Heirs of the Scalpel Ep1

 

메스의 상속자들
Meseu-ui Sangsokjadeul

(Heirs of the Scalpel) Ep 1

Rain dripped from the rusting edges of the roof, pooling into the cracks on the cement floor.

Shin Han-rin pressed her back against the wooden wardrobe, barely breathing. The single-room apartment smelled of damp clothes and stale cigarettes—her father’s lingering scent. Outside, footsteps crunched against the wet ground, slow and deliberate.

“ 야, 나와라. (Ya, nawara.) Hey, come out.”

Her fingers dug into the fabric of her worn-out hoodie. The voice was deep, taunting. The same man who had laughed when he ripped her medical certificate from her hands months ago, sealing her fate.

“너희 아버지는 정말 쓸모없어. (Neohu i abeoji neun jeongmal sseulmo eobs eo.) Your father is truly useless.”

“하지만 너는 달라. (Hajiman neoneun dalla.) But you’re different.”

A bitter taste rose in her throat.

She had worked her whole life for that certificate, only for her father to trade it away like a cheap gambling chip. Without it, she couldn’t work. Couldn’t operate. She had become a ghost of herself, reduced to stitching wounds in back alleys for scraps.

The footsteps stopped. A loud bang echoed as a fist slammed against the door.

“도망치지 마. (Domangchiji ma.) Don’t run.”

“내일까지 돈을 준비해. (Naeil kkaji doneul junbihae.) Have the money ready by tomorrow.”

Then, just as suddenly as they came, the voices faded. The footsteps retreated into the distance.

She waited.

Five minutes. Ten.

Only when the silence settled deep did she finally exhale.

A single knock on the door made her flinch.

She didn’t move. Not until a voice—steady, low, and familiar—cut through the thick air.

“한린아.” (Han-rin-a.)

Her breath caught.

She pushed herself up, hesitating before unlatching the door. The hinges creaked as she cracked it open just enough to see him.

Kang Do-hun.

The dim light from the streetlamp outside cast shadows over his sharp features. His black coat clung to his broad shoulders, untouched by the rain. He had always looked untouchable. Unshaken. Even now.

“도훈… (Do-hun…)” she whispered, still catching her breath.

He looked down at her, eyes scanning the dark room behind her before settling back on her face.

“숨고 있었어?” (Sumgo isseosseo?)

“You were hiding?”

She scoffed, crossing her arms. “천재네. (Cheonjaene.) Brilliant observation.”

His lips curved slightly, but there was no amusement in his gaze.

“I have a solution.”

She let out a dry laugh. 

“That’s not what I want to hear.”

His smirk deepened. “잘 들어. (Jal deureo.) Listen carefully.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek black envelope.

Han-rin eyed it warily. “뭐야?” (Mwoya?)

“What’s that?”

“너의 기회.” (Neoui gihoe.)

“Your chance.”

Silence stretched between them.

“…자격증 없어.” (Jagyeokjeung eopseo.) 

“I don’t have a license.”

“필요 없어.” (Pillyo eopseo.)

“You don’t need one.”

Her stomach twisted. “무슨 말이야?” (Museun mariya?)

“What are you saying?”

“You operate for me,” he said, voice calm, measured. “Under a mask. As me.”

Her breath hitched.

“You do this, and I’ll clear your father’s debt. Permanently.”

A slow exhale left her lips.

For the first time in months, she had a choice.

Han-rin extended her hand.

“좋아. 할게.” (Joha. Halge.)

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

Do-hun placed the envelope in her palm, his fingers brushing lightly against hers.

His smirk didn’t fade.

“다시 환영해, 신 의사.” (Dasi hwan-yeonghae, Shin uisa.)

“Welcome back, Dr. Shin.”

Earlier That Morning

Morning light filtered through the massive windows of Baekje Medical Center—South Korea’s most prestigious hospital, owned by the powerful Kang family for generations.

Dr. Kang Dae-seok, the hospital’s chairman, stood in his office, his hands folded behind his back as he gazed at the skyline. His presence alone demanded attention.

Seated before him were his two sons.

Kang Do-hun, the eldest, average height with a sturdy build, broad shoulder with a sharp eye, sat with his usual unreadable expression. His tailored black suit was impeccable, his posture relaxed yet commanding. He had always carried an air of quiet control, the type that didn’t require force to demand obedience.

Beside him, Kang Min-jae, the younger brother, tall and slim with a strikingly sharp fractures and an effortlessly elegant presence, was less composed. His fingers tapped against the armrest of his chair, his impatience barely concealed. While Do-hun was cold and calculating, Min-jae had fire—a surgeon with precision, skill, and an ego to match.

Their father turned, his sharp gaze settling on them.

“너희는 강씨 가문의 후계자들이다.” (Neohui-neun Kang-ssi gamun-ui hugyejadeul-ida.)

“You are the heirs of the Kang family.”

A weighted silence followed. They both knew this wasn’t just a reminder—it was a warning.

Dae-seok’s voice was calm but firm. “One of you will inherit Baekje Medical Center as the next chairman. The other will serve as deputy.”

Min-jae straightened, his jaw tightening. “And how will you decide that?”

Do-hun didn’t react. He had expected this.

Dae-seok walked over to his desk, placing a thick file on the polished wood.

“기록이 모든 것을 말해준다.” (Girogi modeun geoseul malhaejunda.)

“Records speak for themselves.”

He opened the file, revealing pages of detailed performance reports, patient success rates, and surgical evaluations.

Do-hun glanced at it briefly but said nothing.

Min-jae leaned forward, scanning the numbers. “I have the highest success rate in neurosurgery,” he pointed out, his tone edged with challenge.

Dae-seok nodded. “Yes. But a hospital is not just about surgery, Min-jae. It’s about leadership, decision-making, and trust.”

Min-jae scoffed, crossing his arms. “And you think Do-hun has that?”

A smirk flickered across Do-hun’s lips.

Dae-seok ignored the provocation. “Starting today, you will both undergo an evaluation. Clinical performance, surgical success, and overall management skills will determine the successor.”

“누가 더 강씨 가문을 이끌 자격이 있는지 증명해라.” (Nuga deo Kang-ssi gamuneul ikkeur jagyeogi inneunji jeungmyeonghaera.)

“Prove who is more worthy to lead the Kang family legacy.”

Min-jae exhaled sharply, but he didn’t argue. He had been waiting for this moment—to prove he was the better heir.

Do-hun, on the other hand, remained expressionless.

“Understood,” he said simply.

Their father’s eyes darkened. “I will not tolerate failure. The board will observe your progress, and I expect nothing less than perfection.”

He closed the file.

“This meeting is over.”

Min-jae shot his brother a look before standing and exiting the office.

Do-hun remained seated for a moment, his fingers lightly tapping against the armrest. His father watched him.

“계획이 있느냐?” (Gyehoegi inneunya?)

“Do you understand ?”

A slow smirk spread across Do-hun’s lips.

“Ye Abeoji”

With that, he rose, bowed slightly, and walked out.

His plan had already begun.

And the key to winning?

Shin Han-rin.

To be continue.