Surviving as a Rogue Hospital Director - Chapter 43

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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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Chapter 43.
Ever since the three-way meeting with the board chairman, the hospital director, and herself, Hui-jeong had felt increasingly distant from the chairman.
She’d informed him of the Ministry of Defense situation, yet he hadn’t convened a board meeting—instead summoning the director separately, which struck her as odd. And as she’d suspected, the chairman hadn’t properly reined in Beom-jun.
Even after learning that the director was running amok on his own terms.
‘He decided the whole Ministry of Defense collaboration by himself! And the chairman just lets it slide? That cunning old fox. All talk, no substance—nothing gets done properly!’
He could have put a stop to it. He chose not to.
If the chairman had taken issue, the situation could have been escalated considerably.
Hui-jeong gnawed at her fingernails, already bitten short, yet she worked at them relentlessly, creating gaps where there were none to worry at them further.
Since Han Seung-woo’s dismissal, she’d been trembling with anxiety. His Recommended Resignation hit her harder than she’d expected. The hospital director wielding personnel authority—who would’ve thought.
At first she’d thought he’d nearly died and recovered, just a stiff neck from the ordeal. She’d planned to remind him of his proper place, to make him obedient again when he’d overstepped.
‘But he fired my person. How does that make sense?’
Beom-jun hadn’t known about Han Seung-woo’s long-standing connection to Hui-jeong when he’d let him go, but the loss of her ally had put her on high alert.
If Beom-jun started cutting people one or two at a time, she might be next.
It was already unfair that she hadn’t become director. If she were stripped of her position as associate director, she’d never forgive it.
The way he carried himself now suggested he wouldn’t quietly accept his remaining term and step down.
“I can’t just sit still. I need a countermeasure.”
Flanking her were Jun-mo, a lawyer, and Ha-rin, an accountant.
“I wasn’t saying he should just quit outright. The grounds for his Recommended Resignation were clearly justified. It looks like Kim Jae-gyeong, the executive secretary, is handling the aftermath. What if we tried to bring Kim over to our side first?”
Jun-mo, confident in his persuasive ability, suggested they should pressure Jae-gyeong.
He often remarked that the director’s transformation overnight made no sense. He seemed convinced it was Jae-gyeong wielding influence, not Beom-jun.
But Hui-jeong tilted her head doubtfully. She was the one who’d interviewed Jae-gyeong back then.
‘If he had that level of competence, I wouldn’t have assigned him to the director.’
Her memory wasn’t perfect, but she trusted her past judgment. If Jae-gyeong had been exceptional, she would have kept him by her side, not handed him to the director.
Besides, she’d seen Jae-gyeong trailing after Beom-jun more than once. She could have co-opted him long ago if she’d needed to. Not that it was necessary, but it would have served to undermine the director’s authority.
“That’s because you don’t understand Kim’s loyalty. He’s been following the director since before he became director.”
Hui-jeong rejected Jun-mo’s suggestion.
“…But can we really secure the Ministry of Defense budget?”
Ha-rin, ever cautious, raised the question slowly.
“Given that the commander came all the way here, the odds look favorable.”
Though Beom-jun had played coy about what might happen, Hui-jeong suspected things were proceeding smoothly.
This wasn’t the bumbling director who always hemmed and hawed. Firing Han Seung-woo alone proved he could extract resources, not just negotiate. He wouldn’t fail at securing external funding.
“Interesting—so the director can sometimes bring money in from outside.”
Ha-rin spoke with genuine curiosity. As the one managing Hanguk University Hospital’s finances, she was used to chronic shortfalls.
Ha-rin spent each year struggling to calculate fixed government subsidies, research grants, and health insurance reimbursements that took half a year to process. It was remarkable to see funds drop in so directly.
“Admittedly, he’s an odd one.”
Hui-jeong shook her head, but her private thoughts registered differently with Jun-mo and Ha-rin respectively.
‘Is he genuinely incompetent?’
‘He’s more capable than I gave him credit for.’
Still, they agreed on one thing: Hui-jeong was paying close attention to the director now. The days of summoning the hospital director when convenient had passed.
“Hmm.”
Hui-jeong tried to cross her short, thick legs, failed, and set them back on the floor.
No matter how she thought about it, something felt off.
“Does anyone know what the director was like when he woke up in the Intensive Care Unit?”
“Not me.”
“Not particularly, no.”
Jun-mo and Ha-rin, having paid no special attention to that detail, knew nothing.
Hui-jeong pressed on, genuinely perplexed.
“It just doesn’t add up. Unless someone else crawled inside his body, how could he change so drastically overnight?”
Hui-jeong had stumbled upon the truth without realizing it.
* * *
After surgery concluded successfully, Beom-jun visited Li Mu-seong’s hospital room.
“Director, you’ve come? It feels like it’s been a while.”
Li Mu-seong greeted Beom-jun with a natural smile.
Beom-jun rarely gave Li Mu-seong direct orders; during his hospitalization, Mu-seong received only one-way communication from the medical staff.
How is the surgical site, has the pain lessened, eat this way, have you passed gas yet, did you sleep well—and so on.
Though kind, these checkups left Mu-seong offering only brief responses.
“What are you up to these days? Looking out the window constantly must get tedious.”
Beom-jun was Mu-seong’s sole partner for casual conversation—not instructions, but genuine dialogue. Perhaps Beom-jun was still his most comfortable person in South Korea.
