Surviving as a Rogue Hospital Director - Chapter 134

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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 134.
Beom-jun sat in the Director’s Office.
Before he inhabited this body, the office had been decorated entirely in black according to the tastes of Director Choi Beom-jun.
Furniture, walls, ceiling—all pitch black.
Though Beom-jun used the space alone, the darkness made it feel even more hushed.
‘If I survive, I’m gutting this room first.’
Beom-jun spent most of his waking hours here. At minimum eight hours, sometimes more than twelve.
He’d left it untouched because it didn’t matter.
Survival was urgent; clearing the Quest took priority.
As a result, the Director’s Office had become a space saturated with the tastes and traces of the original Choi Beom-jun.
When Part One ended—when he survived—
then, finally, it would become the life of Ui-jin, or rather, Beom-jun.
At that moment, sunlight flooded in through the entire wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. The sun, which had been hidden behind clouds, peeked out.
Late January. Snow that had been accumulating for days reflected the light fiercely downward.
The artificially darkened Director’s Office brightened helplessly before the vast power of nature. More than if the fluorescent lights had been switched on. Painfully bright.
Beom-jun rubbed his eyes.
Seated at his desk, he glanced at his phone.
According to the Quest, Uigwonhoe would contact him first. It was about time a call came through.
But Beom-jun wasn’t one to sit idle.
He had no intention of waiting until the other side was fully prepared. There was no time to waste. He’d have to cast bait.
He picked up the handset and pressed the buttons with his long fingers deliberately.
He pressed over ten digits. At minimum, it wasn’t an internal line for Korea University Hospital.
In Beom-jun’s left hand lay a single business card.
— Director Kang Yo-han of Saint Hospital.
It was a card exchanged at a recent hospital director’s meeting.
Though they weren’t strangers, Kang Yo-han had handed the card to Beom-jun.
‘You made quite an impression today. I have a feeling we’ll meet again soon.’
His face as he extended the handshake couldn’t have looked kinder. Unlike Beom-jun, Kang Yo-han—whose features lacked sharp definition—carried a distinctive air of gentleness.
But the Status Window had warned Beom-jun.
[Warning: A person with hostile intent is nearby.]
At that moment, Kang Yo-han had studied Beom-jun as one might observe a fascinating animal.
While recognizing him as a clear adversary, Kang Yo-han had shown curiosity toward Beom-jun. Toward a variable so dangerous and yet so compelling.
Kang Yo-han’s eyes had been predatory, as if he could swallow Beom-jun whole at any moment.
Recalling that moment now, Beom-jun felt his skin prickle. He sensed that Kang Yo-han was formidable. The favor Kang Yo-han extended felt unsettling.
But there was no better entryway into Uigwonhoe than through Kang Yo-han. It would prove exceptionally useful.
‘The bait isn’t me—it’s you.’
— Click.
Just then, Kang Yo-han answered the phone.
— Yes?
He answered in a languid voice, making no effort to hide his annoyance.
“Hello, Director. This is Director Choi Beom-jun from Korea University Hospital.”
— Ah! Director Choi! It’s been a while. Did the last meeting go well?
Once Beom-jun introduced himself, Kang Yo-han’s tone shifted noticeably.
He asked after Beom-jun as naturally as if he were the one who’d made the call.
“Yes, well.”
Beom-jun cut through the pleasantries. He hadn’t called to foster good relations with Kang Yo-han.
“I called about Uigwonhoe, actually.”
“Uigwonhoe?”
From their previous meeting, Beom-jun had already made clear to Kang Yo-han that he knew about Uigwonhoe.
So there was no point in concealing interest now. For Kang Yo-han, there was no better bait than this.
“Do you still accept new members? I didn’t want to burden the Chairman by asking directly, so I contacted you instead. I hear there’s a waiting list for membership. How long would I have to wait?”
Beom-jun spoke as if he had a keen interest in Uigwonhoe. At his words, Kang Yo-han laughed, his amusement barely contained.
“Ho? So you wanted to join Uigwonhoe! You have good instincts.”
Kang Yo-han didn’t answer Beom-jun’s question directly. His response was becoming lengthy.
“I won’t be admitted right away, will I?”
Beom-jun cut to the heart of the matter and asked again.
When he’d registered Min Jeong-sik as Talent, the man had said he’d join Uigwonhoe in early this year. He’d applied near the end of the previous year’s first half,
and had been waiting for more than half a year.
“I can put in a waiting list application, and I’ll think it over in the meantime.”
Beom-jun had no intention of actually joining Uigwonhoe. Members of Uigwonhoe couldn’t even be registered as Talent, and he had no idea what restrictions might apply if he entered the organization.
This was purely a line meant to lure Kang Yo-han in.
But Kang Yo-han replied with a pleased laugh.
“That’s only for regular members. You, Director Choi, can join immediately. We shouldn’t discuss this over the phone. Shall we have a meal sometime? Let’s make it soon.”
‘What?’
The conversation had taken a turn different from what Beom-jun expected.
After agreeing, Beom-jun ended the call. One of his eyebrows twitched.
Kang Yo-han had been more cooperative than anticipated. If he could register him as Talent, it would be ideal. But for now, the constraints were significant.
Even if he mollified the hostility through a Talent contract, Kang Yo-han was fundamentally a member of Uigwonhoe. Not his subordinate employee.
‘Maybe it won’t work out.’
