Chapter 181

               

“You’re heading to the meeting, right?”

At Jaewon’s question, Kang-hyuk nodded lightly.

“Of course. It’s a meeting that’s happening because of me.”

“You seem to be in a great mood.”

“Wouldn’t you be? We’re going in with a billion won collected.”

“Well, when you put it that way, yeah.”

The scene of Captain Lee Hyun-jong — the newly risen national hero — walking on crutches, handsome and radiant, had gone viral. The video had surpassed a hundred million views on YouTube.

It wasn’t just Koreans; people abroad had also kept pressing play.

And everyone now knew that this was all thanks to Kang-hyuk and his Severe Trauma team.

More than fifty thousand people had contributed to the total of one billion won.

That kind of astronomical donation was something you’d only see during national disasters.

“Still, not everyone’s happy about it.”

The board of directors had already sent in their opinion — suggesting that the donation should be used to cover the losses incurred by the trauma center.

Naturally, Kang-hyuk had refused outright.

He even added, “I’ve sent the documents to the Health Insurance Review and Assessment Service, so once they adjust the deductions, we can discuss it again.”

Of course, even as he said it, he knew very well that HIRA wouldn’t budge.

But that didn’t mean he’d waste such precious funds.

This money could build a helipad — safe, fast, and without a single complaint from anyone.

“You’re not planning to listen to them anyway, are you?”

“Right. You’re finally learning.”

“I’m not sure if that’s something to be happy about or not.”

“You should be. Anyway, watch the patients while I’m gone. If an emergency comes in, call me.”

“Yes, Professor.”

By now, Jaewon had grown capable enough to cover Kang-hyuk’s absence to some degree.

He still had a long way to go before fully filling that role, but he could at least be trusted with initial treatment and triage.

That allowed Kang-hyuk to head to the meeting room with a lighter heart than usual.

“It’s today, huh.”

On the way, he ran into Director Yoon Jae-ho and Captain Lee Dong-joo.

Both were preparing to return to their respective posts — there was no longer a reason to stay now that Captain Lee Hyun-jong’s recovery had been made public through the media.

“Ah, yes. Director Yoon, when are you heading back?”

“My flight’s the day after tomorrow. It wasn’t easy getting a ticket, surprisingly.”

“Lots of people traveling to Dubai these days.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

After a brief chat, Kang-hyuk turned to Captain Lee.

Unlike usual, he was wearing his military uniform.

“I’m leaving today.”

As expected, he was returning to the deployment site.

“Things settled down there?”

“Well… we haven’t chased Boko Haram yet, but a nearby U.S. base has moved in, so it’s safe for now.”

“Ah… and the Ark Unit’s withdrawn?”

“Yes. They weren’t an officially sanctioned deployment, after all.”

“Sounds like it’s going to be rough.”

The number of boys killed by Boko Haram was in the hundreds.

And countless other civilians had been injured or traumatized.

Since the Hanbit Unit was founded with the goal of humanitarian aid, they’d inevitably have to shoulder all those victims.

“Well… when else would I get to do volunteer work like this?”

It seemed Captain Lee shared similar sentiments.

He’d already heard from the stationed Hanbit Unit members — the situation there was near catastrophic.

Still, it couldn’t possibly be tougher than what Kang-hyuk endured daily.

“Yeah, it’s a good opportunity. Who knows, maybe you’ll decide to settle there.”

“Ah, no… I don’t think so.”

Not everyone could live their entire life serving others.

Captain Lee’s awkward expression said as much.

It was only natural — the man joking with him was someone who had, in fact, dedicated his life to service.

Kang-hyuk gave his shoulder a light pat.

“Just kidding. Open a clinic when you get back, make good money — then donate to us later.”

“Ah, of course. I was already thinking of that.”

“I’m recording this, you know. Not a joke.”

Kang-hyuk tapped the pen-shaped recorder in his hand.

Captain Lee blinked, half amused, half surprised — but then saw that the recorder’s light was indeed blinking.

Before he could respond, Kang-hyuk brushed past him with a faint grin.

“See you again someday.”

Captain Lee stood there for a moment, blankly, before bowing deeply toward Kang-hyuk’s back.

They belonged to different fields and walked different paths, but there was something about the man that commanded respect.

So Captain Lee spoke sincerely.

“Yes, Professor. I’ll come visit for sure.”

Leaving the two behind, Kang-hyuk made his way straight to the meeting room.

He was always confident, but today he felt unusually light — without even a trace of unease.

“Ah, Professor Baek.”

At the sound of his name, he turned to see Han Yoo-rim approaching.

Behind him followed Professor Kang Il-gu from Pediatric Thoracic Surgery.

The momentary ease in his chest turned heavy again — like a stone had rolled in.

‘He hasn’t found it yet, has he?’

There was still no word about Gore Medical resuming its supply of artificial blood vessels.

That meant it was certain — they hadn’t been able to get one.

Some hospitals might have stock left, but they’d surely need it for their own patients.

“On your way to the meeting? Let’s go together. If I go alone these days, no one even says hello.”

Han Yoo-rim joked, falling into step beside him.

The sad part was — that wasn’t entirely a joke.

