Surviving as a Rogue Hospital Director - Chapter 92

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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 92.
“You have to secure T2—the second thoracic vertebra—firmly. If you miss T2, this surgery will lose half its effectiveness.”
Throughout the operation, Im Sung-hyuk spoke without pause, sharing trade secrets with Professor Jung Da-eun.
Most surgeons would be frantic juggling both the procedure and constant instruction, yet Sung-hyuk managed both with composure.
He was keeping his promise to transmit his surgical technique to her—so that when she returned to Eunseong Hospital, she could treat patients without difficulty. Sung-hyuk passed everything he knew to Da-eun.
“Don’t touch the pleura. If it ruptures, you’ll spend more time containing it than you spent on the whole procedure.”
What absolutely had to be watched and what could never be missed came compressed into practical results, divorced from theory.
It was a different approach from the detailed explanations he’d given Min-ho line by line.
Min-ho, standing beside Jung Da-eun, looked occasionally confused, but Da-eun simply nodded.
She absorbed Sung-hyuk’s words into her mind and adjusted her movements to match.
When Da-eun illuminated the interior with the surgical camera, Sung-hyuk would clip the sympathetic nerve with a clip.
The U-shaped clamp locked tight at its tips, and each time it closed, part of Eun Seo-young’s nerve pathway was severed—cutting one section from a long, continuous chain.
Whenever Sung-hyuk repositioned the clamp, Da-eun moved the camera around it to maintain visibility, and the two synchronized like partners of long standing, though this was only their first real collaboration.
Because she understood the broader context of the surgery, Sung-hyuk didn’t need to give her constant directives.
There was an ease here that he didn’t feel when Min-ho assisted.
Min-ho performed well when told what to do, but wouldn’t Da-eun anticipate the unarticulated need even better?
This wasn’t a matter of temperament—it was experience. Sung-hyuk could sense that Da-eun had performed many surgeries.
As a fellow professor, this was natural for her. And that’s why she had volunteered to assist his procedure.
‘So another professor can serve as first assist.’
If the Hospital Director hadn’t brought in a surgeon from Eunseong Hospital, this would have been impossible. Sung-hyuk found himself mentally applauding the Director’s decision.
Honestly, some of the Director’s moves in managing Korean University Hospital had been hard for Sung-hyuk to fathom—like when he’d suddenly wanted to film promotional content.
Yet with each passing day, no one could deny that Korean University Hospital was improving.
People sensed authenticity and their perception of the hospital shifted for the better,
and with the expanded budget came the latest medical equipment.
The shortage in staffing was solved by recruiting seasoned physicians from Eunseong Hospital.
And most of all, the environment for patient care had transformed entirely.
‘I can barely remember when they called us a money-losing department.’
The past felt distant to Sung-hyuk now.
In those days, whenever he’d tried to treat a patient, he was blocked,
but now the Hospital Director gave the Thoracic Surgery Department his full support—it felt like a dream.
To see only the patient,
to focus only on the patient.
As Sung-hyuk performed Eun Seo-young’s surgery, his thoughts wandered.
“Professor? Should we continue?”
When Sung-hyuk had been methodically blocking Seo-young’s sympathetic nerves, Da-eun called to him.
“Stop—we’ll finish here. Don’t touch more than one-third of the stellate ganglion.”
When the long bundle of nerves clustered together like a shining star came into view, Sung-hyuk brought the operation to a close.
Jung Da-eun answered as though she’d anticipated this.
“Ah, you’re concerned about Horner Syndrome?”
“Exactly. Touch that area and the patient’s eyelids will droop.”
“Good heavens—what complaints would Seo-young lodge then?”
Da-eun squeezed her eyes shut as if horrified.
While Horner Syndrome is usually temporary, for Eun Seo-young—who’d worried so much about side effects—it would be devastating.
Drooping eyelids, eyes becoming smaller—it would be especially visible and cause significant stress.
Remembering how hard he’d had to persuade her to accept surgery, Sung-hyuk felt a chill run through him. If complications arose, Da-eun was right—it would be a disaster. He swallowed dryly, shuddering.
“…Let’s proceed without error.”
Sung-hyuk carefully withdrew the surgical instrument from Seo-young’s spine. Opposite him, Da-eun handled the camera with equal delicacy.
To Sung-hyuk, all patients on the operating table are the same, but this patient—Eun Seo-young—was one the Hospital Director clearly took special interest in.
From her admission through the entire journey to her decision for surgery, the Director had been looking after her, something Sung-hyuk could hardly fail to notice.
“Please close the skin sutures as neatly as possible—avoid any obvious scarring if you can.”
Sung-hyuk spoke to Da-eun as she prepared to close the open wound. A scar was inevitable, but he hoped it wouldn’t be too prominent.
“Mm? Are you worried she’ll be upset?”
To Da-eun’s musing tone, Sung-hyuk replied flatly.
“Well, that too.”
In a surgeon who’d once considered nothing beyond treatment itself, a certain flexibility had begun to take root.
* * *
“Your electrocardiogram’s back to normal. Congratulations, patient.”
After the surgery ended,
Min-ho brought Eun Seo-young the good news.
The operation had gone well, and Seo-young’s heart was beating normally again. There would be no arrhythmia, so the episodes would naturally cease.
“You’ve done wonderfully. Now you just need to recover well!”
