Chapter 62

“Hmm.”

Captain Lee Kang-haeng quickly began moving as instructed by Kang-hyuk.

There was no time to politely undress the patient, so he had to cut through the military uniform pants with scissors.

Snip, snip.

The sound of the uniquely textured military fabric being sliced by the cold, harsh scissors was rather unsettling.

“H-hey!”

Lieutenant General Kang Dong-hee was full of discontent at the sight of the sacred military uniform being treated like that.

But he was stopped from acting by Lieutenant Colonel Kim Nak-chul.

“The scalpel’s already in… At this point, all we can do is watch.”

“Watch? You’re just going to stand by and watch when the one who said surgery shouldn’t be done here is now performing it?!”

Lieutenant Colonel Kim Nak-chul shrank under the roar of a man with three stars on his shoulder.

Even so, he did not step back.

After all, once you go through commissioned education and residency training, you’re no longer just a soldier—you become a doctor.

‘I don’t know if what he’s doing is really the best course of action…’

But Kim Nak-chul focused on Kang-hyuk’s title.

Wasn’t he the chief of trauma surgery at Hanguk University Hospital?

And according to the rescue team member, he was also the head of the Severe Trauma Center.

‘It’s not like the medical system in this country runs on pure scams.’

So, for now, the right thing to do was to let the man work.

“You’re stopping me now?”

Lieutenant General Kang Dong-hee looked at Lieutenant Colonel Kim with disbelief.

“N-no, it’s not that.”

Though flustered, Lieutenant Colonel Kim did not back down.

“If it’s not that, then what is this?”

“Look. The surgery’s already begun. The scalpel’s already in, I said.”

“What scalpel? I don’t see any scalpel.”

Hearing that, the general had a point.

Kang-hyuk wasn’t using a scalpel. He was holding an endoscope and forceps for the endoscope.

‘Even if he talks like crap, you should still understand what he means…’

Kim Nak-chul swallowed his silent complaint and spoke up.

“Commander, what you’re seeing on the screen—those are the [skull base bones].”
(T/N: The skull base supports the brain and separates it from other facial structures. It’s critical and hard to access.)

He pointed at the monitor in front of Kang-hyuk.

Just as he said, the base of the skull was clearly exposed on the screen.

It was shattered into pieces by massive trauma. Even someone clueless could tell this wasn’t a good situation.

“That’s the skull? How does that just go right through the nose?”

The general tilted his head and asked.

The other soldiers didn’t show it, but their expressions were much the same.

Through the nose and into the skull? That was a pretty wild concept.

But Kim Nak-chul, trained in internal medicine at Hanguk University Hospital, explained calmly.

“The ceiling of the nasal cavity is actually the skull base. It’s common to perform brain surgeries through that route.”

“Really? Hmm. Then what’s that?”

The general pointed at something trickling through the shattered bones.

It was a clear, transparent fluid—definitely not mucus.

Mucus wasn’t that clear.

“That’s… uh, that?”

Lieutenant Colonel Kim froze mid-sentence, looking half-stunned.

The fluid that was steadily leaking out should never have been flowing like that.

And yet—

Drip, drip.

It was just pouring out now.

“What’s wrong?”

“[C-cerebrospinal fluid]…”
(T/N: A clear fluid surrounding the brain and spinal cord. Leakage can indicate a skull base fracture and is a medical emergency.)

“Some kind of spinal brain fluid? That sounds important.”

What’s the most vital part of the human body?

The head and spine.

And what sits at the core of both? The brain and spinal cord.

So if a fluid was literally named after both, it had to be important.

“Y-yes. It’s critical. P-please excuse me a moment.”

“Whoa, whoa. You said once the scalpel’s in, we can’t interfere?”

“T-that was before I realized something might go seriously wrong…”

“Seriously wrong?”

“It looks that way.”

“Goddammit. Go, then!”

“Yes, sir!”

Lieutenant Colonel Kim gave a salute—clumsy and half-formed—and rushed over to Kang-hyuk.

Kang-hyuk hadn’t even noticed he was coming—or that he’d been shouting earlier.

‘Good. About 40 mL in two minutes. At this rate… I can take my eyes off for around five more minutes.’

He was busy visually estimating the flow of cerebrospinal fluid.

Just using his eyes—through an endoscope at that—and still doing the math in his head.

If someone asked whether that was even possible, there wouldn’t be much to say.

Just one thing: ‘If you were a genius, you’d get it.’

“How’s the leg?”

Kang-hyuk looked down now, sensing time was nearly up.

Captain Lee Kang-haeng had just finished applying the [povidone-iodine antiseptic].

(T/N: An iodine-based solution used for disinfecting the skin before surgery.)

He hadn’t been given even five full minutes, so it made sense.

“Ah, just about…”

“It’s not even dry yet.”

“Yes. I had to cut and prep it first…”

“You said you’re in surgery?”

“Yes. I’m a surgical specialist.”

Captain Lee replied with a look full of pride, though he wasn’t sure why.

Even though the base had nearly ten specialists, in this emergency, few had proven truly useful.

But in contrast, Kang-hyuk’s face was full of scorn.

“Sure, sure… Which subspecialty are you planning on?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I’m in my first year as a military doctor.”

“Right. Just don’t pick trauma. You’re way too slow.”

“E-excuse me?”

“Move. Don’t get in my way.”

Kang-hyuk casually threw in that verbal jab and shoved the captain aside.

And his shoving skills were well-known—even actual soldiers and paramedics acknowledged them.

