The Doctor With a Diagnosis System

CHAPTER 9: The Golden Boy

"Restrain him," Kang repeated, his voice perfectly even. 

The three security guards lunged forward. Their heavy black boots squeaked violently against the polished linoleum. 

"Don't touch me!" I roared, my voice tearing through my raw throat. I didn't back away. I threw my entire body weight over Mr. Han’s exposed, ruined chest, hovering my blood-soaked hands inches above the heavy metal clamp cutting off his torn aorta. "If you touch me, I slip. The clamp slips. And he bleeds out right here on the floor in five seconds! Stay back!"

The guards froze. They were big men, trained to handle drunk patients and aggressive family members, but they were not prepared for a suspended intern wearing a blood-drenched gray hoodie, standing over a gaping chest cavity like a cornered animal. They looked at Kang for direction, their hands hovering near their utility belts. 

Dr. Si Jae peered out from behind Kang’s pristine white shoulder. His face was a sickly, pale green, slick with nervous sweat. 

"Don't listen to him, Min-Jae!" Si Jae stammered, pointing a trembling finger at me. "The patient flatlined in the observation room! I saw it! His heart stopped! Intern Ryeong just mutilated a corpse to try and play hero! Have him arrested!"

Kang didn't look at Si Jae. His pitch-black, calculating eyes remained locked on me. He walked forward slowly, his hands shoved into the pockets of his tailored coat. The only sound in the hallway was the rhythmic, desperate squeezing of the plastic Ambu bag in Nurse Mi-Sun’s hands, and the rapid sound of the portable monitor hanging from the bedrail. 

Kang stopped two feet away from the bed. 

The smell of raw, metallic blood hung heavy in the air between us. I was shaking. My muscles burned with a lactic acid fire from the sheer physical force of cracking a man's sternum with blunt shears. The dark, deoxygenated blood had soaked entirely through my hoodie, sticking cold and wet against my stomach. 

Kang’s eyes dragged downward. He looked past my bloody hands. He looked into the six-inch gap in Mr. Han’s chest, held open by the heavy steel rib spreader. 

He saw the thick pool of blood. He saw the sliced pericardial sac. And then, he saw the pale, shivering heart muscle, contracting weakly but steadily against the cold air of the hallway. 

His eyes tracked upward to the thick ascending aorta, recognizing the perfectly placed vascular clamp gripping the tissue just below the ragged tear. 

For a fraction of a second, the flawless, icy mask of the golden boy cracked. His pupils dilated. A microscopic muscle jumped in his jaw. 

[System Alert: High-Level Medical Scan Detected]

[Observer: Dr. Kang Min-Jae. Assessment: Complete Shock.]

"He has a pulse," I rasped, my chest heaving. "Si Jae missed an ascending dissection. He gave him antacids. He ruptured. Daewon refused to operate because he didn't want to ruin his statistics. I decompressed the sac and cross-clamped the aorta. But his brain is being starved of oxygen right now. He has maybe twelve minutes before the ischemia is permanent. We need the bypass machine in OR 1."

Kang slowly raised his head. He looked at the digital readout on the portable monitor. 

Blood Pressure: 75/50. Heart Rate: 110.

It was a garbage pressure, barely enough to keep the organs alive, but it wasn't zero. The man was alive. 

"It's a trick," Si Jae hissed, stepping up beside Kang, though he kept his eyes squeezed shut to avoid looking at the open chest. "It's just residual electrical activity, Min-Jae. It's pulseless electrical activity. The intern is out of his mind. Call the police."

Kang slowly pulled his right hand out of his pocket. Without a word, he reached over the metal railing of the bed and pressed two long, elegant fingers against Mr. Han’s carotid artery. 

He stood perfectly still for five seconds. 

Then, Kang pulled his hand back. He wiped the faint smear of blood off his fingers with a sterile gauze pad from the cart. 

He turned his head slowly to look at Si Jae. 

"Si Jae," Kang said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a terrifying, quiet fury. "There is a palpable pulse of seventy-five beats per minute. If you ever misdiagnose a dissection as gastric reflux again, I will personally ensure you never practice medicine in this country."

Si Jae flinched as if he had been physically struck. All the color drained from his face, leaving him looking like a ghost. He took a staggering step backward. 

Kang turned back to me. The shock in his eyes was gone, instantly replaced by the cold, ruthless logic of a surgeon. Hierarchy meant everything to him, but the absolute biological truth of a living patient superseded it. 

"Guards," Kang barked, his voice snapping like a whip. "Get off the floor. Return to your posts."

The security guards didn't hesitate. They practically sprinted down the hall, desperate to escape the nightmare of the surgical corridor. 

Kang ripped off his white coat, throwing it carelessly onto the floor. Underneath, he wore dark navy surgical scrubs. He stepped up to the head of the bed, physically pushing Nurse Mi-Sun aside. 

"I have the airway," Kang said, taking the plastic bag-valve mask from her trembling hands. He squeezed it with perfectly timed, rhythmic precision. He looked at me across the open chest cavity. "Intern Ryeong. Release the brake. Push the bed."

I didn't argue. I kicked the heavy metal lever up with my bloody sneaker. 

I threw my weight against the footboard. The rubber wheels shrieked in protest, then caught traction. We burst into motion. Kang steered from the head of the bed, squeezing the oxygen bag with one hand while using his hip to shove the heavy double doors of OR 1 wide open. 

The operating room was blindingly bright. The temperature was kept at a freezing sixty-four degrees to suppress bacterial growth, and the sudden chill hit my sweat-soaked body like a bucket of ice water. The smell of ozone, heavy sterile iodine, and floor wax flooded my sinuses. 

A scrub nurse and an anesthesiologist, who had been prepping the room for a scheduled bypass later that night, froze in sheer terror as we rolled the bloody, chaotic mess into the pristine center of the room. 

"Emergency sternotomy, type-A dissection!" Kang shouted over the sudden clamor. He didn't wait for them to process the shock. He fired off orders with terrifying speed. "Get him on the table! Hook up the ventilator, push ten of propofol and a hundred of rocuronium! Page the perfusionist immediately, prime the bypass circuit, and open the aortic graft tray! Now!"

The OR staff snapped out of their daze. Training took over. 

They grabbed the slick plastic sheet under Mr. Han and transferred him onto the narrow operating table on Kang's count. 

[Patient Handover Successful]