Chapter 182

               

“What are you talking about…?”

Executive Director Hong Jae-hoon couldn’t hide his confusion.

Realistically, what problem could there be with building a helipad on the hospital roof?
If the structure wasn’t even strong enough to handle that, the building permit wouldn’t have been granted in the first place.

‘That guy… no way…?’

The vice president of the Architectural Association was a college friend and neighbor of Hong’s — he’d simply done him a favor.
It wasn’t that surprising.

In Korea, being a Hanguk University graduate meant far more than just “being good at studying.”
Each year, the influence of those alumni grew exponentially — and naturally, they stuck together.

It was mutually beneficial — good for both sides.

‘Did Assemblyman Park pull some strings…?’

But influence was always relative.

Hong, looking uneasy, hesitated for a moment before dialing the number.
Forgetting entirely that he was in a conference room full of professors, his face was stricken with panic.

Even Director Choi Jo-eun couldn’t bring himself to scold him.
He was equally stunned — albeit for slightly different reasons.

“H-Hey, it’s me. Jae-hoon.”

Hong tried to sound casual, clinging to familiarity like a lifeline.

But the voice on the other end was anything but friendly.

“Ah, sorry about this. The issue was legally questionable to begin with… and now that the other side’s pushing legally, there’s nothing I can do.”

“What? What are you talking about? You said if you said no, nobody would dare say yes!”

Hong’s voice rose until Anesthesiology Chief Jin Tae-rim jabbed him in the ribs, prompting him to lower it.
He’d suddenly remembered where he was and who was watching.

When he turned his head, he saw Kang-hyuk standing right across from him, wearing the expression of a victor.

“The Architectural Association’s stance is one thing… but why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“I just got a call from the Vice Minister of Land, Infrastructure and Transport because of you. You could’ve mentioned who was involved — I would’ve known whether to stay quiet or back off…”

“V-Vice Minister…?”

“Be careful. You’re gonna get burned if you keep this up. That Professor Baek guy’s a much bigger deal than you think. Anyway, I’m hanging up. About that matter — just go ahead and build it. I’m out.”

“Wait—”

But the line went dead.

The only thing left was the dull *thunk* of the disconnected call.

Hong slowly lifted his head to look at Kang-hyuk — who was now standing right across from him.
Professor Choi Jun-yong from Neurology, who’d been sitting there earlier, had quietly scooted aside.

“I told you so, didn’t I?”

Kang-hyuk’s tone carried unmistakable mockery.

Hong stammered, unable to form words.
The plan he’d thought foolproof had crumbled in an instant — too easily, too completely. (T/N: So fking satisfying. )

“Director. We have the funds, and we’ll get the permits. The Fire Department has already agreed to cooperate. The paperwork I submitted… please approve it.”

Turning away from Hong, now irrelevant, Kang-hyuk faced Director Choi.

Choi recalled the approval request sitting untouched on his desk earlier.
He hadn’t even looked at it — he’d never planned to stamp it in the first place.

But now the situation was changing before his eyes.

Still, Choi decided to stand his ground.
This was, after all, a faculty meeting — and most of the professors here would side with him over Kang-hyuk, who had no internal allies.

“Is a helipad really that necessary? Can’t we continue as we are now? A billion won is no small sum, Professor Baek. There are better uses for it.”

“Better uses? Such as?”

“Equipment like the Gamma Knife, HIFU, or Da Vinci system, for instance.”

They all sounded impressive — cutting-edge technologies classified as advanced medical devices that could generate massive profits for the hospital.
Unlike a helipad, those machines would bring in revenue.

But none of them had anything to do with the Severe Trauma Center.
The trauma center didn’t need glamorous or profitable devices.

“You feel it too while you’re saying it, right? Those have nothing to do with us.”

“Well… I just mentioned those off the top of my head. But really — isn’t that right, everyone? A billion won isn’t a small amount. With that, we could open a whole new department.”

Several professors nodded along.
They were the ones whose departments needed funding.
If the director decided to allocate money to them, they’d turn on Kang-hyuk in an instant.

“Unbelievable. You’re acting like thieves…”

Kang-hyuk shook his head at them.

“What? What did you just say?”

Director Choi, conveniently forgetting his own behavior, flared up in anger.

Sure, he knew he wasn’t entirely in the right — but being called out publicly like that was infuriating.

That childish indignation was, ironically, common among people in high positions.

Think about it: when everyone around you flatters and pampers you daily, when do you ever get time for self-reflection?

“I said, you’re thieves. Why are you trying to dictate how money raised for the Severe Trauma Center should be used — when it’s for the Severe Trauma Center?”

Naturally, Kang-hyuk was the type who didn’t hold his tongue.
He was the farthest thing from a man of protocol.

‘Oh, for god’s sake…’

Han Yoo-rim covered his face with his hand as Kang-hyuk’s words echoed through the room.

