Chapter 175

               

“He really is something else.”

Assemblyman Park Sung-min muttered as he flipped through the newspaper clippings his secretary had organized that morning.

Everyone lived busy lives, but for the floor leader of the main opposition party, it was an endless race with no time to breathe.

Still, that didn’t mean he could ignore new issues.

Doing so would quickly make him irrelevant—a washed-up politician of the past.

That was why his aides took turns compiling major articles every day and placing them neatly on his desk.

“Ah, you mean Professor Baek?”

The secretary glanced at one of the clippings he’d prepared and asked.

“Yes, this man.”

Assemblyman Park nodded, his eyes gleaming with genuine admiration.

He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the article.

And no wonder—Kang-hyuk’s face filled the front page, standing right beside the Fire Commissioner.

<Professor Baek Kang-hyuk and the Fire Commissioner Join Forces>

If the Fire Commissioner or the Minister of the Interior saw that headline, they’d probably faint.

But for both of them, it was actually a relief.

If the truth of what happened had come out, they’d both be finished.

‘He didn’t act out of emotion… He used it.’

Park had seen seasoned politicians crumble because they couldn’t control their temper—or because they couldn’t resist small temptations.

But for a mere university hospital professor to pull off a move like this—it was impressive.

‘If this keeps up, he might actually help me in the primaries.’

Park thought of Assemblyman Hyun Yong-soo, the current party leader.

A fifth-term lawmaker.

That meant he’d been in and out of the National Assembly since their party’s ruling days.

He had deep connections and influence—especially within the party’s organization.

Even Park himself had received his first nomination thanks to Hyun Yong-soo’s support.

‘But the man’s outdated.’

If Hyun stayed party leader and even ran for president, they’d be doomed to opposition forever.

Someone new had to rise up.

And so far, Park was the only one with potential.

Still, he lacked something crucial.

‘But if I ride this wave with Professor Baek, that could change. My recognition could skyrocket.’

Park’s greatest weakness was name recognition.

He was squeaky clean—no scandals, no controversies.

But that also meant the media rarely paid attention to him.

Until now.

“Sir, you’re number three on the real-time search rankings.”

His secretary’s voice was excited.

Just a few hours ago, Park’s name wasn’t even on the list—he was practically unknown to the general public.

After all, “floor leader” was a title only insiders cared about.

Ordinary citizens barely knew who held the position.

This was a first.

“Number three, really?”

Park grinned broadly and leaned closer to the monitor his secretary was watching.

His name had climbed the rankings, and new articles were pouring out by the minute.

Related searches like ‘‘Who is Park Sung-min?’’ had appeared.

Journalists, chasing clicks, were scrambling to write quick profiles about him.

“Sir, the comments are all positive too.”

“You didn’t write them yourself, did you?”

Park pointed at one that stood out among the top comments on Naver’s main article.

<I knew it, Assemblyman Park! You’ve always been dedicated to the people—thank you for your service!>

It was a little too flattering to be from an average citizen.

What kind of “ordinary voter” left that kind of praise for a relatively unknown politician?

“Uh… does it show?”

Of course, it was written by his secretary.

“Of course it shows!”

“Ah… should I delete it?”

“No. Why delete it? Look—tons of likes already. People must really agree!”

“Well… not exactly.”

The secretary wisely kept quiet about the truth—that he’d written it the moment the article was published and mobilized the entire office and acquaintances to upvote it.

Still, it had gained genuine traction afterward, and most new comments were indeed supportive.

“There are some trolls saying it’s just for show.”

Naturally, there were still negative comments.

Politicians were always easy targets since they rarely sued their own voters.

“Don’t mind them, sir. Just look at this.”

The secretary clicked on the troll’s comment history to show Park.

A flood of obscene posts appeared.

“He insulted Captain Lee Hyun-jong too? Is he crazy?”

“He probably is, sir. Only a lunatic would post that much hate.”

“Well, that’s true. Anyway, I should send Professor Baek some kind of thanks. I didn’t expect things to blow up this fast. Our own article isn’t even published yet.”

Park recalled the journalist who’d been present during his meeting with Kang-hyuk.

The man was meticulous—they’d already gone through three drafts together.

In that piece, Park would appear as a thoughtful lawmaker deeply concerned about the Severe Trauma Center.

Still, the fact that it hadn’t been released yet annoyed him.

“Alright, I’ll handle it. But how should we show appreciation? He’s a professor, and you’re an assemblyman, so…”

Legally, it was a tricky situation.

Both positions were bound by laws restricting gifts.

“Alcohol…? No, he probably doesn’t drink.”

