A Surgeon Who Uses Martial Arts [EN]: Chapter 342

Chapter 66: Adaptation (2)

Jun-hoo’s eyes widened at the tall black man’s question.

How could someone he met for the first time know his profession?

It defied common sense.

Perhaps that was why.

The absurd thought even crossed his mind that the man might have hidden a bug in his room.

But his surprise was fleeting.

Jun-hoo drew internal energy [qi or vital energy] from his core and released it throughout his body.

The black men frowned, seemingly feeling the pressure of the intangible energy.

“Not only were you tailing me, but you were also digging into my private life… Just what are you people?”

“……”

“Without a proper explanation, you won’t be leaving this alley in one piece.”

“Whoa, whoa, friend, calm down.”

“Would you be calm if you were in my shoes?”

“I understand you’re upset, but can’t you at least hear us out?”

The tall black man introduced himself as Malik, and the black man next to him as Jamal.

Frankly, Jun-hoo wasn’t particularly interested in their names.

His only concern was the gun.

He didn’t know when they might pull it out.

He focused on their arms, ready to spring away at any moment using his footwork.

“Alright, let’s clear up this misunderstanding. First, we weren’t tailing you.”

“That’s what all stalkers say. They claim they were just observing someone they liked. What a pathetic excuse.”

“What benefit would we get from tailing you?”

“Money.”

“We may be poor, but we don’t do robbery. It’s a principle my brother and I live by.”

Malik’s eyes were as innocent as a cow’s as he spoke. His tone held a hint of pride.

Jun-hoo couldn’t tell if he was naturally honest or a born liar.

“Then why were you following me?”

“Because you’re a doctor, and we need you to treat someone we know. Frankly, we don’t have time for this argument.”

“……”

“We need your help right now.”

“Bro, this guy won’t listen to reason.”

Jamal, who had been silent, raised his voice. He seemed to disagree with Malik.

“Why would he treat some random Harlem black guy for free? Doctors only care about money.”

“……”

“We need to drag him and force him to treat Michael. That’s the only way. Michael’s going to die if we don’t.”

Jun-hoo listened quietly to the brothers’ argument.

At first, he thought they were undoubtedly robbers…

But as time passed, his opinion changed.

It seemed like they had some urgent and hidden circumstances.

“Let’s not lose our pride, even if we live in the gutter. No violence.”

“Do you think I like violence? I’m doing this because there’s no other way. And it’s this damn world that made us this way.”

“Hey, if you’re going to fight, I’m leaving.”

Jun-hoo interjected, joining the conversation for the first time.

He pointed with his thumb at the alley behind him.

The brothers looked at Jun-hoo simultaneously, as if on cue.

They wore expressions of dismay.

“Friend, don’t be so heartless. Please help us.”

“If you need help, answer my question properly first. How did you know I was a doctor?”

“I overheard you talking on the phone. You were talking about the Mayu Clinic, so I figured you were a doctor.”

Jun-hoo nodded at Malik’s explanation.

He had often talked to Clara on the phone while taking walks in recent days.

If they were nearby during the call, it wasn’t impossible to deduce that Jun-hoo was a doctor.

Considering that Jun-hoo was one of the few Asians in the residential area and hadn’t lived there long.

It was also plausible that they became curious about the content of Jun-hoo’s call.

But as one curiosity was resolved, another arose.

Who was Michael, whom the brothers mentioned during their conversation?

And why was he dying?

Perhaps Michael was a fictional character.

And all of this was a scheme the brothers had concocted to kidnap Jun-hoo.

Questions led to more questions.

Suddenly, Malik rushed towards Jun-hoo, stopping Jun-hoo’s thoughts.

Jun-hoo heightened his senses, preparing for any potential threat.

He also kept a close watch on Jamal, who was standing behind with a sullen expression.

Malik, who had come right up to him, grabbed Jun-hoo’s wrist.

“A close friend of mine was shot. He’ll die if we leave him like this. I need your help.”

* * *

Jun-hoo, Jamal, and Malik stood side by side, looking at a building.

It was a store called Bob’s Gun Shop.

A sign hung above the entrance.

The letter ‘o’ in ‘Bob’ was shaped like a rifle scope’s reticle.

A stark advertisement was plastered on the store’s clear glass window, announcing a 30 percent discount on automatic pistols.

“Is this friend of yours, Michael, here?”

“Yeah. In the basement warehouse.”

Malik nervously bit his fingernails.

The sound of his upper and lower teeth colliding echoed.

“Shouldn’t you take a wounded friend to the hospital right away? Why ask a doctor you don’t even know for help?”

Jun-hoo asked, tilting his head.

“You really don’t know this land at all, do you?”

Jamal said with a wry smile.

“If you don’t have insurance, it costs $150-200 just to get treated for a cold. But surgery for a gunshot wound?”

“……”

“You’d have to dedicate this life and the next to pay off that surgery bill.”

“……”

“No, in the first place, if you don’t have insurance, the hospital won’t even try to take you. Because there’s a high chance they won’t get paid.”

Jun-hoo laughed in dismay at the reality of American healthcare that Jamal conveyed.

He had momentarily forgotten.

That the American healthcare system was a living hell for the poor.

If you had to pay $150 (approximately ₩200,000 [South Korean Won]) just for a cold, you’d probably have to pay about ₩1 billion for gunshot surgery.

[Even if you’re in so much pain that you feel like you’re about to die, you can’t get treatment because of money.]

