Surviving as a Rogue Hospital Director - Chapter 74

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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 74.
Beom-jun participated in Rounds for the first time in a while. Of course, he was tagging along with Im Sung-hyuk’s rounds—though it would be more accurate to say Beom-jun was leading the way, with Im Sung-hyuk following close at his heels.
Behind them came Min-ho and Hyun-ji, followed by the Thoracic Surgery residents and medical students on rotation, all parading down the Korea University Hospital corridor in a neat procession.
Beom-jun glanced back without thinking.
The crowd trailing behind him strained to catch his eye, hanging on his every move.
By the time they reached the ward, the head nurse and the patient’s assigned nurse had joined the group, doubling the original number.
Those following in the footsteps of Beom-jun and Sung-hyuk watched from behind as the two discussed matters with evident gravity.
Taken aback by the unexpectedly large gathering, Beom-jun whispered to Sung-hyuk.
“The Thoracic Surgery Department always this big?”
“The residents who left have come back.”
“You didn’t call them?”
“When would I have time? They came on their own.”
True enough—Im Sung-hyuk wouldn’t have had a moment to win them back. And changing hearts wasn’t exactly simple work anyway.
Doctors left hospitals for countless reasons, but hospitals were never equipped to address any of them. All they could offer was patience and distant promises.
Simply enduring without fixing the root problem was never the answer. So Beom-jun—or Ui-jin, in his previous life—had never tried to hold back the residents who chose to leave. Their choice was theirs to bear.
Yet those same people had come back of their own accord.
“We’ve received inquiries not just from other universities but from Korea University Medical School students wanting to rotate through Thoracic Surgery. The schedule’s packed solid through the year after next.”
“Wait—why did they come back?”
“Well, I’m not entirely sure myself…”
Beom-jun and Sung-hyuk continued their quiet exchange.
“Be honest. What did you do?”
“I thought you must have done something, sir.”
“What could I have done?”
“How would I know everything you’re involved in?”
Just then, Hyun-ji, standing directly behind them, suddenly leaned forward with a contribution.
“I think they all came because of you two. Because of what you both did here at Korea University Hospital.”
“That’s right. I would’ve come too.”
Min-ho, standing nearby, chimed in as well.
Jason Therapy at Korea University Hospital was far more than a treatment protocol.
It signaled an end to the conflict with Cheon Hee University Hospital, but it also sent a message to the conservative medical establishment that they were willing to support young physicians.
Those most weary of convention reacted most keenly to such change.
The Jason Therapy introduced in Kim Gang-woo’s case, completed successfully, had inadvertently extended a hand to those who had left the hospital wounded—a gesture of return.
A doctor who treated patients with genuine sincerity.
A doctor who hadn’t forgotten the essence of medicine.
A doctor who brought new treatments to save lives.
Behind Beom-jun and Sung-hyuk hung countless such labels, and catching even one meant becoming an unwilling follower.
Their reasons for becoming physicians might have varied, but the common thread—the desire to save lives—was unmistakable.
The path Beom-jun carved felt safe to them; the path Sung-hyuk walked seemed ideal.
Since Beom-jun had taken his place beside Sung-hyuk, the number of people following him had grown—nothing particularly surprising about that.
But light casts shadow, and shadow grows sharper as the light grows bright.
“Director, you’ve become incredibly famous! Look at this. A hundred thousand likes.”
Min-ho pulled out his phone and showed Beom-jun the screen—a post from a doctors-only community.
– Recent Trends Report: Korea University Hospital Thoracic Surgery Department.
Written with the rigor of an academic paper, the report on Korea University Hospital’s recent developments catalogued everything Beom-jun had accomplished in order.
The patients’ names were redacted, but Beom-jun recognized each case immediately.
Recording the Heart Transplant procedure for Seo Jin-ha, which became Korea University Hospital’s signature video,
treating Ri Mu-sung, the patient from North Korea, and upgrading the Military Hospital system,
and most recently, applying the new therapeutic technique to Kim Gang-woo—all detailed meticulously.
The report obsessively calculated how each of these efforts translated into profit.
– The Military Hospital outsourcing contract is far from charity. It should be understood as a major public project involving substantial government funding.
– The key to new therapeutic techniques isn’t treatment success—it’s first-mover advantage. Technology gets replicated quickly, but whoever stakes the claim first captures the market.
Beom-jun’s brow furrowed at the reduction of patients to market share.
The report also contained details about the cardiac surgery on the young patient Ryu Yi-seo and the treatment of Kim Pan-su—cases barely known to the public.
Beom-jun suspected the author was a Korea University Hospital employee. Otherwise, such information would be impossible to access.
– Building Rapport with patients and strengthening the hospital’s reputation ultimately translates to revenue. Since Director Choi Beom-jun returned, Korea University Hospital has reached that milestone in mere months.
Reading the conclusion, Beom-jun felt a bitter taste. It wasn’t entirely wrong. Medicine was just one profession among many, after all. Money was inseparable from the work.
But the comments told a different story.
┗ This is reality. Doctors who don’t open private practices have no right to argue.
┗ True. Hospitals need money to save patients.
It made sense. In this community—the one from Doctor X—doctors were viewed as entrepreneurs through and through.
Startup capital for private practice. Fee-for-service income. Revenue optimization strategies based on healthcare systems. In other words, this community’s primary focus was financial information.
It was a disturbingly practical discourse, but more than enough to disgust Im Sung-hyuk.
