Surviving as a Rogue Hospital Director - Chapter 67

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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 67.
After that, Kang Woo changed somewhat. He no longer slouched awkwardly, no longer played dumb—minor things, really.
To the naked eye, it was negligible, but Sung-hyuk’s keen perception caught the shift.
He was paying even closer attention now, knowing Kang Woo had met with the Hospital Director before the consultation.
‘Should he see the Director before the consultation, or should I arrange it after my rounds if you need more time?’
‘Oh, no. Thirty minutes is enough. I’ll send him off in good spirits, don’t worry.’
That’s what the Director had said, but how could Sung-hyuk not worry about his attending wanting a private session with his patient?
Beom-jun had asked him one thing that left Sung-hyuk baffled.
‘Has Kang Woo ever mentioned his father?’
‘Not really, no.’
‘I see. Looks like I’ll have to pry it out of him.’
But when Kang Woo reappeared, he’d become cautious. He didn’t interrupt needlessly, spoke less than necessary. His ears seemed sharper somehow, more attentive.
It was a subtle change, but Sung-hyuk perceived it. It wasn’t that he was doing something new—it was that he’d stopped doing what he used to do, which made it hard to notice outright.
Since the Director had intervened, Sung-hyuk trusted that this shift would benefit the treatment ahead. For now, he just had to pick up his spoon and eat what was served.
‘I can’t become someone who can’t eat even when the table is set.’
Sung-hyuk recalled his conversation with Beom-jun as he began the consultation. The Director had put it like: ‘Become my colleague.’ Something along those lines.
“What I mean is… no, we… are at the stage where we should do the procedure now.”
“What do you mean?”
Sung-hyuk struggled to follow the Director’s cryptic words, speaking awkwardly and sweating.
“So, um. From our perspective! The procedure is the best option available.”
Every time he said ‘our,’ his toes curled. Thank goodness for the Crocs—if he’d been wearing leather shoes, they might have torn.
“Pfft.”
Witnessing Sung-hyuk acting uncharacteristically, Hyun-ji lost her composure.
“Eh-heh, ahem!”
She hurried to drink water and covered it with a cough as if nothing had happened. She figured the Director must be concerned about this patient for a reason.
Hyun-ji kept her back turned, staring at the office wall, but her shoulders trembled. Sung-hyuk, embarrassed, drank water too.
She was sharp enough to read Sung-hyuk’s intentions quickly and did her work well, but sometimes she let slip things he’d rather keep hidden.
To Kang Woo, who stood motionless ahead, Sung-hyuk spoke in a measured tone. His voice was lower than before, but far more natural.
“If we move fast, we can do it early next week. Or we could push it back a bit.”
The implication was that Kang Woo could adjust the schedule.
It was the result of two conflicting impulses: the need to provide the best treatment for his patient, and the desire to give him agency over his own care.
“So basically, you’re saying I should do it.”
He was right. It seemed like a choice, but it really wasn’t.
Sung-hyuk felt slighted that his patient didn’t appreciate the effort. But it was undeniable—he’d never intended to give up on what he believed was the best treatment anyway.
“Exactly. You understand well.”
“If I do this, I’ll keep coming to Korea University Hospital for follow-up treatment, right?”
But Kang Woo brought up something else.
“You don’t have to come here. Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy isn’t a condition with a hundred percent cure rate, so management is just as crucial as treatment. Depending on circumstances, I could write a referral to a local hospital, but we’d need to confirm first whether they have the capacity to manage such a rare genetic disorder.”
Sung-hyuk spoke carefully, leaving the possibility open, but he had no intention of transferring
*
or referring
**
Kang Woo to another hospital.
*Transfer: the movement of a patient from one medical institution to another to continue treatment.
**Referral: the return of a patient from a higher-level medical institution to a local one.
How could he trust someone else with his patient’s care? It was unthinkable to him—not until the risk of recurrence dropped into single digits, anyway.
‘Is he asking me to send him to another hospital?’
The more Sung-hyuk explained, the more complications arose, giving him a headache.
To manage Kang Woo’s condition, Cheon-hee University Hospital would have to be capable—but transferring from Korea University Hospital to Cheon-hee University Hospital presented significant problems.
Transfers were typically made to higher-level institutions. Small private clinics referred to general hospitals, which referred to tertiary centers like Korea University Hospital or Cheon-hee University Hospital.
So Korea University Hospital didn’t send patients to Cheon-hee University Hospital, which was on the same tier. He’d never actually checked, but it was likely unheard of in practice. If Kang Woo went to Cheon-hee University Hospital, it would be a considerable blow to Sung-hyuk’s reputation as well.
While Sung-hyuk grew anxious, Kang Woo lowered his gaze.
He pulled his hands from his pockets and held them clasped together, turning his fingers over as he muttered to himself.
“So it was real….”
At his words, Sung-hyuk’s instincts flared. He must have just confirmed something the Hospital Director had told him.
Kang Woo, having said something cryptic, suddenly raised his head and spoke.
“You weren’t just trying me out and moving on. Otherwise, if you were experimenting on me, you wouldn’t explain this much. You could do it without me knowing.”
Having cleared up his misunderstanding about the research, he turned the question back to Sung-hyuk. It was the first step of him relying on his attending physician before making a choice.
