Chapter 177

               

‘Seriously… he’s amazing.’

Jaewon clicked his tongue as he watched Captain Lee Hyun-jong, who, despite barely being conscious, was already asking about the condition of his subordinates.

Jaewon had served in the military as a medical officer, so he knew exactly what kind of officers existed out there.
And Captain Lee was nothing like the ones he’d met before.

“For now, please lie down. It’s too soon for you to get up.”

While Jaewon was still impressed by Captain Lee’s character, Kang-hyuk quietly pressed down on the captain’s forehead, forcing him to stay down.

Kang-hyuk was a man of considerable strength, and given how weak Captain Lee was, he couldn’t resist even if he wanted to.

“Urgh…”

On top of that, the pain hit him as soon as he confirmed his subordinates were safe.
Captain Lee frowned deeply and looked down at his arm, which was strapped to a splint attached to the side rail of the bed.

It was uncomfortable, but necessary—his arm had been fractured.

“You were shot eight times. Both arms are broken, and your left leg as well.”

Kang-hyuk spoke in a calm, detached tone as he looked down at him.

To an outsider, it might have sounded cold—heartless, even—but it came from experience.
It was part of the trauma surgeon’s creed itself.

‘If I show anxiety, the patient will feel it tenfold.’

Empathy was important, yes—but there were moments where it could backfire.
For instance, when dealing with trauma patients—those who woke up after surgery, confused and frightened.

In such cases, the attending doctor had to act as if everything were perfectly normal.
That composure alone could reassure a patient more than any comforting words.

Whether because of that approach or because of Captain Lee’s naturally calm temperament, the man seemed remarkably stable.

“Both arms… broken, huh.”

Captain Lee muttered, relieved at least that his fingers could still move.

Seeing this, Kang-hyuk nodded, a faint, reassuring smile crossing his face.

“Yes. But there’s no nerve damage. Once you recover, you’ll have no trouble using them again.”

“Thank you.”

Even as he expressed gratitude, Captain Lee felt disoriented.

He couldn’t remember exactly how he’d been injured, where he’d gone afterward, or what treatment he’d received.
The only memory he retained was of a terrorist’s rifle—flashing with an almost blinding light as it aimed at him.

“Captain Lee Hyun-jong.”

Thankfully, Kang-hyuk was there—a veteran trauma surgeon who had treated countless soldiers.

He knew exactly what went on in the minds of those who woke up after battle.
He gently patted the captain’s trembling shoulder and spoke in a calm, grounding tone.

“You’re safe now. This is Korea. You’re in good hands.”

Jaewon, Gyeongwon, and Jang-mi all blinked, wondering why Kang-hyuk was saying that.
Captain Lee had looked clear-headed from the moment he woke up.

Why the need for reassurance?

“Th-thank you. I see.”

But to their surprise, Captain Lee’s expression softened—as if those were exactly the words he’d needed to hear.

Kang-hyuk nodded knowingly and clasped the man’s right hand.

“The major surgery’s already done. From here on, it’s just recovery. You’ve survived the worst.”

“Thank you.”

“I just did my job.”

Kang-hyuk meant it. He truly saw it that way.

“Professor Baek.”

A familiar voice interrupted him. It was the Internal Medicine Director Yoon Jae-ho, who had been overseeing Captain Lee’s care since his transfer from the Royal Sheikh Khalifa Hospital.

He had even accompanied the air ambulance during transport and continued assisting Kang-hyuk’s team afterward.
Both competent and responsible, he had been invaluable.

“Yes, Director Yoon?”

Kang-hyuk’s response was unusually warm—enough for Jaewon to think, ‘So he can talk like a normal human sometimes.’

“There are a lot of people waiting to hear that Captain Lee has woken up. Should we let them know?”

Director Yoon’s tone was cautious. And rightly so—there were many waiting for that news.

Family, soldiers, rescued subordinates, journalists, the public… even the president himself.

But Yoon hadn’t informed anyone yet.
He knew there was something more important than their anticipation—the patient’s safety.

“Hmm.”

Kang-hyuk never forgot that priority.

He looked at Captain Lee with renewed caution.

For someone who had just regained consciousness, the man looked stable—but that was precisely the problem.

‘Infection is another story entirely.’

Allowing visitors meant exposing the patient to unknown bacteria—a nightmare scenario.

‘That’d be hell. No way.’

But he couldn’t forbid visits entirely—not for the family’s sake, but for the patient’s.

