A Surgeon Who Uses Martial Arts [EN]: Chapter 262

Chapter 50: Crossing the Line (2)

Jun-hoo continued the marginal resection.

This time, the target was the finger connected to the hand, not the finger soaking in saline.

Swish!

Swish!

The scalpel, now guided by the principles of martial arts, moved with confident precision within the surgical area.

It was a whirlwind of speed and accuracy.

Contaminated tissues that had been in the path of the scalpel were cleanly removed.

The hand movements were precise and controlled.

There wasn’t even a hint of damage to the healthy nerves or blood vessels.

While using the scalpel, Jun-hoo felt a brief but intense connection to his past in the martial world.

It was similar in that world.

A single sword strike.

Life and death balanced on the edge of that one sharp piece of metal.

The battles were fierce, precarious, and tense, allowing for absolutely no margin for error.

Jun-hoo set down the scalpel and picked up forceps in both hands.

He stared intently at the finger still connected to the hand.

Tiny fragments of tendons and bone, remnants not fully cleared by the saline solution, were embedded within the tissue.

*I can’t leave them.*

*If the anastomosis [reconnecting blood vessels] is completed with these fragments still present, they could cause an inflammatory reaction.*

A surge of perfectionism welled up from deep within him.

He felt an overwhelming desire to completely restore the finger of this young man, who had suffered such a traumatic injury far from home.

Tuk. Tuk. Tuk.

Jun-hoo meticulously used the forceps to remove the remaining severed tissues attached to the finger, one by one.

Fine tissues, like grains of sand, were carefully transferred to the curved tray.

Under the intense, unwavering light of the shadowless lamp.

The removed tissues shimmered like tiny jewels.

Jun-hoo was performing a procedure that appeared simple but demanded extreme precision and control.

The sharp prongs of the forceps could easily pierce delicate nerves or blood vessels if handled carelessly.

But that wasn’t a concern for Jun-hoo.

*Whether the sword found its mark,*

*Or the sword missed its mark.*

Jun-hoo had survived for twenty years in the martial world, where the line between life and death was often a mere millimeter.

His control over distance and precision was absolute.

In just three minutes, Jun-hoo completed the marginal resection.

Only then did the intense focus break.

The reality of the operating room slowly came back into focus.

He felt the cool air on his skin and smelled the sharp, familiar odor of disinfectant.

From the world of intense concentration.

Jun-hoo welcomed the sensation of returning to reality.

“Professor, is this sufficient for the marginal resection?”

“Huh? Oh. Yes. You did far better than I expected.”

Gyu-sik’s reply was slightly delayed.

He nodded, seemingly satisfied.

“There aren’t many opportunities to perform marginal resections in neurosurgery. Your skill is quite impressive.”

“You flatter me, Professor. I’m still far from reaching your level.”

“Dr. Seo handles the scalpel incredibly well.”

The scrub nurse, who had been quietly observing, chimed in.

“My mother enjoys martial arts dramas, and I often watch them with her. You looked just like the main character in one of those shows.”

“Was it really that obvious?”

A smile touched Jun-hoo’s lips.

He was pleased that people recognized the dedication and skill of the martial world, even if only in a fictional context.

“You did well, but the real surgery begins now. Don’t let your guard down and stay focused. Understood?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Let’s begin with the bone fixation. K-wire 0.9mm.”

Gyu-sik held out his hand.

The scrub nurse placed a long, thin wire on Gyusik’s palm.

* * *

The finger replantation surgery appeared to be progressing smoothly.

The first crucial step was the successful bone fixation.

The severed finger.

The finger attached to the hand.

The task was to connect and securely fix the bones of these two fingers.

If the marginal resection was like laying the foundation, the bone fixation was like erecting the pillars and framework of a building.

Jun-hoo carefully aligned the severed bones.

He used his incredibly sharp eyesight to ensure perfect alignment, preventing any misalignment.

Like fitting pieces of a complex puzzle together.

Hidden beneath the impressive hand skills.

Jun-hoo’s exceptional eyesight was also a powerful asset.

It’s easy to lose sight of the individual trees when focusing on the forest, and vice versa.

Jun-hoo had mastered the ability to see both the forest and the trees simultaneously.

