February 1983
That winter was bitterly cold.
I excelled in my studies, but poverty left me with nothing to hold onto.
After graduating high school, I completed my training at the boot camp and enlisted in the 12th Division, 52nd Regiment as an engineer.
One day, while being disciplined by a senior soldier, I got injured and went to the medical unit.
I still remember what that doctor said back then.
“It’s no big deal. Just a sprain in your left shoulder. I’ll give you some medicine, so go back, Private Kim Cheol-soo.”
Private Kim Cheol-soo.
That’s what people called me back then.
In the military, where hierarchy was absolute, being called by that name meant I had no control over anything.
I carried heavy military supplies with my aching arm as ordered by my seniors and participated in every training without fail.
Then, something happened.
During cold-weather training, while setting up a tent on icy weeds and sleeping, I experienced paralysis in my left arm.
There was no sensation at all, and moving my arm was nearly impossible. It was as if my left arm had frozen solid, like frostbite.
If this continues, I might never use my arm again.
Terrified by the thought, I reported it to my unit commander, who brushed it off casually.
“Tch. Is this new recruit useless? I’ll send you to Hongcheon Hospital tomorrow morning, so go.”
The platoon leader, with a second lieutenant’s insignia on his shoulder, spoke as if sending me to a real hospital, not the medical unit, was some grand favor.
Still, since it was the first time I could get proper treatment since the pain started, I went to Hongcheon Hospital the next day.
There, a doctor with a nameplate reading Orthopedic Surgeon Captain Park Jung-hyun looked at me arrogantly and said,
“It’s just malingering. Malingering! You came to the hospital for something like this? Hey, punk, is the military a joke? You won’t become disabled from this, so go back.”
All I got was a white packet containing anti-inflammatory drugs and painkillers.
In the military, I wasn’t treated as human, and the military doctors weren’t doctors to me—they were my superiors.
I learned that lesson the hard way, returned to my unit, and endured the mockery of senior soldiers and commanders while being assigned to grueling construction work.
It was a project to build a bridge across a valley, but the freezing winter worsened my injury.
Eventually, I could no longer lift my left arm at all, and amidst the senior soldiers’ criticism, I returned to Hongcheon Hospital.
Only then did the military doctor recognize the severity and sent me to the capital hospital for further examination.
April…
As the weather warmed and flowers bloomed across the world, the winter in my heart refused to thaw.
An MRI at the capital hospital revealed my condition: nerve damage in my left arm.
The nerve bundle was completely wrecked.
I could no longer feel anything with my left arm. I couldn’t sense touch when gripping something, nor could I lift my arm.
Only then was I admitted to the capital hospital. Shortly after, I was transferred to Hampyeong.
And then, 20 months…
That’s how long it took, after being discharged from Hampyeong Hospital and returning to my unit, to recover somewhat through grueling rehabilitation.
After nearly three years of military service, I was discharged, gritted my teeth, resumed my studies, and enrolled in medical school. Many years later, in the spring of 2001,
I became a hepatobiliary and pancreatic surgery specialist and returned to the military, 15 years after my discharge.
June 20, 2001. Hampyeong Armed Forces Hospital.
General Surgery Department Head Lee Young-cheol averted his gaze from the new military doctor standing before him.
The credentials listed on the paperwork were far from those of an ordinary military doctor.
As a lieutenant colonel, Lee Young-cheol had chosen a career in the military, but the man in front of him was different—exceptionally so.
A graduate of the prestigious S University Medical School in Seoul, he had completed his internship, residency, fellowship, master’s, and doctorate there, becoming a specialist among specialists.
A rare talent who earned a subspecialty certification, typically unattainable in one’s 30s, and returned to the military.
At 37, Kim Cheol-soo, a hepatobiliary and pancreatic surgery subspecialist, had already obtained general surgery certification and now held a subspecialty.
Most medical school graduates are general practitioners. Those who complete residency become specialists.
Subspecialists, however, are the true elite, performing complex and challenging surgeries like liver cancer or bile duct cancer operations with professional precision, especially in fields like hepatobiliary and pancreatic surgery.
Truly a doctor among doctors.
And yet, a guy like that came all the way to this rural backwater… I can’t understand it. He’s already been discharged, so why would he apply to be a military doctor again? And according to his file, he specifically requested Hampyeong. Why? A guy like him should be at the capital hospital… What a hassle. He probably thinks he’s some elite, so I need to assert dominance early, or he’ll be a pain.
As a typical bureaucratic, self-preserving character, Department Head Lee was displeased that such a standout figure had been assigned to his unit.
