A Surgeon Who Uses Martial Arts [EN]: Chapter 232

Chapter 44: Sponsorship (2)

“Thank you for your hard work, Guardian,” Jun-hoo said, bowing respectfully.

It was immediately after the hugely successful live broadcast ended.

“The hard work was all yours, not mine,” the guardian replied.

“Having the courage to appear on the live broadcast and dedicating your valuable time is a tremendous effort.”

“Oh, you’re welcome…” The guardian blushed, smoothing her hair.

“Jae-eun also worked hard.”

“It was fun and amazing for me,” Jae-eun chimed in.

“Oh, really? Our Jae-eun is all grown up?” Jun-hoo smiled at Jae-eun’s composed response.

The live broadcast concluded in about 30 minutes.

He figured extending it would be pointless since the peak viewership plateaued around 3,000.

However, the donations collected were substantial relative to the broadcast’s duration.

Jun-hoo estimated it to be roughly 20 million won [approximately $15,000 USD].

A profit exceeding expectations!

A profit comparable to the super chat revenue of a popular NewTuber [Korean slang for YouTuber]!

Adding Jun-hoo’s personal donation to the total, the Jae-eun family could plan for the future without financial worries for a while.

Even though it was a one-time event, Jun-hoo felt satisfied with his accomplishment.

Sometimes, providing immediate assistance is more crucial than teaching long-term skills.

“We’ll print out the donation details soon and deposit the funds into your account,” Jun-hoo said.

“Thank you so much, Doctor. Thank you for considering our family’s situation. I feel constantly indebted to you,” the guardian said, bowing deeply with gratitude.

Jae-eun, sitting on the bed, mirrored her guardian’s bow.

Jun-hoo, exiting the hospital room, received his cell phone from Ah-young.

He returned Ah-young’s phone, which he had used to monitor the chat window.

“Thanks for your hard work, Ah-young. Is your arm sore?”

“This was easy. I’ve held chest retractors for over an hour during surgeries.”

“That’s one thing, and this is another,” Jun-hoo said, standing in place.

He massaged Ah-young’s arm, easing the stiff muscles.

He infused internal energy to dilate blood vessels.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

He alleviated Ah-young’s pain instantly using acupressure techniques.

“Thinking about it, you’re really amazing, Jun-hoo,” Ah-young said.

“Me?” Jun-hoo asked.

“Whenever you touch me, I don’t feel nervous, and the pain vanishes. Especially when you worked on my back at the motel last time, it was truly an art.”

“…….”

“My posture improved, and my muscle pain disappeared.”

“I’ve always been good with my hands,” Jun-hoo replied.

“But how could you read the chat window so well? Didn’t you say it was your first time doing a live broadcast?” Ah-young asked, tilting her head and changing the subject.

It was astonishing from Ah-young’s perspective.

Reading and responding to the flood of chats wasn’t easy.

“I naturally possess exceptional dynamic visual acuity. It’s at a level that would make even eagles envious,” Jun-hoo chuckled.

The source of his remarkable dynamic visual acuity, of course, stemmed from his experiences in the Murim [martial arts world].

In the Murim, dynamic visual acuity was directly linked to survival.

Weapons wielded by opponents, daggers thrown from afar, chariots, poisoned needles, and other hidden weapons—failure to see and evade these meant certain death.

Compared to his Murim experiences, reading a chat window was as simple as breathing.

For context, Jun-hoo had experience deciphering Mancheonhwau, the ultimate secret technique of the Sichuan Tang Clan [a fictional clan known for their mastery of hidden weapons and poisons].

“Tsk. You always say ‘originally’ to everything. Are you going to change your name to Seo Won-rae [a pun referencing the word ‘originally’] at this rate?” Ah-young teased.

“I think it would be okay to change it? I originally liked you, Ah-young,” Jun-hoo said.

Ah-young blushed at Jun-hoo’s sweet words.

Her cheeks flushed.

“You can’t say things like that in front of people… Oh! What’s your plan for the afternoon?”

“I have to go to Gangnam [a wealthy district in Seoul].”

“Gangnam? Why Gangnam?”