That was the White Cloud Eye [a metaphor for seeing the whole picture and the details].

“Professor, I’ve aligned all the bones.”

“Really? Let me see.”

Gyu-sik examined the patient’s finger bones through a micro microscope.

Secretly worried that Jun-hoo might become overconfident, he tried to find something to criticize, but this time, he had to admit defeat.

Jun-hoo was remarkably flawless.

In some ways, he seemed almost like a machine.

Kheuheuheuk.

*Damn it.*

*Why now?*

Gyu-sik bit his lip tightly, fighting against the sudden wave of dizziness and headache.

It wasn’t due to any underlying medical condition.

He had been performing surgeries for over ten hours on weekdays.

He wasn’t getting enough rest.

He wasn’t eating properly.

For over a year, he had been sacrificing his holidays to write research papers.

As fatigue accumulated like a mountain.

Gyu-sik had been experiencing increasingly frequent episodes of extreme dizziness and headaches.

“Professor, should I adjust the bone position?”

Jun-hoo asked, noticing the lack of response.

He seemed to sense that something was wrong.

It was fortunate.

He didn’t want to reveal any weakness.

Not to the patient, not to the scrub nurse, and especially not to Jun-hoo.

“No. You did very well. Hold both fingers in place. I’ll fix the bones and joints with wire.”

“Yes, Professor.”

Gyu-sik carefully wrapped the periphery of both finger bones with thin wire.

He created a wire knot at the top of the finger bone.

He created another wire knot at the bottom of the finger bone and pulled the wire taut from side to side.

Clack!

The bones connected.

A dull sensation spread through his fingertips. The bones were fixed accurately, without any misalignment.

In time, the bones would naturally fuse together.

“What’s the next anastomosis site?”

Gyu-sik asked, even though he already knew the answer.

He wanted to create a sense of urgency and focus.

“It’s the ligaments. Now that the bones are fixed, we need to reconnect the ligaments that connect the bones.”

“You know it well. I was worried your mind might have wandered.”

“Professor, can I perform a treatment before suturing the ligaments?”

“Treatment? What kind of treatment?”

“I believe the blood vessels are constricted, so I’d like to administer a drip injection of 2% lidocaine [a local anesthetic].”

“What? You know about that too?”

Gyu-sik’s eyes widened in surprise.

What Jun-hoo had just suggested…

Was knowledge that only a hand surgery specialist would possess after specifically studying anastomosis surgery.

How could a mere second-year neurosurgery resident know such detailed techniques?

“During my internship, I happened to assist in a finger replantation surgery. I remembered it from then.”

“Huh… amazing. That’s a treatment that’s difficult to observe closely, and it’s been a long time. It wouldn’t have been easy to remember.”

“I think my memory is a bit better than average.”

“Hmm… is that so? A drip injection might be a bit premature, but proceed as you see fit. We’ll have to do it eventually anyway.”

“Yes, Professor.”

Jun-hoo briefly left his position and headed towards the supply room.

Gyu-sik watched him go and slyly asked the scrub nurse beside him.

“That guy. He’s unexpectedly skilled, isn’t he?”

“I know, right? It’s hard to believe he’s only a second-year resident. I’d almost think he was a fellow [a doctor who has completed residency and is training in a subspecialty] if I didn’t know better.”

The scrub nurse nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

“But why are you saying these things when Dr. Seo isn’t here? Dr. Seo would appreciate it more if you praised him directly, Professor.”

“It can be troublesome if he becomes too arrogant.”

“I see. You’re still the professor.”

“Did you just realize that?”

Gyu-sik smirked, but stopped when he saw Jun-hoo returning.

Gyu-sik was subtly a tsundere [a character who is initially cold or hostile but gradually reveals a warmer, kinder side].

* * *

Following the bone fixation, ligament anastomosis and tendon anastomosis were performed in sequence.

The finger that had been so horribly severed gradually began to resemble its original form.

The two parts of the finger, once separated like estranged family members, were now reunited.

They were holding each other tightly, as if determined never to be separated again.

As the arterial anastomosis was successfully completed, the finger finally began to regain its color.

The skin, which had been as pale as paper, took on a warm, reddish hue.

Throughout the procedure, Jun-hoo assisted Gyusik in every possible way.

