Surviving as a Rogue Hospital Director - Chapter 51

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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 51.
Food arrived and the meal continued, but at the table where Beom-jun sat, the conversation had shifted entirely to the topic of research papers.
— Safety and Efficacy of Invasive Treatment in Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy Patients: A Focus on Alcohol Septal Ablation
Jason’s paper argued for the necessity of invasive intervention. Invasive, in medical terms, refers to any procedure that creates a wound in the skin and penetrates the body to deliver treatment.
For example, injections, blood tests, and surgery—even minor wounds—all qualify as invasive procedures.
Conversely, imaging studies and physical therapy are classified as non-invasive treatments.
But what about medication? It’s not always so simple.
Most medications are taken orally, but sometimes drugs are injected directly into the body.
The Alcohol Septal Ablation that Jason proposed fell into this latter category.
It involved inserting an extremely thin catheter into the heart and injecting medical-grade alcohol directly—the alcohol necroses the muscle tissue it contacts, reducing the thickness by a microscopic margin.
‘It’s a solid approach, if you can actually use it.’
That was Beom-jun’s conclusion after hearing Jason’s presentation.
For hypertrophic cardiomyopathy patients who don’t improve with medication, the most effective method is for a surgeon to excise the thickened cardiac muscle—a procedure called Septal Myectomy.
However, performing an excision requires opening the chest, and the act of laying hands on the heart while the ribs are spread carries substantial risk for the patient. This was why Jason advocated inserting a catheter into an artery to reach the heart instead.
“W-when the research is f-finished, many patients will…”
“It will be of tremendous benefit to patients.”
When the Surgery Department Chief from Cheon Hee University Hospital cut Jason off, Beom-jun’s eyebrows twitched slightly.
“What’s the indication
*
for this treatment?”
*The disease or condition for which a particular drug or treatment method is recognized as appropriate to apply.
The Surgery Department Chief felt a sting from Beom-jun’s question. He’d struck at the paper’s core weakness—the unfortunate truth was that this treatment had very few actual applications.
“We estimate it applies to approximately 10 to 15 percent of total patients.”
“B-but still! L-life, a whole l-lifetime—”
As the Chief’s demeanor darkened, Jason fumbled through a rebuttal, though only the Chief seemed to grasp his broken thoughts.
“Of course, for those patients, it would be the opportunity of a lifetime. But as you’re indicating, there simply aren’t many cases where this approach is applicable. Which is partly why we can’t advance to clinical trials.”
The Chief translated Jason’s words like an interpreter, and Jason nodded along as he processed the explanation—until he heard the Chief’s ultimatum.
“Frankly, I think we should consider the hypertrophic cardiomyopathy ASA research concluded here.”
Jason looked as though he had much to say in response to the Chief’s ultimatum, but the Chief showed no interest in listening.
“B-but, C-Chief, th—”
His cold tone left Jason with nothing more to say.
— Click.
Watching this, Beom-jun set down his chopsticks. His brow furrowed, he addressed the Surgery Department Chief from Cheon Hee University Hospital directly.
“I’d like to hear the researcher’s perspective on this.”
Beom-jun understood the Chief’s reasoning well enough, but seeing Jason so blatantly dismissed made his irritation rise.
‘At least hear the man out first.’
“So what do you think this research has actually contributed to clinical medicine?”
After shutting down the Chief, Beom-jun turned to Jason with the question—
“Ah, I… um…”
Jason swallowed hard in the suddenly quiet atmosphere.
Then Im Sung-hyuk, who had exchanged pleasantries with Jason as they entered the restaurant, stepped in to help.
“Just explain it the way you described it briefly earlier. That will be enough.”
Emboldened by Sung-hyuk’s words, Jason slowly began to speak.
“Th-this isn’t treatment. Not adding treatment.”
Jason switched to English when words escaped him, and in that moment Beom-jun noticed his face looked considerably more at ease.
“Speak freely. English is fine—is there anyone here who won’t understand?”
Everyone shook their head, though the Chief made no gesture at all.
“Gray patients, introducing? Clarifying, I mean.”
Jason, glancing nervously at the Chief, finally began speaking in English. In his native language, though still visibly tense, his words no longer stuttered.
“This research, we did to clarify patients in the gray zone. These, these people are in uncertain timing!”
Jason explained that his goal was to identify patients who hadn’t yet shown symptoms but where the timing of treatment remained ambiguous.
“Why did you decide to undertake this research in the first place?”
After listening, Beom-jun paused to reflect, then posed the question to Jason.
“I felt this study had to be done. People shouldn’t have to live in constant anxiety. And I had the opportunity to make that possible.”
Jason answered Beom-jun’s question without hesitation. Someone had to do this research, and he had the capacity to do it.
Beom-jun discovered a solid core beneath what had initially appeared to be Jason’s simplistic demeanor.
Treatment for rare diseases grows increasingly sidelined while common cold medications sell briskly—the market is simply larger.
What Jason was doing now was supply with virtually no demand. Creating a treatment for a disease nobody was buying cures for.
Unless he pitched it directly to conglomerates at whatever price he demanded, there were inherent commercial limitations regardless of how expensive the treatment became.
But hypertrophic cardiomyopathy? Beom-jun hadn’t even heard of this condition until he’d read Doctor X. Honestly, it was practically new to him.
Lee Seo’s condition—Tetralogy of Fallot—was also a rare disease, but unlike that diagnosis, which appeared with some regularity in textbooks, hypertrophic cardiomyopathy presented an entirely different problem.
