Surviving as a Rogue Hospital Director - Chapter 11

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 11.
“Huh? Professor? Professor Im Seong-hyuk?”
Min-ho picked up the phone in confusion. Seong-hyuk threw on his coat hastily and ran toward the Emergency Room while continuing the call.
“What was that about V-Tach passing? Did it pass?”
“Oh, yes. No P wave visible at all. It’s definitely V-Tach.”
Min-ho spoke with absolute certainty, and Seong-hyuk broke into a sprint toward the Emergency Room.
First the trembling atria, now the ventricles too—it was deteriorating rapidly. At this rate, it would be cardiac arrest. There was no time.
“I’ll be there in two minutes. Get Amiodarone running and prepare the CPR cart. Send me the lab results. Don’t hang up. Keep telling me how the patient’s doing.”
“Yes, understood.”
Min-ho relayed Seong-hyuk’s orders to the other medical staff. Though they’d been fumbling moments before, the moment concrete instructions came through, they fell into sync like a well-rehearsed ensemble.
“Oh, and the lab—we just ran a rapid
*
.”
*A rapid blood gas analysis performed quickly in emergency situations.
Even at their fastest, standard blood tests take thirty minutes—accounting for transport to the lab and waiting for results. That’s why hospitals keep a separate point-of-care analyzer for critical moments.
The catch is that it’s only in the Intensive Care Unit, so someone has to run blood samples there and back. Min-ho had apparently already made the trip.
Amid the chaos, Min-ho was following emergency protocol by the book.
Though his technique was still rough around the edges, he had the fundamentals down. Because of that, the resuscitation was running smoothly without major complications.
As Min-ho reported, Seong-hyuk felt his knife-edge alertness ease slightly.
“Okay. I’m here. Hanging up.”
He arrived at the Emergency Room and spotted the cluster of medical staff across the way, pulling the phone from his ear.
* * *
Focused on the patient before him, Seong-hyuk’s brow furrowed as though etched with concentration.
‘The heart rate isn’t stabilizing as quickly as I’d hoped.’
The medication wasn’t responding at all. Seong-hyuk switched the drugs for the third time. By this point, the heart should have come to its senses, yet it hadn’t.
“Keep checking BP continuously. Every minute. Hold the Amiodarone. Start Lidocaine at 2 micrograms per minute per kilogram.”
At Seong-hyuk’s words, the Emergency Room staff moved with practiced efficiency. One adjusted the blood pressure monitor to automatic mode while another swapped out the medication.
“Professor, potassium came back at 3.2 mEq/L. How much should we
*
?”
“One ampoule and run the rapid again.”
*Supplementing deficient potassium by diluting it in IV fluid and infusing it into the bloodstream.
Min-ho watched the patient intently, matching his rhythm to Seong-hyuk’s tempo, while the fellow monitoring vital signs spoke up.
“Heart rate’s dropping. 153. 150, 148.”
The new medication was working. The heart rate was normalizing.
“What’s the blood pressure?”
“107 over 62, but she’s reported having chronically low blood pressure.”
Still taut with focus, Seong-hyuk confirmed the patient’s vital signs. The fellow answered.
He exhaled slowly. A systolic pressure over 100—that wasn’t bad. They’d cleared the immediate crisis, more or less. Seong-hyuk pressed his fingers to his temples, then wiped the sweat from his sticky forehead.
‘I need to get a Cardiac Ultrasound. Check the valve first—that’ll point me in the right direction.’
His mind rapidly assembled a treatment plan for the patient.
Only after finally relaxing his shoulders did Seong-hyuk look properly at the patient’s face. Lying there with long dark hair spilled across the pillow, she had striking, delicate features.
“Um, am I… going to be okay?”
Startled, she opened her already large eyes even wider and glanced around the room.
The sharp overhead lights mounted above each bed cast shadows beneath her long lashes across her pale face.
Each time she blinked nervously, the shadows lengthened and shortened across her features.
With roughly ten doctors surrounding her bed, her anxiety was understandable. Seong-hyuk had come rushing in breathlessly too.
“For now, yes. When did you have your valve surgery?”
Seong-hyuk assured her first—not that the future was guaranteed, but right now, it seemed necessary.
In response to his question, she opened her palm and folded down her fingers one by one. Her long, slender fingers curled like flower petals.
“Three years. Three years and two months ago.”
“That’s relatively recent. You had no symptoms until now?”
Seong-hyuk pressed further. Valve problems were often congenital abnormalities. Yet she’d gone over twenty years without knowing. Something seemed off.
“I’d get dizzy sometimes, but I thought it was because of the Patent Foramen Ovale I already had. Another hospital checked me and said everything was fine.”
A Patent Foramen Ovale was a hole between the atria. It was used during fetal development and normally closes gradually after birth.
Sometimes it doesn’t close completely, but usually it causes no real problems. Occasionally, though, it could muddy diagnostic findings.
Jin-ha lifted her arm to brush back her hair.
As she raised it, her loose hospital gown slipped up past her shoulder, exposing her thin wrist.
‘No wonder her blood pressure’s low—she’s built so lightly.’
