Chapter 76

It multiplied.

What did that mean? Quite literally, the number of reporters had suddenly increased.

And they were from major news outlets that anyone would recognize by name.

‘Naver TV.’

‘NBC.’

And many more.

Kang-hyuk tilted his head as if he didn’t understand, but in truth, it wasn’t all that surprising.

Reporters had always been people who chased after hot issues and juicy material.

Wouldn’t it have been stranger if they hadn’t monitored today’s hottest TV Goryeo YouTube broadcast?

Of course, monitoring was all they did—they hadn’t even dreamed of actually going there in person.

After all, things like helicopters and boats weren’t equipment you could suddenly get access to.

But if the interview was scheduled to take place at the hospital?

Even if it was at a late hour, there’d be no reason to pass up the opportunity.

“Hello! This is Reporter Kim Dae-gi from Naver TV!”

“We’re from NBC!”

“Wait! I’m! I’m first!”

That’s how a massive crowd of reporters had gathered.

Pushing through the crowd with difficulty, Reporter Park Sang-eun made her way forward.

Though she was still a rookie, fresh and green.

The other reporters still stepped aside for her without resistance.

A surprising thing, but even in this field, there was a sort of unspoken code of honor.

No matter what, it was customary to yield the ‘first question’ to her.

“Professor Baek Kang-hyuk. I’m Reporter Park Sang-eun from TV Goryeo.”

“My ears are going numb from hearing that. I know, I know.”

Kang-hyuk waved her off as if he was sick of it already.

Naturally, viewers loved it.

<Is that guy cool or weird?>

<No, seriously badass, for real.>

<As expected of the damn man…>

He had already earned the nickname ‘damn man,’ and his firmly established persona was steadily gaining popularity.

“Professor, during today’s interview, you shoved me aside. Do you acknowledge that?”

Kang-hyuk tilted his head at Park Sang-eun’s words.

Then he responded with a face that said it wasn’t a big deal.

“Was that today?”

It was something Park Sang-eun hadn’t expected to hear.

So she was flustered for a moment.

But she managed to hold it in.

After all, this interview opportunity had been incredibly hard to get.

“It was this morning, Professor.”

“Doesn’t seem like you got hurt. So you’ve been following me around all day just to ask that? Must not have anything better to do.”

He was truly someone whose every word was as insufferable as could be.

And it wasn’t just Park Sang-eun who felt that way.

Jaewon, Jang-mi, and Kang-haeng, standing behind Kang-hyuk at Private Kim’s bedside, all felt the same.

‘P-Professor… Please, just…’

Jaewon especially wished he could gag Kang-hyuk’s mouth and vanish into thin air.

Partly because he was exhausted, but mostly because this constant friction with the media didn’t bode well for the future.

‘Looks like Professor Hong Jae-hoon’s got him fully marked now…’

Still, it was fortunate that Department Head Han Yoo-rim had changed his mind.

But honestly, even Han Yoo-rim was nothing compared to the Chief Strategy Officer.

Being a department head was a rotating position anyone could take on at some point.

If you fell out of favor with the Chief Strategy Officer, the future of your department was practically doomed.

“I didn’t follow you around because of that! No, I mean. Why did you do that back then? You even cursed at the camera. Viewers are flooding in with complaints because of that.”

“I cursed?”

“Yes!”

“Well, I guess you deserved to be cursed at.”

“What?”

“You blocked the way when I was rushing to see a critical patient. Right in front of the ICU, too. You must not know… That’s not a place where you can stand around like that.”

But Kang-hyuk, who really should’ve shut his mouth, kept running it like an unbridled colt.

“The hospital was the one who said to do the interview there!”

“The moment a patient appears, that’s canceled.”

“So it’s okay to just throw away agreements like trash?”

“Someone’s life is on the line—of course you throw it away. What, you wouldn’t?”

Kang-hyuk’s tone remained rude and blunt.

So much so that anyone listening might burst a blood vessel from rage.

But viewer sentiment was slowly starting to shift.

<The damn man… kinda cool?>

<He actually sounds like a real doctor?>

<Didn’t he save someone today instead of causing trouble? Even the soldiers were saying that earlier.>

And those reactions began spreading in real-time across every community and social media platform.

Of course, Reporter Park Sang-eun, unaware of all this, continued pressing Kang-hyuk.

Or rather, she thought she was pressing him.

That was truly her own delusion.

As if anyone could pressure Kang-hyuk into a corner.

“So you stopped the interview and flew to Baengnyeong Island?”

“Yeah. Took a helicopter.”

“I followed after you—did you know that?”

“No. When I’m in the helicopter, I’m only thinking about the patient waiting at the scene.”

It was a rough answer, yet it carried an odd resonance.

‘Only thinking about the patient.’

It was something that should naturally come from a doctor’s mouth.

But hadn’t that become so rare to hear these days?

Especially with this level of sincerity—it was fair to say it was practically unheard of.

“I, uh… I heard the helicopter couldn’t fly in due to bad weather. So how did you get there?”

Even Park Sang-eun was beginning to sense something off.

So instead of her intended question, she ended up blurting out something unrelated.

The camera director caught the look of confusion that had crossed her face and tried to cut the recording, but it didn’t go as planned.

