Surviving as a Rogue Hospital Director - Chapter 150

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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 150.
It was a mistake to think the volunteer work would proceed smoothly.
When he discovered that the medical volunteer work was really just a stage for the Uigwonhoe members to scrutinize people, that much he could accept.
He’d believed they wanted to see how well he treated patients.
‘But damn it, what is this?’
Beom-jun, holding a vial, doubted his eyes. He wondered if this was real. The ampules were the same.
Both the glass bottle with powder and the ampule containing liquid were made of glass, perfectly sealing out air to prevent medication from degrading.
Then what difference did it make? The expiration date had already passed. Medications last longer than oral drugs—depending on the type, two to three years is standard—but how the hell had they been storing these all this time?
Beside Beom-jun, a startlingly young doctor was handling a vial.
He was inserting a syringe into the rubber top, injecting saline solution, dissolving the powder, and drawing it back out again—fumbling as if doing it for the first time.
It wasn’t just inexperience. Most medication handling is done by pharmacists and nurses, so even if you know the theory, there’s almost no chance to actually try it.
Beom-jun was the same way. The higher his rank and seniority grew, especially after becoming a professor, the less hands-on work he did. Everything came prepared and ready to use.
So for Beom-jun too, actually seeing a vial in person had been a long time coming.
But there was no time for nostalgia.
“Don’t use that. Throw it away.”
Beom-jun told the young doctor.
“Yes, sir!”
The young man misunderstood, thinking he’d mishandled the medication, and reached for another vial beside him.
“No, don’t use any of the medications here.”
At that, he jerked his hand back as if he’d grabbed something hot.
The vial fell into a box of ampules beside him, and the ampules—made of thinner glass than the vial—shattered into pieces.
The liquid medication inside spilled everywhere, soaking the box.
“Oh no, oh no—”
The young doctor’s face went pale watching his mistake. Beom-jun spoke calmly so he wouldn’t panic further.
“You did well. We were going to throw those out anyway.”
Beom-jun told the hunched-shouldered young doctor.
“Are you a resident?”
“I’m graduating from medical school next month!”
No wonder he looked so young—he was a newborn who hadn’t even graduated yet. Internship and all the years ahead stretched endlessly before him.
Everyone has a first time. But for a doctor, it’s better to be afraid than overconfident at this stage.
Someone else’s life rests in your hands. You need to feel that weight and know how to be afraid of it.
There are plenty of people out there who act cocky the moment their license is signed, ink still wet.
Taking pride for just a brief moment, then stepping out of the world that revolved around yourself alone—that’s the first step as a doctor.
In that sense, this young doctor in front of him seemed all right.
‘Good qualities.’
Beom-jun thought that one day this man would become a good doctor. This kind of disposition can’t be taught or learned.
But it’s going to take forever. Years more before he becomes a usable doctor.
Beom-jun turned his attention away from the intern.
“Um, um! I got accepted as an intern at Korea University Hospital!”
“Oh? Is that so? What’s your name?”
He trembled as he introduced himself, aware that Beom-jun was the Hospital Director of Korea University Hospital.
“Choi Hyun-seok!”
Beom-jun let out a small laugh. There was something both amusing and endearing about Hyun-seok with his military-strict bearing. Yeah, at this stage, that’s how it goes.
Beom-jun patted his back, telling him to relax, and then explained what he needed to do going forward.
“Check the expiration dates on all the medications here and gather only the ones we can use in one place. Can you do that?”
“Yes, of course!”
Beom-jun picked up another vial and checked its expiration date.
The medications here all shared something in common: their expiration dates were all over six months past.
‘They stuffed these somewhere for half a year, then just pulled them out.’
Anger was rising again when Min-ho appeared at the Treatment Room door.
And he was holding a syringe—a new one, still unopened.
“Director, the disposable medical supplies have expired too. What should we do about them? It’s not just this one—most of them are like this.”
At Min-ho’s words, Beom-jun’s brow furrowed badly.
‘If the medications are in this state, there’s no way the supplies are properly stocked. Damn it!’
Beom-jun cursed internally, but he couldn’t hide his expression darkening.
If they were going to run medical volunteer work like this, they shouldn’t do it at all. Failing to manage medical supplies for patient use was failing at the absolute basics.
‘What the hell are these Uigwonhoe bastards doing? This is ridiculous. Acting all noble—what a joke.’
Beom-jun pressed his forehead with his hand. His head was throbbing.
“Um, Director. Our group’s patients will arrive in about thirty minutes. What should we do?”
Unable to bear the heavy atmosphere, Min-ho spoke up. He was more concerned about the patients than Beom-jun was.
That was only natural. For a doctor, patient care should be the highest priority in everything.
Beom-jun was already working through solutions.
‘Time’s tight, but it’s not an emergency either.’
If it were urgent, he might use expired medication despite reduced efficacy, but this was different.
This needed to be addressed properly. The safety of the medication couldn’t be guaranteed otherwise.
“Gather everyone here at Base Camp and check what medications and medical supplies we’ll actually use today.”
“Right, right now?”
“We can’t see patients without checking first.”
“Right. Of course.”
“I’m going to make an announcement, so you stay with your group and wait.”
Beom-jun sent Min-ho back and headed to the Broadcast Room in the center of Base Camp.
Knock-knock-knock.
He rapped on the door.
