The Homunculus
The microscope screen? There had indeed been one displayed in the center of the observation room. It was a device that transmitted whatever the operating surgeon was viewing under the microscope directly to a monitor so that observers could see it in real time. But what good would it do me to look at it? I could only assume the writhing mass was Chairman Kwon Byung-do’s brain undergoing surgery, and the long, sharp instruments were the tools in the surgeon’s hands.
“No. I didn’t notice anything unusual.”
The department head tilted his head as if that couldn’t be right, then turned the monitor toward me after finding what he wanted on the computer. The screen showed one of the microscope images from yesterday. He pointed to a section of the brain with the tip of his pen.
“Would you take another look at this area?”
Now that he was pointing it out, the spot did look distinctly abnormal. Unlike the rest of the brain, it was smooth and free of wrinkles.
“What is that? A brain tumor?”
“In all my years performing thousands of brain surgeries, I’ve never seen anything like this attached to the brain. For now, I’m assuming it’s some kind of tumor, as you suggested.”
Why would the head of neurosurgery at one of Korea’s top five hospitals sound so uncertain?
“Does that mean it’s not an ordinary tumor?”
“Correct. Tumors don’t grow in such strange shapes anywhere in the body.”
Listening to him, I had to admit the smooth area looked bizarre. It resembled a fetus before it had fully developed into a human form—the kind we’d seen in middle-school biology class. Another tiny person inside a human body. Was that what they called a Homunculus?
“Could the angle of the shot be making it look that way?”
The department head shook his head firmly.
“No. We examined it from multiple angles during yesterday’s surgery, and the shape was consistent. One moment, please.”
“Of course.”
He moved the mouse a few more times and showed me another image.
“This is the brain CT scan taken as an emergency when Chairman Kwon Byung-do visited yesterday. As you can see, the same shape appears here as well. During a previous checkup, I recommended a preventive brain CT, but the chairman strongly refused. It’s possible he already knew this tumor was inside his head.”
I let out a long breath. So it was certain now—some kind of strange growth was attached to Chairman Kwon Byung-do’s brain.
“You’re saying even you don’t know what it is?”
“Yes. It may be due to my own lack of knowledge, but at present I can’t make a definitive diagnosis. Perhaps if the chairman regains consciousness, he might be able to tell us something.”
“Still, having a tumor in the brain can’t be good for his health, can it? Did you remove it during yesterday’s surgery as well?”
“No. Removing the hematoma and stopping the bleeding was the priority, so we couldn’t touch the tumor. I considered taking a sample for biopsy, but then cardiac arrest occurred… I’m sorry.”
Having spent the night in the observation room with him, I understood the department head’s feelings completely. The situation in the operating room had been so urgent that even I, watching from above, had unconsciously feared Chairman Kwon Byung-do’s death. When blood had spurted from the brain on the microscope screen, my stomach had lurched. With a patient’s life hanging in the balance right there in the OR, it would have been absurd for the surgeon to divert attention to satisfy his curiosity.
“Then is it possible to remove the tumor or at least perform the biopsy you mentioned through another surgery?”
The department head’s expression grew increasingly troubled.
“I would like to, but the chairman’s overall condition makes it unlikely he could withstand another craniotomy—opening the skull. Given how the tumor is adhered to the brain, it appears to have been there for quite some time. Since it hasn’t caused problems over a long period, I believe it won’t do significant harm even if left untreated.”
The department head looked genuinely curious, yet he kept saying it couldn’t be done. It seemed there truly was no way to identify what it was. I now understood why Chairman Kwon Byung-do had wanted to show me his medical records—because of this strange tumor. If that was the case, figuring out what it was might not be the doctor’s job, but mine.
At the moment, however, I had no leads. As the department head said, all I could do was wait for Chairman Kwon Byung-do to regain consciousness and tell us something. Contrary to what the hospital director had confidently promised yesterday, staking his own position, today’s conversation with the neurosurgery chief suggested the chairman might never wake up. If that happened, I could only hope his will, to be released upon his death, contained some clue.
* * *
After that, the department head spent quite a long time with me, giving a detailed explanation of Chairman Kwon Byung-do’s overall health, the medical measures taken since his admission, and the expected condition and treatment going forward.
“That’s all I have to say as his attending physician. After the surgery yesterday, the chairman was moved straight to the ICU, so you weren’t able to see him, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Since you’re family, rather than hearing about his condition secondhand, wouldn’t it be better to see him in person, even briefly? Would you like to visit?”