Rumor had it even within the surgical department, some had begun treating Han with thinly veiled disdain.

“Hello, Chief.”

“Haha. Not many people call me that anymore. Feels strange hearing it from you.”

There was a time when Han had looked down on everyone — including Kang-hyuk.

Now, reduced to a defanged tiger, he was being spoken to respectfully only by the very man he’d once belittled.

It was an ironic moment, to say the least.

“Did you manage to find it?”

Instead of answering Han, Kang-hyuk directed the question to Professor Kang Il-gu.

Kang shook his head, his face dark.

Nearly two weeks had passed now.

Which meant his patient’s life expectancy had dropped to less than six weeks.

“Hmm. Let’s wait a little longer. I’ll try to find one myself.”

“Huh? There aren’t any in Korea. I’ve already contacted every hospital and medical supplier in the country.”

Despite Kang-hyuk’s words, Professor Kang couldn’t hide his hopeless expression.

It was understandable.

In terms of academic standing, Kang-hyuk wasn’t even close to Kang Il-gu’s level yet.

If Professor Kang couldn’t find it, how could he?

Not by normal means, at least.

“Well… it’s not like that’s the only place to get them.”

His words hinted at what others wouldn’t dare say — that he might be willing to cross some lines to obtain one.

Unlike most doctors, Kang-hyuk didn’t particularly care about such boundaries.

He said it as if it were nothing at all.

“Right… well, thank you anyway.”

Professor Kang assumed it was just polite talk.

But Han Yoo-rim thought differently.

‘This crazy bastard’s planning something again, isn’t he?’

He knew Kang-hyuk well enough by now.

If that man said he would do something — he actually would.

He just didn’t know what, and frankly, he didn’t want to.

“Let’s go in.”

Before they knew it, Kang-hyuk had reached the meeting room and pushed the door open.

Inside were Executive Director Hong Jae-hoon, Anesthesiology Chief Jin Tae-rim, and several other key figures.

The only open seats were in the corner, but none of the three showed any hesitation.

Kang-hyuk and Professor Kang didn’t care about such trivialities, and Han Yoo-rim had already resigned himself to it.

“Alright, let’s begin.”

As soon as Director Choi Jo-eun entered, the meeting started.

As usual, it began with praise for profitable departments and criticism for the underperforming ones.

Those sitting near Kang-hyuk — including himself — couldn’t help shrinking slightly.

It was one of those strange meetings that somehow managed to discourage the very people doing the hospital’s most vital work — saving lives.

“And this won’t be the end of today’s meeting.”

Director Choi turned his gaze toward Kang-hyuk, almost glaring.

“This month’s deficit… three hundred and twenty million won, from the Trauma Surgery Department, Professor Baek Kang-hyuk?”

He deliberately emphasized the loss as he called him out.

Kang-hyuk, unbothered, rose confidently to his feet.

“Yes, Director.”

He met Choi Jo-eun’s eyes directly.

‘Look at this bastard, acting proud…’

The director swore inwardly but spoke in a polished tone.

“The Severe Trauma Center raised one billion won, correct?”

“Yes. The public’s interest and support were tremendous.”

“And you’ve submitted a proposal to build a helipad with that money…”

“Yes. With assistance from the Central Rescue Division under the Fire Department, we’ve been conducting flights nearly every other day. But the lack of a proper helipad has caused countless issues.”

As he spoke, Kang-hyuk thought back to the tennis court that currently served as their temporary landing pad.

Frankly, it was embarrassing to even mention — such a pathetic facility.

If foreign doctors heard about it, they’d probably laugh in disbelief.

“For instance, there’ve been noise complaints from nearby residents — even threats of lawsuits. The district mayor himself filed a formal complaint. Operations were briefly suspended because of it. Fortunately, that happened while I was abroad, so I wasn’t directly affected.”

He glanced from Executive Director Hong to Chief Jin and finally to Director Choi.

All three grimaced almost simultaneously.

The very complaint they’d hoped would drag Kang-hyuk down had backfired — becoming justification for the helipad construction.

Of course, Director Choi still had cards to play.

“Yes, that’s true. But after checking, it turns out the hospital rooftop… isn’t exactly suitable for it.”

“Who said that?”

“Uh…”

Rather than answering, Director Choi turned to Executive Director Hong.

Hong replied loudly, as if he’d been waiting for that cue.

“We asked the Architectural Association. Their vice president came and personally inspected the site.”

At that point, they thought the game was over.

At least, that’s what the board believed.

‘If a helipad gets built here, the deficit will become permanent… no way. Not while I’m director.’

Choi bit his lip and gave Kang-hyuk a smug look — as if to say, “What now?”

But Kang-hyuk simply smiled calmly.

“Does the Ministry of Land, Infrastructure and Transport issue architect licenses?”

Then, out of nowhere, he asked that peculiar question.

“Huh… do they?”

Of course, no one in the room knew.

Doctors rarely concerned themselves with such things.

Neither had Kang-hyuk — at least not until Assemblyman Park had told him.

“That architect you mentioned earlier.”

“What about him?”

“Try calling him again — see if he gives the same answer this time.”

“What…?”

“When I spoke with him, he said something entirely different.”