"I thought you'd taken an opium tincture and passed out."
"Exactly. How could anyone sleep so soundly…?"
"Our Pyeong is just frail, that's all."
As I came to my senses belatedly, Liston, Alfred, and Joseph took turns chattering away at me.
"Ugh…"
Colin?
Colin was still lying down.
Hearing a groan, I was startled, thinking he might be the one who was injured—but that wasn't the case.
"No wonder they call you Noble Kim."
"That's true."
"It's a family trait, they say. Seeing this, I guess he really is nobility."
"What kind of nonsense is that?"
"Don't nobles in Joseon avoid physical labor entirely?"
"They don't even hunt?"
"No. In fact, they consider such things vulgar. So…"
"The frailer you are, the more noble you are?"
"Exactly."
"Good grief."
Even as I fully approached, Liston and Joseph kept yammering on.
Talking about how weak I was right in front of me…
It was irritating, but I couldn't exactly argue.
Physically, I might not measure up, but mentally, I could never compete with 19th-century people.
How could I possibly outdo people who'd shrug and say, "If I die, I die"?
"Anyway, this doesn't look good."
Alfred was examining the patient.
"Ugh… ughhh…"
The patient, with his rugged face, was unmistakably a sailor.
He must have been injured while doing something outside during that storm earlier.
Well, the other passengers had all been in their cabins, so they were probably fine.
Judging by the first-class accommodations, it didn't seem like the second- and third-class areas were complete hellholes.
'No, wait—that might be a hasty assumption…'
I dislike communists.
I do, but… back then, when I saw workers sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on ropes, calling it "welfare," I understood why such ideologies had emerged in history.
After the Industrial Revolution, humanity began amassing unprecedented wealth, but that wealth was concentrated in the hands of a very few.
Progress driven purely by greed, without even the most basic welfare…
What a revolutionary era indeed.
"Hurry, do something!"
Anyway, such thoughts weren't really for me to dwell on.
As Noble Kim from Joseon and the youngest professor at a London medical college—an Asian, no less—I'd be the first to get a pitchfork through my chest if a revolution broke out.
Besides, right now, there was a patient in front of me.
His face had gone pale, and checking his vitals, his blood pressure had likely dropped significantly.
'But there's no bleeding.'
Or rather, no visible bleeding—though in this era, if there was no visible bleeding, it was safe to say there was none.
Why?
Because no one even thought to wipe away blood.
Suspecting internal bleeding, I checked his abdomen—just a lean frame.
Not exactly fit, more like someone with chronic pancreatitis… that kind of build.
'Then is it pain-related?'
Blood loss wasn't the only cause of low blood pressure.
Pain-induced shock was very much a thing, especially in an era with barely any proper analgesics.
"Here, look!"
"Aaaah!"
Just then, a crewman beside the patient tapped his arm, and the patient let out a scream.
Only then did I realize—
It was broken.
'Seriously, when an injured person arrives, the first thing you do is tear or remove their clothes to examine them… This is the absolute basics.'
In the past, I might have grumbled about this endlessly.
But now?
Heh.
I've spent enough time with Dr. Liston, haven't I? Eating together, skipping the sauna, calling each other brothers—I've fully become a 19th-century man.
I learned long ago that even the most fundamental basics are rarely followed.
"Scissors."
"Huh?"
"Where are you cutting? If you're going to cut, I can just pull out my knife."
Anyway, I tried tearing the clothes, but my grip strength wasn't up to it.
If others noticed, they'd start with the "weakling" comments again, so I subtly pretended I'd meant to tug at the fabric and held out my other hand.
But instead of assistant Joseph moving, Liston—who should've stayed put—started lumbering toward his knife.
"No, no—the clothes. The clothes."
"Oh, not the arm?"
"Why would I suddenly cut his arm?"
"Haha, this guy. Sometimes I wonder if we gave him that professorship too soon."
Liston stopped in front of his knife sheath, chuckling.
Just then, the ship creaked eerily—maybe from a wave—making the whole scene even more unsettling.
Come to think of it, earlier, I'd passed out from the storm…
Why the hell are we on a sailboat?
"Fractures… they can't be treated."
"Hmm."
The sailboat thought vanished.
Fractures can't be treated?
What kind of nonsense is that?
Honestly, in Korea, a broken arm would've been fixed with a quick call to 119 and a trip to the hospital, right?
As I thought this, I glanced at the patient's arm—still obscured by clothing.
'Ah… right. No X-rays.'
Only then did it hit me—this era had no X-rays.
For abdominal surgery, I'd already steeled myself for the lack of CT scans, but…
"Here. It's fortunate we're on our way to the Paris Medical Society."
"You're lucky, patient."
