Alright, I've got to admit it when I see it.
Lister…
I have no choice but to acknowledge it now—this barbarian is a genius barbarian.
"You did well. Really."
"Heh. Was it close?"
"Yes. Well… almost identical."
The first attempt was admittedly a bit clumsy.
But that wasn't really Lister's fault—it was due to the difference in hand size.
Those hands, better suited for butchery than surgery, simply couldn't enter the peritoneal cavity through the incision size I usually made.
-A cross incision…?
-No, no. Please, just cut a little more.
I almost forgot these savages use inches and nearly made an extra 10 cm cut. Thankfully, my sharp instincts stopped me.
Adding another 10 cm to the already 7 cm incision would've…
Well, that's just bisecting the abdomen.
Of course, sure—
There are surgeries like C-sections where you just slash open without hesitation.
But for an appendix? That's way over the line.
-Like this?
-Oh… Yes, you found it.
-Right. So now I just tie this off, yeah?
-Yes, the pus—er, Miasma—mustn't leak out.
-Got it, got it.
Anyway, other than that, there were no real crises.
Surprisingly, it went smoothly.
He does have a talent for surgery.
His anatomical knowledge was lacking or distorted, but once corrected, he could immediately visualize it in 3D.
Otherwise, extracting the appendix through such a small incision would've been impossible.
And doing it with so little experience? That's pure talent.
'Hmm.'
Anyway, I'm back in the lab now.
I ordered my students to document today's surgery with diagrams and notes, and Lister disappeared to do the same, so I'm alone now.
"Sigh…"
Today, we operated on three patients.
Three open abdomens.
How many of them will actually survive?
It's pathetic that I'm thinking like this after being so excited to perform surgery, but…
'The biggest problem is their complete lack of sterilization.'
I'd have to look into antiseptics too.
But first, I'd need to convince them why sterilization is necessary.
Even now, aside from my students, almost no one bothers to boil or clean surgical tools, right?
Thankfully, Dr. Lister's obsession with instruments polished enough to reflect light has at least made cleaning somewhat fashionable. Otherwise, nobody would even wipe them down.
'If I were Lister, I could just order them to clean up, and they'd obey…'
Every day, I wish multiple times—
How much easier things would be if I were Lister.
If I were him, I could just smash a few doctors with my fists…
Or slice them in half with that infamous Lister knife…
Wait, no.
I'm a doctor.
Not a barbarian.
My thoughts wandered, but now it's time for rational persuasion.
I'm sick of hearing nonsense like Miasma this and that.
'For that, they need to see bacteria. We need a microscope…'
Back in Upton—my hometown—there was a microscope.
The old man was wealthy, and whenever he came across something interesting (and reasonably priced), he'd buy it.
But the one I used was too crude to even be called a microscope.
The magnification was, what, maybe 5x at best?
It was literally just a fancy toy, utterly useless for anything beyond that.
"So I need to make a better microscope? Ugh…"
I never thought I'd regret only studying medicine.
Hell, if I'd majored in chemistry, I could've at least made drugs, but—
Wait, what do you major in to make microscopes?
Am I really so ignorant that I don't even know the basics? Can I even make one?
I've used microscopes for pathology studies, but I know nothing about how they work.
"Sigh."
As I sighed, I suddenly remembered the anesthetic gas.
Right, these lunatics invented anesthesia 70 years ago and only used it for parties.
So maybe…
The microscope is the same?
Fortunately, I'm a university professor—a supposed fountain of knowledge—and this university has a decent collection of literature.
Decision made, I headed to the library.
'Microscope… microscope…'
I searched for relevant books, but unfortunately, the only ones available were ancient.
Seriously, this thing must be at least 100 years old.
Some donor probably dumped it here, because the moment I touched it, a musty, moldy stench filled the air.
Not to mention, the pages were so brittle they'd crumble if I wasn't careful.
'A microscope from 100 years ago… Is this even a microscope?'
The one the old man bought had pathetic magnification, but 100 years ago…
'Are these idiots calling a telescope a microscope or something?'
With zero expectations, I opened the book.
Inside was a drawing of what was supposedly a microscope—a thumb-sized device that looked nothing like the optical microscopes I knew.
The development date? The 1600s.
