Chapter 7
“Th-Then we shouldn’t be standing around like this, right?”
Anus flailed as if he was the one running late.
It was because he suddenly remembered the group message he received the moment he arrived at work.
> [Attention all medical staff. Please gather at the main auditorium by 8:30 AM. A new faculty appointment ceremony will be held. The Minister of Health and Welfare, along with the hospital directors, will be in attendance, so it is imperative that no one is late.]
The first part of the message could be completely ignored.
After all, for a surgeon, administrative formalities like this were nothing more than trivial distractions.
No professor would complain even if they skipped such an event.
But that last sentence?
‘The Minister of Health and Welfare is attending?’
It was hard to understand why a minister would show up for something as minor as a professor’s appointment ceremony.
However, for Anus and the other doctors, the reason behind the minister’s attendance didn’t matter.
The fact that he was coming was what was important.
There was no way anyone could be late to such an event.
Especially not the main figure of the ceremony.
“I guess I should go.”
Yet this guy, Baek Kang-hyuk, was unbelievably indifferent, despite being the person at the center of it all.
Anus swallowed down the words rising up his throat and spoke, his tone almost pleading.
“G-Go? You have to go right now! I’ll guide you!”
“What are you talking about? The patient hasn’t woken up yet. Anus, are you out of your mind?”
“Ah…”
Now that he thought about it, the patient still had their eyes closed.
Their chest simply rose and fell in rhythm with the airflow from the [endotracheal] tube (T/N: a tube inserted into the trachea to help with breathing).
“I’ll leave after waking this patient up.”
“But… shouldn’t the professor be calling by now? Usually, by this time, your phone should be ringing like crazy.”
“Oh, that? There’s a reason for that.”
“What reason?”
“It’s on silent. If it’s a real emergency, they’ll use the hospital PA system.”
“Ah, I see….”
‘What kind of ridiculous logic is that? There’s a limit to being so self-centered.’
Anus thought to himself but didn’t dare say it aloud.
📢 “Professor Baek Kang-hyuk of Trauma Surgery, please report to the main auditorium immediately. Professor Baek Kang-hyuk of Trauma Surgery, please report to the main auditorium immediately.”
Right then, as if on cue, the hospital’s PA system blared loudly.
Fortunately, they were in the operating room, so the sound wasn’t directly blaring over them.
However, since this was just a makeshift operating room, the announcement from outside filtered in clearly.
“Sounds urgent, doesn’t it?”
“Seems like it. Maybe there’s a patient over there?”
“Uh… no…”
That was impossible.
It was the hospital’s underground auditorium.
Even if a patient suddenly collapsed, the entire audience consisted of doctors. Why would they need another one?
“It’s just that the ceremony is getting delayed…”
“Why even bother with something like that?”
“Why do you mean, ‘why’…”
“What’s the point?”
Kang-hyuk shot a glance at Park Gyeongwon, the anesthesiology resident, and then turned back to Anus.
Since waking the patient would still take a while, he had some leeway.
If someone familiar with Kang-hyuk’s methods had been in charge, they would have prepared in advance, but of course, that wasn’t the case.
By the usual timing, it would take at least another five minutes for the patient to wake up.
In other words, there was still some time.
“Why… hmm.”
“See? You don’t even know. It’s all pointless.”
“Even if it’s pointless, the whole hospital is gathering there.”
“If an entire hospital gathers for something pointless, they should be scolded.”
“Why do you have to phrase it like that?”
“Look at today. If I weren’t here, do you think this patient would have lived? Or died?”
At Kang-hyuk’s question, Anus had no choice but to close his mouth.
If it had been just him and the emergency medicine residents operating without Kang-hyuk, the patient would have definitely died.
The scariest part was that even if the patient had died, no one would have cared.
‘Because that’s how it’s always been…’
This was, without a doubt, Hanguk University Hospital, the best hospital in Korea.
And Anus, stationed here as the trauma duty surgeon, was a general surgeon trained by this very system.
Moreover, this patient had been unconscious ever since arriving with severe trauma.
No one would have questioned their death or investigated it any further.
‘But they survived…’
Anus turned to look at the monitor attached to the patient.
All their vital signs were shockingly stable.
It was hard to believe that this was the same patient who had suffered [cardiac tamponade] (T/N: pressure on the heart due to fluid buildup) and [hypovolemic shock] (T/N: a dangerous drop in blood volume).
‘Then… did those other patients have a chance too?’
Anus recalled the past 11 months, where, as a colorectal surgery fellow, he had to watch countless trauma patients deemed ‘hopeless’ pass away.
As the thought took root, a chilling sensation crawled up his spine.
Tap, tap.
Just then, Kang-hyuk’s thick hand patted Anus’s shoulder.
It was hard to tell whether it was just a pat or a deliberate smack, given the force behind it.
“Ugh.”
“What are you doing, Anus? The patient is awake.”
“Oh, then should we go now?”
“You really have no sense, do you?”
“Huh?”
“Have you ever seen this patient awake before?”
“Ah.”
Now that he thought about it, not even once.
They had been unconscious ever since arriving at the hospital.
“Dr. Park, don’t lower the depth of anesthesia too much. We’re keeping the tube in for now.”
