Surviving as a Rogue Hospital Director - Chapter 70

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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 70.
Beom-jun stared at the quest in disbelief.
‘Transfer personnel all of a sudden? After everything I’ve invested in developing them!!’
The quest was talking about Organizational Circulation.
He’d heard about it before—staying in one field too long narrows your perspective, traps your thinking within its own logic.
Long-term, it creates barriers between departments. People can’t understand each other, and it looks like they’re shirking responsibility.
When someone works across multiple departments, they grasp how the whole hospital flows. They develop their skills in three dimensions. And if one person leaves, the organization won’t collapse.
The individual suffers, but the hospital gains more. Though there’s one limitation.
‘You can’t move doctors around. Which means it’s either Jae-gyeong or Min.’
Specialists don’t leave their field once they’re in it.
Medical staff, those who dig deeper and deeper into a narrow well—they weren’t targets for this quest.
You couldn’t move a thoracic surgeon like Im Sung-hyuk into cardiology.
Beom-jun had a headache.
[Failure: Death]
But the more he thought about it, the larger that word—death—loomed on the quest screen.
Anything was better than dying, but this felt excessive.
Beom-jun cared for Jae-gyeong, but Min…
To be honest, he was necessary. Beom-jun relied on him for so much when handling administrative work.
If Beom-jun had to assign tasks to Jae-gyeong, Min was the one offering counsel—in terms of importance, incomparably so.
“Kim, don’t you want to try something different? Learn something new, maybe? Self-development, that sort of thing?”
Jae-gyeong sensed something unusual in Beom-jun’s tone—calling him by his title instead of his name—and spoke cautiously.
“Well, I was actually meaning to bring this up. It’s the Defense Ministry budget, sir. It’s not easy to manage.”
Questions about the hospital’s tax accounting weren’t Beom-jun’s strong suit.
‘Right. Honestly, I don’t know. How would I?’
Beom-jun’s projects so far had been about planning and creating new things, not managing them.
At Korean University Hospital, the Vice Director held a tight grip on hospital accounting and medical law.
“I’m trying to make it work, but truthfully, I’m not even sure if it’s going well. I’m worried something might go wrong.”
Listening to Jae-gyeong’s concerns, Beom-jun had nothing to offer. Maybe this was the consequence of leaving him to handle it all without oversight.
As Beom-jun absorbed Jae-gyeong’s words, someone came to mind.
* * *
“So you finally went ahead. You really did it, didn’t you?”
The Vice Director had been briefed by lawyer Joon-mo that patient Kang-woo received Jason Therapy.
“I’m impressed it made it through IRB.”
“It was Min. Min went over to their side.”
There was no hard evidence, but the Vice Director was certain from the circumstances alone. And her instincts were quite accurate.
“Otherwise it makes no sense. He’s not a god. How could he have known the outcome beforehand?”
“But doesn’t it seem odd that Kang-woo’s patient was hospitalized, then he went to a conference and learned the treatment method? And landing Defense Ministry funding—that didn’t add up either, did it?”
In one corner of the Vice Director’s office sat Ha-rin.
Crunch, crunch.
She ate a biscuit today—dried lemon and fig this time.
Crunch, crunch.
“That person is fundamentally strange. Annoyingly so.”
“Yes, well. I suppose so.”
“So what about ASA? Did it succeed?”
“Yes. Apparently a huge success. Someone posted a firsthand account of Professor Im’s procedure on the hospital community board. Honestly, it went well, didn’t it? It’s good for the patient, too.”
“As if I didn’t know that.”
The Vice Director offered criticism to Joon-mo but didn’t contradict him. With her hostility gone, she faced reality clearly.
“It went well. For Kang-woo too.”
The Vice Director’s mind’s eye recalled Kang-woo bouncing a basketball, unable to move properly, clutching his chest.
If ASA succeeded, there would be no major obstacle to continuing Jason Therapy.
“Has Cheonhui University Hospital released an official statement? Are they claiming they did it all?”
“Oh, funny you should ask—an article just dropped. They said ‘Korean University Hospital helped us complete the treatment method.'”
“What?? Show me.”
The Vice Director snatched the Tablet PC from Joon-mo’s hands.
– Cheonhui University Hospital completes new treatment method with Korean University Hospital’s assistance.
– Professor Jason Lee of Cheonhui University Hospital and Professor Im Sung-hyuk are close acquaintances….
The Vice Director’s eyes narrowed as she scanned the clipped article.
Just from the headlines, it was favorable to Korean University Hospital.
She quickly detected that the relationship with Cheonhui University Hospital—which had always been a red light—had shifted to yellow.
“We should get our statement out too. Contact KBC or any broadcast network. Frame it as—we placed a spoon on the table they set.”
“Pardon?”
Joon-mo was bewildered by Hui-jeong’s words.
‘But she used to jump down my throat the moment Cheonhui University Hospital was mentioned. Now she wants us to frame it as placing a spoon on their table?’
Sensing Joon-mo’s confusion, Hui-jeong elaborated.
