Chapter 176

               

“He opened his eyes!”

The one shouting desperately for Kang-hyuk was, of course, Jang-mi.

Beside her stood Jaewon, Gyeongwon, Captain Lee Dong-joo, and Internal Medicine Director Yoon Jae-ho.

Only Kang-hyuk hadn’t entered yet.

It wasn’t because he was slacking off.

“Hey, you’re all healed already.”

He was busy ruffling a young boy’s hair.

Next to the boy stood a man who was both crying and smiling, his rough, calloused hands clasped politely in front of him.

It was the kind of posture that could only come from deep gratitude.

“There weren’t any problems, right? I called you in today because the outpatient schedule got backed up while I was abroad.”

Kang-hyuk tousled the boy’s hair once more, then turned toward the father.

The man stood speechless for a long time before finally nodding.

He tried to speak several times, but his voice wouldn’t come out.

Understandably so—he had just learned, barely ten minutes ago, what Kang-hyuk had done for his child.

‘Professor Baek gave his own blood mid-flight to transfuse directly into your son. That’s why he’s alive.’

He’d already thought of Kang-hyuk as the one who saved his son’s life before, but now he knew—
the boy literally lived on a piece of Kang-hyuk’s life.

No wonder he couldn’t find the words.

“Does that mean it’s okay? Or are you the one who’s sick?”

Of course, Kang-hyuk wasn’t the type to share sentimental moments. Instead of accepting the gratitude, he said something odd as usual.

But to the boy’s father—who already saw him in a holy light—
even strange words sounded profound.

‘Ah… what a noble man. He doesn’t even boast about what he’s done…’

And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t suffered.

He’d collapsed afterward, been bedridden for a full day, even with a catheter in.

Yet he mentioned none of that, instead cracking jokes as if it were nothing.

The father broke down crying even harder.

“Uh… did he just have a stroke or something…”

“Waaahh!”

The more nonsense Kang-hyuk spouted, the louder the man cried.

Feeling a twinge of fatigue, Kang-hyuk decided it was time to wrap things up.

He’d already scanned the man’s condition with his eyes.

‘Let’s see… doesn’t look sick. Just emotionally overwhelmed.’

He could tell from the heartbeat, the slight tremor in the hands, the darting eyes—
signs of emotional strain, not illness.

Why the man felt that way didn’t matter.

It wasn’t Kang-hyuk’s concern.

“Don’t get hurt again. And only play somewhere safe.”

He patted the boy’s head again, messing up his hair before turning away.

“Let’s not meet again.”

He said it believing it was the most considerate farewell possible.

It was a line he often used in the outpatient clinic—
and it had earned him quite a few complaints.

Usually not from the patients, but from their overly emotional guardians.

Still, it wasn’t exactly a comforting thing to hear.

But the boy took it differently.

“Yes, sir! Thank you for saving me!”

The child spoke clearly, reciting the lines he’d practiced, then added softly, unplanned—

“I’ll become a doctor like you and save people too.”

Fortunately—or unfortunately—Kang-hyuk didn’t hear it as he stepped into the ICU.

The moment he entered, Jang-mi stamped her feet in frustration.

“What took you so long?!”

“Ah… there was a kid.”

“A kid?”

“Yeah. The one who came in injured before.”

“You didn’t just schedule him for outpatient care?”

“My outpatient schedule’s backed up lately. Can’t even examine patients properly.”

It was practically a marketplace.

They were cramming in one patient every five minutes just to keep up.

The hospital might’ve liked the revenue, but from a doctor’s standpoint, it was chaos.

Even with Kang-hyuk’s sharp eyes that could gauge a patient’s condition at a glance, it wasn’t satisfying.

It felt less like treating people and more like processing paperwork.

“Ah, I see. I’m sorry—I didn’t realize.”

“No worries. You’re a gangster, after all.”

“What—! Don’t say that, he’s awake!”

Jang-mi pointed toward Captain Lee Hyun-jong, whose eyelids were fluttering.

He seemed at least partially conscious.

Whether full awareness would return was another matter.

‘I hope he heard the gangster comment, honestly.’

His injuries had been severe, and the recovery long.

Even with Kang-hyuk’s intervention, full cognitive return wasn’t guaranteed.

Kang-hyuk followed Jang-mi’s gaze to the patient.

His breathing wasn’t perfectly steady.

To some, that might seem concerning,
but for a patient in the weaning stage, it was a good sign.

“How’s his breathing support?”

“Assist mode.”

“How much oxygen is he getting?”

“None.”

“Oh.”

Kang-hyuk leaned closer, checking the color of the lips and mucosa—
all healthy.

“Then let’s remove the tube.”

“Ah, yes.”

Gyeongwon had already prepared everything.

That’s why Kang-hyuk could decide so quickly.