“Ah, understood.”
If the patient fully woke up while the [endotracheal] tube was still inserted, they would instinctively feel suffocated.
That reaction could lead to violent thrashing and a dangerous spike in blood pressure.
And after going through a surgery to stop the bleeding, a blood pressure spike was the last thing they needed.
That’s why it was crucial to wake them just enough while keeping them stable.
“Patient, can you hear me?”
“…….”
The patient still had their eyes closed.
Kang-hyuk then firmly grabbed their [trapezius muscle] (T/N: a large muscle running along the upper back and shoulders).
But he didn’t just grab it—he twisted the part where the muscle attached to the bone.
It wouldn’t cause any permanent damage, but the pain would be excruciating.
“Patient, if you can hear me, open your eyes. If you don’t, I’ll twist again.”
It was hard to tell whether that was a threat or a medical directive.
Fortunately, it was effective. The patient soon opened their eyes.
They struggled to say something.
But it was futile.
A tube was still lodged in their trachea.
Looking down at the patient, whose mouth was forcibly silenced, Kang-hyuk continued.
“You’re in a hospital. If you understand, blink twice.”
The patient blinked twice.
“Good. Well done. You were stabbed in the abdomen and shot in the chest. Do you remember? If you do, blink once.”
A single blink.
“Yes, you’re doing well. You’ll be transferred to the ICU now, so we’re going to put you back under anesthesia. We’ll talk again later.”
With that, Kang-hyuk fell silent.
Park Gyeongwon immediately increased the anesthesia depth, which had been lowered earlier.
The patient’s heavy-lidded eyes slowly closed again.
A single tear rolled down from the corner of their eye.
Seeing that, Kang-hyuk let out a satisfied chuckle.
“Anus, you saw that, right? This is the bare minimum you need to do to finish the job properly.”
“Ah… Yes… I see.”
“Now go take that abdominal CT scan you were desperate for and send the patient to the ICU. Get a cardiology consult for an echocardiogram while you’re at it. As for antibiotics…”
“Should we cover with Levofloxacin, Ceftriaxone, and Metronidazole?”
“Oh? Not completely useless, huh. Yeah, do that. Keep monitoring the chest X-ray. Now, I’m off.”
After giving his instructions to Anus, Kang-hyuk swiftly left the operating room.
As he walked out, he roughly discarded the gown, shoe covers, mask, and cap he had worn over his scrubs into the waste bin.
It had only been about an hour-long surgery, but the hair on the back of his head was completely flattened.
He almost looked like a lazy doctor who had just woken up late.
Walking through the ER, Kang-hyuk tilted his head.
‘Maybe I should’ve asked Anus for directions.’
Hanguk University Hospital was, without question, the top hospital in Korea.
Naturally, its sheer size was overwhelming.
For a first-time visitor, getting lost was almost guaranteed.
And today was Kang-hyuk’s first day here.
To make things worse, he had a terrible sense of direction.
‘Where’s the auditorium?’
Just as he was pondering, someone frantically ran toward him.
“E-Excuse me! Are you Professor Baek Kang-hyuk?”
Turning his head, Kang-hyuk saw a neatly dressed man in a suit.
His name tag read ‘Administration Office’.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“Thank god! Please, this way!”
The administrator sprinted as if his life depended on it.
Kang-hyuk followed at a leisurely pace.
The administrator looked like he was about to explode in frustration every time he glanced back.
But, of course, he couldn’t say anything to Kang-hyuk.
‘A ceremony important enough to have the Minister of Health and Welfare attending…’
And as if that weren’t enough, another hospital director was present.
It wasn’t just anyone—Oh Sung-heum, the director of Chilseong Hospital, was there.
A man from Hanguk University Hospital’s greatest rival.
“This way, please.”
Thanks to a misplaced sense of urgency, Kang-hyuk reached the main auditorium without a single scolding.
Creak.
The heavy door—reminiscent of a movie theater entrance—opened, revealing an auditorium packed with people.
Mostly doctors, with some nurses scattered among them.
A few eyes held curiosity as they turned to him, but most were filled with irritation.
Considering how his hair was messily flattened from the surgical cap, it was only natural they assumed he had just rolled out of bed.
“Welcome.”
Director Choi Jo-eun looked just as displeased as the crowd.
Of course, no one knew Kang-hyuk’s true abilities better than Choi.
He had seen the unbelievable surgical records and videos with his own eyes.
But that didn’t mean he could be late.
“You should start with an apology first.”
With that, Choi handed over the microphone.
His gaze was enough to make anyone uncomfortable.
But Kang-hyuk?
He didn’t even blink.
He had seen far more intense stares on actual battlefields.
It was far too late for him to be fazed by something like this.
“Hello. As of today, I am Baek Kang-hyuk, Professor of Trauma Surgery.”
At the mention of Trauma Surgery, murmurs spread through the room.
The surgeons who had been rotating trauma shifts sighed in relief.
Trauma duty wasn’t just an added task—it was an unbearable burden.
Kang-hyuk waited for the murmuring to settle.
He locked eyes with Choi Jo-eun before speaking again.
“The Director suggested I start by apologizing for being late….”
He smirked.
“But I can’t do that.”