The police…?
Even in the 21st century, I've never been involved with the police before…
Wait, no.
Actually, there was that one time I reported child abuse, but I was the one who filed the report.
"Professor… What did you do?"
"Huh? Me? What?"
"No, it's just…"
But this time, it felt different.
Though, out of courtesy (or whatever) for the police commissioner's mother whose leg I amputated, they at least provided a carriage…
But with mounted police surrounding us, I couldn't help but feel like some kind of high-profile criminal.
And to make things worse, while everyone else was sent back to the hospital, only Dr. Listen and I were being taken away.
Up front…
A police officer was sitting across from us.
"First of all, Dr. Pyeong. Thank you. Thanks to you, we caught the culprit. It was her husband."
"Ah, good. That's a relief."
"And don't worry too much. You're just here as a witness."
"A witness for… what?"
"Well…"
The officer glanced around cautiously.
Not that there was much to see inside the carriage, and the surroundings were chaotic enough that it didn't seem necessary.
Maybe he thought the same, because after clearing his throat, he continued.
"We caught a gang."
"Okay…?"
A gang?
What would a doctor have to do with a gang?
I glanced at Listen, and suddenly, it didn't seem so far-fetched.
"What? Why are you looking at me?"
"No reason."
The officer had noticed too, but he only directed his comment at me.
Guess even someone as shady as Listen could be scared of the police.
"Not just one gang—we rounded up seven. A major achievement for the London police."
"Right…"
I still had no idea why he was telling me this.
Maybe Listen was involved somehow, but I certainly had nothing to do with any gangs.
Gang… Isn't that just the British version of organized crime?
Why would I—
"Do you know what their crime was?"
"No?"
"Grave robbery."
"Grave… robbery?"
Grave robbery?
Were there even noble or royal tombs in London worth robbing?
Well, maybe.
This was a monarchy, after all.
And considering this was one of the most prosperous eras in history, recent burials probably had lavish grave goods.
But wouldn't the British Empire's military be guarding those? How could some random gang pull that off?
"I don't know what you're imagining, but it's not that."
Seeing my confused expression, the officer shook his head before stepping out of the carriage and motioning for me to follow.
I obeyed—I've always been good at following orders.
Like, really good.
I even got a commendation as an army medic for it.
Unless a 19th-century British police officer told me to go die, I'd probably comply with anything.
"What they stole were corpses."
"Corpses…? Of nobles?"
"No. Ordinary people's corpses."
"Why would they…?"
The officer gave me a look like, How do you not know?
I genuinely didn't, so I frowned in frustration—until Listen patted my shoulder.
He wore a face of sudden realization, which only made me more annoyed.
"So, there's a chance… we might've bought some of those stolen corpses?"
"What?"
"Yes, that's correct."
No, no—
Don't have this conversation without me!
It wasn't like I'd never suspected the corpses I worked with might've come from questionable sources.
But…
I assumed the suppliers had some agreement with the families…
They were stolen?
"You didn't know, Professor?"
"No."
"Right… I believe you."
That was shocking enough, but what followed inside was even worse.
This wasn't just negligence—the police were actively downplaying the case.
"The problem is… it's not just these guys. There are seven gangs involved. The leaders and major offenders will likely hang, but there are probably more."
The officer's expression was grim.
And for good reason.
Corpse theft? In this day and age?
"Yes. And like I said, this is just one cemetery. Who knows how many bodies are being traded across London? I'd bet every medical school—maybe even small clinics—has used corpses dug up from these graves."
"Well… I guess not every body comes with family consent."
"That's why I'm asking—is this really necessary? Human bodies… How could this…?"
The officer looked just as lost.
Honestly, I'd felt the same way at first.
Back in my time, I learned anatomy on cadavers preserved in formalin—one body could last a whole year.
But here?
Completely different.
Large parts of human anatomy were still uncharted territory, and even the best-preserved cadavers only lasted a few days before rotting.
'I even thought… there were some advantages.'
The cadavers I'd practiced on were all fixed in formalin, which inevitably altered their texture and color compared to fresh ones.
Still, they were invaluable for understanding anatomy—especially for aspiring surgeons, where tactile sense was crucial.
But in this lawless 19th century, bodies were practically in endless supply, so I assumed dissection conditions were better.
'No… This is wrong. This is just…'
Bodies were being stolen and used without any consent.
Forget respect for the dead—this wasn't how people should treat each other.
"It is necessary. There's an absolute difference in learning. And with anesthesia advancing, surgeries on the abdomen and other areas will only increase—we can't afford gaps in anatomical knowledge. Trial and error on the dead is far better than on the living."
"That's… true. But this… This is cursed work."
"Well… I won't argue with that."
"And now that we've made these arrests, the supply will dry up. You'll need to find another way. Something's gotta change."
"Hmm…"
Listen stroked his chin, troubled.
Regardless of right or wrong…
A sudden shortage of cadavers was a problem.
Why?
Because whether you'd dissected a body or not made a huge difference in knowledge.
Sure, there were textbooks, but 2D diagrams versus 3D hands-on experience were worlds apart for a clinician.
"What do we do…?"
"At least don't worry about next week."
The officer studied Listen before turning to look behind him.
A holding cell—or maybe a jail.
It was always crowded, but today was worse than usual.
Packed so tight there was barely room to sit.
"Plenty of these bastards are headed for the gallows."
Hah.
We left on that cheerful note.
Damn it.
I made eye contact with one of them.
I knew they deserved to die.
Why?
Because they weren't just stealing corpses.
The rate of premature burials was higher than people thought…
You think these guys saved those who were buried alive?
No wonder murder was added to their charges.
"What now?"
Beside me stood a man who was distressed for entirely different reasons.
Sure, I had the benefit of prior knowledge and experience, but Listen—despite being a professor—had shockingly little anatomical expertise beyond the limbs.
Hell, even his limb knowledge was mostly limited to amputations.
So his concern wasn't just about teaching—it was about his own future.
"Surgery's entire paradigm is about to shift… I'm in a hurry too."
This guy was serious about medicine.
Anyway…
I wasn't as shaken as him, but the whole thing was still depressing.
And not just out of guilt for the bodies we'd dissected.
Going forward…
Wait, no.
I'm from the future.
A time when body donations alone made dissection possible…
'How did that even happen?'
Was it because anatomy was so well-documented that rough training sufficed?
No.
That couldn't be it.
3D textbooks didn't exist yet in my time.
There were things you could only learn through dissection, and they weren't minor.
'One body… that lasts. That
doesn't decay. Formalin. We need formalin…'
Formalin.
How was that made again?
"Hey, Pyeong. You're… seeing something again, aren't you?"
Formaldehyde!
Right, dissolving this carcinogen in water makes formalin.
But how do you make formaldehyde?