‘Meeting loved ones significantly aids recovery.’

It was a line from a medical textbook—one nearly every doctor took as gospel truth.

And though every member of the medical team here felt a strange attachment to Captain Lee—having spent ten sleepless nights disinfecting wounds—he, of course, didn’t share that bond.

To him, they were strangers.

“Family visits only. Parents at most.”

“I see. And the rest…?”

“This.”

Kang-hyuk took out his phone and waved it.

For Director Yoon—and the others like Jaewon, Jang-mi, and Gyeongwon—it wasn’t immediately clear what he meant.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jaewon, being his usual nosy self, asked first.

Whack.

“Ugh!”

He winced as Kang-hyuk flicked his forehead.

“Interrupting grown-ups, are we?” Kang-hyuk muttered, poking him sharply in the eye for good measure before continuing, Jaewon’s groans serving as background noise.

“We can record a video and show it to them. That should be enough, right?”

“Ah… that makes sense. This way, there’s no infection risk.”

“Exactly. No matter how much you sterilize, civilians never follow protocol properly.”

You could preach all day about sterilization, but unless someone had ‘lost’ a patient to infection, they’d never truly understand.

“Understood. I’ll call in the guardians then. Will you speak to the press yourself, Professor?”

“Hmm…”

Kang-hyuk glanced outside the ICU.

Through the frosted glass, he could make out a crowd of murmuring reporters.

‘We’ll have to make an announcement sooner or later…’

Interest in both him and Captain Lee was already peaking.

He might as well use that attention—for the benefit of the Severe Trauma Center.

Soon enough, the spotlight would fade. The world moved too fast, drowning in daily news.

He had to seize the moment and turn it into progress.

‘We need to deliver the message most effectively.’

He closed his eyes briefly, then nodded.

“Yes, I’ll make the announcement.”

“Should I have them stand by, then?”

At that, Jaewon turned toward the door.

Kang-hyuk stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Not yet.”

“Not yet? Why not?”

Jaewon glanced back at Captain Lee, who was chatting with Jang-mi.

His expression soured when told he’d have to use a bedpan for the time being—but otherwise, he was alert and stable.

There was no danger of relapse.

So what was the holdup?

“Yeah, not yet.”

“Why?”

“What time is it?”

“Sorry?”

“What time, Jaewon.”

Jaewon tilted his head, checking the clock on the ICU desk.

It wasn’t even 2 p.m. yet.

‘Come to think of it, I skipped lunch.’

All that excitement about Captain Lee waking up had made him forget.

“Two o’clock,” he said flatly.

But Kang-hyuk’s expression was anything but casual.

“Right. Everyone’s still at work.”

“Hmm…?”

“Director Yoon. You haven’t called the family yet, have you?”

“No, I don’t even have the number. I’ll have to ask the unit.”

“Good. Let’s hold off for now.”

“Why?”

Director Yoon frowned. He was a capable doctor, but not one familiar with ‘media warfare’.

He was the type to spend his whole life researching, teaching, and treating—unconcerned with public relations.

“I’m waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“You’ll see. Give it a bit, and you’ll understand.”

“Should I at least request the guardian’s number from the military?”

“Yes. Do that now.”

“And who are you calling, Professor?”

“Those guys.”

Kang-hyuk pointed with his chin—toward the reporters outside the ICU.

Director Yoon followed his gaze, puzzled.

“They wouldn’t know the number, would they?”

“Maybe not. But they’ll know I’m looking for it.”

“Huh?”

Leaving behind a trail of confused faces, Kang-hyuk walked out.

His steps were slow and heavy, almost weary.

Click.

The door opened, and a few reporters immediately rushed toward him.

Even though he often ignored them, every word he occasionally dropped became headline gold.

“Uh, Professor?”

But today, to everyone’s shock, Kang-hyuk spoke first.

“Oh?”

The reporters buzzed with excitement—everyone except one.

Reporter Park Sang-eun narrowed his eyes.

‘He’s up to something. A hundred percent.’

The intuition of a man who’d been burned before.

But the rest were too eager to notice.

“Does anyone here have the contact information for Captain Lee Hyun-jong’s guardian?”

“What? Why?”

“Because I need to contact them.”

And when Kang-hyuk muttered that in a rare, subdued tone, the crowd’s excitement only grew stronger.

‘Wait… did something go wrong?’

‘Could it be… the miracle doctor failed?’