"Haha. Exactly. This is Dr. Liston!"
While I was stunned, unable to think straight, Liston sprang into action.
The others did too.
Joseph and Alfred pulled out the anesthesia gas canister as trained and attached the delivery apparatus.
Liston?
Liston drew his knife.
The one silver lining was that, thanks to miasma training, they'd already poured alcohol from first class onto it.
Somehow, that made him look even more like a butcher, but saying that out loud would've summoned an actual butcher, so I kept quiet.
Well, not entirely.
"W-Wait!"
"What now?"
"Why are you interfering?"
"Professor, you're going too far."
Me, Kim Tae-pyeong—
If there's something to say, I'll say it even from inside a tiger's jaws.
Most of the time, I've talked my way out of tough spots with sheer nonsense, but…
Well, this time is no different.
We couldn't just amputate without even examining the wound.
"In—in Joseon!"
Time for the Joseon card.
"Huh?"
"Joseon?"
"Ah… the land of medicine, you mean?"
Unlike Alfred and Joseph, who'd keep working regardless of what I said, Liston sheathed his knife again.
At that signal, the other two stopped.
Anyone who'd move recklessly in this situation would've been dead already.
"In Joseon, fractures are treated very effectively."
"Oh."
"Ohh."
"Is that so? How?"
If it were an open fracture—where the bone pierces the skin—then sorry, but there's no way.
Starting now, feeding him moldy bread would probably give him better survival odds than any treatment.
Wait, no.
That's when Liston should shine.
Amputate to save.
But…
Snip.
First, I cut the patient's clothes with scissors from my bag.
The scissors were now contaminated, but it was fine.
If surgery was needed, the patient was dead anyway.
Open fractures weren't reliably treated until well into the mid-20th century—a notoriously difficult condition.
It's no coincidence that traffic accident mortality rates were absurdly high back then.
"Phew."
Anyway, after cutting, I saw the patient's arm was simply broken.
No bone sticking out.
Though it was bent at an odd angle…
'Fractured humerus. A clean break?'
Hard to say.
But…
'What happens if we cut here?'
It's a bit depressing how well I know this, but I could visualize exactly what would happen if we amputated at the forearm.
But this is too high.
Too close to the heart.
Maybe sensing my hesitation, Liston spoke quietly.
"Honestly, if we amputate here, there's a 70% chance he'll die."
"Ah."
"Ah…"
I wasn't the only one sighing.
The most despairing, naturally, was the patient.
Told you're about to die while still young—of course you'd despair.
"Is there… another way?"
Anyway, judging by Liston's tone, he hadn't drawn his knife lightly.
A 70% mortality rate…
Even for Liston, that's daunting.
Luckily, I'd already been brainstorming, so I could spin my tale immediately.
"In Joseon, there's a sport called ssireum."
"Ssireum?"
"If the professor tried it, he'd probably excel."
"Ah, is it cutting with a blade?"
"No, no. It's about throwing your opponent to the ground."
"Ah."
It's bizarre for a doctor to nod along to this, but the sailors didn't seem to mind.
"But since it involves grappling and throwing, bones sometimes break. Also, rope climbing is popular in Joseon—"
"Rope?"
"Yes, like this. In midair."
"Wow… Joseon sounds more mysterious the more I hear!"
Liston looked ready to hijack the ship to Joseon right then.
If that happened, a lot of people—myself included—would be in trouble, but Liston was a civilized man who knew restraint.
"So, fractures happen often, and treatments developed… First, turn on the gas."
"Huh? Turn it on?"
"Yeah."
The reason bones break and displace like this is muscle contraction.
You have to overcome that tension.
So the first principle of fracture treatment is traction.
But if the patient's conscious, could he endure this pain?
We had to put him under.
Not that this gas would do much…
'I believe in you, 19th-century sailor.'
Whoosh.
The gas hissed out.
Maybe because we were in a confined space on the ship, even a slight leak made me feel lightheaded.
Amid the struggle, I spoke to Liston.
"Professor, you're crucial here."
"I'm always crucial. So, what do I do?"
"Use cloth here—yes, like that—and pull. Joseph, you and I will pull the patient's arm."
"Uh… Did this guy wrong you somehow?"
"Are you… trying to torture him?"
Now that I thought about it, this didn't look great.
We were about to yank on the arm of a man who screamed at the slightest touch.
Maybe that's why the secret of traction hadn't been discovered yet…
No choice.
"Yes, he… wronged me."
"Haha, daring to mess with my little brother? Unacceptable."
"He dared to hurt Pyeong?"
Appeal to loyalty.
Whatever it takes to treat him.
Even through the gas haze, the patient looked terribly wronged, but…
He'd be thanking me later.