“Mm…”
Meanwhile, still waking from anesthesia, Eun Seo-young felt drowsy. Her ribs ached with a dull throb, and her eyes were half-closed.
“…You’re just sleepy, right? How do your eyes feel? They’re not heavy, or one side isn’t stuck shut or anything like that?”
Min-ho examined her eyelids carefully from different angles.
She had no energy to respond. She caught only about half of what Min-ho was saying.
Blink, blink. As Seo-young’s eyes closed and opened, Min-ho watched intently before speaking.
“Looks fine! If your eyes start to feel heavy, let me know right away.”
Eun Seo-young nodded weakly at his words.
Her mouth felt parched and her lips were dry. Having used a ventilator during surgery, she felt as though sand filled her lungs, a pervasive dryness.
“Cough, ahem.”
Even deliberate coughing brought no relief.
“I’d like some water. It’s in there.”
Seo-young reached toward Min-ho, pointing to the refrigerator in the patient room. She wasn’t someone who easily asked others for favors, even non-medical staff, but now she couldn’t afford pride. One sip of water and she felt she might survive.
“Oh no, I can’t give you anything right now. Your anesthesia hasn’t fully worn off yet. If water goes into your airway, it could be serious.”
Min-ho expressed his regret as though it were his own problem. So Seo-young felt a flash of irritation rise and fall just as quickly—she lacked the energy to protest anyway.
“I’ll tell them to give you water as soon as it’s time!! Just rest for now!!”
Flustered, Min-ho left the room, and
shortly after, a nurse entered.
“Eun Seo-young—you can’t sleep right now. You need to take deep breaths and stay awake. If you get pneumonia, you’ll suffer terribly!”
The Ward 77 nurse shook Seo-young to keep her alert.
Seo-young felt a bit less exhausted than before, but still struggled.
“Pneumonia?”
“It’s the most common complication after general anesthesia. If you sleep now, your lungs won’t expand properly, and you’re more likely to develop pneumonia.”
The nurse, armed with service-minded warmth, explained kindly to Eun Seo-young—while subtly triggering her sensitivity about complications.
“It’s nice when a guardian sits nearby at times like this. Do you have someone who could come? Conversation helps a bit.”
“…My mother’s busy. I’m not sure if she can make it.”
“Well then, I’ll try calling her. Oh—I’ll put the call bell in your hand. If you need anything, just ring.”
The nurse was about to sniff sympathetically but stopped short, instead placing the call bell in Seo-young’s hand. That warm, tender touch nearly brought tears to Seo-young’s eyes.
“This is gauze soaked in water. Would you like to hold it in your mouth? Just don’t swallow.”
“Yes, please. Please.”
Seo-young craved water like a child, and the nurse placed the gauze in her mouth.
Her throat felt raw, but even that bit of moisture made it so much better.
Seo-young felt as though she possessed everything in the world.
‘Ah, I’ll live.’
So precious was moisture. Once the anesthesia wore off, she’d gulp down cold water.
‘So sleepy. But they said not to sleep…’
Half-asleep, Eun Seo-young could barely tell if she was sleeping or awake. She bit her lip hard, fighting to stay conscious.
How much more time passed this way?
The door slid open.
“Mom’s here. Your surgery went well, they said. You should’ve asked for a guardian if you needed one.”
Seo-young had been too proud to ask her mother to come. She’d boasted she’d handle everything on her own.
“Mom…”
The moment Seo-young saw her mother, the tears she’d been holding back came flooding out. The gauze fell from her mouth onto the bed.
“What? Why is she like this?”
Her mother, equally strong-willed, was startled but gently wiped away Seo-young’s tears.
Eun Seo-young sobbed. As the tears flowed, her parched body seemed to grow moist again.
“I didn’t ask anyone to call a guardian! The nurse said she’d try calling—it’s normal to need one after anesthesia wears off. She called because of that.”
After wiping her nose, Seo-young insisted on pride again, speaking through her tears.
“A nurse? The Hospital Director called me. He said it would be good if I came around now, so I timed it for when your surgery finished.”
So it wasn’t that nurse who’d called after all. Well, if someone only just got the call, it would take time to arrive. And given how busy he was, he might not have been able to come at all.
‘When did he call Mom? Is the Hospital Director just like this?’
When she’d been at Eunseong Hospital, her uncle was the chairman, so she couldn’t know if this was normal behavior.
But regardless, the Hospital Director had looked after Seo-young from the day she arrived at Korean University Hospital until now.
He’d said he’d make sure she lacked for nothing, and truly—even compared to her time at Eunseong Hospital, there was no shortage. In fact, perhaps even better?
“The Hospital Director is so eloquent—his words stick right with you. And this surgery itself—he arranged all of that? I honestly didn’t think you’d go through with it.”
Her mother, who knew well her daughter’s stubbornness, spoke knowingly.
She understood that Seo-young rarely changed her mind once it was made.
“Yeah, I’m grateful.”
“What was that?”
Her mother asked again, caught off guard by such an uncharacteristic sentiment from her daughter.
“That director—I’m grateful to him.”
Seo-young spoke through the gauze in her mouth, her words indistinct.
“Ha ha ha, that’s nice. Grateful. Oh my, you’ve been through something. You worked hard, my daughter.”
Her mother gazed at Seo-young’s softened expression with affection. The girl who never showed weakness had changed a little after the ordeal of major surgery.

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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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