“I agreed to collaborate with another NewTube channel. They offered to support Jae-eun’s donation just by collaborating,” Jun-hoo explained, recalling the contact from Nice Dancing TV.

Nice Dancing TV.

A NewTube channel with a whopping 1.5 million subscribers that uploads various dance videos, including idol dance covers and original choreography.

Nice Dancing TV had been persistently requesting Jun-hoo’s appearance for a month.

Jun-hoo consistently declined.

If Jun-hoo appeared, they would undoubtedly propose a dance battle.

In that scenario, Nice Dancing TV would be the one at a disadvantage, not Jun-hoo.

Jun-hoo was certain.

That he was the best dancer in the world.

At the same time, he was the strongest in the world.

Because… he had already reached the realm of superhumanity by mastering martial arts and internal energy.

[Nice Dancing TV has donated 100,000 won. Are you really not going to collaborate? We will pay for the patient’s donation just by participating in the collaboration broadcast!!!!]

During the live broadcast, Jun-hoo noticed Nice Dancing TV’s super chat.

With such favorable conditions, there was no reason to hesitate.

“Let’s go. We can go on a date in Gangnam and visit their studio around 7 o’clock.”

“Okay,” Ah-young replied.

Jun-hoo left the hospital with Ah-young, anticipating the amount of donations Nice Dancing TV would contribute.

Just for today, I’m a gold digger, he thought.

* * *

Munseong Building, located a bit outside the Gangnam downtown area, housed Nice Dancing TV’s studio on the 2nd to 4th floors.

Min-ji was on SNS in her private office attached to the 3rd-floor studio.

[A live collaboration broadcast with dancing surgeon Seo Jun-hoo will be held at 7 PM. Please watch! ♡]

After posting all the promotional announcements, Min-ji leaned back in her chair. The collaboration with Jun-hoo, which she had long envisioned, was finally happening.

Her heart was already racing.

Min-ji was a fan of Jun-hoo.

His cool and intellectual appearance, gentle tone, and dance skills comparable to professional dancers despite being a surgeon—everything about Jun-hoo was unique and captivating.

Bang! Thump!

Suddenly, the office door burst open.

Tae-young approached Min-ji with an angry expression.

Tae-young was the co-representative of Nice Dancing TV with Min-ji.

“Hey, why are you making decisions arbitrarily without consulting me? I heard you decided to collaborate with a surgeon? Even giving away useless donations?” Tae-young’s voice was sharp.

“I called you, but you didn’t answer. All afternoon,” Min-ji replied.

“That’s because I drank too much yesterday. Anyway, how can you push forward with such an important matter alone?”

“Because today was the perfect opportunity,” Min-ji said, shrugging.

“I already posted a collaboration notice on SNS. It’s a done deal.”

“You’re always so selfish,” Tae-young huffed, sitting in the chair next to Min-ji.

“Let’s think positively. Huh? We need a change little by little,” Min-ji emphasized the importance and justification of the collaboration.

The viewership of the videos uploaded in the last 5 months had been declining rapidly.

The number of subscribers was stagnant.

She stressed that a fresh approach was necessary.

“Change is good, but why does that involve collaborating with a surgeon?”

“It’s amazing. He dances so well even though he’s a surgeon.”

“Bullshit. I think that guy is a scammer,” Tae-young retorted.

“Why?” Min-ji asked.

“How can a doctor dance at a similar level to us? He’s busy studying at medical school and working at the hospital.”

“…….”

“Maybe he edited the video. There’s something called deepfake these days—technology that can elaborately edit only the face.”

“…….”

“I’ll bet my right wrist that he used deepfake,” Tae-young declared.

Min-ji considered Tae-young’s pointed suspicion to be reasonable.

In fact, Min-ji had entertained similar thoughts.

The same was true of Jun-hoo’s NewTube comments.

The prevailing opinion was this: He dances too professionally for a doctor; there’s a high probability that the video was manipulated.

However, Min-ji trusted Jun-hoo.

His low-calorie strawberry jam exposure [referencing a previous incident], his record of saving numerous emergency patients, which was covered in the media—would the righteous Jun-hoo have any reason to commit fraud with a dance video?

Min-ji concluded that there was none.

“Maybe he naturally has a talent for dancing,” she suggested.

