"But, Pyeong?"
"Yes?"
"Are you sure about making them drink more of this?"
"Ah."
Liston stood there holding a bucket of Thames water.
Wait, when did he even get that much?
I was so stunned that trivial questions like that popped into my head first.
Because he was holding the head of a vomiting student in one hand while asking me this.
The intense vibe I got was that if I so much as nodded, he'd immediately pour the water down their throat.
"N-No! We need to dilute it—not like that!"
"Right? I thought it seemed odd too."
"Right, right."
"But listen."
"Yes?"
"If miasma is the cause, as you said… meaning the miasma in the Thames water is the culprit."
"Yes."
"Then does diluting it with this water make sense? Even if it's boiled, it's still Thames water, isn't it?"
"Ah."
Yeah, he had a point.
Surprisingly, London already had a water supply system at this time.
And not just since the 1800s—it dated back to the 16th century.
Of course, it wasn't the modernized system we're familiar with.
'The upper class… Our senior Alfred's family draws water from the upstream part of the Thames.'
Before this, wealthy households had private water systems, but now about ten companies managed the supply.
The problem was that none of these companies—nor the doctors, nor the city officials—had any real understanding of where the water should be sourced from.
The only criterion was smell. Affluent neighborhoods paid exorbitant sums for "clean" water from upstream, while the poor made do with unfiltered Thames sewage.
And as everyone knows, London was teeming with the impoverished.
Meaning the vast majority were drinking literal sewage.
'This… really needs to change soon.'
Cholera outbreaks.
Unexplained waves of dysentery.
Every imaginable disease was a possibility.
For a moment, I felt dizzy. But since returning to the 19th century, I'd developed one useful habit.
When you looked closely, wasn't everything a problem in this era?
Obsessing over it all would drive anyone mad.
"Well… boiling is the traditional method, but—Ah! Let's examine this water. If there's no miasma in it…"
"Ah! Right! That's a good approach!"
So I had to tackle things one at a time.
Right now, my focus wasn't on public health but on fixing the hospitals first.
Shouldn't we put an end to hospitals being called "houses of death"?
As a 21st-century doctor, that label stung my pride, but given how hard it was to refute, I had to act fast.
"Oh… There's definitely less. No, much less. Some remains, but…"
That's why I needed Liston.
Or more accurately, Liston in a state where he'd been convinced by my words.
You saw it earlier, right?
Holding a half-conscious person's hair, ready to force water down their throat.
That's the kind of执行力 (execution) and brute strength this man had.
Anyway, I boiled the water and even distilled it somewhat.
After peering at it through the microscope for a while, Liston marveled.
Pretending not to know things I clearly did was exhausting, but if it got this formidable man to marvel, it was worth it.
Satisfied, I rambled on:
"See? Much less. This could be another piece of evidence."
"No, no. Not enough for evidence. Ah, this is perfect! Let's make them drink this too."
"…What?"
"Problem is, we've already used it all. Hmm. Here's what we'll do. I've been feeling guilty anyway. Everyone's giving their all—shouldn't I contribute to medical progress too, even at personal cost?"
"What are you—"
I played dumb at Liston's increasingly unhinged words, putting on my best clueless expression.
But I knew.
This bastard.
He wants to drink it himself.
'Well… the "miasma" he observed… Wait, am I crazy? The E. coli-like forms are already dead. That's why they're broken.'
It was fine.
What Liston saw as "miasma" were just dead bacteria.
I held back from saying "Those are dead" to avoid suspicion, but I knew the truth.
"Go ahead, drink up."
So I swallowed my discomfort and, with an exaggerated "Bleh!", drank the water.
Watching me, the students, Liston, and Blundell loudly declared that Pyeong was truly at the forefront of medical progress.
It was a little embarrassing.
"Ugh."
"Bleeeh."
"My… my stomach…"
Beside me were people who went beyond "dedicated"—they were practically saints, sacrificing themselves for science.
Good lord.
Who'd have thought they'd actually drink sewage and corpse-juice water just because they were told to?
"Alright, I've had mine too."
"Me too."
Anyway, starting with me, even those who'd skipped the initial experiment drank the water now.
Only then could I give the distilled water to the patients.
Ideally, IV fluids would've been better.
Not because injections were inherently superior to oral intake—in fact, absorption was better when ingested.
But vomiting changed things.
