Knock, knock, knock.

Slide.

Having knocked on the door, No-nam Yun and Chang-mu Kim opened it and stepped into the room.

“Head. Did you rest well?”

The moment he came in and greeted him, No-nam Yun’s eye caught the woman sitting beside Seong-ho.

So that’s the Chairman’s youngest daughter.

Center Director No-nam Yun recognized Gyeong-eun in a single glance and greeted her.

“President Gyeong-eun Lee. How do you do? I’m No-nam Yun, in charge of the screening center. It’s an honor to meet you.”

At his greeting, Gyeong-eun looked at No-nam Yun as if surprised and asked,

“You know me? I don’t think… we’ve met before…”

Gyeong-eun looked No-nam Yun over this way and that and tilted her head. No-nam Yun smiled brightly at her and said,

“Meeting you is a first, but for a long while I’ve heard a great deal about the remarkable beauty of the Chairman’s youngest daughter. And seeing you in person like this, it seems the rumor was, if anything, an understatement. You’re more of a beauty than I’d heard.”

“Hohoho.”

At No-nam Yun’s compliment—as smooth as if his lips had been oiled with sesame—Gyeong-eun covered her mouth and laughed. Then, patting Seong-ho beside her with her palm, she said,

“The center director is quite the amusing man, isn’t he? Right, Seong-ho?”

“Yes. He is.”

Seong-ho went along with her and gestured for the standing No-nam Yun and Chang-mu Kim to sit.

“Don’t stand there like that—please, sit. Surely there’s time to sit and talk a little before the screening?”

“Of course. There’s time to spare.”

Center Director No-nam Yun nodded, sat on the sofa, and tugged at Neurosurgery Head Chang-mu Kim’s sleeve.

“Doctor Kim. Sit. Let’s sit and talk a moment with the Head before we begin.”

No-nam Yun had no wish to miss a chance to speak with the group’s high brass—the ruling family, whom one might call the very highest brass of all. Because he thought that if he made a good impression on the ruling family, then a regional hospital directorship, and if things went well even the chief hospital directorship, was not beyond a dream. And so he was practically itching to leave his mark with Seong-ho and Gyeong-eun.

“Well, now…”

Chang-mu Kim, forced by No-nam Yun’s hand to take a seat, wore anything but a pleased expression. Unlike No-nam Yun, Chang-mu Kim had little interest in the hospital’s structure of power. Even the title of department head was something he’d taken on only because they’d forced it on him, saying there was no one to take it if not him; he was a man with no interest whatsoever in such cumbersome trappings of rank. A man absorbed solely in how he might save more lives—a doctor born and bred—that was Chang-mu Kim.

Seong-ho looked back and forth between the No-nam Yun who was glad to have a talk and the Chang-mu Kim whose discomfort was written plain in contrast. And he recalled the figure of Chang-mu Kim from that former life, overlapping with his face.

If she’d come just two hours sooner she could have lived, and three hours sooner and there’d have been no impairment to her daily life—that’s what he said.

The voice of Chang-mu Kim from that former life, speaking to Gyeong-eun as if it grieved him, still rang vividly in Seong-ho’s ears. He’d looked down at the Gyeong-eun there was no longer any saving and lamented that, had she come but three hours earlier, she might have had no impairment to her daily life. That was how confident he’d been in treating Gyeong-eun—and how it had pained his heart that the process of Gyeong-eun reaching him had not been a smooth one.

In that former life, Gyeong-eun had first gone to a hospital as a mere traffic-accident casualty. In the early stages, the wrong judgment had been made—that she’d simply lost consciousness because of a traffic accident. Left neglected in a corner of the emergency room as the at-fault party in the accident, she’d missed her early treatment. By the time they realized she wasn’t simply failing to regain consciousness, she’d already crossed over into a dangerous state. When they hurriedly confirmed her identity and moved her to Ilhyeon Hospital, six hours had already passed since the accident. Chang-mu Kim had looked down at the Gyeong-eun moved to Ilhyeon Hospital and shaken his head, saying that opening her blood-pooled head held no meaning at all. And Gyeong-eun had failed to make it past that evening and drawn her last breath.

Only after time had passed did the finding come out that Gyeong-eun’s rear-end collision had happened as she lost consciousness from a cerebral hemorrhage, and at the conclusion that she could have lived had she reached a hospital quickly, Seong-ho had spent many nights weeping.

Seong-ho looked at Chang-mu Kim and thought within.

I’ve brought her not three hours out but right in front of you. So you’ll have to make good on the assurance you gave back then.

While Seong-ho recalled that former life and looked at Chang-mu Kim, Gyeong-eun spoke first, to No-nam Yun and Chang-mu Kim.

