Chapter 78

“Go check on your patients!”

“Y-yes. Sorry.”

“Gangster! Did you check the vitals and I/O”

(T/N: I/O refers to the intake and output—how much fluid has gone into and out of a patient.)

“Uh… I-I’ll do it now.”

“Your heads are all messed up. Move it already!”

“Yes!”

Under Kang-hyuk’s barrage, Jaewon and Jang-mi scattered to do their tasks.

Both were absolutely terrified of Kang-hyuk, so they quickly disappeared from sight.

Kang-hyuk stared after them disapprovingly, then turned his gaze to the newspaper he’d brought with him.

‘Four of the major dailies ran this on the front page. The rest all covered it in the social section.’

Which meant that every media outlet in Korea had reported on Kang-hyuk, the trauma department, and the Severe Trauma Center.

Unlike how he’d just chewed out Jaewon and Jang-mi, Kang-hyuk had read every one of those reports thoroughly.

Maybe it was a small reward for all the hell he’d been through flying by helicopter and returning by boat—or maybe just because there hadn’t been any patients overnight.

‘Most of the coverage is really positive. Some say I went too far, but…’

That criticism would disappear once Private Kim and Sergeant Lee recovered properly.

‘I did the surgery myself, and it was damn flawless…’

Kang-hyuk glanced again toward where Jaewon and Jang-mi had vanished.

Naturally, it was toward the critical emergency ICU.

‘Just when I think they’re smart, they go and do something stupid.’

After all, that was exactly where he had just come from.

Before coming here, he’d already checked the patient’s condition, examined the wound, and redid the dressing.

Which meant the two had just rushed off to do something completely pointless.

Sure enough, the two came stomping back, clearly frustrated.

“P-Professor. I heard you already did your rounds just now…?”

At Jaewon’s words, Kang-hyuk asked with a straight face.

“Yeah? Who told you that?”

“Mr. Kim… Jin-cheol.”

“Kim Jin-cheol? Who’s that?”

Jaewon realized Kang-hyuk wasn’t joking—he genuinely didn’t remember.

What a strange man.

Always raving about patients day and night…

Yet once they pulled through the worst, he seemed to lose interest.

He barely remembered their names half the time.

“Who do you think? The patient you operated on yesterday.”

“Oh, Private Kim. So he had a name, huh.”

“O-of course he does… Everyone does…”

“So? What did he say?”

“He said you did your rounds, that the wound looked good, and his recovery was going well. That you told him that.”

Jaewon seemed genuinely indignant.

Kang-hyuk was unimpressed.

“Hey, punk. Why are you glaring at me like that? If I already saw him, that means you don’t need to? You trust me that much?”

“Sorry?”

“Doctors aren’t gods. From the nurses to the primary physician and the attending, everyone needs to check so mistakes don’t happen. What if there’s a [hematoma] in Private Kim’s arm right now?”

(T/N: A hematoma is a localized collection of blood outside the blood vessels, often indicating internal bleeding.)

“A… hematoma…”

Jaewon recalled the massive bleeding from yesterday.

The blood gushing from Private Kim’s arm…

It likely wasn’t just a vein—it had to be an artery.

Had it really healed properly on the boat?

‘Now that I think about it, I am kind of nervous…’

Jaewon had come to the trauma department because he genuinely prioritized patients—and wanted to keep doing so.

So with just one push from Kang-hyuk, anxiety started to creep in.

Watching Jaewon squirm was clearly amusing to Kang-hyuk, who then turned to Jang-mi.

True to her nickname “Gangster,” she wore a fearsome scowl.

It might’ve seemed like she’d lost her mind—but she had her reasons.

“Gangster, what are you just standing around for?”

“Just realized I handed over my shift. You were so confident, I actually thought I was still on duty.”

“You did the final check before handover, right?”

“Y-yes… I did.”

Hearing that, even Jang-mi started to waver a bit.

Truthfully, she had been riding high during the early morning shift.

In the case of I/O, while measuring input was easy, output could be harder to calculate. Unless you were really meticulous, it was easy to miss things.

Kang-hyuk noticed her pupils starting to tremble and kept going.

He looked visibly pleased.

“Did the I/O line up exactly? For… the patient who had brain surgery.”

“You mean Lee Oh-hyun? It was… correct, I think?”

‘I think?’ Was it correct or not? You know you’ve got to monitor that patient’s [intracranial pressure] carefully. If the I/O’s off, their consciousness can deteriorate fast.”

(T/N: Intracranial pressure is the pressure inside the skull; abnormal levels can lead to brain damage or death.)

“Uh… I-I’ll double-check.”

“M-me too.”

Completely caught by Kang-hyuk’s intimidation, Jaewon and Jang-mi sprinted off to the patient rooms.

Five minutes later, they returned panting harder than before.

“There was nothing wrong!”

“See? The I/O was fine—wait, where is he?”

“He’s not someone who usually leaves his post.”

“What the hell is going on?”

The two looked around at the empty entrance of the Severe Trauma Center.

To get straight to the point—it was all pointless.

Kang-hyuk wasn’t there.

All they found was a single note.