Still, sticking needles in them?
'It's not like they don't exist… They do exist.'
Even in this bleak era, syringes weren't unheard of.
They existed, but in a crude form, barely evolved from the ancient Greek tools used for draining abscesses.
'I've made my own.'
Back when I was struggling to fully revive someone from the grave, I'd fashioned proper hypodermic needles.
'Over-technology… More importantly—'
I could probably fudge my way through setting up an IV.
The real issue was that sterilization of the needles and fluids couldn't be guaranteed.
It was a concern during surgery too, but at least then we weren't injecting anything directly into the bloodstream.
Here, even with distilled water, was it truly sterile?
Any bacteria meant instant sepsis.
'Save it for life-or-death cases. And Blundell's another worry.'
Blundell was open-minded in a different way from Liston—eager to learn from me.
That was good, except—
If he saw these needles, he'd absolutely get ideas.
Like direct blood mixing for transfusions.
Ugh.
"Drink!"
"Y-Yes, ugh."
With that in mind, I had no choice but to postpone IVs, leaving the lecture hall in chaos once more.
The agony of forcing water down while fighting the urge to vomit.
I did feel a little guilty.
"Rest if it's too hard. Drink later."
"Ugh… What kind of madness is this?"
Even the great Liston shook his head and retreated to a corner with Blundell.
Meanwhile, knowing this was necessary, I moved more actively than anyone else.
Watching me, the students, Liston, and Blundell whispered among themselves:
"Looking at him, he's the most ruthless one here."
"Right. Doesn't seem to care at all about their suffering."
"Is that level of boldness required for medical progress?"
"Pyeong's savagery must be contributing something."
"He's my friend, but he's terrifying like this."
Blundell, Liston, Colin, Alfred, Joseph—in that order.
You lunatics.
You're the ones reckless when you should be cautious and timid when you should act.
I'm the one from the 21st century who knows this is necessary!
I wanted to shout that.
But doing so would've guaranteed me a spot as the next anatomy teaching aid, so I shut up and kept forcing water on them.
"Drink!"
"Ugh… Ghk!"
After over an hour of this struggle, I was utterly spent.
Completely drained.
The good news was that the patients—who'd likely been suffering from toxin exposure—were improving.
By tomorrow, or the day after at worst, they'd recover.
Of course, having drunk such foul water, future infections were still a risk.
'But… humans are tougher than you'd think. Especially in this era.'
If a 21st-century Korean drank that water?
90% chance they'd end up in the ICU.
I'm not exaggerating—really.
But people of this time?
They'd been exposed to similar conditions since childhood.
In hastily built slums, people just relieved themselves in alleys or tossed waste out their windows.
And food?
'Refrigerators? You'd be lucky to die from eating spoiled food—no chance to avoid it.'
London's damp climate meant food spoiled easily, and the poor often had no choice but to eat it anyway.
Right.
I had to trust their resilience.
"Why the smug grin? Feeding them water like some demon. Common sense dictates—"
Just as I was comforting myself, Liston sidled up and ruined the moment.
A demon?
I'm trying to save lives here—
'Wait, you're the one who suggested drinking it in the first place!'
The more I thought about it, the angrier I got—especially at his mention of "common sense."
Unfazed, Liston continued.
Most people adjust their words based on reactions, but a rare few—like Liston—plow ahead regardless.
Not because of authority, but pure physical intimidation.
Even I had to stay quiet.
"Think about it, Pyeong. As an aspiring surgeon, you might overlook this, but—"
He spoke like a lecturer.
He was brilliant with potential, but was there anything I could learn from Liston?
If anything, maybe how to build muscle—but probably not even that.
Some things are innate.
Outwardly, though, I listened attentively.
Survival first.
"Vomiting and diarrhea—what are they? Expelling fluids, right?"
"Ah, yes."
Surprised he was making sense, I nodded.
"Then what happens without fluids?"
"Huh?"
"They can't expel any. So you shouldn't give fluids to those vomiting or with diarrhea. That's common sense."
"Ah."
"Haha, surprised, eh? Right?"
"Ah."
"And that's not all."
Ah.
In that short exchange, I realized how much emotion could be packed into so few words.
And how easily it could be misunderstood.
Thinking he'd impressed me, Liston went on:
"Removing fluids is correct. Bloodletting. Haha. Oh, Pyeong. Still so naive, aren't you?"