He utilized the Internal Energy Hippocampal Nerve Stimulation Technique [a fictional technique to enhance focus and understanding].

He had a complete understanding of the entire surgical process.

Yangsu Amber Technique [likely a fictional medical technique].

Beol Mosaesu [likely a fictional medical technique].

The physical abilities he had developed to the seventh level of the Howol Twelve Swords were at their peak.

Jun-hoo was effectively handling the workload of two assistants.

He wasn’t just an assistant struggling to keep up; he was a truly effective assistant, performing as if he were two people.

During the surgery.

Jun-hoo also meticulously analyzed and recorded Gyusik’s surgical methods in his mind.

How he moved his fingers and wrists.

Which surgical tools he used.

The precise timing of each action, and so on.

For Jun-hoo, every experience in the operating room was a valuable learning opportunity.

Experience that would help him become the ultimate, unparalleled hexa [meaning six, likely referring to six areas of expertise] major neurosurgeon.

*I think I’m reaching my limit.*

*What should I do?*

Jun-hoo glanced at Gyusik, his eyes filled with concern.

Gyu-sik was currently suturing the bisected nerves.

Gyu-sik’s suturing skills were undeniably superior to Jun-hoo’s.

Using 10-0 nylon [extremely fine suture material], which Jun-hoo had not yet mastered, Gyusik was meticulously sewing the thread-like nerves together.

He was like a true human seamster.

Even with Jun-hoo’s martial arts background, Gyusik’s suturing experience and skill were currently unmatched.

But despite Gyusik’s exceptional skills.

Jun-hoo was filled with anxiety as he observed Gyusik.

It was because of Gyusik’s deteriorating condition.

As time passed, beads of sweat formed on Gyusik’s forehead.

His arms and fingers trembled slightly.

The intervals he took to rest, claiming he needed to catch his breath, were also becoming more frequent.

These were classic signs that something was wrong.

“Professor, are you sure you’re alright?”

Jun-hoo asked, his voice filled with concern, just as the nerve anastomosis was completed.

He had a strong feeling.

That Gyusik had reached the absolute limit of his endurance for this surgery.

The trembling hands.

The eyebrows that couldn’t stop twitching were clear evidence.

“Huh? What?”

“I asked because you don’t seem to be feeling well.”

The scrub nurse joined the conversation.

She didn’t seem to have noticed that Gyusik’s performance was gradually declining.

“I don’t know the professor very well yet. But based on what I’ve observed so far…”

“Based on what you’ve observed?”

“I didn’t think you were the type to show that you were struggling.”

Gyu-sik clicked his tongue at Jun-hoo’s comment.

“Huh… I didn’t realize you were paying that much attention.”

“Professor, were you really not feeling well? I didn’t notice at all…”

“You wouldn’t know because I didn’t say anything. Dr. Seo is just particularly perceptive.”

“Only the venous anastomosis [reconnecting veins] is left. Should we find another professor to take over the surgery?”

Jun-hoo changed the subject.

Venous anastomosis was as challenging as arterial and nerve anastomosis.

Locking sutures [a type of suture that creates a tight seal] had to be performed on the venous blood vessels.

Locking suture was a difficult and time-consuming technique that even experienced surgeons rarely used.

Jun-hoo had only practiced it a few times.

He had never performed it in a real surgical setting.

“I think we’ll have to do that. I can’t continue any longer… eugh…”

Gyu-sik reached for the needle holder with his right hand, but his grip failed.

His hand lost strength due to the overwhelming dizziness.

Clang!

The needle holder fell to the floor.

The sharp metallic sound was clear and ominous.

It was the moment when the atmosphere in the operating room took a dramatic turn.

Meanwhile, Jun-hoo had been closing his eyes.

In the darkness, he was visualizing the patient and the surgical tools, recreating them in his imagination.

He was practicing the locking suture.

He was creating a detailed mental picture of himself performing the procedure flawlessly.

Flash!

His closed eyes snapped open.

Jun-hoo’s gaze was as intense as the sun. Gyusik and the scrub nurse, meeting his eyes, even felt a sense of intimidation.

“Professor. Venous anastomosis… I can do it.”

Jun-hoo’s voice echoed through the room.