As he realized that harsh reality once again, Jun-hoo felt like living in America was a perilous adventure.

Illness and injury could occur anytime, anywhere.

And no one could escape it.

They could only desperately hope that their turn wouldn’t come.

“Then let’s go quickly.”

Jun-hoo urged Malik, patting him on the back.

Malik led the way as if being pushed, followed by Jun-hoo and Jamal.

Clang!

The doorbell rang cheerfully as the entrance door opened.

A huge black man standing at the display case to the left of the entrance looked at the group.

“What’s this? Where’d you sell Max off to and bring in some Asian I’ve never seen before?”

“Max is on a business trip.”

Malik replied in a weak voice.

“Heaven is so heartless. But can this friend really treat Michael? He doesn’t look trustworthy at all.”

The store owner crossed his arms and scanned Jun-hoo up and down, then frowned.

“This friend is our only hope. Don’t discourage him from the start.”

“Alright, alright. Hey, friend. Where are you from?”

“North Korea.”

Jun-hoo played a little joke because the store owner’s attitude was rude.

Did the joke work?

The store owner’s expression hardened. He seemed to have mistaken Jun-hoo for some kind of special forces operative.

The three men opened a side door on the front of the store and went inside.

A narrow, dark underground passage appeared.

A creaking, ominous sound echoed each time the group descended the wooden stairs.

In fact, Jun-hoo had no obligation to treat a black man he had never met before.

It would have been a normal decision to ignore them and go his own way.

Especially since he had the Boost Up Program test tomorrow.

But Jun-hoo felt a strong pull towards the patient, like a sparrow unable to pass by a mill without stopping [an idiom meaning he couldn’t resist helping].

Whether inside or outside a hospital, wasn’t a patient still a patient?

He didn’t want to ignore the patient’s pain, nor the pain of the guardians and acquaintances who cherished the patient.

Moreover….

After realizing the reality of the American healthcare system, his compassion deepened.

Unable to receive treatment because of a lack of money.

Having to die because of a lack of money.

Wasn’t that kind of life too harsh?

Squeak.

Malik, who had already descended the stairs, opened an iron door.

Jun-hoo passed through the open door and stepped into an unfamiliar space.

It was a completely unexpected new world.

A pungent smell of alcohol stung his nose as he inhaled.

In the front of the room, there was something like an operating table, and a patient was lying on it.

This place was like a makeshift operating room.

The names of the medicines were handwritten on the medicine bottles inside the left-side medicine cabinet.

Next to it, containers (containers for surgical instruments) were lined up in a storage cabinet.

Thump.

Jun-hoo moved to the storage cabinet and opened a drawer.

Bandages, gauze, cotton balls, blades, etc.

Various consumables came into view.

He even checked the refrigerator and found blood packs organized by blood type.

Although there was no patient monitoring device, it also had machine equipment capable of performing suction or cauterization.

Jun-hoo had never imagined that such a medical environment would be set up in the basement warehouse of a gun store.

“Surprised, I see.”

Jamal chuckled, seeing Jun-hoo marveling at the room.

“I can’t help but be surprised… It’s not easy for an individual to set up this kind of environment. Is this the hideout of a doctor named Max?”

Jun-hoo asked, scanning the surroundings with a hawk-like gaze.

He was already memorizing what tools were needed for the surgery and where they were located.

“You’re quick to catch on. That’s right, Max is a Harlem doctor. He lost his license for dealing drugs, but he’s still a doctor.”

“So, I’m a substitute for someone named Max?”

Jamal nodded instead of answering.

“Ugh…”

Jun-hoo turned his head towards the sound of groaning. The patient lying on the operating table was trembling.

Jun-hoo hurriedly moved to the operating table and stood beside the patient.

Jamal and Malik stood on either side of him like bodyguards.

“……”

Jun-hoo’s brow furrowed as he looked down at the patient.

A bandage was wrapped around the patient’s left shoulder, and it was already covered in blood.

The damp, red-soaked bandage smelled faintly of blood.

Fortunately, vital areas such as the abdomen, chest, and head were avoided, but he couldn’t rest assured.

Judging from the extreme amount of bleeding, it seemed like there was damage to the subclavian artery.

There was a risk of death from excessive bleeding if he didn’t treat it quickly.

The patient’s face was already pale and white, and his breathing was labored, as if he were suffering from altitude sickness.

It seemed like the gunshot wound was progressing to hemorrhagic shock.

“Just so you know, Michael’s not a bad guy either. He just happened to be shot while standing in a place where Harlem gangs were shooting. Those bastards, they should shoot their own heads.”

Malik said nervously.

Regardless, Jun-hoo immediately began emergency treatment.

Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap!

Jun-hoo’s fingers tapped around the patient’s shoulder like lightning.

Jamal and Malik, who were watching the scene, opened their mouths with bewildered expressions.

“Hey. What are you doing? What are you going to do by poking the injured shoulder with your fingers?”

“Bro. I told you. This guy is somehow unsettling.”

“If you’re going to curse, why don’t you properly check the wound before you curse?”

Jun-hoo calmly pointed to the patient’s shoulder with his index finger.

The brothers examined Michael’s shoulder and were horrified once again.

The blood that had been spreading outward from the center of the bandage had suddenly stopped advancing.

It was truly an amazing miracle.

“How could this happen…”

Jamal looked at Jun-hoo with wide, owl-like eyes.

Jun-hoo just shrugged.

“Just think of it as a simple Oriental cure.”