Chapter 179

               

– “What’s going on inside right now?”
– “Even with the guardian here, are you still refusing to speak?”
– “Is Captain Lee Hyun-jong really alive?”

As expected, the reporters pounced on Jaewon like a pack of hyenas.
Even Reporter Park Sang-eun, who had been staying in the back until now, started creeping forward.

‘Don’t tell me… something actually went wrong with the patient?’

After all, it had been hours of relentless media bombardment, public opinion was turning sharply, and Kang-hyuk had stayed silent through it all. Naturally, doubts began to rise.

‘Damn it.’

Meanwhile, Jaewon was struggling not to open his mouth—not because of the reporters, but because of the trembling woman before him.

“O-our Hyun-jong… Did something really happen to him?”

Captain Lee’s mother’s voice was breaking, her eyes welling with tears.

Every time Jaewon saw those tears, the words ‘“He’s fine!”’ nearly burst out of him.

‘No… If I say it, I’m dead.’

Because in his mind’s eye, he could already see Kang-hyuk’s massive arm and foul temper looming before him.

Of course, that wasn’t the only thing keeping his mouth shut.

‘He’s got something planned.’

Thinking back, Kang-hyuk had always been the one controlling the media—never the other way around.
If he’d left himself open to this kind of chaos now, then it could only mean there was a reason behind it.

And so, Jaewon bit down his impulse and silently escorted Captain Lee’s parents into the ICU.
He had a hard time when the mother’s legs gave out halfway, but the father managed to stay composed enough to help.

Clack—

As the door opened, the parents’ faces lit up the moment they saw their son waiting to greet them.

“You—you!”
“Are you all right?”

The father, too, rushed forward, nearly stumbling into the maze of equipment surrounding the ICU bed.

Kang-hyuk quickly caught him by the arm.

“Let’s not have anyone getting hurt in here.”

“Ah… Professor Baek…”

“You can deal with me later. For now, go see your son.”

Kang-hyuk gently let go of the father, who moved toward his son, trembling and overwhelmed.

His expression turned complicated for a brief moment—because every time he saw a grieving middle-aged man, he couldn’t help but think of his own father.

‘I’m sorry.’

Those had been his father’s last words before he died.
Even though he was the one who’d been in the fatal accident, his final thought had been for Kang-hyuk, who would be left alone.

‘At least this time… there won’t be that kind of sorrow.’

Shaking off the memory, Kang-hyuk turned back to the present—where Captain Lee’s parents hesitated at their son’s bedside, unable to come closer.

They wanted nothing more than to throw their arms around him, but they couldn’t risk causing him harm.

“You can hold his hand,” Kang-hyuk said.

He took their hands, scrubbed them thoroughly with alcohol sanitizer, and placed them on top of Captain Lee’s.

The alcohol left their palms slightly rough, but it couldn’t erase the warmth of their son’s skin.

“You’re alive… You’re really alive…”

“Don’t… cry, Mom.”

“You fool! Saving your men is good and all, but your own life should come first!”

“I’m a soldier, remember…”

“Oh, you…”

The three exchanged words—scolding, laughter, tears—but the emotion behind every sentence was the same.

“Thank God… thank God you’re alive…”
“I’m just glad… I get to see you again like this…”

It was pure relief. Joy. Gratitude.

Kang-hyuk watched silently for a while before calling Jaewon over and showing him his phone.

“What do you think of this?”

“What do I—wait, this is…”

On the screen was a perfectly framed, steady video of the emotional reunion that had just taken place.

Jaewon couldn’t even imagine how it was filmed. Despite having no stabilizer or tripod, the shot was crystal clear—professional-grade.

“If we release this, what do you think’ll happen?”

“It’ll… it’ll blow up.”

It had been five hours since Kang-hyuk had publicly pretended to search for the guardian.

In that time, an uncountable flood of slanderous reports had targeted him.

Public sentiment, swayed by incomplete information, had long since turned against him.
Only a tiny minority still supported him—and even that was fading fast.

But what if a twist like this hit now?

Public opinion would flip in an instant, as it always did.

‘Half the people cursing him will be the first to praise him later.’

Jaewon had seen it too many times to count.

“Wait—but…”

Of course, there was one issue.

“Will the parents agree to this?”

Captain Lee was a public figure now—but his parents weren’t.
If they refused, the reveal Kang-hyuk wanted would be impossible.

“You think they’ll refuse?”

Instead of answering Jaewon, Kang-hyuk simply looked toward the parents.

“No way they would,” Jaewon muttered.

And sure enough, their faces said it all. They’d agree without hesitation.

Step, step.