“Is visitation allowed in the ICU?”
“Yes, if accompanied by medical staff. My schedule for consultations and surgeries this afternoon happens to be clear, so shall we go together? The neuro ICU is right downstairs.”
That was how I came face-to-face with Chairman Kwon Byung-do. It was hard to believe this was the same man who had sat atop QS Tower and commanded the nation. His head was wrapped in so many layers of bandages that it was impossible to count them, and some kind of fluid—blood or otherwise—was seeping through the thick wrappings. As the department head had said, his overall condition was poor; both cheeks were hollowed out. Tubes and wires hung from his nose, mouth, and limbs, all connected to enormous machines. It was fortunate I had received the detailed explanation beforehand—otherwise, seeing him like this would have made me doubt whether he was even alive.
Chairman Kwon Byung-do must have imagined this exact scene when he wrote in his will that his condition should be kept secret if he fell into a coma. If a photograph of him in this state ever leaked to the press, his pride would be shattered beyond repair, even if he did wake up.
“Department head?”
“Yes.”
“The hospital director will handle it, but as his attending physician, please make sure my father’s condition doesn’t become public.”
“Of course. The director has already given instructions, and now that you’ve asked as well, I’ll pay special attention.”
I had a mountain of questions for Chairman Kwon Byung-do, but of course there would be no answers. I was about to end the visit when it happened.
My eyes met his.
Of course, his eyes hadn’t suddenly opened. While I was staring at Chairman Kwon Byung-do’s face, the pupils beneath his closed eyelids had moved, turning toward me. In that instant, an unmistakable sensation washed over me—the exact feeling of making eye contact with someone. It was no mere illusion.
The next moment proved it beyond doubt. A headache like my skull was splitting open crashed down on me, and an endless stream of documents flipped before my eyes—documents only I could see. It was similar to the phenomenon where I glimpsed court verdicts in advance, but the speed was too fast and the pain too severe for me to read anything. As if determined to prevent me from reading those documents, the throbbing in my head grew worse and worse. It was followed by an overwhelming sense of exhaustion, as though I had burned through all my energy at once, and a crushing hunger.
When I thought I could no longer even stand, my body swayed against my will, and my eyes met the department head’s beside me.
“……”
I saw his lips moving as if he were speaking, and I heard sounds, but before I could interpret them, my consciousness faded.
Thud.
That was the last thing I remembered—the sensation of my entire body hitting the floor.
How much time had passed since I collapsed? Sensation slowly returned. I heard the footsteps of people hurrying about, the clamor of voices, and medical terms mixed in between. I was apparently in the emergency room. Since I had collapsed inside the hospital, it made sense that I had been brought here.
Once my hearing returned, my vision soon followed. When I opened my eyes, the neurosurgery department head was sitting beside my bed.
“Patient, could you tell me your name?”
I almost laughed. Typical doctor—following the consciousness checklist.
“Kwon Ho-gyun. My consciousness has returned normally. How many hours was I out?”
The department head smiled awkwardly.
“Thank goodness. It wasn’t that long—about thirty minutes.”
I let out a breath. With so much work piled up that I could barely leave the office, losing consciousness for days would have been disastrous.
As the last of my lost senses returned, I felt something foreign on the back of my hand. I raised my arm and saw an IV drip inserted.
“What’s in this?”
“Glucose solution. You showed symptoms of hypoglycemic shock, so we’re administering it. You must have been exhausted after staying up all night and handling that major incident yesterday.”
Hypoglycemia? Exhaustion? Hardly. I had stuffed an enormous amount of convenience-store food into my stomach before meeting the neurosurgery chief. While the events of the past two days had certainly taken a toll, I had only woken from a nap a short while ago. I wouldn’t argue with a doctor about hypoglycemic shock, but I was certain this wasn’t caused by lack of food or sleep.
It was clearly connected to the headache and the documents that had flipped past like a storm when I had locked eyes with Chairman Kwon Byung-do’s closed lids in the ICU. Once I learned about the Homunculus in his head, my ability to see verdicts in advance had reacted with some kind of overload. At this point, it was only natural to suspect a connection between the two. And perhaps—just perhaps—there was one inside my head as well…?
“Department head. Could I get a brain CT as well?”
“Clinically, it doesn’t seem your fainting was due to a brain issue. When you collapsed, I saw that your head didn’t suffer any impact. Still, if you want, I’ll order a CT right away.”
“No need to rush. But I’d like it done anonymously—no records.”