But as someone from a local university, he couldn’t just pick a fight with an S University graduate without reason.
Rumor had it this guy was well-known at S University.
They called him the ‘Mad Dog of S University,’ didn’t they?
Flawless in looks, height, education, and ability—a guy who was annoyingly perfect.
That’s why Lee felt the need to put him in his place early. With a slight scowl, he set down the paperwork.
“Why the hell would an S University graduate with a subspecialty, who even graduated early, join the military? What’s your angle, huh? You’ve got some sneaky motive, don’t you?”
Kim Cheol-soo only smiled at the baseless accusation, offering no response.
He hadn’t expected a warm welcome, so he just looked at Lee Young-cheol calmly.
This insect of a military jerk.
That’s what his eyes seemed to say, and feeling it, the department head waved him off dismissively.
“Arrogant punk. Get out. Next time, answer properly when your superior speaks. That’s the rule in the military—and here in Hampyeong. You just do what I tell you. I’m the department head, and you’re just a doctor.”
-CLACK
Without a word, Kim Cheol-soo saluted and slowly turned to leave the office.
He then walked through the patient wards to see how the general surgery department operated.
He saw patients with pained expressions.
Most of them were soldiers.
To think they ended up suffering like this in the military…
The thought crossed his mind, but he didn’t voice it.
These people were already suffering enough, and he didn’t want to dredge up their pain.
At that moment, a nursing officer approached him.
“Oh my, are you the new Major Kim Cheol-soo? Hello! I’m Lieutenant Shin Se-young. Salute!”
She saluted energetically, her short brown hair and large, round eyes sparkling as she smiled.
Kim Cheol-soo returned the salute and responded,
“Salute. I’m Major Kim Cheol-soo. I’ve been assigned to general surgery, so I look forward to working with you.”
“Yes! Since it’s your first day, let me give you a tour of the hospital. Follow me!”
Kim Cheol-soo was about to decline, saying it wasn’t necessary, but he missed the timing.
With a quiet sigh, he followed her.
“Our general surgery clinic is on the second floor, and the patient ward you just saw is on the third floor. On the first floor, we have orthopedics, trauma surgery, the reception desk, and the cafeteria… If you walk to the hospital entrance, there’s a recreation room and a convenience store.”
As they descended the stairs to the first floor, Shin Se-young chattered like a bird.
Her naturally curious and friendly personality shone through.
After a 30-minute tour of the entire hospital, she looked at him with bright, eager eyes and said,
“That’s about it for the hospital tour! Do you have any questions?”
“No, thank you. I’ll take a walk alone now.”
Kim Cheol-soo replied courteously and walked away.
He strolled through the hospital’s empty front yard, his gaze drifting beyond the fence.
Mountains and the sky… nothing else was in sight.
He remembered the day, 18 years ago, when he was transferred here from the capital hospital.
Back then, he began treatment for an arm that had lost nearly all sensation, but recovery was frustratingly slow.
When he got off the bus at this rear-base hospital, his heart was heavy with despair.
Not knowing when—or if—his injury would heal, with discharge still far off and being treated as useless by his unit…
On top of that, the stress had taken a toll on his mother, who was facing surgery for a liver condition.
The problem was that his family wasn’t well-off, and his father had passed away long ago.
In that state of physical and emotional brokenness, he met a kind military doctor here, and though it took a long time, he was able to stand again.
That’s why he returned to Hampyeong—to give back what he had received.
Though years had passed, Kim Cheol-soo hadn’t forgotten a single memory from his time in the military. They were as vivid as if they’d happened yesterday.
People now called him a genius doctor, but nothing had changed since his days as a soldier.
He’d only gained some skillful techniques; though his body had aged, his heart hadn’t.
Painful memories only grow stronger with time.
“Still, it’s really nice. The nature here, haha! This is real nature.”
Lost in thought, he found himself at a quiet, elevated pavilion on the hospital’s left side.
Sitting on the high wooden floor, he gazed at the world beneath the clear sky.
The lush greenery of the majestic mountains in the distance felt refreshing, and closer by, the red petals of the crape myrtle trees added a warm, rustic charm to the countryside.
No unpleasant sounds disturbed the peace.
Aside from the faint chatter of soldiers, there were no noisy cars or irritating shouts—just tranquility that soothed his heart and lifted his mood.
The air entering his nose was crisp and clean, and watching the graceful flutter of a passing butterfly was delightful.
He felt himself softening, his emotions brightening compared to when he was in Seoul.
I made the right choice coming to the countryside.
“Major! Surgery! Surgery! You need to come now!!”