“As it happens, I’m the one who told this man to get a health checkup. This man nags me until my ears are sore to get screened, so I go every two months without fail—but he himself has never once been screened. And now that he’s finally getting a checkup, I’ve put all my own work aside and come along to follow him around like this.”

“Every two months?”

Center Director No-nam Yun tilted his head as if puzzled and asked Gyeong-eun,

“There’s really no need to go every two months. Especially someone young like you, President—once a year is already a lot, one might say. Once every two years, or if you’re truly pressed for time, once every three or four years, is more than enough.”

“Who says otherwise? But this man—goodness knows what he worries about so—insists I get screened every two months, and you’ve no idea what a trial it is. Especially, I don’t know why he frets so about cerebral hemorrhage.”

“Cerebral hemorrhage?”

The listless Chang-mu Kim’s eyes flashed at the mention of the brain. When talk of his own specialty came up, he showed interest in a conversation that had been nothing but tedious.

Seong-ho asked Neurosurgery Head Chang-mu Kim, offhandedly,

“Doctor. Can a cerebral hemorrhage not be known in advance? Say, is there no way to know before it bursts?”

At Seong-ho’s question, Chang-mu Kim answered, his expression growing more interested still.

“You can find it out through warning signs—a change in vision, or slurred speech, or paralysis on one side of the body, or a weakening of strength.”

“Without such warning signs… can it burst all of a sudden?”

At the question, Chang-mu Kim answered with a hardened face.

“A vessel bursting all at once with no warning signs isn’t common, but it does happen now and then. When it bursts that way… it’s very hard to do anything. Even if the life is saved, there’s a high chance the aftereffects are severe enough to make daily living difficult.”

“Then in such a case, can it not be known even by imaging the head beforehand?”

Seong-ho turned to look at Gyeong-eun as he asked. Chang-mu Kim felt something strange in how Seong-ho’s questions kept deepening, but he didn’t stop answering.

“Yes. In cases that arise acutely, it’s difficult to catch by imaging.”

Seong-ho thought, his gaze still on Gyeong-eun.

So that’s why they couldn’t catch it.

Since coming here, Seong-ho had pressed tests upon Gyeong-eun. Because he’d wanted to prevent what had happened in that former life. But no matter how much they’d tested until now, they’d found no abnormality. And he could hardly say her head was abnormal, so let’s open it up first. So Seong-ho had thought about how he might prevent that event of the former life. And this, right now, was his answer to that thought.

Be at the hospital on the day it happens.

Put Gyeong-eun right in front of the doctor who’d sworn she could have been treated if she’d come quickly.

In preparation for the event that had occurred in that former life, Seong-ho had placed Neurosurgery Head Chang-mu Kim before Gyeong-eun.

She had the rear-end collision on her way to work.

Seong-ho turned his head and looked at the calendar and the clock.

June 30.

The date on which that nightmare of a thing had happened in the former life was precisely today.

7:20.

The time of the original rear-end collision—the hour at which Gyeong-eun’s brain vessel was estimated to have burst.

“Then shall we go do the blood test first?”

Neurosurgery Head Chang-mu Kim, thinking the time was being wasted, was the first to bring up starting the screening. It was on the thought that if left alone, they’d only get started around lunchtime. No-nam Yun looked at Chang-mu Kim with a gaze thick with regret. At No-nam Yun’s look, Chang-mu Kim rose from his seat and pressed again.

“We ought to finish quickly, so the Head can rest, don’t you think? Both of you likely slept poorly, uncomfortable as the beds are.”

At Chang-mu Kim’s words, No-nam Yun could only console his regret. And just then, the unexpected occurred.

“Seong-ho. I… suddenly feel so terribly dizzy…”

Gyeong-eun, who’d fallen silent a moment ago, complained of dizziness. Chang-mu Kim, still standing, looked at her.

“I’m so dizzy… ugh.”

At the dizziness that had come on so suddenly, Gyeong-eun, in her distress, vomited on the floor where she sat. Without even the moment to reach a bathroom.

“President!”

“Gyeong-eun!”

Startled, No-nam Yun and Seong-ho called out to her. Having vomited without the chance to get to the bathroom, Gyeong-eun twisted her body trying to rise. But she couldn’t hold herself upright. As if no strength was going into her right side, her body tilted to one side, and she grimaced with the right side of her face, at a loss.

Seong-ho hurriedly propped Gyeong-eun up and looked at Chang-mu Kim, who stood saying nothing.

“President. What’s the matter? Where is it that’s troubling you?”

Startled, No-nam Yun quickly drew a pen light from his pocket and shone it in Gyeong-eun’s eyes. And seeing her pupils’ response, he turned to Chang-mu Kim.