In the Doctor X era, when Sung-hyuk had clashed with the Hospital Director over ethical concerns, he’d considered resigning. Upon seeing this community, he’d spiraled deeper into confusion, but rather than argue logically, he’d quietly deleted the community app from his phone.
Choosing instead to remain at his patients’ side.
It was one of the reasons Sung-hyuk had ultimately decided against opening his own practice and had chosen to stay at Korea University Hospital.
Yet that same community was now following in Beom-jun’s footsteps, singing his praises.
‘How did it come to this?’
Beom-jun finished reading the post. The conclusion was singular.
‘Unpopular specialties are profitable.’ Or rather, had become profitable. Doctors were stirring with the revelation.
Beom-jun clicked on the author’s profile and searched their earlier posts. The username was nobrother, someone who’d written several highly upvoted pieces.
– Why Good Hospitals Go Under
– VIP Patients: Management Over Treatment
– Complex Cases as Hospital Face: High-Risk Patients Aren’t Costs—They’re Investments.
After reading the list, Beom-jun clicked the downvote button. The number beside the thumbs-down icon changed from 0 to 1.
* * *
Beom-jun had come to Rounds because of Kim Gang-woo’s case. The patient was being discharged tomorrow.
“Oh, hello there.”
Gang-woo, seated on the bed, stiffened at the sight of the doctors surrounding him.
White coats formed a wall around him, the patient gown with the Korea University Hospital logo standing out sharply in the gap.
But after a brief moment of tension, Gang-woo relaxed upon seeing Beom-jun’s familiar face. He seemed afraid to speak freely given the atmosphere, so he kept his greeting silent.
Beom-jun nodded knowingly at Gang-woo, who bowed his head and moved his lips silently.
“I’ll go over your discharge instructions tomorrow morning. You’re not having any other problems, are you?”
“No, no, everything’s great, doctor.”
“Let me take a look at the wound.”
After the mother’s response, Min-ho unfastened Gang-woo’s button-up pants to expose the surgical site.
Between the thigh and pelvis was a dressing material in nonwoven fabric. It was pristine—there would have been blood stains if there’d been any seeping.
“Should we peel it back?”
Min-ho pinched the edge and asked Sung-hyuk.
“No, no need. You probably did the dressing yesterday anyway. How did it look?”
“Yes. We dressed it around evening. There was no oozing, and aside from some mild redness, the skin looked fine.”
“Let’s do a follow-up two weeks after discharge.”
“Understood.”
At Sung-hyuk’s words, Min-ho made notes in the chart as he always did, while those around him watched with apparent envy at how naturally Min-ho conversed with Sung-hyuk.
While Sung-hyuk and Min-ho busied themselves finalizing the treatment plan, Beom-jun fastened Gang-woo’s pants for him.
The other doctors froze, unsure what to make of the gesture.
“Director, you don’t have to…”
“Oh, no, I can do it.”
The only one unruffled was Gang-woo himself. The patient shifted to make it easier for Beom-jun to button his pants, as if implicitly asking for more.
“You’re being discharged tomorrow. Come back for a follow-up in two weeks. You’ve quit smoking completely, right?”
“Oh, of course! …I quit a long time ago.”
Speaking for the first time since the Rounds began, Gang-woo’s voice came out hoarse, and he swallowed dryly mid-sentence.
Even as an awkward silence settled after his stumbled words, Beom-jun continued adjusting Gang-woo’s patient gown—until the boy had fully dressed and sat back down.
“A long time? Come on, it’s barely been a month.”
“But I’ve only been smoke-free a short while! It’s been what, a month? Two months at most?”
Beom-jun pressed the crown of Gang-woo’s head gently as the boy protested.
“That’s worth bragging about.”
“Huh?”
Beom-jun ruffled Gang-woo’s hair with his large hand, and the patient accepted the gesture as if it were entirely familiar.
“So I come back in two weeks, yeah?”
“Listen to your mom. Take care of yourself.”
“That’s the plan.”
Grumbling though he was, Gang-woo’s upper body leaned toward Beom-jun.
Beom-jun hadn’t said anything profound. What he’d offered was more like everyday conversation. And so this Rapport wasn’t technique—it was time. The accumulated traces of treating a patient as a person.
Doctors from outside Korea University Hospital who’d heard rumors of Beom-jun were bewildered. They’d expected the director to be money-minded and calculating, but the reality was the opposite.
The doctors who had left and returned to Korea University Hospital watched Beom-jun and Gang-woo with eyes clouded by misgiving and suspicion.
With those physicians as his backdrop, Gang-woo spoke to Beom-jun casually, sweeping his gaze across the doctors standing behind him.
“I’m going to be a doctor too.”
“Oh, you’ve thought about that?”
“Just you wait. The future’s full of surprises.”
Beom-jun withdrew his hand from Gang-woo’s head and spoke.
“I’m looking forward to it. A doctor who really understands his patients?”
At those words, Gang-woo’s eyes shone. His lips pressed shut, he nodded firmly. His eyes glistened slightly, but he didn’t look away from Beom-jun.
The young boy’s resolve moved the weary doctors to tears. They’d come back to the hospital hoping to learn Beom-jun’s secrets for making money, but now they were confused.
No matter how you looked at it, he treated patients as people, not profit—and medicine as an art, not commerce.
It wasn’t so different from the doctors they’d known before. If anything set him apart, it was his profound care for his patients. And it felt genuine.
‘Is this it? Is this how you make money flow toward you?’
The doctors, standing a little apart from Beom-jun and Gang-woo, took a half-step forward.

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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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