Trauma Center : Golden Hour - Chapter 20

“That crazy bastard, what the hell is he saying?”

Han Yoo-rim cursed at Kang-hyuk, who had long since stormed out of the room.

Then, he picked up the teacup that Kang-hyuk had been staring at for a while.

It was an antique, carrying the unique faded elegance of old artifacts.

‘He said this is a fake?’

That was absurd.

Would a pharmaceutical company president dare deceive someone destined to become the chairman of the surgical society?

How would they even handle the aftermath?

Doctors, in times like this, tended to be surprisingly united.

It wouldn’t take much for a pharmaceutical company to go under.

‘Right, that can’t be. Let’s lower my blood pressure first, my blood pressure.’

Han Yoo-rim calmed his nerves and swallowed the tea that Kang-hyuk had left untouched.

The sweet yet bitter aroma of Pu-erh tea was pleasant.

“Hmm. Take my blood pressure.”

“Oh, yes, Professor.”

With that, Professor Han composed himself and opened the door to call his secretary.

Taking blood pressure wasn’t originally the secretary’s job.

It made sense—she wasn’t a medical professional.

But since it was an order from the department head, what choice did she have?

Secretary Kim had learned how to check blood pressure from the ward nurses and had been regularly measuring the professor’s blood pressure ever since.

“125 over 80. You’re within the normal range.”

“Alright, thanks. You can go now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Despite being treated like an errand runner, the secretary showed no sign of dissatisfaction.

She had to renew her contract every two years.

And with the renewal date just around the corner, the last thing she could afford was upsetting the department head.

Thud.

As soon as the secretary left, Han Yoo-rim closed the door and paced around.

Now that his blood pressure was stable, it was time to come up with a plan to deal with those two troublemakers who had stirred up chaos before leaving.

‘Baek Kang-hyuk… I’ll deal with him later. But Yang Jaewon, that bastard, is really pissing me off.’

Judging by recent events, it was obvious Kang-hyuk was aligned with the hospital director.

Maybe even with Choi Pil-du, the Minister of Health and Welfare.

Otherwise, why would a minister attend a mere professor’s appointment ceremony?

So the one he needed to pressure and break down right now wasn’t Kang-hyuk—it was Jaewon.

‘If you strip a man of his subordinates, he’ll collapse on his own.’

A professor could act like a professor only when he was surrounded by underlings, so he never had to lift a finger himself.

Take Han Yoo-rim, for example. He only needed to perform the most critical parts of a surgery, and all other patient care could be handled with a few spoken instructions.

Even research, paper writing, and conference preparation were managed by the fellows under him, who in turn delegated tasks to the residents.

Now, what if all his fellows suddenly vanished?

‘Ugh.’

Just the thought made him shudder.

Professor Han trembled and began composing an email.

As an educated man, he carefully dressed it up with flowery language.

But in essence, it boiled down to this:

‘Effective immediately, all night shifts in the Severe Trauma Center are assigned to Dr. Yang Jaewon.’

Even someone who hated Jaewon to the core would find this excessive.

Who in their right mind assigns someone night duty every single day?

This was nothing short of a death sentence.

Unlike other jobs, night shifts at the hospital didn’t replace regular duties—they were in addition to them.

It was just a more eloquent way of saying, “Drop dead.”

—

Bzzt, bzzt.

Jaewon felt his phone vibrating in his pocket.

For a moment, he tensed up.

But realizing it was just a notification and not a call, he let go of his phone.

If it wasn’t a direct call, there was nothing urgent enough at the hospital to warrant an immediate response.

“The patient was successfully transferred, right?”

Kang-hyuk was walking alongside Jaewon.

“Ah, yes.”

Jaewon nodded, though he looked a bit let down.

After all, he had boldly defied the department head and sided with Kang-hyuk.

But instead of any praise or recognition, the first thing Kang-hyuk asked about was whether the patient had been transferred properly.

He couldn’t help but wonder if following this man had been the right choice.

“Good. Since we haven’t confirmed if the patient has regained consciousness, request a neurology consultation. If possible, get an EEG [electroencephalogram] done. Just because we saved him doesn’t mean his brain function is intact.” (T/N: is a test that measures electrical activity in the brain. It records brain wave patterns using small electrodes placed on the scalp.)

“Ah, yes. I’ll contact Neurology.”

“And how’s the patient from this morning’s surgery?”

“Huh? I haven’t checked yet….”

Jaewon looked dumbfounded.

Hadn’t he just spent the entire day flying in a helicopter, retrieving a patient from a mountainside, and performing emergency surgery?

‘How could I have checked on the morning’s patient in between all that?’

But Kang-hyuk wasn’t someone bound by common sense.

“You little shit, if it were me, I’d have stopped by the ICU before running to the department office.”

“But— it was an emergency! That’s why I went straight there.”

“An emergency? Are you saying there’s something more urgent than a patient’s condition?”

“Well…”

“I’m asking you if there’s anything more important than saving a life. Are you ignoring me?”

“No, sir. There isn’t.”

Few things worked better as a threat than reminding a doctor about the weight of human lives.

Especially for Jaewon, who had just declared he wanted to be the kind of doctor who saves people.

So he had no choice but to bow his head and apologize.

For some reason, Kang-hyuk smirked triumphantly.

“You idiot. Now, tell me, how’s the patient?”

“Huh? I mean, we were just talking…”

“Are you going to keep making excuses instead of checking on the patient?”

“Uh… No, sir. I understand.”

With Kang-hyuk breathing down his neck, Jaewon reluctantly grabbed his phone.