‘Call me in 15 minutes. If you don’t, you’re dead.’

—

“This is Reporter Lee Jung-min from TV Goryeo. Thank you for agreeing to this interview.”

Kang-hyuk had gone to the first basement auditorium of the hospital for the interview—despite having just cursed out the media.

It was the very place where his appointment as professor had been held.

Renting such a large venue for just a media interview seemed excessive—but there was a reason.

Because it wasn’t just one or two outlets requesting interviews.

Naturally, Director Choi Jo-eun and Chief Strategy Officer Hong Jae-hoon were also present.

Ordinarily, this would’ve been a moment of excitement—but their expressions were stiff.

‘There’s no way around it now. Our hospital has no choice but to expand the Severe Trauma Center…’

Director Choi sighed deeply and looked at Kang-hyuk.

How nice it would’ve been if another department were getting all this media attention.

Not a center that racks up a deficit with every treatment.

‘What the hell kind of sabotage am I supposed to do?’

On the other hand, Professor Hong Jae-hoon wore a far more conflicted expression.

Because yesterday, he’d been given a direct order from Director Choi Jo-eun.

To somehow dismantle the Severe Trauma Center—without drawing attention.

No matter how absurd it sounded, it wasn’t an order he could refuse.

Whether he pulled it off or not would determine whether he became the next director.

“Anyway, where did that reporter from yesterday go?”

Kang-hyuk responded with ease, despite being under the sharp gazes of the hospital’s two most powerful figures.

Even surrounded by countless cameras and reporters, he didn’t seem flustered in the slightest.

“Ah… yeah. Well… haha.”

The one who was actually flustered was the reporter from TV Goryeo who had asked the question.

For a moment, his thoughts drifted to Park Sang-eun, who had wandered off mid-interview in a daze the day before.

‘God, I looked like such a fool yesterday.’

She had shown him the video clip of herself spacing out, which had already been uploaded to YouTube.

Then she disappeared after saying not to look for her for a while.

‘She said if I mess up, I’m dead.’

Reporter Lee Jung-min quickly erased her from his thoughts and recalled what the news director had told him.

The producer who oversaw yesterday’s live broadcast was now writing a formal apology.

His crime? Airing antagonistic coverage of someone who turned out to be a national hero.

Ironically, it was that coverage that helped make Kang-hyuk into a real hero.

But in the process, TV Goryeo’s image had become a complete joke.

So the news director had practically clung to Lee Jung-min before he left.

Begging him not to ask any weird questions.

“Anyway, Professor Baek Kang-hyuk, the public has been deeply moved by the fact that you flew into bad weather to treat a patient on Baengnyeong Island. Such a strong sense of duty is admirable. When did you decide to pursue the challenging path of trauma surgery?”

Lee Jung-min had agonized over that question, despite its brevity.

And to his credit, it actually made Kang-hyuk hesitate for a moment.

“Hmm.”

Kang-hyuk stayed silent for a while—rare for him—before finally speaking.

“I chose trauma surgery because…”

He paused and looked around the room.

Every reporter was focused on his words.

Privately, some might not have cared.

But if a journalist couldn’t pay attention to the man who’d stirred up every online community in Korea, then they weren’t doing their job.

And Kang-hyuk knew that perfectly well.

‘I can’t grow trauma surgery alone.’

Unfortunately, that was the truth.

It wasn’t like no one had ever tried to establish trauma surgery in Korea with burning passion and total commitment.

Shockingly, even in this barren Korean medical system, such heroes had existed.

The first problem was that attention only came after they died.

The second was that even that interest faded quickly.

Kang-hyuk had no intention of repeating those same mistakes.

That’s why he decided to make use of this attention—just a little.

“It was fate.”

“Fate…?”

“I was an orphan. Ah, no need to make that face. I was born an orphan, so it doesn’t really affect me. But… while growing up in the orphanage, I met many kids who also came in after becoming orphans. Not all, but most came from poor families. Their parents died in accidents while working in dangerous environments.”

“Hmm.”

Is there anything that grips a listener more than hearing someone share their tragic past?

And when that someone is clearly doing admirable work, the emotional impact is even greater.

The entire room was holding its breath.

“Later, after becoming a doctor, I realized something. Many of those deaths were preventable. If they’d made it to the hospital on time. If they’d received proper treatment. But Korea never developed a proper trauma surgery system. As a result, people still die in the streets. Even if they make it to a hospital, there’s often not enough skill to save them. I became a trauma surgeon because I wanted to change this country.”

“Ah…”

That was just one answer to one question.

And yet, the weight of it lingered long after.

Naturally, the reporters began raising their hands all at once.

Just then, a ringtone buzzed from inside Kang-hyuk’s coat.

It was a call from Jaewon.

“This is Baek Kang-hyuk, Trauma Surgery.”

Kang-hyuk answered the phone with the gravest expression in the world.

“You said to call. Didn’t you save my number?”

“Y-yeah. Ah… is the patient in critical condition?”

“What are you talking about? This is Baek Kang-hyuk, right?”

“Understood. I’ll be there immediately.”

(T/N: WTF. What a conman. HAHAHAHA)