Chapter 41

Step, step, step.

The area around the Main Building’s 17th-floor conference room was starting to get crowded with people.

Normally, this room was reserved for executive meetings or foundation board meetings, so seeing so many people gathered here was an unusual sight.

But today was an exception.

“Professor Han Yoo-rim, Head of General Surgery and Proctology, please step inside.”

“Oh, it’s my turn already.”

The people lingering in the hallway entered as their names were called by the assistants.

Naturally, the higher-ups were allowed in first.

Since Han Yoo-rim’s name had been called relatively early, he wore a rather smug expression.

Inside the conference room, Hong Jae-hoon, the Chief Administrative Officer, greeted him.

“Make sure to put that Baek Kang-hyuk guy in his place today.”

“Of course, no need to ask, senior.”

“Hey, don’t call me senior here. This is an official setting.”

“Yes, Chief Administrative Officer.”

“That’s more like it.”

They chuckled together, conspiring.

Meanwhile, more professors were entering the room one after another.

“Department heads, please proceed inside.”

The assistant, after watching the last Nuclear Medicine department head walk in, spoke up.

At that signal, the majority of the professors who had been standing around in the hallway surged forward.

There were so many division heads that there was no need for individual roll calls.

They just had to walk in.

‘Damn, there are a lot of them.’

Kang-hyuk, who had been sitting on a bench in the hallway, watched as a wave of professors entered the room.

Compared to Muan University Hospital, where he had trained, the number was at least three times greater.

This hospital had hundreds of faculty members.

It wasn’t nicknamed “The Mammoth of the Medical World” for nothing.

‘And yet, their severe trauma care is still third-rate…’

He might have understood if this was an issue across all departments.

But Hanguk University Hospital was undisputedly world-class in multiple fields.

It was a hospital where doctors from all over the world came to train.

The imbalance in medical priorities was beyond absurd.

“Oh, Professor Baek Kang-hyuk, I thought you weren’t coming.”

The assistant, momentarily lost in thought, suddenly noticed him standing in front of her.

She smiled—but it was more of a forced smile.

Understandable.

This was already the third meeting, and he had skipped the first two.

She had been scolded multiple times by hospital executives because of him.

“Of course, I had to come. We’re talking about the budget here.”

But Kang-hyuk barely glanced at her as he walked straight in.

Creak.

The door opened.

And dozens of eyes immediately turned to him.

Considering he wasn’t even a department head, yet had walked in last, the reaction was expected.

Some faces, in particular, looked outright hostile.

If he had to point them out, it was mainly:

1. Hong Jae-hoon (Chief Administrative Officer)
2. Han Yoo-rim (Head of General & Proctology Surgery)
3. Jin Tae-rim (Head of Anesthesiology)

‘Wow, they’re practically drilling holes in me with their eyes.’

Kang-hyuk smirked at the three of them and took his seat.

A temporary seat labeled:
“Head of Trauma Surgery (Interim)”

Naturally, it was placed at the very edge of the room.

From this spot, anyone with bad eyesight would probably struggle to even make out the hospital director’s face.

“The Director is entering.”

Now that Kang-hyuk had settled in, an assistant entered the room and announced the director’s arrival.

All at once, the entire room of professors stood up.

Everyone—except Kang-hyuk.

‘What the hell is this?’

It wasn’t the military.

Why the hell was everyone standing just because someone walked in?

‘Ah… wait. I should stand up too, shouldn’t I?’

Whether he liked it or not.

That wasn’t important.

There was a saying: “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.”

Since he was here to secure funding, it made sense to play along.

Slide.

As he stood, Choi Jo-eun, the hospital director, entered the room with the Vice Director trailing behind.

For some reason, he had an extremely arrogant expression on his face.

Then again, when you had an entire room of distinguished professors practically worshiping you, maybe it was inevitable.

Choi Jo-eun stopped in front of his seat and tapped the microphone.

“Ahem. Everyone, please sit.”

As soon as he spoke, the professors sat in perfect unison.

And after waiting an extra three seconds—just to let it sink in—Choi Jo-eun finally sat down.

“Alright. First, we’ll start with last year’s financial report. Professor Hong Jae-hoon, please proceed.”

“Yes, Director.”

Hong Jae-hoon, the Chief Administrative Officer, pulled the microphone closer.

Meanwhile, at the side of the room, a secretary quickly pulled up a PowerPoint presentation on the wall.

The first slide displayed Hanguk University Hospital’s total revenue and expenses for the past year.

It was a surplus.

By a whopping 10 billion won (≈ $100 million).

“As usual, our top revenue-generating departments were:
1st place: Funeral Services
2nd place: Parking Facilities
3rd place: Hospital Cafeteria
And in 4th place… Neurosurgery. Thanks to Professor Kim, who was recognized as a top specialist in Gamma Knife Surgery, revenue skyrocketed, nearly matching the cafeteria’s profits.”

“That’s incredible! To be making as much as the cafeteria!”

Director Choi Jo-eun clapped his hands in apparent delight.

At that, several other professors joined in, clapping as well.

Mainly those who had at least managed to break even.

Meanwhile, those from departments operating at a loss had their heads lowered.

Except for one person.

Kang-hyuk.

He sat there with his back perfectly straight, staring at the numbers on the screen.

“Next, Orthopedics.”

Hong Jae-hoon continued listing off a few more departments, all of which had generated significant revenue.

“And what about the departments that operated at a loss?”

At the director’s question, the secretary hurriedly scrolled down.

The screen flipped rapidly before stopping on the final slide.

It displayed a long list of department names, all highlighted in red.