A competent junior was worth their weight in gold—and Gyeongwon proved it daily.

“Captain Lee Hyun-jong, can you hear me?”

Kang-hyuk moved swiftly to the bedside, tapping the man’s shoulder and leaning in close.

Their faces nearly touched as he spoke loudly near his ear.

It seemed simple, but it stimulated the three major senses at once—sight, sound, and touch.

That often drew responses even from patients in partial consciousness.

Soon, Lee’s face twisted slightly, as if in discomfort.

“There’s a tube in your throat, so you can’t talk! Just blink if you understand!”

Fortunately, Lee Hyun-jong was sharp.

It was only natural—a dull man wouldn’t have survived that ambush with his subordinates.

Blink.

He did as instructed, and Kang-hyuk nodded approvingly.

“Alright. I’m going to deflate the balloon securing the tube. It might feel uncomfortable! But stay still—it’ll be fine! I’ve got you.”

The [endotracheal tube] inserted into the [trachea] wasn’t the same width as the airway.
(T/N: An endotracheal tube is a flexible plastic tube inserted into the trachea to maintain an open airway and assist breathing.)

If it were, it would tear the vocal cords on insertion.

So the tube was thinner, secured instead by inflating a small [balloon cuff] at its tip.
(T/N: The cuff is an inflatable section at the end of an endotracheal tube that seals the airway and prevents air leakage.)

Hiss—

Kang-hyuk drew the air out of that cuff with a syringe.

Normally, this caused a strong coughing reflex as the tube scraped the tracheal walls.

‘Quiet, huh.’

But unlike the others expected, Captain Lee didn’t move.

It wasn’t sheer endurance—
one couldn’t simply ‘will’ themselves not to react to that kind of stimulus.

If he wasn’t coughing, it meant the trachea wasn’t irritated.

‘What is he, a monster? Even his airway control is exceptional.’

Removing a breathing tube wasn’t exactly a complex procedure.

But seeing Kang-hyuk do it made everyone else’s attempts look amateurish.

And that feeling wasn’t his alone.

‘Mother… I’m an anesthesiologist… and I just lost to a surgeon in [extubation].’
(T/N: Extubation refers to the removal of a breathing tube from the airway.)

Even Gyeongwon, whose specialty included airway management, was thinking the same.

Captain Lee Dong-joo, too, was stunned.

‘Shouldn’t he be struggling right now?’

And Yoon Jae-ho thought the same.

‘So this is what they mean by mastering the basics…’

Meanwhile, the only calm person in the room was Kang-hyuk himself.

“Alright, hold your breath. Pulling it out now.”

He simply did his job—
no ego, no theatrics.

“Keep an eye on the oxygen saturation.”

His steady composure allowed him to issue clear, timely instructions.

Thanks to that, Gyeongwon snapped out of his daze in time to check the vital signs.

“Gangster, where’s the oxygen mask?”

“Ah! Yes, right here!”

“Slave, draw arterial blood for gas analysis.”

“Y-yes, sir!”

“What’s with you guys today? Acting like amateurs.”

Clicking his tongue, Kang-hyuk looked back down at Captain Lee.

He’d already ordered all necessary tests,
but truthfully, he didn’t even need them.

He could estimate the patient’s condition just by sight.

‘Ninety-six… no, ninety-five percent saturation.’

For a post-extubation patient, that was excellent.

But something else mattered more.

“Having any trouble breathing?”

It was about the patient’s subjective comfort.

Blink.

Lee blinked hard in response. He was fine.

He seemed confused about where he was,
but remarkably calm nonetheless.

‘Impressive.’

Kang-hyuk had treated many soldiers shot and airlifted from combat zones.

Most woke up thrashing in panic, thinking they were still in battle—
sometimes tearing their stitches open in the process.

He couldn’t blame them.

All they remembered was collapsing under gunfire.

“You should be able to talk now. Tell me your name.”

Kang-hyuk’s tone was calm, but inwardly, he was impressed.

Lee’s dry tongue moved clumsily before a hoarse whisper came out.

“Lee… Hyun-jong.”

His voice was rough from the prolonged [intubation],
the tube having pressed against his [vocal cords].

“Good. Captain Lee, you’re in a hospital. Do you remember getting shot?”

“Ah… What happened to my men?”

“That’s what you’re most worried about?”

Kang-hyuk had expected him to ask about his own condition first.

But Lee seemed unconcerned about that.

“Yes, please tell me.”

His firm tone made Kang-hyuk glance at Captain Lee Dong-joo.

Kang-hyuk had only been involved in the rescue,
so he didn’t know the rest of the details.

Sensing his intent, Dong-joo answered quickly.

“They all returned safely without a scratch. You were the only one injured, Captain.”

“Ah… thank… thank goodness…”