“Oh? Director of Korea University Hospital? What brings you here?”
It was the Broadcast Room for emergency announcements, but on the first day of volunteer work with no patients yet, the afternoon was when consultations were supposed to start.
The person in the Broadcast Room recognized Beom-jun as the Hospital Director, but couldn’t guess why he’d come.
Rather than explain twice, Beom-jun grabbed the microphone inside the Broadcast Room.
Testing—testing the microphone.
And without giving the man time to stop him, he began broadcasting.
This is an announcement from headquarters. A significant number of medications and medical supplies have expired. Please carefully select only usable items for today’s treatment, and each team must send at least three people to Base Camp to verify supplies. Thank you.
Beom-jun repeated the message twice, as if making a CPR announcement.
This is an announcement from headquarters. A significant number of medications and medical supplies have expired. Please carefully select items for today’s use only, and each team must send at least three people to Base Camp to verify supplies. Thank you.
Once the broadcast ended, the person in the Broadcast Room spoke as if he’d known something all along.
“Wow… so the medical supplies have expired too, huh?”
“Don’t tell me you’re a doctor too?”
“Yes! I am.”
He really was a doctor. Now even doctors were stuck in the Broadcast Room. Beom-jun was dumbfounded.
As if reading his mind, the doctor explained.
“Oh, I was in the broadcasting club in high school. Since I said I knew a bit about broadcast equipment, they just assigned me here permanently.”
That’s why you never tell companies what you can do.
“What did you mean just now? Did you know about the supply situation?”
Beom-jun shook his head but pressed on his earlier statement. It seemed like the doctor knew something.
“I didn’t know about the supplies, only the medications. I threw out a few and kept using them, but gradually more and more expired ones piled up, so I reported it…”
“And then?”
“After that, I got assigned to Broadcast Room duties. I have to stay here, so I probably won’t even see patients this year.”
His words were shocking. A doctor came to do medical volunteer work and had to stay locked in the Broadcast Room.
Grim smile.
Beom-jun’s eyes widened ominously while only his mouth formed a smile. The Uigwonhoe bastards really knew how to respond appropriately, didn’t they?
It was one of two things.
Either the Uigwonhoe knew the medications and medical supplies had expired but covered it up.
Or the information never made it up the chain at all.
“What’s your name?”
“I’m, I’m Hwang Hyun-hwi!”
“All right, Hwang. From now on, if something like this happens, you say something. If one person won’t listen, go tell ten people. Or twenty. One of those twenty will be sane enough to hear you.”
Beom-jun tapped his temple with his index finger as he spoke.
“I was worried about causing more trouble…”
“If it’s the right thing to do, you do it anyway. Especially for patients.”
Hyun-hwi, trapped in the Broadcast Room like solitary confinement, had been withdrawn all this time, wondering if the assignment had been punitive.
“Yes! I understand!”
After Beom-jun’s visit, Hyun-hwi became a little braver.
Meanwhile, complaints about the added task were heard from various corners.
But no one questioned why it had to be done. The complaint was about why the expiration date check hadn’t been done in the first place—resentment that things that should have been routinely prepared simply hadn’t been.
In the midst of this, the Team Leader came looking for Beom-jun.
He arrived breathless, gasping for air.
“Director Choi!! They said you made that announcement!”
Wheezing, he spoke to Beom-jun as if angry with him.
“Look, they told me you were a troublemaker. For Director Han’s sake, I held my tongue and let it slide! If you’re visiting for the first time, just read the room quietly and move on. I was going to reject your participation request, but I squeezed you in anyway.”
He clearly knew that Beom-jun had applied late to join the volunteer work.
“Didn’t you check the supply status? Or did you just ignore it?”
Beom-jun tested the Team Leader.
The Team Leader grumbled in response.
“Of course if I’d known, I would’ve checked properly. It’s just, this year I’m doing a volunteer run before even completing a full year elsewhere, so, you know! Kind of! I, just checked it briefly!”
Fortunately, it didn’t seem he’d known the medications had expired and ignored it anyway. It was likely that what Hwang Hyun-hwi had said got lost somewhere in the middle. The Uigwonhoe itself was so closed off that information didn’t flow upward.
“At least we know now. If patients visit Base Camp and develop side effects afterward, how will you take responsibility?”
But that didn’t mean it could be easily overlooked. As the final person responsible for this volunteer work, Beom-jun scolded the Team Leader.
“I’ll be gone after a week anyway. Does it matter?”
“That’s not—what are you saying?! That’s not it at all!!”
“Then act properly. Don’t just talk.”
Beom-jun spoke firmly. The Team Leader was left speechless.
First, a troublemaker hit him in the morning, and now a hospital director was chewing him out in the afternoon.
Today’s luck was the worst.
Beom-jun snapped his fingers as if to say good riddance.
“Look, we don’t even have enough hands. You should go help with the supply check.”
“Me?”
The supplies for a week’s use filled an entire one-ton truck. And that was before sorting the medications too.
“Let’s go. I was about to head over there anyway.”
“No, but why should I—!”
“Isn’t this exactly what dedication and sacrifice mean? Wow, Team Leader, taking the lead yourself—looks great.”
Beom-jun used the Team Leader’s own words against him, flashing a cheesy thumbs up.
Trapped by his own words, the Team Leader reluctantly followed Beom-jun like he was being forced.

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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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