Chapter 116
Today was honestly the perfect day.
I woke up without an alarm, lounged around until noon, and after a long while I browsed my neglected Steam library and even finished a few games.
On top of that, I’d even taken a long, lazy nap while the sun was high in the sky—a perfect day.
Zero fatigue.
100% stamina,
I stepped lightly up to the automatic doors of the emergency medical center, feeling like whistling.
“Let’s goooo!!! Tonight’s shift is mine to tear apart!”
I clenched my fist solemnly and went through the door.
But.
That confidence started to crack exactly three seconds later.
“…?”
The atmosphere at the ER station was odd.
It was still the same chaotic mess as always, but there were some foreign-looking objects occupying the space.
A giant black lens.
And strangers in vests.
I stood there dazed, then spotted Chief Resident Choi Soo-min calmly drinking coffee in the middle of the station and walked over.
“...Chief.”
“Oh, Hyeonjae. You’re here? You look good.”
“Yes, well, I got plenty of rest. But what is all that?”
“A documentary.”
When I motioned toward the camera with my chin, Choi Soo-min answered as if it were nothing.
“...A documentary?”
“Yeah, a doc. Why?”
Seeing Choi Soo-min answer with such a serenely peaceful expression, I smacked my forehead.
“I mean, from the start of this peaceful night shift, what on earth are you talking about? A documentary?”
“Exactly! Just what it sounds like. Cameras, microphones, a PD, and us. Didn’t I tell you about it at the last department meeting? We were going to film something, remember?”
Choi Soo-min stared into the air, as if searching their memory.
“...No, didn’t they say we were just going to shoot a simple YouTube video for hospital promotion? Like ‘A Smart ER Life’ or something.”
“Did they? The cooperation notice from the PR office was a bit grand, though.”
Choi Soo-min soon shrugged.
“Anyway, I’m not really sure whether it’s a documentary about the ER or one about the whole hospital! You know how it is. When the people above tell you to do something, you do it.”
“If you don’t know that... Ah. Never mind. Thank you.”
I let out a deep sigh and turned my head.
What the hell was this ER?
I was completely out of my mind.
Tripods had been set up in every nook and cranny of the already crowded ER hallway, and tiny cameras hung from the ceiling—who knew when they’d been mounted—blinking red lights like surveillance cameras.
‘How the hell did they even put those up? Did they climb a ladder?’
Patients were screaming in pain and families were crying and carrying on, while camera crew members in black clothes glided silently through them like ghosts, as if filming wild animals on the savanna.
Of course, the wild animals here would be our residents, and the predators would be the professors or the nightmare patients.
The good news, at least, was that the crew’s movements were impressively well-trained.
Their positions weren’t obstructing CPR, treatments, or patient movement in any noticeable way.
When we ran, they hugged the wall, and when we raised our voices, they would subtly pull the mics back; it was quite the sight.
And there were only about two crew members.
One main camera operator, and one person who looked like the PD.
Well, at this level, they weren’t going to interfere with treatment too much.
More than anything, it seemed they knew very well that if they strutted around here, they’d just be a nuisance, so they stayed tucked behind pillars or between curtains as much as possible... which somehow looked pitiful.
A young man who looked like the PD stood there with his notebook, watching the room warily.
And the way he kept shifting his feet, not knowing where he was supposed to stand, made me feel like I was looking at myself back in my intern days, when I knew nothing and had been shoved into a corner.
I felt a sense of shared misery.
Poor guy.
I changed into my white coat and stuffed the stethoscope into my pocket, steeling myself.
‘Let’s not worry about it. They’re here to work, and I’m here to work too. I’ll just treat them like invisible people and do my own job...’
“Oh, right, Hyeonjae!”
Choi Soo-min called me, as if something important had just occurred to them.
“Yes, Doctor.”
“We talked with the professors too! The department head specifically singled you out.”
“...Pardon?”
This is bad.
The moment the department head’s name came up, a chill ran down my spine.
“For today’s shift, you’re going to be the main one.”
“The main...? You mean the night duty?”
“No, no. Main for filming.”
Choi Soo-min smiled brightly and pointed at me with a finger.
“You’re going to handle the overall explanation of the ER system and comment on patient cases and stuff today! And if the PD asks you questions, you answer them too!”
“An explanation? Questions? Me?”
My voice cracked.
“But there’s a chief doctor here too, and today’s attending professor is here as well, so why me, a second-year resident...”
“The crew wanted it that way. They said if the person was too high-ranking it’d feel too stiff, and if it was a first-year they’d look too chaotic. They thought a second-year resident would be just right—someone who knows the work but can still show what it’s really like.”
Choi Soo-min patted my shoulder a few times.
“And you’re good at talking.”
“....”
“The PD will follow you around and ask you all sorts of things. Answer them nicely.”
Choi Soo-min handed me a death sentence and then slipped into the on-call room.
Left behind, I stared blankly into space.