“Cheonhui came out friendly, so we match that tone. Humble but not excessive. You know what I mean?”
“Ah, yes. Understood. What about reporting to the Hospital Director?”
Until now, the big and small matters at Korean University Hospital hadn’t been reported to the Director—not because he wouldn’t understand, but because his demands rarely aligned with their decisions. The board chairman had suggested they operate that way.
But the origin of this matter was Hospital Director Choi Beom-jun.
“File it as an approval. It’s something the Director started, so he should at least know the article’s coming out.”
After a brief pause, her hostility now gone, she reached a rational conclusion.
The Hospital Director might not understand everything, but at least he had the right to know. He deserved to know how things turned out from his own actions.
Crunch.
Ha-rin stopped eating. She’d been listening to the Vice Director and Joon-mo’s conversation and set down her biscuit.
Ha-rin studied the Vice Director’s expression after she spoke.
‘Hmm? Does she seem like her old self again?’
Whenever the Vice Director mentioned the Hospital Director, she was always emotional. Today she was simply normal.
Seeing the Vice Director in her usual state, Ha-rin smiled quietly.
* * *
Kang-woo woke quickly. Local anesthesia meant waking was much like normal sleep.
“Uh, is it all done?”
“Kang-woo. You’re awake?”
Kang-woo, emerging from deep sleep, mumbled his words.
“You shouldn’t get up yet. Especially don’t bend your legs. Keep the Sand Bag on.”
A nurse at his bedside explained the precautions to Kang-woo.
“Take deep, slow breaths. Guardian, if the machine alarms, let me know? It’ll sound if it drops below 92. I’ll be right here.”
A blue line wavered on the monitor connected to Kang-woo’s index finger, rising and falling with his breathing, the numbers beside it cycling through 98, 99, 100.
Once the nurse left, Kang-woo called to his mother beside him.
“Mom, can I have some water?”
His mother brought him water in a cup with a Rubber Straw attached.
Kang-woo had grumbled about her buying something so childish, but now he realized that without it, he’d be lying flat unable to move.
“The professor came by earlier. He said the procedure went well. Your heart’s clean now, he said.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, yeah. He said you shouldn’t collapse anymore from now on. Though he said we should keep watching.”
“Watch for what?”
“I’m not sure, he just said that.”
Watching meant maintaining his current condition and observing progress rather than applying any active intervention.
“You should’ve asked, Mom.”
“He left so fast. Spoke and basically walked out right away.”
“There you go again, acting like you knew everything. Just yes, yes, yes.”
Kang-woo mimicked his mother’s tone.
He disliked watching his mother fawn over other people, but at times like this, glad she was beside him—grateful, even—though his feelings were complicated.
“Still, it’s nice to have your mom here, right?”
“Who said I don’t like it.”
At his mother’s words, Kang-woo huffed and turned his head away. There was no other reason. Just embarrassment.
Kang-woo let his mother’s hand rest on his own. It was just tiredness. Really.
His mother rose and began massaging his arms and legs. He didn’t know why she did it. She just wanted to, probably.
But Kang-woo didn’t push her away and stayed still.
‘Anyway, it’s all over. And it went well.’
Mixed with relief at having completed the major procedure, Kang-woo felt fatigue.
‘He said he’d come after it was all over.’
Like a child, Kang-woo waited for that promise.
‘Get through the procedure well, and we’ll see each other after.’
‘After when? Should I come to your office?’
In the Director’s Office, looking around uncertainly, Kang-woo had spoken, and Beom-jun had answered like a friend.
‘You think you can just drop by whenever you want.’
‘I was just asking.’
‘It looks bad to see patients wandering the Director’s Office. I’ll come by instead. A sick visit, you could say?’
At Beom-jun’s words, Kang-woo had felt real joy inside.
Someone was coming to see him—and it was the Hospital Director himself. His promise to watch over Kang-woo as he grew wasn’t just something said in passing.
But Kang-woo had felt shy and said something he didn’t mean.
‘Being in the hospital and then coming back to the hospital—that’s hardly a sick visit.’
‘Suit yourself.’
‘No, wait! I didn’t say I don’t like it. I just meant…’
Kang-woo’s eyes grew heavy, but recalling his conversation with Beom-jun, he forced himself to stay alert. He didn’t want to be asleep when Beom-jun arrived.
“Kang-woo, if you’re drowsy, you can sleep. I’ll wake you in four hours.”
“No, Mom, you sleep. You didn’t sleep at all last night. There’s a guardian bed right there. I’ll keep an eye on things.”
“Okay. I am tired.”
At Kang-woo’s urging, his mother fussed about setting up the bed and lay down.
Unable to bend his pelvis, lying flat on his back, Kang-woo only turned his head and, in that position, watched the monitor and breathed deeply.
“Exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale.”
100. 99, 100.
When he concentrated on breathing, the number never dipped below 100.
Watching his mother sleep, Kang-woo focused harder on his breathing—as if the oxygen saturation reading were a perfect test score.

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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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