Paris.
Paris…
If this were 21st-century Korea, the moment the trip was decided, I'd have rushed to book plane tickets.
We could've left almost immediately—no worries at all.
"Pyeong, Joseph. Both of you, visit Upton first. Pay your respects to your parents."
But this era operated differently.
Though safer than the Middle Ages, travel remained perilous.
The London-France sea route might've been pirate-free, but simply going far could kill you.
'No… Actually, people can die anytime.'
With bad luck, death could come tomorrow.
That applied even in the 21st century—but the weight of those words differed here.
People dropped dead regardless of age.
"Thank you, Uncle."
"For what? I've prepared a carriage. Take it."
"Ah…"
"What's with the sigh? You've got that phrase stuck in your mouth lately. Anyway, condoms and gloves sell surprisingly well—anatomists and grave-workers buy them. Profitable."
"Still… We'll return safely."
"Good. Don't fret over Paris. Travel's my expertise—I'll arrange everything flawlessly. Dr. Liston and Professor Blundell too. Just focus on the trip."
"Yes."
My displacement in this era was unfortunate, but meeting good people balanced the scales.
Had even one bad apple been among them…
Uncle could've withheld payment, yet he supported us generously.
His consideration made everything easier.
Liston as an enemy?
'…Yeah, no.'
The thought alone terrified me.
Resistance would've been futile—or ended with his sword in my gut.
"Hey, what's that look? Thinking something grim?"
Lost in thought, I hadn't noticed Joseph's approach.
We'd grown as close as family, so he read me easily.
Not that it took a genius—if I'd been smiling cheerfully alone, that would've been odd.
"Just… worried about Paris."
"Worried? Heard the French are scoundrels."
Were the French actually bad?
Napoleon was gone. The revolution had happened.
But the Anglo-French rivalry persisted…
'If relations were good, that'd be stranger.'
Globally, colonial tensions simmered.
Still, they couldn't all be bad—just as not all Brits were.
Besides, I'd stick to Liston like glue.
That'd earn resentment, but so be it.
Who'd dare challenge him?
"It's a conference. What could go wrong?"
Now Joseph seemed nervous, trembling slightly.
'Understandable.'
I'd traveled abroad often—Southeast Asia, Japan, Hong Kong for leisure; the U.S. for conferences.
But Joseph? A country boy from Upton.
Foreign travel would daunt him.
"The ship worries me more."
"Ship?"
…Wait.
I'd never been on a long voyage.
Dread crept in.
Joseph continued, "Father told stories from his Ireland trip."
"Ah, right. My dad fixed things for him."
"Exactly. Thanks to that, he returned safely… but he called the ship hell."
"Hell?"
In 21st-century Korea, "hell" was casual hyperbole.
Here?
People believed in hell. The word carried weight.
"Said it wasn't an exaggeration… He still wakes up screaming, 'Not the ship! I'm ashore!' Could've made a fortune importing Irish whiskey, but… too traumatized."
"Wow."
Uncle embodied resilience.
A Quaker running a liquor business in London?
Little Liston-tier audacity.
Yet even he feared ships.
'Aren't steamships better now?'
My only "sea experience" was cruise ships and a sunset yacht—the latter with a professor I'd rather forget.
Friends' warnings resurfaced:
"—Navy's the worst."
"—Ever been on a ship?"
"—I'm in the Aden Gulf."
Right.
Everyone who'd served said the same.
Back then, I'd dismissed it as military bravado. Now? I should've listened.
"—We're here! Staying overnight before tomorrow's trip. Any pubs around?"
At "ship," Joseph and I had fallen silent.
Upton arrived swiftly—just three hours.
Yet it'd been months since my last visit.
'I was busy.'
Not an excuse this time.
Genuinely busy.
"Ah, our house runs a brewery. We'll serve you drinks."
"Oh? Right! Hahaha!"
While we brooded over ships, the coachman lit up at "alcohol."
When asked about lodging, he declared, "Drunk men sleep anywhere."
Such a man's era.
Leaving this machismo behind, we headed home—or rather, homes, though the open fence and shared meals blurred the lines.
"Taepyeong! Doing well? Heard you're making waves!"
Father greeted me with a grin.
The charm that'd wooed a would-be nun still shone.
Relief—he hadn't aged drastically.
"Eat kimchi! You've lost weight!"
Mother shoved kimchi into my mouth.
In my past life, I'd have recoiled—now, after London's culinary atrocities, it tasted divine.
"So delicious…"
"Here's bulgogi too."
"Bulgogi!"
I wouldn't judge Joseph's excitement.
London butchered even beef.
Their so-called "chefs"…
"Mother, Father… You won't believe what we've eaten."
Joseph, channeling a Korean soul, inhaled kimchi, bulgogi, and pancakes while ranting.
Doubtlessly about the dean's infamous dinner.
Traumatic.
"Cucumber… fish…"
"What nonsense is this?"
Even Father—long acclimated to Korean cuisine—balked at the combo.
"As jelly…"
"What crime did you commit?"
"No! They enjoy it!"
"Preposterous."
Father laughed, crediting London for Joseph's "improved humor."
Joseph clutched his chest dramatically.
Futile—those dishes defied belief.
"Anyway, you're men now. Have a drink."
Father rose, only for Mother to scold:
"Careful! Your stomach again!"
Huh?
Why would drinking hurt his stomach?
Noticing my confusion, Father stood hastily.
"Brother, let me."
"I'm still the strongest here."
"Your stomach bulges unnaturally."
Bulges?
"Taepyeong, you're frail. Go inside."
I'd somehow wedged between them.
Despite my growth, Uncle dwarfed me.
Little Liston indeed.
"I… need to examine it."
"What's a physician—ah, professor now—gonna…?"
Father hesitated, then lifted his shirt.
"But the stomach? Tampering kills."
Absurd yet rational for the 19th century.
But I was the exception.
"Not for me."
"Hah! Youthful arrogance. I once boasted my brews were supreme—then French wine humbled me."
He dismissed me as brash—until Joseph intervened.
"Father! He's right. A prodigy."
"Both of you…?"
"How else became a professor? Remember Alfred?"
"Your senior?"
"Pyeong saved him from stomach death. Now researches abdominal surgery with Dr. Liston."
"Well… Fine. Examine me."
Thus, I gained access to Uncle's stomach.