The difficulty of treatment reached serious proportions.
First came the challenge of even identifying who needed treatment. You had to start by asking: “At what degree of thickening do we classify it as pathological?”
Then, because cardiac muscle thickening could stem from multiple etiologies, identifying the underlying cause was problematic. Selecting the appropriate treatment method was even more so.
Without clear causal relationships, Jason’s research was structurally predisposed to produce ambiguous results.
‘But what—he does it because he can?’
Beom-jun was struck speechless by Jason’s reasoning. There was something naïve about a man who didn’t pause to calculate which treatments might be profitable.
Jason was innocent of the world’s ways. Perhaps that’s precisely why he could persist with this research.
“That’s meaningful work.”
But Sung-hyuk empathized with Jason. He listened attentively as Jason’s halting words conveyed their true meaning.
“Oh, really? Do you truly mean that?”
Jason looked genuinely moved.
“Of course. I would have done the same.”
Beom-jun’s eyes moved between Sung-hyuk and Jason, seated on either side, and he exhaled slowly. The Surgery Department Chief across from him wore an identical expression to Beom-jun’s own.
‘Jason—now that I look at him, he’s just like Im Sung-hyuk.’
Beom-jun understood why he’d felt bothered when Jason was dismissed. Different exteriors aside, Jason was cast from the same mold as Sung-hyuk. Sung-hyuk seemed to have recognized his own kind immediately.
Beom-jun regarded the Cheon Hee University Hospital Surgery Department Chief with something like pity. What authority did the Chief actually wield at the hospital? Likely he’d just end up absorbing criticism in Jason’s stead.
“This research certainly doesn’t have much commercial viability.”
Beom-jun lowered his voice, speaking almost to himself, yet directed at the Chief.
“Ha, yes, exactly! As expected of a hospital director, sir! The Professor Jason simply has no interest in that side of things! Honestly, follow-up research is unthinkable. We won’t even recover the personnel costs.”
At Beom-jun’s words, the Surgery Department Chief drew in a relieved breath. He’d finally found someone he could talk to, and his expression showed it.
“Is the research funding from Cheon Hee University Hospital’s own budget?”
“Yes, we thought perhaps we might attract investment by presenting at the academic conference, but the society hasn’t shown much enthusiasm. The presentation was originally scheduled for the day after tomorrow—today we’re filling in for a cancelled lecture.”
Beom-jun pressed his hand to his forehead.
‘Who invests in research that won’t make money? The society’s already pulling back—I can feel it.’
The quest had been simply to remove the source of conflict so Jason wouldn’t harbor resentment toward Im Sung-hyuk. He’d planned to end it with the two sharing treatment methodologies.
But Jason’s words from moments ago lingered in Beom-jun’s chest like a dull ache. He does it because he can, Jason had said.
‘Meaningful work. I would have done the same.’
More than anything, Sung-hyuk’s response had shaken him.
For research undertaken with such an intention—even if it didn’t receive tremendous acclaim—shouldn’t it at least not be buried and forgotten?
Beside him, Sung-hyuk and Jason were lost in their own world. Beom-jun felt a sudden pang at seeing their sincerity go unappreciated.
“Give it time. It’s only the first day, after all. We won’t know what happens next.”
The Chief didn’t fully grasp the sigh woven through Beom-jun’s words.
And Beom-jun’s meddling would soon send shockwaves through the Korean Thoracic Surgery Society.
* * *
In fact, Beom-jun hadn’t registered for the academic conference under his own name.
— Kim Jae-gyung, Executive Director of the Korean University Hospital Administrative Office.
The name badge he’d received also bore Jae-gyung’s name. If the hospital director’s attendance became known, the conference organizers would inevitably create unnecessary complications.
But at the souvenir booth, a name appeared on the list that wasn’t among the registered participants. Next to it, in smaller print, was a title.
“Korean University Hospital Choi Beom-jun? Isn’t that the hospital director’s name?”
“Hospital director? It literally says hospital director here.”
“Someone must have written it in for him. Look, the handwriting’s identical.”
The staff debated back and forth before ultimately deciding to report it to the conference office.
“There were so many people, honestly we don’t remember clearly. But our registration list does show hospital director.”
Upon receiving the staff member’s call, the Conference Chairman of the Korean Thoracic Surgery Society hesitated, then logged into the Korean University Hospital website.
He expected to find perhaps a small photograph alongside a greeting, but prominently displayed in the main video was Beom-jun in 3D, larger than life.
“Oh! That’s him!”
The Conference Chairman recalled the man he’d seen in the lobby yesterday—the one who’d struck him as standing with such an air, as if he were some model or celebrity. He’d been the hospital director of Korean University Hospital.
A hospital director of Korean University Hospital’s stature actually attending the academic conference! Even he had to admit it was momentous. The Conference Chairman trembled with pride, practically dancing with emotion.
— Knock knock.
“Excuse me. Is the Conference Chairman in?”
At that moment, someone appeared at the door of the Conference Chairman’s office.
“Yes, please come in.”
The door opened slowly, and Beom-jun entered.
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Choi Beom-jun, Hospital Director of Korean University Hospital.”
The Conference Chairman, who had risen awkwardly to greet his visitor, went slack-jawed at the introduction.
With his arrival, his introduction was complete. He said nothing further, waiting only for the astonished Conference Chairman to compose himself.
The Conference Chairman, having laid eyes on Hospital Director Choi Beom-jun himself, found he could not tear his gaze away.

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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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