Chronically low blood pressure, as she’d mentioned. Her body weight was noticeably slight. Low body mass meant insufficient blood volume, and insufficient volume meant inevitably low blood pressure.
Without conscious effort, Seong-hyuk linked her body composition to her pathology.
“Why don’t you rest now.”
“I’m Seo Jin-ha. Just Jin-ha.”
She introduced herself with a bright, open expression. The name was already right there in her patient file.
Seong-hyuk already knew it, but he matched her tone.
“Ah, yes. Ms. Jin-ha.”
He greeted her lightly and said he’d be back, and Jin-ha waved.
“See you again, Professor.”
* * *
In the Director’s Office, Beom-jun was conducting final review of the project proposal. Periodically searching for the locations of his key talents.
[Searching for Im Seong-hyuk’s location.]
[Searching for Min-ho’s location.]
It felt a bit like surveillance. He’d never had this habit before.
Slightly uncomfortable, yes—but unavoidable. No other method monitored talent this effectively.
If he started following them around asking what they were doing, their favorability might drop again.
[Confirmed Im Seong-hyuk’s location: Emergency Room]
[Confirmed Min-ho’s location: Emergency Room]
Both doctor-talents’ locations overlapped. And they were in the Emergency Room.
‘Hmm, she’s finally arrived.’
Beom-jun was certain the protagonist of the next episode had just been admitted.
Seo Jin-ha, admitted due to complications with her artificial valve. Outwardly fresh and innocent-looking, yet internally she’d already surrendered to despair.
Her heart failure had become chronic, prolonged to the point where her heart no longer responded easily to medication.
After being given a terminal diagnosis, she’d returned to Korea from her studies abroad to put her remaining life in order.
‘Well, she’ll be gifted a new life soon enough.’
Beom-jun studied the representative video proposal that Jae-gyeong had sent him intently.
The title: A Heart That Beats Again.
The plan was to capture on film a patient who had surrendered all hope and a doctor who never gives up.
“I was right to send Min-ho.”
A talent he’d registered to assist Seong-hyuk—but useful in more ways than expected.
Hours earlier, Beom-jun had called Min-ho and told him to go to the Emergency Room in advance.
‘Director, there are no thoracic surgery patients in the Emergency Room right now.’
‘That’s why you need to be there early. If a patient shows up, we’ll miss the Golden Hour.’
When Min-ho looked confused, Beom-jun activated his Control Ability.
[Confirmed directive target as thoracic surgery staff. Using Control Ability.]
[Level 2: Do it whether you like it or not.]
Beom-jun’s reasoning had been a stretch, frankly.
In a hospital where every second counts, you can’t have a doctor standing by waiting for an unknown patient. The tragedy would be other patients going neglected during that time. The number of physicians is fixed.
This arrangement was only possible because Beom-jun knew in advance that Jin-ha would be admitted.
‘When the thoracic patient comes in, film the emergency treatment.’
An instruction that strayed somewhat from standard medical duties. But there was no way he’d miss filming the starring patient’s admission for the promotional video.
Beom-jun rubbed his chin and waited for contact.
— Bzzt.
His phone on the desk vibrated once—a text and a file. Both from Min-ho.
— Director, a thoracic patient came in just now, and I was able to film it. Is this good enough?
Beom-jun clicked to view the video file Min-ho had sent.
The roughly seventeen-minute footage captured Jin-ha complaining of chest pain and lying on the Emergency Room bed, the doctor checking the ECG and then placing a call, Seong-hyuk arriving shortly after and performing emergency treatment.
But what mattered as much as content was whether it had documentary-quality production value.
‘Hoo, the composition is quite good? This should be enough.’
After watching the full video, Beom-jun’s eyes softened with satisfaction.
Min-ho had apparently known where to position his phone—placing it somewhere high.
The shot of Seong-hyuk rushing in from a distance and reaching the patient was quite usable. Good enough to include in what would become Korean Medical University Hospital’s signature promotional video.
Good. Everything’s coming together nicely. Beom-jun rewound the video with contentment.
This footage would be the first domino to bring massive revenue to Korean Medical University Hospital.
While Im Seong-hyuk saves one patient, Korean Medical University Hospital will be able to treat a hundred.
‘That should do it. I’ll wait until the surgery is over for the rest.’
But none of this matters if Seo Jin-ha’s surgery doesn’t end successfully.
Now came the part where he had to protect both the patient’s condition and the doctor’s mental state. And if he could offer a little assistance to the treatment, that would be ideal.
[A Main Quest has been generated.]
[Main Quest: Prevent Im Seong-hyuk’s Anger]
Prevent conflict between Professor Im Seong-hyuk and other departments.
— Reward: Survival Probability +3%
— Failure: Death
And right on cue, a new quest appeared. Beom-jun reviewed the quest details.
‘The heart transplant will succeed anyway, but this is telling me to avoid unnecessary conflict getting there.’
Recalling the plot of Doctor X, Beom-jun nodded. It was about time for Seong-hyuk to clash with other departments and turn the hospital upside down.
After closing the video, he called somewhere. A long name appeared on the screen.
— Director of the National Organ Donation Agency KONIS.
This person held the “new heart” Jin-ha would need, and was also the one who could prevent Seong-hyuk’s anger.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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