A Surgeon Who Uses Martial Arts [EN]: Chapter 375

Chapter 72: Belief (5)

‘Damn it. Why did I have to get injured at a time like this!’

Andrew, sitting on the bench, bit his lip, frustration evident.

He stamped his foot on the court.

Andrew’s playing time had been steadily increasing.

His skills improved with hard work, and the coach and staff began to recognize his potential.

‘What if I could play a key role in an important game like today?’ he thought.

He imagined the change in his teammates’ and staff’s perception of him.

He could gain leverage in next year’s salary negotiations.

He might even be considered for a starting position.

‘But why did I suddenly get injured?’

Andrew cursed his luck.

‘Is it a sin to work hard?’

“Andrew, extend your arm straight,” the team doctor instructed.

Andrew complied. A sharp pain shot through his shoulder, like a knife stabbing him.

But Andrew remained outwardly calm.

He couldn’t show how much it hurt if he wanted to get back in the game.

“See? I’m fine. It feels better after resting a bit.”

“Now, lift your arm.”

Andrew barely suppressed the urge to yell. Lifting his arm felt like a drill boring into his bone.

Andrew’s brow furrowed.

Wrinkles appeared on his forehead.

“Are you okay now?”

The doctor scrutinized Andrew.

“Yes, I’m good.”

“Then, try rotating your shoulder.”

“Doctor, are you always this suspicious?” Andrew asked, trying to deflect.

“It’s my job. Now, rotate your shoulder. If you can do it, you can play.”

“Watch. It’s just a minor thing… Aaaagh!”

Andrew screamed as he rotated his arm about 120 degrees.

The sharp scream made his teammates wince.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. I knew it. I’ve been a team doctor for ten years. I’ve seen plenty of players try to hide injuries.”

‘Why is he so perceptive?’ Andrew thought, resenting the doctor.

“There are two minutes left. I can endure it for two minutes.”

“You might lose two years for those two minutes. Don’t be an idiot.”

“John, what’s Andrew’s condition?” the coach asked, breaking his silence.

Andrew was also curious. What was wrong with his shoulder?

“Have you dislocated your shoulder recently?”

“Twice in the last month. I just moved it around, and it seemed to pop back in.”

“Sigh… This is not good.”

The doctor shook his head.

“It sounds like habitual shoulder dislocation is starting. You should have told me sooner.”

The atmosphere on the bench turned heavy. The words ‘habitual shoulder dislocation’ hung in the air like a dark cloud.

Habitual shoulder dislocation: a condition where the shoulder dislocates easily and repeatedly.

It was difficult to cure completely. Some even said a fracture was preferable.

“But the prognosis might be good because we caught it early.”

“Really?”

“But you absolutely can’t play today. Get a checkup after the game.”

“Not even for two minutes? I can’t rotate my arm 180 degrees, but I can still block shots.”

Andrew’s voice rose. He sprayed pain relief on his shoulder.

He knew the condition was serious, but he didn’t want to give up.

To withstand the Golden State’s offense.

For the team to make the playoffs.

The team needed him, their shield.

He couldn’t just sit on the bench.

“Am I the only one playing with an injury? Love has habitual shoulder dislocation, doesn’t he?”

“…”

“Love overcame it, didn’t he?”

Andrew glanced at his teammate Love, who offered a bitter smile.

“Get your ears checked. How many times do I have to tell you this is bad for treatment and recovery?”

“…”

“Why wouldn’t I let you play if you were okay?”

“Coach, please let me play. I’ll be careful.”

Andrew pleaded, looking earnestly at the coach.

“Let me play, and if it gets worse, substitute me.”

“Harrison, absolutely not. This isn’t about sympathy. Be rational,” the doctor countered.

Andrew, the doctor, and the players watched the coach.

The coach rubbed his forehead, troubled by the situation. His forehead shone under the lights.

* * *

“Why now, when things were going so well?” Maxwell lamented about his cousin’s injury.

Maxwell knew how much Andrew loved basketball and how hard he had worked to reach the NBA.

Seeing his efforts potentially derailed was painful.

“I heard it’s habitual shoulder dislocation. Shouldn’t he focus on treatment?” Oliver asked.