“Doctor Kim. This is, all things considered…”

A symptom he suspected from Gyeong-eun’s response had come to mind, but No-nam Yun didn’t rashly put it into words. With a greater expert than himself beside him, he wanted to hear his answer first. Looking at Gyeong-eun without a word, Chang-mu Kim turned to No-nam Yun and nodded. He’d reached the judgment that the symptom they suspected was indeed it.

No-nam Yun hurriedly opened the door and shouted.

“Nurse! Nurse, get in here quick. And call radiology to prepare a CT scan.”

No-nam Yun gave the urgent instructions at a shout. Remaining in the room, Chang-mu Kim propped Gyeong-eun up together with Seong-ho and said to him,

“The President is now suspected of a cerebral hemorrhage. We’ll do a CT scan at once to confirm, and if it’s a cerebral hemorrhage as suspected, we’ll go into surgery immediately.”

“Understood. I’m counting on you.”

Having moved Gyeong-eun to the bed with Seong-ho, Chang-mu Kim answered his words.

“Don’t worry. In this field I take pride in being the best in Korea and the best in the world. And missing a patient whose symptoms manifested right before my eyes—that won’t happen even if the sky splits in two, so set your mind at ease, Head.”

Having spoken with a confidence close to a vow, Chang-mu Kim looked down for a moment at the already-unconscious Gyeong-eun on the bed. Then he raised his head, looked at Seong-ho, and said,

“I’ll go on ahead, then, to prepare the surgery.”

Reassuring Seong-ho once more, Chang-mu Kim turned and left the room. And giving the nurse—who’d rushed in past him—brief instructions on what care to administer, he stepped out.

Leaving the room, Chang-mu Kim moved his feet briskly toward the radiology suite where the CT scan would be done. When he’d gotten some distance from the room, Neurosurgery Head Chang-mu Kim stopped his steps and turned his head toward the room where Seong-ho and Gyeong-eun were.

“A coincidence, surely?”

Recalling the conversation they’d had just before Gyeong-eun collapsed, Chang-mu Kim tilted his head. Because collapsing the very instant after talk of cerebral hemorrhage was timing far too curious. But he couldn’t dwell on such thoughts for long. Because the nurses who’d changed Gyeong-eun’s clothes came into view, wheeling out the bed on which she lay.

“What am I even thinking… save the person first.”

Wiping the thought away, Chang-mu Kim moved his feet swiftly toward the radiology suite.

“What happened?”

Suk-ja came running to the family waiting room set before the operating theater, her face full of alarm. And behind her came Min-yeong Oh, Sang-jong’s wife, into view. Perhaps they’d come the moment they got word, for both women looked haggard.

Seong-ho briefly explained to Suk-ja the circumstances of Gyeong-eun’s entering the operating theater. Having heard it, Suk-ja slumped down into a chair, and Seong-ho set about reassuring her.

“They say there’s no need to worry greatly. Fortunately, the place her symptoms manifested was the hospital, and by chance the neurosurgery head was right there, so they could take measures at once.”

“They say she’ll live…?”

“Not only will she live—they said she can recover to how she was before the surgery.”

“Is that really true? Can it really turn out that way? Really, with no problems… can she be discharged?”

Suk-ja, who’d heard and knew that collapsing from a cerebral hemorrhage carried a strong chance of being unable to control one’s body even if one survived, caught hold of Seong-ho’s clothes.

“The wife of the Dongseong Construction chairman collapsed from a cerebral hemorrhage and is lying at home even now. Can’t so much as speak properly, and can’t move her right arm and leg at all. And they really said she’ll be all right?”

“Yes. The doctor gave his word, so trust it and wait. I firmly believe Gyeong-eun will be all right.”

At his words, the hand Suk-ja had on his clothes loosened.

“Right. She has to be all right. At such a young age… and she hasn’t even had a child yet…”

Recalling her hurting daughter, Suk-ja hung her head.

“Mother. Still, how fortunate she collapsed at the hospital.”

Min-yeong Oh soothed Suk-ja and sat beside her. Suk-ja nodded slowly and said,

“Yes. Truly fortunate. Truly…”

“Imagine if she’d collapsed while driving or the like. Ugh… what a catastrophe that would have been. So don’t worry too much. The doctor gave his word, so let’s trust it and wait.”

“Yes… let’s do that.”

Suk-ja wept, folded in Min-yeong Oh’s arms. Min-yeong Oh held her and patted her.

Seong-ho felt something strange at the sight of Min-yeong Oh, but thinking of Gyeong-eun locked in her life-or-death struggle in the operating theater, he set the strangeness aside for later. Seong-ho stood keeping watch before the operating theater, and after some time had passed, the people of the Ilhyeon family began to gather before it, one and two at a time.

(End of Chapter 145)