As he reminisced, the same woman from earlier called out to him, and Kim Cheol-soo quickened his pace back to the hospital.
His heart raced with the urgency to save a patient.
After changing into surgical scrubs and washing his hands, the woman hurriedly put on his gloves and said,
“It’s a patient with intrahepatic gallstones. The department head was performing a left hepatectomy, but there’s suddenly a lot of bleeding… That’s why we urgently called you, Major. What do we do?!”
Listening to Shin Se-young, Kim Cheol-soo stepped into the role of lead surgeon in place of the absent department head.
It seemed the issue arose during the initial stage of the left hepatectomy, the hepatic mobilization phase.
After making a midline incision (cutting through the center of the liver) and dissecting the hepatic ligament, a problem occurred during the ligation process (blocking blood flow to the vessel)—the portal vein within the ligament had burst.
The suture holding the vessel had come loose, causing severe bleeding.
“The blood… There’s too much blood! We need to suction it to clear the view! Suction!”
As the nursing officer’s screams indicated, the interior was so flooded with blood that it was nearly impossible to see.
Excessive blood loss could kill the patient.
And in a rear-base hospital like this, supplies were always scarce.
Kim Cheol-soo was furious that such a minor mistake could nearly cost a patient’s life. Military doctors hadn’t changed a bit—then or now.
They lacked not only skill but even the basic duty of care as doctors, not seeing soldiers as fellow humans.
Otherwise, such a rookie mistake would be unthinkable.
He recalled the smell of alcohol on the department head when they met earlier.
The terrified nursing officer shouted urgently,
“We’re running out of blood transfusion packs, Major! Please, do something quickly…!!”
Hearing her desperate cries, Kim Cheol-soo finally sprang into action.
To him, this wasn’t a particularly serious issue.
“Give me the hemostatic forceps and sutures.”
“Here they are!”
The organ’s interior was as murky as muddy water, obscuring visibility.
For most doctors, this was an impossibly difficult situation.
How could anyone find a bleeding vessel when they couldn’t even see?
With so many blood vessels around the liver, it was a task most specialists would deem impossible.
Most doctors would stop the surgery here to avoid taking responsibility later, but Kim Cheol-soo didn’t stop.
Though the blood obscured everything, this wasn’t a challenging situation for him. He had successfully performed far more difficult surgeries countless times.
Since he couldn’t see, he inserted his hand directly into the organ, relying solely on the skilled sensation of his fingers to locate the bleeding vessel.
-SLIP
Got it!
With a swift motion barely visible to the eye, he secured the hepatic ligament and used sutures to double-ligate the vessel, stopping the blood flow.
The gushing blood from the portal vein stopped as if by magic, and the patient’s complexion improved slightly.
The crisis of death from excessive bleeding had been averted.
“He… He’s alive!! Amazing!!”
“No way! How did he find the vessel in that situation? The department head could never have done that!! Even most specialists couldn’t have managed it!!”
“Bravo!!! Success! Major, you did an incredible job!!!!”
“Unbelievable!! It’s a miracle!! The Major saved a soldier who was supposed to die today! I’ve never seen such skill!!!”
Amid the staff’s cheers, Kim Cheol-soo calmly set down the hemostatic forceps.
“The portal vein in the hepatic ligament, which was supposed to be blocked, simply reopened. When ligating to prevent bleeding in this area, you’re supposed to double-suture to avoid this kind of situation, but the department head was careless. Just one suture caused this mess… The bleeding has stopped, so I’m leaving. I have no intention of cleaning up someone else’s mess.”
“What? What are you saying? The patient comes first!”
Shin Se-young sharply retorted at his unexpected words, but he didn’t flinch.
Based on Kim Cheol-soo’s extensive clinical experience, the chance of the patient dying now that the bleeding had stopped was zero. He’d bet his medical license on it.
“The bleeding’s stopped, so the patient won’t die. Call back the dog who made this mess. It’s his surgery, so tell him to come finish the hepatic portal management and left hepatic vein resection—after he sobers up!”
-RIP!
With that, he roughly tore off his surgical gloves and stormed out of the operating room.
The shocked nursing officer and staff stared at his back in disbelief, dumbfounded.
In a situation where blood obscured the organ’s interior, his surgical skill to locate and suture the portal vein with just the sensation of his hands was extraordinary.
But a military doctor openly humiliating the department head like that—practically calling him incompetent—was a first.
Everyone was stunned into silence. Only Lieutenant Shin Se-young, quickly regaining her composure, called the department head again, shouting in frustration,
“Who is that guy?! I get that he’s skilled, but if he found the cause, he should’ve finished the surgery!!”
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