Surviving as a Rogue Hospital Director - Chapter 52

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

Episode 52.
“You must be terribly busy, Director. However did you manage to come all the way here?”
The Conference Chairman, who had been bowing, hurried forward toward Beom-jun in quick, shuffling steps.
Beom-jun, catching sight of his gleaming crown, extended his hand for a handshake, and the Conference Chairman grasped it with both of his own.
As they exchanged proper greetings, Beom-jun began to understand why the Korean Thoracic Surgery Society’s academic conference had been decorated with such lavish brilliance.
The Conference Chairman was wearing a sweater with a Prada logo emblazoned across the front as large as a gate, though it didn’t suit him particularly well.
According to Jae-gyeong, he served as an emeritus professor at a regional private medical school. For his age, his demeanor seemed less than dignified.
“I thought I’d take a look around. There’s quite a lot to see at this conference. You must have gone to considerable trouble preparing.”
“Oh, no, no. We had to do something like this. Since becoming Conference Chairman, I’ve noticed that people have virtually no expectations for thoracic surgery.”
Beom-jun nodded at the Conference Chairman’s words. It was true that public perception of thoracic surgery had been deteriorating steadily.
Thoracic Surgery departments at all but the highest-tier general hospitals routinely failed to fill their defined number of positions.
With no competition, positions filled immediately upon application, yet even when filled this way, overall staffing remained insufficient, creating a vicious cycle where work piled up on a select few.
“That’s certainly the case. Times have changed, after all.”
Beom-jun belonged to a generation that had confronted this shift head-on. Even just a few decades ago, in the eighties and nineties, high-difficulty specialties like Thoracic Surgery and Neurology had been popular.
The ability to provide sophisticated care was a source of great pride for physicians, and among doctors themselves it commanded respect and prestige.
By contrast, young physicians today had no interest in honor. What mattered most was working with less difficulty and earning money more easily.
And so Thoracic Surgery had gradually faded from memory.
Patients, left without direction, wandered lost, and were driven to the margins.
‘To restore what once thrived, to revive the standing of Thoracic Surgery!’
“If it flourished once, surely it can flourish again. Heh.”
He had taken on the Conference Chairman role carrying grand ambitions.
“I’m not talking about doing something immediately. I’m trying to first capture the interest of young physicians.”
The current Conference Chairman was preoccupied with the question of how to attract young doctors.
Not knowing how to win over young people’s favor, he had done his utmost, and so the conference was proceeding on an unprecedented scale—advertising, as it were, that the research and treatments conducted in thoracic surgery were extraordinarily remarkable and impressive.
“Rather than continuing like this, let me introduce you to the conference. Please follow me.”
The Conference Chairman, his eyes gleaming as brightly as his polished crown, led Beom-jun away.
“We would greatly appreciate your continued interest in the Korean Thoracic Surgery Society. And if you might spread word that it went well, we would be most grateful.”
Beom-jun stopped the secretarial staff that had begun to follow.
“It would be better to go quietly so as not to cause a disturbance. That way we can see a more natural presentation.”
“Indeed, what foresight you possess.”
That last remark had been made offhandedly, but the Conference Chairman accepted it and dismissed his staff.
“We’ve chosen AI as the subtitle for this conference. It’s the field garnering the most attention these days, after all.”
As the Conference Chairman walked through the conference venues, he talked without pause.
What began as an explanation and briefing about the conference
“evolved into: “If AI supports treatment, other specialties will reduce their physician numbers, but surgery requires a doctor’s hands, so we’ll survive.”
As time passed, the Chairman’s earnestness mingled with pride in thoracic surgery.
“Thoracic Surgery is precisely the field that will…!”
Standing beside him as he held forth passionately, Beom-jun felt as though his ears might bleed.
‘Yes, yes, I understand…’
But because he was speaking with such desperate sincerity, Beom-jun couldn’t bring himself to cut him off. Right—this was a matter of showing respect to an elder, something like that.
‘I need to bring up Jason soon.’
If the society paid just a bit of attention, he could draw interest to the paper. He’d already verified through Sung-hyuk that it was a well-crafted work; all that was needed now was proper distribution.
“This concludes the sessions we’ve prepared. Each day is structured around a different theme, so you’ll have the opportunity to hear other presentations tomorrow.”
“But isn’t there a presentation in the Annex Building as well?”
Beom-jun interjected with seeming innocence, pressing the matter delicately.
“Yes. We did make a room available, but that’s nothing to concern yourself with.”
The Conference Chairman clearly remembered Jason’s research.
‘He’s not forgetting—he’s dismissing it.’
Beom-jun furrowed his brow and pressed him directly.
“What’s the reason?”
“The practical applications seem quite limited. Academic presentation derives its meaning from general applicability, doesn’t it? For a young person to take such a direction is unfortunate.”
Though the Conference Chairman had just been speaking of attracting young doctors, he could not shed the yardstick of the establishment.
“As medicine advances, the broad frameworks are all in place, are they not? If someone is conducting research within those interstices, it’s surely because they’ve done thorough groundwork in existing research.”
Beom-jun spoke favorably of Jason in his defense.
“I happened to overhear it in passing, and the intent was sound. It was research that classifies patient populations and focuses on prevention.”
“Hmm…? Is that so.”
The Conference Chairman’s ears were more open than his initial reaction had suggested. Beom-jun’s remark seemed to surprise him, but he did not respond negatively. He was, unexpectedly, a man with good listening skills, eager to take in every word Beom-jun offered and make it his own.