The inventor? Antonie van Leeuwenhoek, a Dutch textile merchant.
'Should I just close this?'
What kind of microscope could a fabric salesman from 200 years ago have made?
"Sigh."
Beyond disappointment, I even felt a hint of insult—but I didn't close the book.
Why?
Because this was the only book I had.
I could go out and look for more, but today had already been too long and exhausting.
I decided to save the hard work for tomorrow and just absorb whatever absurd knowledge was here for now.
"Huh?"
As I skimmed the crumbling pages, a strange phrase caught my eye:
'Magnification exceeding 200x…?'
200x?
What was the magnification of the optical microscopes I used?
400x at maximum?
My memory's hazy, but 200x would be enough.
I wasn't planning to look at viruses anyway.
Bacteria would suffice!
'200x is plenty. More than enough to see bacteria!'
This could be a lie, of course.
It didn't look like a microscope capable of that.
But if it's true…
Then—
Rustle.
Heart pounding, I slowly turned the pages.
The book I'd dismissed as trash moments ago now seemed like an irreplaceable treasure.
For a while, it just droned on about hardships and struggles.
Just as I was getting bored, another name popped up:
Robert Hooke.
'Captain Hook?'
As if mocking my ignorance, the book listed Robert Hooke's achievements.
First, he observed cork under a microscope and discovered its honeycomb-like structure.
He named these units cells.
Cell.
As in, the cell.
Damn it.
These bastards already knew something.
They probably knew but just ignored it.
"Tch."
Without thinking, I looked around the library.
Studying from books was always the best way to learn.
Even when I was a student, libraries were always packed.
And when I became a professor, my seniors never stopped reading either.
But…
The 19th century had a slightly different vibe.
They did read, but they focused more on hands-on learning—anatomy, clinical practice, and so on.
Maybe that's why?
These idiots already had knowledge but didn't know how to use it.
'Leeuwenhoek…'
I mentally cursed the 19th-century morons around me as I kept reading.
Then, his name appeared again:
Leeuwenhoek.
This guy must've been insanely curious.
He collected rainwater and looked at it under his microscope.
What the hell did he see?
This wasn't even an electron microscope.
'He observed tiny, never-before-seen organisms.'
As I read that, it felt like a hammer struck the back of my head.
Tiny, never-before-seen organisms.
Until then, insects were thought to be the smallest life forms, but this proved otherwise.
In other words, Leeuwenhoek's casual curiosity led him to discover life forms invisible to the naked eye by examining rainwater.
What could that be?
It's obvious—
Bacteria!
'They could already see them?!'
And it wasn't just some private diary entry—he reported it to the Royal Society, where Robert Hooke himself verified it under a microscope.
This was… the 1600s.
Two centuries before now.
"These goddamn bastards."
And they're still going on about Miasma?
'Wait, no—it can't be a lie, can it?'
I was about to explode in anger, but then I realized Lister was part of the problem.
Strangely, my rage instantly dissipated.
Right, what's the point of storming in with this book?
He'd just yell at me to stop babbling and tear it up.
I needed far more concrete evidence.
'We need a microscope.'
Just a microscope.
That's all.
We could even look at our own hands and see them!
Of course, proving that these microorganisms and Miasma are the same—and that they're pathogens—is another matter, but…
Anyway!
Thud.
Decision made, I went to find Lister—the easiest target.
Coincidentally, Lister was busy documenting today's surgery.
"Ah, perfect timing. Was it like this?"
"Ah… Yes. No, this part was like this."
"Ah. Aha. Right. Hmm… Why does this part look like this?"
Lister was pointing at the appendix—that ambiguous, blocked-off part.
Even in the 21st century, theories about its purpose were divided.
Some say it's related to immune system maturation, but honestly, it's just there to get infected, right?
"I don't know."
"So even you don't know everything, haha!"
He seemed oddly pleased that I admitted ignorance.
Then, realizing I wouldn't visit without a reason, he looked at me intently.
Perfect.
"Brother."
"Yeah. What is it?"
"Can you get me a microscope? A good one. High magnification."
"High magnification?"
"Yes."
"Hmm."
Lister scratched his chin, the stubble making a rough sound.
How can a human grow hair that fast?
As I pondered that, Lister frowned in confusion.
"What do you need that toy for?"