He dialed the ICU attached to the Emergency Medicine Department.

“Hello, this is Nurse Cheon Jang-mi from the Emergency ICU.”

The unit was much smaller compared to other ICUs, so it had fewer staff.

It wasn’t surprising that he’d end up speaking to someone familiar.

“Ah, Nurse Jang-mi. This is Yang Jaewon.”

“Yes, doctor. Go ahead.”

“How is patient Park Dae-gi, the one who had surgery this morning?”

“Look at the way this idiot is asking questions.”

Kang-hyuk scoffed at Jaewon mid-call, completely ignoring the fact that he was on the phone.

At the same time, his thick, powerful fingers lightly flicked Jaewon’s forehead.

The force sent Jaewon stumbling back several steps, causing him to miss whatever Jang-mi was saying on the other end.

Rubbing his forehead, now red and swollen, Jaewon protested.

“Wh-what? What did I do?”

“You just call and bluntly ask how the patient is doing? Are you his guardian?”

“No… then how should I ask?”

“What surgery did that patient have?”

Kang-hyuk’s question forced Jaewon’s brain into overdrive.

Even though it had only been a few hours ago, he struggled to recall the details.

It had been a ridiculously long day.

Hadn’t he just ridden in a helicopter, rappelled down from it, and even drilled a hole into a man’s skull inside the helicopter?

Honestly, the fact that he was still mentally functional was a miracle.

Still, Jaewon wasn’t exactly a genius, but he had always been considered a “gifted” doctor.

It didn’t take him long to come up with the answer.

“[Pericardiocentesis] for cardiac tamponade, followed by an open thoracotomy with pericardiectomy.”
(T/N: Pericardiocentesis is a procedure that removes excess fluid from the [pericardium] (the sac around the heart) using a needle.)
(T/N: Pericardiectomy is a surgery that removes part or all of the pericardium to relieve pressure on the heart.)

“Right. So what exactly should you be asking?”

“Ah…”

Jaewon finally realized how vague his question had been.

He picked up the receiver again.

“Hello? Ah, I left the phone on hold—”

A loud, exasperated voice came through before he could finish.

“Unbelievable! Leaving me hanging like this—”

Jang-mi’s natural, unfiltered reaction was crystal clear.

Jaewon was flustered but quickly adjusted his tone.

“Ah, Nurse Jang-mi, my apologies. The connection was acting up for a moment.”

“Oh my, no problem, Dr. Yang. Please, continue.”

Jang-mi’s tone shifted instantly, as if she were a completely different person.

Jaewon blinked in momentary shock but quickly regained focus.

“Alright… What is the patient’s blood pressure?”

“Currently 110 over 90.”

“That’s good. Next—”

Jaewon was about to ask about the other vital signs, but once again, Kang-hyuk shook his head.

“That’s just the current blood pressure reading. For a patient who just had heart surgery, what’s important is when those readings change.”

“I… understand.”

“Then ask again.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jaewon quickly corrected himself.

“Nurse Baek, is the patient’s blood pressure being monitored via [A-line monitoring]?”
(T/N: Arterial line monitoring: A direct method of measuring blood pressure in real-time, allowing continuous tracking of fluctuations.)

“Yes, it is.”

“Has the systolic blood pressure dropped below 90 at any point since admission?”

“One moment.”

Jang-mi tucked the receiver between her shoulder and cheek while flipping through Park Dae-gi’s flow chart.

The chart detailed the patient’s blood pressure, heart rate, respiratory rate, and temperature in a series of graphs.

Since ICU nurses logged data every 15 minutes, it was easy to track trends at a glance.

These records were nothing short of sweat and blood poured into patient care.

“No, doctor. Since the surgery, the blood pressure has remained stable.”

“Good. What about heart rate?”

“Heart rate and respiratory rate are both stable. No fever, either.”

“That’s great to hear.”

Jaewon finally turned to Kang-hyuk with an ‘That’s enough, right?’ expression.

But Kang-hyuk, with a completely blank face, shook his head.

He even raised a rigid index finger, making it abundantly clear that Jaewon had missed something.

If needed, he looked ready to poke him with it.

Jaewon scrambled to think again.

This time, it took even less time to realize his mistake.

‘Damn… Am I too nervous because he’s watching me?’

What he had forgotten was too basic.

“What is the condition of the surgical site? How much drainage has accumulated?”

“Currently around 40cc. Almost none. The dressing is clean, and there’s no visible leakage.”

“Thank you.”

Jaewon finally turned back to Kang-hyuk.

This time, Kang-hyuk gave a small nod—meaning he was satisfied.

Jaewon could finally end the call.

“Whew.”

“What’s with the sigh? You’re a fellow, which means you’ve been a certified specialist for a year now. And yet you were struggling with something this simple?”

“I was just nervous because you were watching, that’s all. It’s not like I don’t know how to check a patient—I’ve got years of experience…”

Jaewon wasn’t lying.

A first-year fellow was basically a first-year attending physician.

That meant he had already spent six years working in a university hospital as a doctor.

And those weren’t just any six years—those were five years of brutal training as an intern and resident, followed by a year of fellowship.

But Kang-hyuk refused to acknowledge those six years at face value.

“From now on, stop using the word ‘experience.’ You’re just a first-year trauma surgeon. You need to approach everything as if you’re learning it from scratch.”

“Starting over from scratch…”

“Exactly. Once you start handling trauma patients with me, you’ll realize just how easy everything you’ve done before really was. So prepare yourself.”

“Understood…”

“By the way.”

“Yes?”

“Your phone has been ringing this whole time. You’re not going to answer it?”