He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t make it any less provocative.

‘Does he *have* to make enemies every time…?’

Han sighed and lowered his head.

Meanwhile, Director Choi just gaped, utterly speechless.
The shock left him momentarily dumbfounded.

It was Jin Tae-rim, ever the cool-headed one, who spoke next.

“Look here, Professor Baek. We never said you couldn’t use the money for the trauma center. We asked you to use it to offset the hospital’s losses — which you refused.”

“And I clearly told you to take that up with HIRA. I even gave you all the necessary documentation. How much more do you want me to spoon-feed you?”

“HIRA deemed your report inadequate, didn’t they?”

“Then negotiate. Bet the entire Hanguk University Hospital’s name on it — they’ll change their stance.”

“Negotiate?”

Jin glanced over at Hong, startled by the unexpected word.

Hong’s eyes widened even further.

‘How the hell does this guy even *know* how HIRA operates?’

Judging by his behavior, one would think he shouldn’t know a thing about bureaucratic systems.

But when it came to things that mattered, Kang-hyuk knew *everything.*
And HIRA was absolutely one of those things.

“You directors have monthly meetings, right? Bring it up there. Ask HIRA to cut the trauma center some slack — and in return, offer them something else. Pain management, for instance.”

HIRA’s assessments were notoriously subjective.
Depending on who reviewed a case, identical situations could be approved or severely reduced.

That was what made every hospital in Korea bow to HIRA’s authority.

‘Not cooperating? Then let’s be more thorough next time.’

A single sentence like that could mean a wave of denied claims overnight.

Of course, they wouldn’t dare do that to an institution as prominent as Hanguk University Hospital.
That was why *negotiation* was possible.

Trading favors through regulations might sound bizarre — but that was the reality.
If they cut too much here, they could be compensated elsewhere.

“This… this isn’t the place for that kind of talk, Professor Baek.”

Jin raised his hands, uneasy now that his own department had been named.

Kang-hyuk just smiled faintly.

“Then don’t bring up deductions either.”

“…Fine. Understood.”

Having silenced even Jin Tae-rim, Kang-hyuk turned back to the director.

Choi, now somewhat recovered, spoke again with renewed composure.

“Ah, Professor Baek. I think that’s enough discussion about deductions.”

“I agree. Then we have no objections to building the helipad, correct?”

“No, not exactly.”

“Hm?”

Kang-hyuk looked at him — his face saying, *again?*

The expression of irritation was mutual.
Both were equally sick of this tug-of-war.

“The helipad… other departments won’t have any use for it, right?”

“Well, since it’s funded by our center, that shouldn’t matter.”

“No, that’s not right. The Severe Trauma Center has been relying on other departments’ revenue. You should give something back.”

“Relying on…?”

“Don’t glare at me like that. It’s true, isn’t it? The departments you dismiss as ‘unrelated to saving lives’ are the ones whose income keeps the trauma center running.”

“Hmph.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Due to Korea’s skewed reimbursement structure, the only reason the trauma center could keep saving lives was that other departments were earning enough to cover the deficit.

“So… make a small concession. Build a facility that other departments can use too. Of course, your center can remain the primary user.”

That quick proposal showed just how fast Choi’s mind was working.

Kang-hyuk glanced around.

The department heads all looked eager — as if ready to chime in.

‘Well… I can understand that.’

He nodded slowly.

Choi’s expression finally relaxed.

‘I won.’

It wasn’t a complete victory — the loss coverage issue had been dodged, but he’d at least forced a compromise.
Considering his history of never even *tying* against Kang-hyuk, this felt like a triumph.

“Alright then. I’ll propose a facility other departments can use as well.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re being reasonable, Professor Baek.”

Hong chimed in, siding with the director.

Even Jin looked somewhat relieved.

But all three of their expressions twisted at once when they heard what came next.

“I’ll build the helipad.”

The same line. The same tone. The same audacity.

“W-What are you saying? I said a facility that other departments can use!”

“And why can’t they use a helipad?”

“What… what do you mean?”

Instead of answering the director directly, Kang-hyuk turned toward the transplant surgeons.

“When a brain-dead donor appears in a rural area — you can’t retrieve the organs in time, can you?”

“Huh? Ah… yes, that’s true.”

“A helipad would fix that, wouldn’t it?”

“Well… yes, I suppose it would.”

Then he looked toward a hematology-oncology professor who specialized in blood cancers.

“When you need rare blood types, you’ve struggled before, haven’t you?”

“Of course.”

“And if you had a helipad?”

“It’d make things… much easier.”

After exchanging those words, Kang-hyuk turned back to the director.

“It’s a facility that benefits other departments too, right? Then we’re all in agreement. I’ll take my leave now — I have a patient to see.”

(T/N: You will never win against him. Lol. Just accept it retards.)