Chapter 191

               

Han Yoorim froze completely.

He had heard something about New York, and taking another step suddenly felt impossible.

He slowly turned his head toward Kanghyuk.

His expression clearly said, ‘Has this guy lost his mind?’

There was no need to interpret it.

“Why?”

But Kanghyuk simply shrugged, looking as if it were no big deal.

Han Yoorim had to use every ounce of self-control not to punch him.

Not that it would’ve mattered—Kanghyuk would’ve just grabbed his arm with a thud.

That was how ridiculous this was.

“Why are you throwing around overseas conferences without any procedure?”

“Do I need procedure?”

“I mean…”

Truthfully, internal approvals in hospitals weren’t as strict as in other companies.

Everyone was too busy with their own work.

So all the extra administrative chores were simplified.

Not because hospital leadership was modernized—just because that was the only way things functioned.

Naturally, attending overseas conferences didn’t require a complicated process either.

“Still, you should’ve told me earlier.”

“I didn’t even tell you when yet.”

“Ah.”

Come to think of it, Kanghyuk had only said ‘New York,’ not when he planned to go.

Assuming it was at least six months away, Han Yoorim asked:

“When?”

“The week after next.”

“You insane bastard?”

“Wow, listen to your filthy mouth. Acting all high and mighty just because you’re a section chief…”

“Y-You brat! A New York conference is at least a full week! Who tells someone just the week before?!”

Overseas conferences inevitably took time.

Unlike domestic ones, the organizers usually scheduled them longer—about five days on average.

Including travel time, it always became a week.

‘New York… we’re going?’

While Han Yoorim was stunned, Jaewon, Jangmi, Gyeongwon, and Jimin started getting excited.

All their endless days without holidays flashed before their eyes, and the New York conference felt like a reward.

‘But… telling him only two weeks before? That doesn’t seem right…’

After all, outpatient clinics and surgeries would be fully booked.

To push all that back, the person in charge would have to endure curses going back to their ancestors.

“Trauma surgery is fine though.”

Kanghyuk instantly shattered everyone’s concerns.

Han Yoorim blinked.

“What?”

“We only handle emergencies. I don’t have any scheduled surgeries, so what’s the issue?”

“Oh? I… guess that makes sense?”

“Exactly.”

Han Yoorim blinked again and confirmed the truth in Kanghyuk’s words.

Indeed—aside from emergencies, there was nothing on Kanghyuk’s schedule.

Compared to other departments that struggled to adjust schedules for vacations, trauma surgery was unbelievably convenient.

He ended up blurting something insane:

“Trauma surgery was easy money.”

“How could you say something like that? Do you want to get hit?”

“No, no! I’m joking, joking. You’re… joking too, right?”

Han Yoorim looked at Kanghyuk, who was clenching his fist.

Kanghyuk forced a very awkward smile and shook his head.

“I’m joking.”

“Doesn’t sound like it…”

“It wasn’t a joke earlier, but now it is.”

“This lunatic.”

Han Yoorim covered his face, thinking about how he ended up with a lunatic like this under him.

Kanghyuk patted his shoulder.

“Just don’t do things that make you deserve a punch.”

“This better not be your idea of comforting me.”

“It is, though.”

“You… You know what? Forget it.”

Han Yoorim recalled something Jaewon—the old student, now Kanghyuk’s disciple—had told him.

Talking to Kanghyuk for long was exhausting and yielded little.

He felt that truth deeply yet again.

“So, you want to go to New York the week after next?”

Han Yoorim gave up arguing and opened his schedule.

As expected of a section chief, it was packed.

“This week here?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm… At least it doesn’t overlap with other departments’ conferences. But what about the patients? You’re the only attending. Leave the kid here?”

He looked at Jaewon with a casual, indifferent gaze.

Jaewon—who had mentally already boarded the plane to New York—went pale.

‘No! No!’

Since getting dragged into trauma surgery, he hadn’t had a single proper day off.

His overgrown hair was nearly touching his shoulders.

People kept asking whether he always looked like a homeless guy or if it was temporary.

‘Please take me with you, Professor!’

So Jaewon resorted to superstition—telepathy.

Maybe it worked.

Kanghyuk calmly shook his head.

“No. How can I trust him with patients?”

He didn’t need to say that, but anyway—he was planning to take Jaewon.

“Then who sees the patients?”

“Captain Lee Hyunjong can be discharged tomorrow.”

“Ah… yeah, I know that.”

Kanghyuk wasn’t the only one seeing Lee Hyunjong daily.