“Would he even have time for it?”

“True.”

“Oh, I know! How about snacks? Doctors like him never seem to have time to eat, right? I’ve seen that in dramas.”

“That’s actually not bad. Any trendy snacks lately? He probably can’t go out much. Let’s send him something good—with a handwritten note.”

“Understood, sir. Leave it to me.”

“Alright then, let’s head to the meeting.”

“Yes, sir.”

The secretary mentally reviewed Park’s schedule and led the way.

Park followed in silence, chiding himself for thinking about Baek Kang-hyuk instead of the upcoming meeting.

Of course, he wasn’t the only one whose thoughts were consumed by Kang-hyuk.

Several others were too—including his so-called enemies.

“Has that man lost his mind? What’s this about ‘joining forces’ all of a sudden?”

They were far more agitated—
and with good reason.

They were the ones who stood to lose the most.

“Director… please calm down.”

Hong Jae-hoon, the administrative director, spoke in a small, shaky voice. His carefully laid plans were falling apart.

Director Choi Jo-eun, on the other hand, was livid—so much that “furious” barely described it.

“Calm down? We’d just gotten the helicopter operations suspended, and now what? A helipad construction? Don’t tell me you went behind my back!”

“N-no! Of course not! I’d never…”

“Then why would he say that in front of reporters? Has he gone mad?”

Neither Director Choi nor Administrative Director Hong had any idea that the full truth of the incident had already reached a certain influential assemblyman—who had torn into them privately.

Park had decided it wasn’t necessary to threaten or persuade those two directly.

So now they were left arguing with each other, until both eventually ran out of steam.

When silence lingered for over a minute, Professor Jin Tae-rim finally spoke, her tone calm but commanding.

“Let’s all calm down.”

She, too, was the head of a major department, and her voice carried authority.

The two men turned to her instinctively.

“The helipad construction—wasn’t it supposed to be on the hospital roof?”

“That’s what they said. But that’s a huge problem. It’ll cause complaints.”

“Why wouldn’t there be complaints?”

“What do you mean?”

Director Choi looked puzzled.

Professor Jin smiled faintly and explained.

“The hospital roof means patient wards are right underneath. Construction noise, helicopter noise—it’ll all cause issues. Do you think there won’t be complaints?”

“Ah…”

“And what about building codes? Wouldn’t that count as an expansion?”

“Well… that too.”

“It might be fine legally, but we all know how audits work. If we ‘donate’ a little, it’ll be easy enough to resolve.”

“That’s a good point. Anyway, just stopping helicopter flights will already reduce losses significantly…”

Director Choi recalled the financial report from the Severe Trauma Center.

Since halting helicopter transfers, their deficit had indeed dropped considerably—
still large, but much smaller than before.

‘Those patients who could’ve been saved by air… ended up dying before they got here, that’s why.’

Even as a doctor, Choi could reason that out.

But unlike Kang-hyuk, he could bury such thoughts easily.

People made more excuses with age, didn’t they?

Choi was exactly that type.

‘This isn’t our fault.’

It was the system’s fault—
a system that punished hospitals financially for saving lives.

If it had at least covered the costs, none of this chaos would’ve happened.

And since that reasoning wasn’t entirely wrong, he could accept Professor Jin’s idea without guilt.

“Alright then, we’ll block it that way. What about the residents complaining about the tennis courts?”

“The district mayor visited them personally to persuade them…”

Hong Jae-hoon’s voice was weak.

“The mayor did? That easily?”

“Probably because Assemblyman Park stepped in.”

“Ah, that makes sense. So, what now?”

Choi tilted his head, then looked to Professor Jin again.

He’d learned she was far more reliable than Hong.

She didn’t disappoint.

“Let’s publish an article.”

“An article?”

“Something like—‘Helipad noise near hospitals can cause hearing loss among nearby residents.’”

“Is there any actual study like that?”

“The public doesn’t know the difference between an expert opinion and a paper.”

“Hmm.”

That was true.

Medicine had long since become evidence-based,
but patients still preferred whatever ‘sounded’ convincing, facts or not.

“I’ll handle it. I’ll bring it up with ENT over dinner.”

Feeling overlooked, Hong quickly volunteered.

He did have more connections among the internal medicine departments than Jin did.

Director Choi nodded lightly.

“Fine. Let’s go with that.”

As they schemed their way out of trouble,
the man at the center of it all—Baek Kang-hyuk—was too busy to read any of the morning’s headlines.

Because something urgent had just happened.

Fortunately, it wasn’t bad news.

“Professor! Captain Lee Hyun-jong just opened his eyes!”