Beom-jun pressed the bridge of his furrowed brow with his index finger.
The closer he drew to Uigwonhoe, the more people he would need. Far more than he had now.
* * *
Ha-rin was scheduled to be discharged the following day.
On Kang Se-ra’s orders, she underwent testing to confirm a diagnosis of Vasovagal Syncope.
Two tests were conducted in parallel to differentiate between it and Orthostatic Hypotension.
One to observe whether blood pressure dropped based on posture,
and another to create conditions that would trigger syncope and compare the results.
And the result was positive.
Unlike in Eun Seo-yeong’s case, this time Ha-rin’s self-diagnosis had been correct.
“As you know, there’s no specific treatment method. What’s important is managing it well in daily life. If you feel warning signs and lie down immediately instead of staying upright, you won’t actually lose consciousness. It’ll just be a matter of dizziness that passes.”
“I thought lying down at my desk would be fine, but it seems I actually lost consciousness.”
Ha-rin’s vision had blurred, and she’d immediately bent over her desk. How long she’d remained collapsed, she couldn’t remember.
“Usually it improves with age. It’s the opposite of Orthostatic Hypotension, which gets worse as you age. Still, if you faint, it can lead to serious accidents. You could hit your head, or if you collapse in the street, you could be hit by traffic.”
Just as Ha-rin had heard when younger, Vasovagal Syncope had no definitive cure.
You could take medication when symptoms appear to raise blood pressure, but taking a pill in the instant you’re about to collapse isn’t practical. It’s far more effective to lie down immediately and increase blood flow to the brain.
“I see.”
Ha-rin nodded at Se-ra’s explanation.
Until now, she’d been fortunate to collapse at home without serious consequence, but as Se-ra said, had it happened outside, it could have led to a grave accident.
Though no effective treatment existed.
‘Still, the Director gave me medical leave yesterday and postponed the financial report. Did he know this would happen?’
The Director had already taken all available measures. It was as if he knew what she needed wasn’t medicine but rest.
“Drink plenty of water in your daily routine, and it’s good for you to eat a bit saltier. Get good rest and avoid stress. Understood?”
Kang Se-ra spoke while reviewing the chart. The words were commonplace, but sometimes hearing medical advice at the hospital helps. The higher up you are, the fewer places exist to seek counsel.
Every three or six months, patients return to check whether their health has changed. If they’ve improved, they receive praise from their physician; if worse, they get scolded. That feedback becomes a springboard for them to live diligently again.
‘I hate eating salty food,’
Ha-rin, who preferred bland food, disliked Se-ra’s advice, but because Beom-jun and Hee-jung had repeated it since yesterday, her resistance weakened.
“I think I’ll be fine once I take medical leave soon.”
Still, Ha-rin insisted she’d be okay.
She was only in her early thirties. Young people naturally tend to overestimate their health.
Kang Se-ra, who saw dozens of patients each day, understood that Ha-rin wasn’t truly taking her words to heart, but said nothing more.
In the end, the patient makes the decision. She could only offer advice.
And from Se-ra’s perspective, Ha-rin was a patient of lower severity. Compared to those with cancer or rare diseases, she was genuinely not in critical condition.
But she was a direct subordinate of the Director. Se-ra extended the consultation a bit further.
“Mm, I see. But stress is important too. Is anything difficult for you lately?”
“…No. I’m fine.”
At Se-ra’s question, Ha-rin ultimately lied. At that moment, as if by ghostly timing, Beom-jun appeared.
Having just arrived at the Emergency Room, he stood closer to Ha-rin’s bedside than Se-ra.
“Your body isn’t fine, so what good does it do for your head to say it is?”
He challenged Ha-rin’s statement.
“I really am…”
As Ha-rin repeated the same words, Beom-jun asked Se-ra.
“What are Chief Park’s vital signs like right now?”
“Her SBP is up thirty from baseline at ninety-six. It’s 96/60.”
Ha-rin’s blood pressure had always been low. Likely due to her low body weight. Still, with a thirty-point increase, this was the result.
“Wait, what’s the baseline? Yesterday her SBP was in the sixties?”
“From the Tilt test. It dropped to 67 and then recovered.”
At Se-ra’s explanation, Beom-jun nodded.
She’d conducted the test to confirm whether she truly had Vasovagal Syncope.
By creating the conditions in which syncope occurs, they could verify whether the Autonomic Nervous System was indeed malfunctioning abnormally.
During this test, a medication called Nitroglycerin is administered to deliberately dilate the blood vessels. To deliberately reduce the amount of blood pooled in the legs returning to the heart.
It doesn’t matter for patients without Vasovagal Syncope, but if they do have it, it’s somewhat risky. During the test, blood pressure can drop excessively, and cardiac arrest can occur for several seconds.
It’s a different kind of test from ultrasound, which places no physical burden on the body. Even after it’s done, the patient will feel quite worn out.
Beom-jun asked Ha-rin, who insisted she was fine.
“Your head must hurt? No headache at all?”
“…Slightly. I do have a migraine, but it’s not severe.”
As expected, at Beom-jun’s words, Ha-rin finally admitted the truth.
‘Her blood pressure dropped to the sixties. There’s no way her body is fine. The headache will last days. And yet she claims to be okay.’
But Ha-rin spoke as if being unwell would spell disaster.
“The body never lies.”
At Beom-jun’s words, Ha-rin felt a pang of guilt.

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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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