“He probably can’t give up easily, even if it hurts. Opportunities are rare,” Jun-ho replied.

“But long-term, resting is the right call.”

“Sometimes, you can’t see the forest for the trees when the moment is urgent.”

“Is that a personal experience?”

“It is,” Jun-ho confirmed, nodding.

It was about a month after he joined the Murim Alliance [a fictional martial arts organization]. Jun-ho was still inexperienced.

The Alliance held a martial arts competition for new recruits. The winner would receive one-on-one training from the Alliance Leader.

The leader was a master of the orthodox faction, one of only five to reach the Hyeon-gyeong realm [a high level of martial arts mastery].

Everyone wanted to win.

Jun-ho advanced to the semi-finals.

But he had injured his ankle in a previous match, struck hard on the heel by his opponent’s wooden sword.

Even walking was painful.

“It’s best not to compete. You could have lifelong problems,” the Alliance doctor advised.

Jun-ho, worried, withdrew from the competition.

He needed to be healthy to avenge his father’s enemy, Jeok Il-do.

But he regretted that decision ever since.

‘If I had tried harder, could I have found a way?’ he wondered.

‘If I had won and received instruction from the Leader, would revenge have been faster?’

‘What if the doctor was wrong?’

He couldn’t shake the feeling of what might have been.

Perhaps that’s why he understood Andrew’s feelings.

Sitting on the bench would be a lasting regret for Andrew.

His heart would ache every time he remembered it.

“What are you doing? Why are you getting up?” Maxwell asked.

“I’m going to the player’s bench.”

“Why?”

Maxwell looked surprised.

“I want to check on your cousin and help if I can.”

“We’re just spectators. There’s a team doctor. Getting involved is an overreaction.”

“I don’t think the team doctor has any special solutions.”

“He’s probably better than us. He’s an orthopedist. We’re neurosurgeons. We don’t treat shoulders.”

“More opinions are better. We can at least try to persuade him.”

“Jun-ho, don’t. My sister will be in trouble; she got us the tickets.”

“I won’t cause a scene.”

Jun-ho went to the bench.

His medical skills were exceptional, even outside the hospital.

He could perform tests and treatments using his internal energy [a concept in martial arts referring to inner strength] and martial arts.

If Andrew could be saved, Jun-ho was the one to do it.

“Hey, who are you? Why are you here?” a player asked, frowning and blocking Jun-ho’s path.

He was tall and imposing.

“Call security…”

“Wait. I’m not a weirdo.”

“Then why are you on the bench?”

“I heard someone was injured and want to help. I’m a neurosurgeon at Mayou Clinic.”

Jun-ho showed the player his hospital name tag.

He often treated patients outside the hospital and carried the tag to establish his authority.

“He seems to be a doctor.”

The player examined the tag, then looked at Jun-ho.

“We don’t need your help. We have a team doctor.”

“The team doctor seems to be struggling.”

Jun-ho gestured towards the doctor, who was trying to reduce Andrew’s dislocated shoulder.

“Kuh-heuk!”

Andrew groaned in pain.

The doctor was red-faced and sweating. He couldn’t easily reduce the shoulder.

It seemed Andrew had more than just habitual shoulder dislocation.

Time was running out. The referee approached, asking about the situation.

They would either need another timeout or send Andrew to the locker room.

“Isn’t this where you need me?”

The player hesitated, then gestured for Jun-ho to follow.

“Hey, there’s a neurosurgeon from Mayou Clinic in the VIP seats. He says he can treat Andrew.”

The players and staff stared at Jun-ho, but their expressions were unfriendly.

They looked at him with disapproval, as if to say, ‘Who is this bum?’

“This isn’t your place. Go back to the stands, or you’ll be banned for life,” the team doctor warned.

Jun-ho didn’t flinch.

He understood their reaction.

His only goal was to treat Andrew and get him back in the game.

If Andrew played, he wouldn’t have the regrets Jun-ho had when he gave up the martial arts competition.

People say dwelling on the past is foolish.

To avoid foolishness, leave nothing to regret.

Instead of explaining, Jun-ho held up his thumb, index finger, and middle finger.

“Just give me 30 seconds,” he said.