“Nothing much. Fallen leaves keep the view new each day. For a Revolutionary Soldier, tedium means nothing.”
He spoke heartily despite the casts on his right leg and both arms.
Beom-jun could see his expression had eased. It wasn’t merely psychological. His pain medication dosage had dropped noticeably.
According to Shin So-jeong, he’d been recovering rapidly since the second surgery.
After operating on the Gunshot Wound nearest the Pericardium—the most dangerous—his limbs had received the urgent treatment they needed. With five gunshot wounds alone, it was fair to say his body had been shattered.
The critical phase had passed. Now it was simply a matter of waiting for the wounds to heal. They’d need to monitor his progress, but there should be no further danger.
Beom-jun examined his complexion before speaking.
“You know the military came by. We stopped them last time, but they’ll be back soon.”
“I know those fellows tried hard. I went through plenty before getting here.”
Without Beom-jun having to press, Li Mu-seong naturally began recounting the events from that time.
The vague subject made Beom-jun ask for clarification. It seemed Li Mu-seong meant the soldiers, not Hanguk University Hospital.
“Before you came to the hospital?”
“Utter chaos—they hauled me off in a panic, and those fellows went pale with fright, not knowing what to do.”
At Beom-jun’s question, Mu-seong reflected on those moments.
“And when I opened my eyes again, I was here.”
Beom-jun was startled that someone with gunshot wounds had remained conscious.
‘He was awake the whole time?’
With iron willpower like that, Li Mu-seong truly was a Revolutionary Soldier.
“Were there many soldiers at the first place?”
Beom-jun began asking for details about the situation then.
“Plenty. All in uniform.”
Just as Beom-jun suspected, they’d tried to handle things at a military hospital first.
Thank goodness Li Mu-seong survived at Hanguk University Hospital; otherwise, someone would have borne responsibility for the patient’s death.
The Ministry of Defense’s decision to conceal this and transfer the patient was wrong no matter how many times he considered it.
“Don’t blame them too harshly. They did their best.”
Mu-seong, recovering well, spoke graciously. His memories of the military hospital didn’t seem to be unpleasant.
But Beom-jun’s view was different.
If Li Mu-seong hadn’t recovered as he had, the Ministry of Defense would surely have told a different story. If they kept glossing over things with “he’s fine now, no immediate problems,” they’d miss critical flaws.
Medical negligence was ultimately reinterpreted based on whether the patient lived or died—outcomes determined causality and intent retroactively.
He couldn’t assume that another patient like Li Mu-seong would always fare well when coming to Hanguk University Hospital.
“That’s reassuring to hear.”
Still, Beom-jun didn’t press his own view on the patient. A patient leaving healthy was enough.
“Those fellows take considerable interest in you, Li Mu-seong.”
Beom-jun repeated the terminology Mu-seong had used.
Interrogation and questioning would follow. Once he left the hospital, Beom-jun’s protection would end too.
But Mu-seong answered with a knowing smile.
“I’ve always been popular. Can’t escape it even here, I suppose.”
“Ha, I suppose not.”
His face was swollen from whole-body edema, but Beom-jun sensed many would like his magnanimous nature. A man of hearty disposition.
“That’s probably why you married young.”
Matching the jest, Beom-jun naturally broached the subject of Mu-seong’s family.
“Ah yes, Revolutionary Soldiers tend to marry early. We establish families first to devote ourselves wholly to our homeland.”
“….”
Beom-jun let silence draw out his answer.
Mu-seong called himself a Revolutionary Soldier, yet he’d arrived in civilian clothes. That’s why they hadn’t known his name at first.
In the quiet room, Mu-seong let something slip.
“Yet my homeland abandoned me. I thought I might as well die, but you brought me back.”
‘Abandoned’—it seemed his crossing to the South wasn’t of his own choosing. Perhaps circumstance had forced him into an impossible decision. Beom-jun suspected that in the process, he’d lost a daughter.
“That must have been difficult.”
But Beom-jun didn’t pursue the subject further. Mu-seong needed the right balance of closeness and distance.
Just as at their first meeting, Beom-jun’s presence beside him posed the question without words.
The detailed account would come better from the military. That was what the Ministry of Defense hoped for as well.
“I will repay your kindness one day.”
Mu-seong spoke with sudden seriousness, all playfulness stripped away.
While one couldn’t tally consideration piece by piece, Mu-seong felt at ease with Beom-jun. He likely believed without doubt that the comfort he’d found at Hanguk University Hospital came from Beom-jun too.
“I’ll pass. Just recover and leave the hospital without incident—that’s enough.”
“No, there will come a day when I repay this debt.”
Despite Beom-jun’s demurral, Mu-seong spoke solemnly, and Beom-jun simply accepted the resolve.
“Then so be it. I’ll look forward to it.”
In truth, it meant little to Beom-jun. One rarely saw a patient again after discharge, and for a doctor, admissions and discharges were routine occurrences, several each day.
So he couldn’t have imagined the figure of Li Mu-seong he’d meet someday not in a hospital, but elsewhere.
Knock, knock, knock.
The moment Beom-jun was letting the words pass lightly, someone knocked on the hospital room door.
“Director, I thought you might be here.”
Through the opening door, Shin So-jeong’s face appeared.

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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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