sounds fun. Proceed!”