There was no way a mere military doctor could resist.

“Wh-whoa!”

Captain Lee stumbled back helplessly, flying almost three meters.

It was, frankly, a very un-Marine-like display.

“W-what the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

That was when—

Lieutenant Colonel Kim Nak-chul finally intervened.

Truthfully, Lieutenant Colonel Kim had been shouting for a while now.

It was just that Kang-hyuk hadn’t been listening.

Fortunately, at the moment, his focus had slightly loosened, just enough to redirect a bit of attention toward Kim.

“What do you think I’m doing in the middle of surgery? Obviously I’m operating.”

Of course, that wasn’t exactly what Kim had been trying to talk about.

“I’m not talking about the surgery!”

“Then what?”

“T-the thing coming out of the patient’s head…”

“You mean what’s leaking? Don’t you have the [Medical Corps insignia] on your chest? You don’t know?”
(T/N: The insignia, depicting a rod with a coiled serpent, signifies medical personnel in the military.)

Kang-hyuk tilted his head, pointing to the symbol on Kim’s chest, visibly disappointed.

Kim frantically waved his hands, his face flushing bright red with embarrassment.

“N-no, I know! Of course I know!”

“Then don’t interrupt. We’re out of time.”

With that, Kang-hyuk grabbed the scalpel.

Sliiiiiice.

Then, he cleanly ran it across the thigh that Captain Lee Kang-haeng had wiped down earlier—even though it hadn’t fully dried.

As always, it was a perfect incision.

Even Lieutenant Colonel Kim, who had been arguing with him just moments ago, found himself momentarily spellbound.

A single stroke of the scalpel had parted only the skin in a straight, clean line.

The [adipose tissue] underneath remained perfectly intact, not even slightly nicked.
(T/N: Adipose tissue refers to the layer of body fat found beneath the skin.)

It felt almost unreal.

“You gonna just stare at it all day? Get over here and help already!”

“A-ah, yes!”

Captain Lee, who had been pushed aside earlier, hurried back and spread open the incision.

He only had gloves on, but that couldn’t be helped.

Sometimes, cutting was more urgent than worrying about sterilization or disinfection.

“T-that…”

Lieutenant Colonel Kim finally remembered he had come to say something important.

But he couldn’t quite recall exactly what it was.

Kang-hyuk’s incisions had a kind of magic to them—especially for fellow doctors—rendering them speechless in awe.

Ssssh.

Even now, Kang-hyuk’s incision work continued.

Only this time, it wasn’t with a scalpel, but an electrosurgical knife.

“W-wow…”

Captain Lee couldn’t shut his mouth at the sight of the precise cut through the adipose layer.

Kang-hyuk glanced at him and shook his head.

“If you’re going to gape, at least put your mask on.”

“S-sorry!”

“I meant don’t talk. Is my Korean that hard to understand?”

“…”

Instead of replying, Captain Lee only shook his head.

Even during this brief exchange, Kang-hyuk’s hands didn’t stop moving for a second.

Zzzzt.

Before anyone noticed, he had switched back to the scalpel from the electrosurgical knife.

Using the scalpel and a small forceps, he began to strip away something from the side of the thigh.

‘How… how is this even possible?’

Captain Lee was inwardly astounded, unable to say anything aloud.

Aside from the bit of blood that had spilled during the initial incision, there had barely been a drop of blood since.

Sure, he’d seen a near bloodless operation once during thyroid surgery.

But in any other region? Never.

If there were such a thing as divine surgical technique, this had to be it.

Unlike Captain Lee, however, Lieutenant Colonel Kim hadn’t seen any of it, so he could still focus his thoughts.

“The [cerebrospinal fluid] is still leaking! If you just leave it like that—”

Kang-hyuk scoffed at the shout.

“So what if it leaks? Do you even know how much has come out?”

“Wh-what? Quite a bit, I’d say—”

“Are you even a doctor? That vague of an answer? What does ‘a lot’ even mean?”

“Uh…”

Kim Nak-chul was visibly flustered by Kang-hyuk’s boldness.

Usually, when cerebrospinal fluid was leaking, doctors would be drenched in stress-induced sweat.

But Kang-hyuk looked like he had made it leak on purpose.

“Still! If it keeps flowing out like that, it’ll cause [brain damage]!”
(T/N: Excessive CSF loss can reduce brain pressure too much, potentially damaging the brain.)

“Sure, if you leave it alone too long. But right now, it’s helping. Don’t tell me you got those lieutenant colonel stripes without even knowing that.”

“Helping…?”

Kim tilted his head in confusion.

How could leaking cerebrospinal fluid possibly be helpful?

‘Ah… there is one case.’

But then he remembered.

It was when [intracranial pressure] was dangerously high.

Now that he looked, the sergeant’s [vital signs] had stabilized considerably.

Meaning the pressure on his brain was easing and its functions were returning.

Still, that didn’t make the current situation entirely positive.

Left unchecked, the patient would “definitely” die—no exaggeration needed.

“Even so! You still have to seal that off! What exactly are you planning to do?!”

Usually, to drain cerebrospinal fluid and relieve pressure, doctors would go through the spine or drill into the skull.

Going in through the nose wasn’t just unconventional—it was practically unheard of.

Yet Kang-hyuk looked completely at ease.

“I’ll seal it with this.”

In his hand, taken from the side of the thigh, was a large, firm, tough, and thick [fascia].
(T/N: Fascia is a band of connective tissue that can be used to seal or reconstruct damaged areas in surgery.)