“Talent, my ass,” Tae-young scoffed.

“Anyway, I hope my wrist is safe after the broadcast today,” Min-ji said sincerely.

* * *

That afternoon, Jun-hoo watched a movie with Ah-young, took sticker photos, visited a bookstore, and enjoyed a date at the aquarium.

It was a small but certain happiness.

It was a kind of happiness that could never be experienced in the hospital.

Perhaps because the day was so pleasant, Jun-hoo even felt a strong urge to abandon his surgical life, which felt like a battlefield, and live a normal life.

It was so peaceful outside the hospital.

There were no sick or dying people.

People looked happy and relaxed.

Therefore, there was no reason for Jun-hoo to be nervous.

There was no reason to desperately try to save someone.

Everything seemed perfect in itself.

No.

Still, saving people is my duty, my mission, and my vocation.

Mastial arts and internal energy.

The noblest and most precious thing I can do with this ability that only I have is still a surgeon.

Jun-hoo steadied his wavering resolve.

He returned to his original intention.

He recalled his colleagues who died in Murim and Seong-ho, who fell into a coma due to a traffic accident in modern times.

“Shall we go eat gopchang [grilled small intestines] soon?” Jun-hoo asked.

“I’d love to!” Ah-young, who was walking next to him with her arms crossed, answered excitedly like a child.

At 6 p.m., because it was late autumn, the sun set quickly.

The sky he looked up at was already dark.

The area near Gangnam Station was crowded with office workers leaving work.

Jun-hoo scanned the restaurants with the eyes of a hawk and entered a gopchang restaurant that seemed popular.

He was guided by the employee to a seat by the window and ordered four servings of assorted gopchang.

The restaurant was already more than half full.

Gopchang was being cooked golden brown everywhere on the tables. Even the white smoke rising from the grill looked delicious.

At the table across from Jun-hoo, a middle-aged man and woman were drinking soju [Korean distilled rice liquor].

“Ah-young, do you like gopchang that much?” Jun-hoo asked as he put the gopchang brought by the employee on the grill.

“Yeah. It’s my favorite,” Ah-young replied.

“I can’t eat a lot because it’s greasy,” Jun-hoo said.

“That’s the charm. It’s so delicious. You can dip it in sauce when you get tired of it,” Ah-young explained.

“Then I’ll find a good gopchang restaurant next time. I wonder what’s different about a good gopchang restaurant?” Jun-hoo mused.

“I’d love that,” Ah-young smiled brightly.

Suddenly, a bright light seemed to emanate from behind Ah-young’s back.

It seemed like he was wearing thick rose-tinted glasses.

“But Jun-hoo, are you okay with the NewTube collaboration?” Ah-young asked.

“Why?” Jun-hoo replied.

“Those people, their intentions seem impure. I’m worried that they’re just trying to embarrass you by calling you out,” Ah-young expressed her concern.

“That could be the case. Maybe they’re jealous because a surgeon is gaining views with a dance challenge video?” Jun-hoo speculated.

“Then why did you agree to it?” Ah-young asked.

“First, because of Jae-eun’s donation. Second, because I’m confident that I won’t be embarrassed,” Jun-hoo replied.

“The opponents are professional dancers. Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Ah-young asked.

“Don’t worry. They’d have to be Michael Jackson to compete with me,” Jun-hoo said, still relaxed.

The word defeat did not exist in Jun-hoo’s dictionary.

The conversation was briefly interrupted as the gopchang finished cooking. Ah-young, a gopchang enthusiast, was distracted by the food.

Jun-hoo looked at Ah-young with a fond smile, then frowned terribly.

He was bothered by the conversation between the two middle-aged men at the table in front of him.

“Seo Chang-hwan is practically dead. Are you already drunk? Why can’t you speak since earlier? Your face is stiff,” one man said.

“Ah… Ah… Th… at…” the other stammered.

“Empty your glass quickly. Are you going to let the alcohol go bad while waiting?” the first man urged.

Jun-hoo focused his attention on the man named Seo Chang-hwan at the table across from him.

Chang-hwan picked up the soju glass, trembling.

Clang!

However, the glass slipped from his grasp and shattered on the restaurant floor.

Glass shards flew everywhere.