Once stabilized, not just surgeons but the hospital leadership had been visiting frequently.

With sutures already removed, he could’ve been discharged immediately.

But the Blue House still wanted him at the hospital, so he stayed.

“So nothing to worry about.”

“And… the patient?”

Han Yoorim pointed at the one being moved to the ICU after CT.

The entire trauma team—including Junhyeok, who had been dragged here—was pushing the bed.

“If there are no complications, we can probably wake him in two or three days.”

Kanghyuk said, still examining the fresh images.

Just as he said, the post-op scan was clean.

Intracranial pressure was high, so the brain was swollen, but that would improve even without medication.

Especially with someone as skilled as neurology’s Professor Choi Jun-yong consulting.

“Patients will still come, though.”

Han Yoorim still didn’t relax.

Trauma surgery’s reputation came more from paramedics than other professors.

Because of that, despite the usual protocol of considering distance first, rescuers contacted Hanguk University Hospital first.

It raised survival rates for the patients they fought to save.

‘It’s not really their fault… but still.’

The load on Kanghyuk was enormous.

The classic problem: the competent ones suffered the most.

“Of course patients will come. But didn’t you notice?”

“Notice what?”

“Severity has dropped lately.”

“Really…? The deficit did go down slightly…”

Severity wasn’t something he could easily feel.

Han Yoorim wasn’t assisting trauma surgeries—just checking numbers.

Numbers like surgery duration and anesthesia time couldn’t indicate difficulty.

Especially because Kanghyuk finished most surgeries in half the usual time.

“No, it definitely dropped. They completely stopped airlifting patients.”

Kanghyuk’s expression was half bitter, half satisfied as he looked outside.

The tennis court used as a temporary helipad now had fencing.

“Ah… right. Since construction on the new helipad begins, they told us not to use that spot.”

“Exactly. That should’ve eased the central rescue unit’s stress. They can’t ignore complaints when they’re public servants.”

Soon the hospital rooftop would have a proper helipad.

But to get there, Kanghyuk had to compromise.

The current lack of helicopter transfers was the result.

“So severity dropped?”

“Patients who needed air transport die in transit, or die at the nearest hospital instead.”

Kanghyuk stated the heartbreaking truth calmly.

What good was crying?

Reality wouldn’t change.

He didn’t waste emotion on things like this.

And neither did Han Yoorim.

Working in a university hospital meant constantly facing life and death.

“Anyway, things will change a lot next month.”

“Yeah… I guess this is like giving you the conference as thanks.”

“Think of it that way.”

“Hard to refuse when you put it like that.”

This might be the last chance for the entire severe trauma center team to attend a conference together.

Unless they were fighting, he couldn’t bring himself to say no.

“Good decision.”

“Try unclenching your fist when you talk.”

“Anyway, conference and intern—consider it approved.”

“Where are you going?”

“ICU, of course.”

“Right. Let’s grab a meal before you leave for the conference.”

“Sure. I’ll probably have some free time.”

Kanghyuk headed for the ICU.

Han Yoorim watched him go, then suddenly realized something.

“I didn’t even ask what conference it is…”

He had agreed without even hearing the name.

“What do you think? Looks okay?”

“Huh? Oh, yes.”

The moment he entered the ICU, Kanghyuk checked the patient’s condition.

He already knew roughly, but there was no harm in double-checking.

“What did neurology say? After reviewing the scan?”

“They said it looks too good. When they heard it was taken right after surgery, they didn’t believe it.”

Jaewon couldn’t stop grinning.

Being part of a department that produced such incredible results filled him with pride.

“Good. Then we can attend the conference.”

“Ah… what conference is it?”

“The International Severe Trauma Conference. Hosted by the U.S. military. Biggest trauma conference in the world.”

Kanghyuk explained on behalf of Han Yoorim.

“U.S. military… weird feeling.”

There was a time when military medicine was the best in the world.

Even in Korea, until the 80s, military hospitals were the best.

In China, army hospitals were still the top.

“No one handles severe trauma like the U.S. military. Gunshot wounds aren’t even considered trauma there.”

“Wow…”

Domestic doctors rarely saw gunshot wounds.

So the contrast was huge.

“You’ll learn a lot.”

“Ooh…”

The team’s expressions brightened.

“To learn a lot, you need to ‘know’ a lot first.”

“…Sir?”

“Patient volume’s low these days, right? Read this by tomorrow and summarize it for presentation.”

“Ah…”

And just like that, their faces collapsed.