Leaving the family in the care of Director Yoon Jae-ho and Gyeongwon, Kang-hyuk turned toward the ICU doors.

Jaewon and Jang-mi flanked him—his trusted team who had cared for Captain Lee from start to finish.

Clack—

And so, standing before the sea of reporters, they all squared their shoulders.

As Kang-hyuk always said, “We’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”

– “What happened inside?”
– “Why haven’t you said anything?”

Questions came flying immediately—thinly veiled attacks more than inquiries.

Kang-hyuk took a step forward, a faint smile curling his lips.

The camera lights shifted, all focusing on him.

“Haa…”

Jaewon and Jang-mi both exhaled nervously.
No matter how composed they were, this level of media pressure was something else.

But Kang-hyuk? He looked utterly relaxed.

He slowly scanned the faces around him—none of them friendly.

‘Damn vultures.’

Cursing inwardly, he finally spoke.

“You’ve all had your fun for the past few hours… so, can any of you take responsibility for what you said?”

Naturally, the press conference was being broadcast live across the nation.

Every major channel had canceled their evening programs to cover it—it was too big a story, and they were the ones who’d made it that way.

No one dared look away now.

– “What are you implying? What happened to Captain Lee Hyun-jong? Stop violating the public’s right to know!”

– “Move aside! Let me through!”

Through the noisy crowd emerged Minister of Health and Welfare, Choi Pil-du—red-faced and fuming.

He hadn’t expected Kang-hyuk to ignore all his calls.

‘After all I’ve done to cooperate with him…’

That was the thought behind his scowl.

“Oh, Minister Choi. What brings you here?”

Kang-hyuk’s tone was mockingly polite.

“What brings me here? What do you think!”

Choi gritted his teeth, trying not to explode. Losing his temper on live TV would be political suicide—though the man standing before him was perhaps the only one in the country who could do so and survive.

“Didn’t you all but abandon him after dropping him off at that hospital in Dubai?”

Kang-hyuk jabbed again, and Choi’s face flushed crimson.

“A-abandon? What are you saying—”

“When I arrived, Captain Lee was on the brink of death—left unattended by the local surgeons. Even asking the nearby U.S. military doctors for help would’ve been better.”

“T-that’s…”

Of course, the thought ‘had’ crossed Choi’s mind—but politically, requesting foreign help would’ve been tantamount to admitting government incompetence.

They’d rather let Captain Lee die quietly than survive thanks to outsiders.

While Choi hesitated, Kang-hyuk pressed on.

“I saved him. Then you pretended to handle the transport, but in the end, ‘I’ brought him back.”

“Th-that…”

He had no words. None at all.

“Since his arrival, all I’ve received are nagging phone calls—no encouragement, no thanks. I can handle it, but what about my team here? They’re exhausted.”

“I…”

Before Choi could stammer out another excuse, another voice broke in.

“So are you saying Captain Lee died because of that? You’re the one who said he’d be fine!”

It was nonsense—but it conveniently shifted the focus.

“When,” Kang-hyuk asked calmly, “did I ever say he died?”

“Huh?”

“Captain Lee is perfectly alive. He’s in there right now, talking with his parents.”

“H-how can you prove that?”

Kang-hyuk held up his phone for everyone to see.

On the screen played the video of Captain Lee and his parents’ tearful reunion.

“The guardians have already agreed to the release, so spare me your objections.”

“Uh…”

While the reporters stammered, the footage was already being streamed nationwide.

Machines didn’t hesitate, after all—and the nation watched.

“Touching, isn’t it?” Kang-hyuk continued. “A man who risked his life to save others, finally home safe. He faced death again and again—and lived.”

His tone carried a hint of mockery.

And that was intentional.

“But if Captain Lee hadn’t met me, do you really think he’d have survived? I’m not bragging. Yes, I’m a capable surgeon—but a country where only I can do this kind of work? That’s not normal.”

Why must those who save lives have to sacrifice their own in return?

“If you find this scene moving, then please—keep paying attention to the Severe Trauma Center. That’s the only way this miracle can continue, the only way people like Captain Lee can keep surviving.”

Why should saving lives depend on a few heroes?

“Support us, so that my colleagues and I can keep fighting without burning out—so we can keep saving lives like his.”

The whole nation listened—some still in disbelief, others in awe.

Just moments ago, they’d been mocking him, saying “Yeah, right.”

But now, they were silent.

Had he simply said he’d saved Captain Lee, it would’ve been a moving speech.

But by first enduring the backlash and then delivering this—its impact was immeasurable.

This was the gap.

The power of intentional contrast.

(T/N: What a master strategist. Damn! Would have been a good watch if they included this in the drama or at least in season 2 if there’s any.)