Chapter 50

“Hmm.”

It took a moment for Han Yoo-rim to gather his thoughts.

He had just witnessed something he had been blind to before, too preoccupied with his ambition for a higher position.

‘So that’s why… he followed this lunatic… I think I finally understand.’

Han Yoo-rim’s eyes turned toward Jaewon, the person he had hated almost as much as Kang-hyuk recently.

At first—no, even now—he had thought, “That guy must be insane.”

But now, he could understand.

If a young surgeon saw this kind of surgery, how could they not want to try it themselves?

Even now, when his own passion for surgery had long been replaced by a thirst for power, his hands itched to take part.

“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

Kang-hyuk smirked at Yoo-rim’s silence.

All the while, his hands continued suturing Han Ji-young’s skin with precision.

One might worry that he was distracted—talking and suturing at the same time.

But that concern was unnecessary.

Jaewon, who was watching Kang-hyuk’s hands up close, could guarantee it.

‘What the hell… He wasn’t even looking just now, but every stitch is perfect. Does he have eyes on his fingers?’

Kang-hyuk had been staring right at Yoo-rim, yet every needle placement was as precise as if measured with a ruler.

“Hey, cut it.”

“Oh! Yes, Professor.”

“Focus. Stop getting distracted.”

“Y-yes. Sorry.”

Kang-hyuk even noticed the slight delay in Jaewon’s movements, despite his own continuous suturing.

The man was unbelievable.

“Th-the surgery… It was successful, right?”

Han Yoo-rim finally spoke—not about trauma surgery, but about his daughter.

After all, arguing about trauma surgery was pointless.

Worrying about his daughter’s safety was far more important.

Jang-mi, Jaewon, and Jung Jae-min all turned toward Kang-hyuk.

Just by looking, they could tell the surgery was a success.

Otherwise, Ji-young wouldn’t still be alive.

But hearing it from the lead surgeon himself was what mattered most.

Fortunately, Kang-hyuk loved moments like this—where he could show off.

So his response was both detailed and confident.

“It was perfect. The central left ventricle had an 8cm-long rupture, nearly as deep as the full thickness of the heart. I pulled the posterior ventricular muscle over to cover it and sutured it securely.”

“Th-then… Ji-young…?”

“She’ll live. She will survive.”

“Ah…”

Han Yoo-rim’s knees nearly buckled again, as relief and joy hit him all at once.

“You okay?”

This time, Jung Jae-min caught him before he could fall.

Leaning against Jae-min’s arms, Yoo-rim stared at Kang-hyuk.

He should have been thanking him right now.

But the words wouldn’t come out.

They had clashed too many times.

And Yoo-rim had spent countless hours badmouthing Kang-hyuk behind his back.

And now, to swallow his pride and say thank you?

It wasn’t easy.

While Yoo-rim hesitated, Kang-hyuk kept talking—now even more relaxed, since the surgery was over.

“The real concern now is whether she regains consciousness.”

His expression was calm, but the words were heavy.

Because what he was really saying was—there was a chance she wouldn’t wake up.

“….”

Yoo-rim answered with a sigh.

Any father in his position would have done the same.

“According to the paramedic report, the accident happened about 10 minutes before she arrived at the hospital. Luckily, she was close to the hospital—otherwise, she would have died before making it here.”

Despite standing right in front of the father, Kang-hyuk spoke bluntly about Ji-young’s possible death.

Jaewon wanted to stop him, but seeing Yoo-rim listening intently, he hesitated.

‘Forget it. I’ll just focus on my job.’

So instead, Jaewon called for an ICU bed and coordinated with the anesthesiologist to prepare for patient transfer.

Meanwhile, Kang-hyuk kept going.

“Thankfully, she got here in time—and she had the luck of meeting me. If it weren’t for me… she would have died right there.”

The arrogance was off the charts.

And now, he was even dropping formalities while speaking.

But Yoo-rim didn’t notice at all.

Instead, he recalled the chaos in the ER.

He hadn’t seen exactly what happened inside, but from the shouting alone, he could tell how desperate the situation had been.

Even in that life-or-death moment, Kang-hyuk had never hesitated.

Not even once.

“That means the time her brain went without effective circulation was anywhere between 10 to 23 minutes.”

“…23 minutes.”

Twenty-three minutes.

That was long enough for permanent brain damage.

Han Yoo-rim lowered his head, realizing his daughter might never wake up.

The operating room floor had drops of translucent fluid—his tears.

Jang-mi couldn’t bear to watch and turned away.

Even Jaewon, who had once been his student, found it difficult to look at him.

Only Kang-hyuk remained completely indifferent, his tone unchanged.

“Well, 23 minutes assumes CPR was ineffective. But from what I saw, the paramedics were doing it properly.”

“Then… 10 minutes?”

Ten minutes was shorter than the critical threshold for brain damage.

For the first time, hope flickered in Yoo-rim’s eyes.

Rattle.