Just looking at it felt ominous.

“Thoracic Surgery. Another deficit of 342 million won this year.”

“Hmm. Not bad, considering. There’s nothing we can do—thoracic surgery is what it is….”

At Director Choi Jo-eun’s remark, the Head of Thoracic Surgery lowered his head.

It was a deficit incurred from saving lives.

Yet every time these meetings happened, he felt like a criminal.

The only saving grace was that thoracic surgery was an essential specialty in tertiary hospitals.

If it weren’t, more than half of the country’s university hospitals would have shut down their thoracic departments by now.

There was simply no way to make it profitable.

“Obstetrics and Gynecology has managed to reduce its deficit to under 100 million won. If the infertility center stabilizes further, it might even turn a profit.”

“Wow… It was definitely a good decision to bring in Professor Kang.”

At that, the Head of Obstetrics and Gynecology let out a bitter smile.

There was a time when Obstetrics was considered a prestigious field.

But thanks to the low birth rate, it had now become a financial burden.

Had it not been for the efforts of Professor Kang, a local private clinic specialist they recently recruited, the deficit would have been worse than Thoracic Surgery’s.

“Pediatrics is running a 200-million-won deficit. Maybe we should reduce the size of the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU)?”

At the Chief Administrative Officer’s suggestion, Director Choi immediately shook his head firmly.

“Absolutely not. The NICU was built with government subsidies, remember? And our hospital has one of the highest premature infant survival rates in the world. We can’t just throw that away.”

“My apologies. I’ve just been looking at the numbers too much….”

“No, that’s exactly your job, Chief Administrative Officer. Professor of Pediatrics, please don’t take it too personally. But you should start thinking about how to reduce your losses elsewhere. Maybe if you analyze Obstetrics’ financial model, you might find an answer.”

“…Yes, Director.”

Choi Jo-eun wasn’t the hospital director for nothing.

At first glance, it sounded like he was reprimanding the Chief Administrative Officer.

But in reality, he was subtly pressuring the Pediatrics Department.

He was making it clear: “You can keep your NICU, but you’d better find another way to make money.”

As a result, the Head of Pediatrics was forced to nod in resignation with a pale face.

And just like that, Director Choi and Chief Administrative Officer Hong Jae-hoon were crushing every deficit-running department one by one.

Finally, it was Baek Kang-hyuk’s turn.

“Next, Trauma Surgery… Ah, please note that the numbers here are only from the past month.”

But honestly, there was no need to listen.

The PowerPoint slide already displayed a figure that was twice as large as the others.

<-412,520,000 KRW>

It was, of course, negative.

Had it been a profit, they would have praised him earlier.

At the sheer size of the deficit, murmurs spread through the room.

To rack up that kind of loss in just one month?

It was insane.

“Professor Baek, I usually don’t say things like this, but… this is just too much, don’t you think?”

Chief Administrative Officer Hong pointed at the 4.1 billion won loss projected on the screen.

And just like that, all eyes in the room turned to Baek Kang-hyuk.

Any normal person would have felt immense pressure under this kind of scrutiny.

But Kang-hyuk?

He simply leaned forward and pulled the microphone closer.

“Is my salary in there too?”

Rather than feeling pressure, he looked completely at ease.

“Professor Baek, don’t deflect the issue. How can the hospital sustain a department that’s only generating losses? Do you want the Trauma Surgery Department to be shut down?”

“Shut down? Now, let’s not say anything ridiculous.”

Kang-hyuk scoffed and shook his head.

His expression was so utterly dismissive that Hong Jae-hoon—who usually prided himself on his calm demeanor—was visibly furious.

His face turned red as he glared daggers at Kang-hyuk.

He was barely holding on to his polite speech.

“What did you just say?”

“You’re missing something on that PowerPoint slide.”

“Missing…?”

“This year, we received 10 billion won in government funding for the Severe Trauma Center, right? Why isn’t that included? If you add that, Trauma Surgery isn’t in the red—it’s actually in the black.”

Every professor in the room already knew about the government grant.

It had been headline news in medical journals for days.

Even in National Assembly hearings, Minister Choi Pil-du had proudly announced it.

But none of the hospital’s leadership had interpreted it the way Kang-hyuk just did.

“What kind of nonsense is that? How is that money exclusive to Trauma Surgery? That’s a hospital-wide grant! Trauma Surgery isn’t the only department involved in managing the Severe Trauma Center!”

“By that logic, why is the deficit only Trauma Surgery’s problem? Shouldn’t it be shared across the entire hospital? Trauma patients don’t only go through Trauma Surgery. Anesthesiology, Emergency Medicine, and every surgical specialty depending on the injury are involved, aren’t they?”

“Urk….”

Hong Jae-hoon momentarily fell silent, as his own logic had just been used against him.

Seeing his senior cornered, Han Yoo-rim—his close protégé and self-proclaimed “younger brother”—stepped in.

“Watch your tone when talking to the Chief Administrative Officer. What year did you graduate?”

“Does that matter? What matters is who’s right.”

A perfectly logical response.

Even Han Yoo-rim struggled to refute it.

But unlike the other professors, his issue with Kang-hyuk was personal.

He harbored a deep grudge against him.

And because of that, he knew more about him than anyone else.

“Ah, right. Muan University, huh? No wonder you have no sense of hierarchy. Fine, I get it, but you still can’t act like this here.”

(T/N: Ohhhh! I think this is the part where Yoo-rim will be humbled by Kang-hyuk due to his daughter needing Kang-hyuk’s help! This is going to be exciting!)