“I heard the presentation schedule has changed.”
“Ah, that’s because—well, the time slot was swapped. Apparently the original presenter suddenly fell ill and won’t be able to attend the conference.”
“Then it’s not a swap—they won’t be coming tomorrow either.”
“Right, well. So we were planning to cancel that time slot.”
At the Conference Chairman’s words, Beom-jun’s eyes lit up. A vacant time slot was an opportunity.
“Then what if we gave the original presenter another chance at that time? You’d benefit from hearing it yourself, I think.”
Though Beom-jun desperately wanted the Conference Chairman’s approval, he spoke with studied nonchalance.
The Conference Chairman felt a spark of curiosity. What kind of research would the Director of Korean University Hospital remember?
What research could have made such an impression on him?
Perhaps it indicated the very direction the Korean Thoracic Surgery Society should take going forward.
“Hmm, you think so? Since you mention it with such conviction, I’m curious now myself.”
Done. Beom-jun clenched his fist inside his pocket. He’d secured the opportunity; now came the moment to deliver.
* * *
After meeting with the Conference Chairman, Beom-jun informed Jason of the next day’s schedule.
“Jason, you’ll be presenting again tomorrow at the originally scheduled time. We’re also coordinating with the Main Building for the venue.”
“Yes, yes?”
“Don’t worry—Professor Lim is refining your presentation materials.”
“I, really, me?”
At his direction, Sung-hyuk was polishing the PowerPoint Presentation overall.
But Jason’s reaction was ambiguous. The more people who showed interest in his research, the more he withdrew into himself.
“But… if I, mess up the presentation…”
He seemed to have no confidence in presenting. Even the research team at Cheonhui University Hospital had harbored no great expectations.
No one understood the content better than Jason, the paper’s first author, and with the presenter in this state, they were essentially half-resigned to drawing any attention at all.
But Beom-jun would not give up.
“If words fail you, just do it in English.”
“If I do that, people won’t, uh, understand—you guys won’t be able to keep up.”
Jason muttered that if he switched to English, people wouldn’t be able to follow him.
Beom-jun understood what Jason meant, but right now, delivery mattered more than content.
Any story, told well, will be heard well.
“It’s not just about speaking well—you have to make people understand, make them remember. Not just something they hear once and forget, but something that becomes theirs. Do you follow?”
“Ah…, I see.”
As Beom-jun spoke, he tapped his own head. Then he pointed to the area near Jason’s heart.
“Right now, this research is nothing more than a ‘possibility.’ For it to become ‘treatment’ that saves patients, someone has to put it into practice. When they meet a patient, it needs to flash into their mind. That’s what you’re conveying.”
Of course, as a physician and researcher, being knowledgeable in one’s field is entirely natural.
But explanation isn’t about showing off what you know—it’s about helping others understand and internalize it.
Jason had likely missed this because he’d kept his distance from patient care. He’d devoted himself entirely to research without seeing patients.
“Wow… I got it now. That’s … a really good point!”
Jason, turning over Beom-jun’s words in his mind, seemed lost in thought. Small exclamations—wow, oh—spilled unconsciously from his slightly open lips.
Then, suddenly coming back to himself, he bounded over to Sung-hyuk, who was working on the presentation materials.
Jason’s thick, damp hair flew this way and that.
“But, uh, that hair of his is a bit…. Can’t something be done about it?”
“He seems to have a lot of hair. Lucky him. If it’s styled right, he’d actually look quite refined.”
It was a murmur to himself, but Hyun-ji heard and replied.
“You know how to style hair?”
“Not brilliantly, just about enough to do my own.”
They say appearance is a skill too. Or at least, healthy-looking presentation would lend credibility to treatment explanations.
And a neat-looking physician already wins half the battle before they open their mouth. There’s even a saying that his brain is sexy.
Beom-jun looked at Hyun-ji and smiled with satisfaction.
“That should be enough.”
* * *
Half a day passed that way, and Jason emerged looking reasonably human. With Hyun-ji’s touch, the hair that had been splaying in all directions was brought forward, partially covering his eyes.
“You look even more impressive when it’s covering your eyes, Professor.”
Despite Hyun-ji’s playful comment, Jason seemed pleased with his transformed appearance.
“I like that I can’t see. It makes me feel at ease.”
Jason walked toward the Conference Room with confidence.
But his swagger was short-lived.
Word had spread these past few days that the Director of Korean University Hospital had taken interest in Jason’s research.
And as if to confirm that the rumor was true, the moment Beom-jun appeared, physicians attending the conference surged forward like a tidal wave.
Jason, seeing ten times more people than he had a few days earlier, began to tremble.
“I, I w-w-will now b-begin the p-presentation.”
Beom-jun swallowed a sigh.
Right—you couldn’t cure bad habits overnight.
At that moment, Beom-jun, standing at the very back of the lecture hall, began applauding loudly and deliberately.
Clap, clap, clap.
The high-ceilinged Conference Room resonated with the sound, which echoed through the space, and those seated turned away from Jason to locate the source of the applause.
“Bravo. Well done, Jason.”
People recognized Beom-jun and nodded knowingly. After all, everyone present held senior positions at some hospital, making Beom-jun quite a renowned figure among them.
“That’s the Director of Korean University Hospital, right?”
“He’s younger than I expected.”
“But isn’t this research being done by a Cheonhui University Hospital professor?”
“Yeah, seriously—what’s he doing here?”
As people murmured and turned to look back, Jason found momentary relief from the weight of their attention.
‘Th-th-thank you, D-Director.’
Jason exchanged a look of gratitude with Beom-jun.
With his mind at last settled, Jason slowly opened his mouth.

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