At that moment, an ER intern pushed an ICU bed into the OR.

It was nearly twice the size of a normal transport stretcher, forcing everyone to shift positions.

Even Yoo-rim, Jae-min, Jang-mi, and Jaewon had to move.

“Let’s move the patient first. We’ll talk later.”

Kang-hyuk glanced at the ICU bed, now locked against the operating table with a sharp clack.

At this moment, Kang-hyuk was the undisputed king of the room.

Not even the department head dared to question him.

Jung Jae-min was too busy supporting Han Yoo-rim, leaving no room for objections.

“Yes, Professor.”

Jang-mi and Jaewon instinctively moved to the opposite side of the ICU bed.

Kang-hyuk grabbed the surgical drapes under the patient and looked at the anesthesiologist.

“Hold on a moment.”

The anesthesiologist’s voice was surprisingly polite—much softer than the usual chaotic trauma OR atmosphere.

He had heard from the anesthesia department chief that Han Yoo-rim’s daughter had arrived in critical condition.

But that didn’t mean Kang-hyuk liked his approach.

‘As expected… He has too little experience in emergency trauma surgery.’

Because of that, his anesthesia control was not as smooth as it should be.

Most of his vital sign adjustments only happened after Kang-hyuk instructed him.

And worse—sometimes, he didn’t even report changes in vitals because he didn’t understand their significance.

Kang-hyuk didn’t care for polite but incompetent colleagues.

He preferred bastards who were good at their job.

Click.

The anesthesiologist disconnected the anesthesia machine and attached a manual resuscitator.

Then, he squeezed the bag, observing oxygen saturation trends for about a minute.

Once he confirmed stability, he finally nodded.

“Alright. Moving the patient on three. One, two, three!”

Kang-hyuk, Jaewon, and Jang-mi moved in sync.

Ji-young wasn’t frail, but she wasn’t large either—making the transfer relatively easy.

More importantly, Kang-hyuk was a pro at moving patients.

In trauma surgery, this kind of situation was commonplace.

“Ugh—up you go.”

With a collective grunt, they successfully transferred Ji-young onto the ICU bed.

The bed was three times wider than the operating table, making her small frame look even smaller.

Tap. Tap.

Immediately, Jang-mi and the other nurses set up portable monitoring devices around the bed.

All medical staff and family members watched the monitors as they began pushing the bed toward the ICU.

“Anesthesia, slow the breathing down a bit.”

“Ah, yes.”

Technically, controlling ventilation was the anesthesiologist’s job.

But not in Kang-hyuk’s surgeries.

Because he never neglected overall patient management—even while operating.

To be honest, he simply didn’t trust the anesthesiologist, so he had no choice but to stay vigilant.

With Kang-hyuk leading the way, they moved toward the ICU while keeping Ji-young’s vitals stable.

Beep!

At the entrance, Jung Jae-min opened the doors for them.

He had come to the trauma unit as a cardiologist, but right now, he was standing around doing nothing.

Helping out—even with small tasks—was the least he could do.

So even though he was doing intern-level work, he felt strangely proud of himself.

“Patient incoming!”

As soon as Jang-mi entered the ICU, she shouted out.

The ICU nurses, already on standby, sprang into action.

They always worked efficiently, but today, they were even faster.

Because the patient was the daughter of a hospital employee.

In this regard, Kang-hyuk was the fairest person in the hospital.

He treated everyone equally terribly—but delivered equally perfect surgeries.

“Professor, how should we set the ventilator?”

The moment Ji-young was positioned in the ICU, the anesthesiologist turned to Kang-hyuk.

He was asking about sedative dosage, respiratory rate, tidal volume—the settings for mechanical ventilation.

But Kang-hyuk didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he alternated his gaze between Han Yoo-rim and Ji-young.

‘I want to check her consciousness level first… Hmm.’

If they forced her awake too soon, she could panic from pain and fear.

In the worst case, she could thrash violently and rupture the surgical site.

But Kang-hyuk wasn’t worried about that.

‘Rupture? My sutures?’

Ridiculous.

He knew exactly who had done the surgery.

‘This isn’t just perfect—it’s a masterpiece.’

So he stopped the anesthesiologist from administering sedation.

“Hold off for now.”

“…Excuse me?”

“I said wait. What, did you grow up overseas? Do I need to speak slower?”

“N-no, sir. I’ll… wait.”

The anesthesiologist stepped back, his face saying, “What the hell is this crazy bastard up to now?”

But Kang-hyuk didn’t care.

Instead, he turned to Han Yoo-rim.

Yoo-rim’s face was still tense.

That was natural.

His daughter had undergone heart surgery and was now in the ICU.

“Professor Han, let’s wait a bit. Let’s see if she wakes up.”

“Huh? Right now…?”

“What? You’re not curious?”

“I mean… I am, but…”

“Great. Decision made. Hey, Slave. You heard him, right? The guardian agreed. Wake the patient and check her consciousness.”