Because the producer had sent this message:

– Leave it. We’ve got the highest viewership ever. Reactions are great.

What else could he do?

When the top dog says let it roll, you let it roll.

So he quietly kept the camera trained on Kang-hyuk.

Kang-hyuk was wearing a rather satisfied smile.

“I just went in. With the helicopter.”

“What? But the pilot said… under those conditions, there was a chance of crashing…”

“Sure, there probably was. But if I hadn’t made it there in time, at least one patient would’ve died. Guaranteed.”

“Th-that…”

Reporter Park Sang-eun couldn’t even finish her sentence.

What could you possibly say to someone who risked death to save a life?

So what if such a person was a little rude?

So what if they were a bit, no, extremely unpleasant?

“Wait, so we nearly died too?”

The one who spoke up was Jaewon, who had been silently standing behind until now.

An indescribable look of betrayal had surfaced on his face.

“Oh, come on. It’s just an expression. You know I’m a good pilot.”

“No, your expression was really solemn just now… like someone who actually put his life on the line.”

“Hahaha. No, nothing like that.”

“What do you mean ‘no’? Why would you risk other people’s lives just because—ugh.”

Jaewon suddenly cut off, covering his mouth in pain from an unexpected sting.

The culprit was none other than Jang-mi.

“Are you crazy? The mood just turned around—are you trying to ruin it?”

Jaewon rubbed his solar plexus, unsure whether she had pinched or punched him.

“Ugh… Nurse Cheon you wouldn’t understand since you didn’t risk your life…”

Though half a groan, the message got across.

“Did you die? No. You’re alive.”

“Ugh, but we’re going to keep going through stuff like this in the future…”

“Deal with that when it happens. For now, just shut it. I didn’t know you talked this well. Even I got a little choked up.”

With that, Jang-mi grabbed Jaewon’s ear and turned him to face forward.

Only then did Jaewon realize there was a reason Kang-hyuk jokingly called her a gangster.

‘Why is she so strong and violent…?’

He even started wondering if Kang-hyuk had a weird knack for sizing people up.

But moments later, Jaewon bitterly regretted and repented that thought.

‘Wait… then I’m the one called Anus and Slave…’

Because when he thought about it, his nickname was by far the weirdest.

Even while Jaewon was suffering from a serious identity crisis, the reporters’ questions continued.

Park Sang-eun, clearly shaken, remained silent.

But the other reporters took this as their chance and shouted out.

“I’m Kim Dae-gi from Naver TV. I heard Professor Baek performed a… double reconstructive surgery in the military medical corps? Is that true?”

“I did. And by using an Endoscope.”

Kang-hyuk answered like it was nothing.

But Kim Dae-gi had already consulted neurosurgeons and ENT specialists beforehand.

So he knew very well this wasn’t a procedure just anyone could perform.

“In the field… was there any chance the surgery went wrong? Did you verify it at the hospital?”

At that, Kang-hyuk briefly turned to look at Jaewon.

To Jaewon, it felt like the professor was looking at him with a warm gaze for the first time.

And it wasn’t just Jaewon’s imagination.

‘Even on the helicopter and after we arrived, he handled things pretty well. He’s definitely a guy who studies hard.’

When the patient’s intracranial pressure spiked again in the helicopter, he had inserted a needle into the spinal canal to drain [cerebrospinal fluid].

(T/N: Cerebrospinal fluid is a clear fluid surrounding the brain and spinal cord, and draining it helps reduce dangerous pressure levels.)

Thanks to that, the patient maintained stable vital signs until they reached the hospital.

Upon arrival, a CT scan confirmed that the reconstructive surgery had been flawlessly done, and he immediately began antibiotic treatment to prevent potential infection.

Could there be a more perfect intervention?

Kang-hyuk figured even if he’d done it himself, the result wouldn’t have been much different, and he pointed at Jaewon.

“Dr. Yang Jaewon confirmed it with CT. The surgery went perfectly, and the patient is currently recovering in the ICU.”

“I-I see. Then… I have a question about the patient behind you.”

“Make it quick. I just finished operating on him—what is this nonsense?”

“Yes, yes. Sorry.”

“I said make it quick.”

“Yes. Um, we heard you operated on him while on the boat… did you really use a scalpel? I’ve been checking around and all I’ve gotten are responses saying it’s impossible.”

Not just the reporters—viewers were also focused on this question.

Weird rumors had spread: that the patient had died during surgery, or that his arm had been amputated, and so on.

Though Captain Lee Kang-haeng’s earlier explanation had cleared up much of it.

Still, hearing it directly from the person involved was the most reliable.

“Well, how could they say otherwise—they’ve never done it. Are there any proper [trauma surgery] departments in this country? I don’t know how many people you asked, but they all don’t know jack shit. When it comes to trauma, I’m the best. Surgery on a boat? Totally doable. And Private Kim, alive and well, is the proof.”

Kang-hyuk said as he pointed at Private Kim.

Private Kim was startled for a moment, then gave a shy smile and waved his hand.

It wasn’t the most precise answer, but it was definitely the right one.

The next day, this headline made the rounds—and it was no coincidence.

<The Hope of Korean Trauma Surgery, Professor Baek Kang-hyuk.>