“Is this really the treatment method that suits me best?”
“Absolutely. You have my word.”
Kang Woo’s fingers, which had been turning over each other, tensed. Sung-hyuk noticed his arm stiffen, trembling faintly.
This was the moment—separated from his guardian, making his own medical decision.
“Understood. I’ll do it.”
After a brief moment of deliberation, he spoke his decision clearly, each syllable distinct.
Few words, but much meaning compressed within them.
In fact, Sung-hyuk had considered the possibility that Kang Woo might refuse in the end. He’d prepared thoroughly to persuade him.
Why this procedure was appropriate. How it would help. How fortunate it was that they could apply it to him right now.
Sung-hyuk had countless grounds for his conviction, and all of them pointed to Jason Therapy. He’d been confident.
“Huh?”
“That Jason thing, whatever it was. Alcohol something or other. Do it, please.”
But Kang Woo said it before hearing the rest.
He spoke readily, but he hadn’t bothered to remember even the name of the procedure. The efficacy of Jason Therapy seemed far less important to Kang Woo than it was to Sung-hyuk.
“I’ll have it. I’ll tell my mother myself.”
Sung-hyuk’s eyes widened as he watched Kang Woo’s tone shift subtly. He felt deflated, like he’d been hit in the back of the head.
‘Come to think of it, the patient doesn’t need to understand the treatment method. They wouldn’t comprehend it all anyway. It’s enough if I know it well.’
The numerous grounds Sung-hyuk had prepared to persuade Kang Woo—all that expert medical knowledge—had been entirely unhelpful.
Maybe it wasn’t persuasion at all. Maybe it was just Sung-hyuk pushing incomprehensible jargon on a patient.
Nearly ten years since he’d earned his medical license.
It was quite a shock to realize he still didn’t truly understand his patients’ perspective. The profession of medicine still felt impossibly distant to him.
“Uh, uh-huh. Okay.”
Half-dazed, Sung-hyuk replied to Kang Woo.
“But when can I see the Hospital Director again?”
Regardless, Kang Woo sought out Beom-jun.
What had the Hospital Director done?
How did he find what his patient truly wanted, and how did he get them to agree? Sung-hyuk unconsciously shook his head side to side.
“I suppose he’ll show up whenever you need him.”
“Come on, that’s not it. He’s not a god.”
At Kang Woo’s words, Sung-hyuk briefly wondered if the Hospital Director wasn’t, in fact, something close to divine. The way he appeared perfectly at the right moment and solved everything made it seem plausible.
“I guess.”
Sung-hyuk didn’t realize he was saying something medically nonsensical.
* * *
The following Monday, patient Kim Kang-woo was admitted.
After the preparations, Kang Woo was scheduled to undergo the procedure on Tuesday.
Beom-jun didn’t tell Sung-hyuk to do his best.
He would do well anyway—no need to burden him unnecessarily.
Sung-hyuk printed out the patient list for the day as usual.
– Angio room: 10A / Kim Kang-woo – 14 years old – M / ASA
Patient Kim Kang-woo was scheduled in the Cardiovascular Angiography Room at 10 a.m.
As it was during surgery, Sung-hyuk’s inner world brimmed with equanimity like a still lake. The surface was frozen over, maintaining its quiet even under large and small disturbances.
But Min-ho and Hyun-ji were stirred reading the list.
“No way—are you doing ASA on patient Kim Kang-woo today?”
“This day is really here.”
They already knew the schedule—the Cardiovascular Angiography Room, Professor Im Sung-hyuk, and the patient had coordinated it—but seeing it entered into the Hospital Information System felt different.
Now that the procedure was confirmed and they realized it was happening today, the two were in a state of high excitement.
Since they’d wrestled with so much doubt over patient Kim Kang-woo, they’d supported him most of all since he decided to undergo the procedure.
“I’m so glad! Honestly, I thought he’d chicken out.”
“Nah, the Professor would’ve dragged him back if he tried to run.”
“Like a slave bounty hunter?”
Min-ho and Hyun-ji giggled. They were saying that if a resident ran from the hospital, they’d be dragged back, but if the patient tried to run from Sung-hyuk, he’d catch them too.
“Stop talking, everyone needs to conc—”
“Yes, yes. We should focus.”
“Con-cen-trate!”
Min-ho mimicked something Sung-hyuk often said. Hyun-ji went further, pressing her index fingers to her temples as if sending telepathy.
“Ha.”
Sung-hyuk laughed at the two, as if exasperated.
After the only fellow had quit, the gap in the Thoracic Surgery Department was filled by Min-ho and Hyun-ji. They didn’t fit perfectly, but that was all right. They discovered each other’s shortcomings and filled them in.
‘The Director said he’d hire someone new, but this isn’t so bad either.’
Bringing in new people required effort in training and adaptation. Beyond the work itself, they could disrupt the atmosphere.
While Sung-hyuk hadn’t paid particular attention to things like partnership and synergy among the medical staff before, he found this team wasn’t bad.
Affection had grown without him noticing—enough that he didn’t want to disrupt the routine they had now.
“Ready? Let’s go!”
As Sung-hyuk took the lead, Min-ho and Hyun-ji fell in behind him, one at each shoulder.

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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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