Then the PD, who’d been watching from behind a pillar, met my eyes and cautiously bowed before coming over.
‘Kraaaahhh.’
A scream burst from inside me.
Fully charged energy?
It had just been completely drained.
I’m already swamped trying to work, and now I have to explain things in front of a camera too.
If I make even one mistake, aren’t they going to brand me as a quack doctor and air it nationwide?
And if it’s on TV, the patients and their families will probably get even more sensitive.
For some reason, I had a very strong and ominous feeling that today was going to become my worst shift ever.
“Hello, Doctor. I’m the PD in charge of today’s shoot.”
“Yes, hello...”
With a forced smile, the documentary shoot began against my will.
***
“Right, this way, please.”
I led the camera crew while keeping my tone as businesslike and stiff as possible, the kind that probably wouldn’t make the broadcast cut.
“Whether a patient comes here by ambulance or on foot, the first place they pass through is right here at the entrance.”
I pointed to the triage desk in front of the ER automatic doors.
“This is where triage takes place. Based on the patient’s symptoms and vital signs, we divide them into levels one through five. This process requires a great deal of expertise, so experienced nurses or EMTs handle it.”
The PD diligently scribbled something down in the notebook.
The PD’s eyes sparkled.
“Ah, I see. So this is the gate, then?”
“Right. It’s where we decide who gets brought in first.”
I took the opportunity to subtly point at the EMT who had been busily typing away on a keyboard beside us.
“Honestly, these folks are the real experts in this field, more than I am. They’re the ones who face the urgency of the scene first.”
The PD’s gaze naturally shifted to the EMT.
“Oh, doctor! Would you mind giving us a quick interview? What’s the hardest part about triaging...”
The EMT looked embarrassed, but I quickly sent them a fighting look and slowly backed away.
‘Okay, first part of the plan succeeded.’
Yay.
The camera moved over there.
I let out a sigh of relief and headed to the water dispenser behind the station.
I needed to have a drink and catch my breath.
But that peace was shattered before I could even fill half a paper cup with water.
“Doctor! Please take us to the next section too.”
When did this person come back?
The PD had already finished the interview and was back behind me again.
“Ah... yes. Let’s go.”
I gave in and switched back to guide mode.
“Anyway, once triage is done, our ER is broadly divided into three areas.”
I stretched out a hand and swept it across the ER’s view.
“For adult patients, you see the area on the far left—the brightest spot with the most equipment? That’s the resuscitation zone. It’s where we treat patients whose lives are hanging in the balance, like cardiac arrest or major trauma.”
Take it slow.
Please.
“And this is Area A. It’s the section for severe patients. This is where people who need intensive monitoring lie down.”
I pointed to the noisy opposite side, bustling like a market.
“Lastly, that’s Area B. It’s where moderate and mild cases are placed. Patients with stomachaches, cuts, or who came in drunk... people who can more or less walk in on their own.”
After finishing the explanation, we returned to the center of the station.
The PD seemed quite impressed by the sight of the ER.
“Doctor, hearing your explanation really makes it feel like this is the front line.”
“Yes... well...”
I answered lifelessly.
“Especially since this is a major regional university hospital. As the region’s final referral center for the Busan-Ulsan-Gyeongnam area, your sense of responsibility must be enormous.”
The PD held the microphone out toward me.
Were they expecting some textbook, touching line like, “If we go down, patients have nowhere to go. We hold on with nothing but our sense of duty”?
But I’m a pretty hard-nosed realist.
“In the end, all the patients who can’t be treated elsewhere in the region gather here, right? That weight must be enormous...”
The PD’s eyes grew misty.
“Th... the what?”
I tilted my head.
“You mean all the patients who can’t be treated at other hospitals come here?”
“Huh? Yes? Because this is a university hospital...”
“Huh?”
“Huh?”
For a moment, silence fell.
The PD and I stared blankly at each other.
“This is Busan, you know?”
“Yes.”
“I’m saying this is Busan.”
“Yes. I know.”
“There are lots of university hospitals here.”
“What? The final medical insti...”
“When our beds are full, we send patients to other hospitals too.”
I eagerly listed off Busan’s major hospitals on my fingers.
“....”
“Conversely, when their beds are full, they send people to us too. We shuffle patients back and forth—no, we cooperate with each other. It’s not like we’re some final beacon of hope or anything.”
The PD’s expression twisted in subtle confusion.
“I see...”
The PD closed the notebook, looking awkward.
“....”
“....”
It seemed the documentary crew’s whole angle had gone completely in the opposite direction.
It felt like they’d come to shoot a human-interest documentary and suddenly ended up doing fact-checking on Busan’s regional medical transfer system.
The PD was silent for a moment, then hurriedly changed the topic.
“Ah, yes! Haha! Then let’s move on to the next question!”
The PD wiped the cold sweat off and turned the page.
Sorry, PD.
For playing hero, the hospitals next door are just too formidable.