Paris.
During World War II, France surrendered to the Nazis under the pretext of not wanting to see this beautiful city destroyed by war.
The result was the birth of Vichy France—a history they desperately try to hide.
Anyway, after learning that…
Just how beautiful is this place to warrant such a decision?
These cowards really thought this was the way, huh?
That's what I'd muttered back then.
"So this is Paris. Damn, their territory is pointlessly vast. They should've downsized…"
"Exactly. The French don't deserve this much land."
"Agreed."
Especially since the people around me—Dr. Liston, Joseph, and Alfred—were already brimming with hostility toward France.
In short, my feelings about France weren't exactly positive…
"Wow…"
But the admiration slipped out anyway.
It was beautiful.
A truly beautiful city.
How could they have built something like this in this era?
Compared to London, even the sky seemed slightly better.
The weather was nice!
The sun was shining!
"Why so surprised?"
"Ah, no. It's just… I've had a rough time lately…"
"Right, right. Anyway, they should've trimmed it down, don't you think?"
But I couldn't exactly voice my true impressions.
I'd had an inkling before, but…
The relationship between England and France was somewhat similar to that between Korea and Japan.
Or maybe Korea and China.
In any case, it wasn't good.
Clatter.
Regardless, France was England's closest neighbor and a traditional powerhouse in Europe.
Sure, England was the British Empire now, but…
When it came to influence over the European continent itself, France couldn't be ignored.
So exchanges were inevitable.
Isn't that how it is for us too?
Despite the grumbling and complaints, the carriage we were in was entering Paris.
Ah.
And Paris, seen up close…
Is it filthy?
It was filthy.
That black stuff sticking to the wheels?
That's all shit…
Oh right. Didn't high heels originate because people didn't want to step in shit?
I'm no history expert, so I'd assumed it was just a myth—but now, it didn't seem so far-fetched.
Damn it.
Is this just how the 19th century is?
Huh?
Is it really like this…?
"No…"
No.
I was wrong.
Until now, London had been the worst city in my mind.
But…
That might not be the case…
"Why are there so many kids?"
"Kids? Ah, probably orphans."
The streets were full of children.
Clearly malnourished kids.
Wasn't Paris considerably warmer than London?
Not that Paris had tropical weather, but compared to London… The kids were barely dressed.
Not for fashion—they simply had nothing to wear…
"Orphans?"
"Yeah, orphans. That's just how the French are. With the recent revolution, it's even worse. I don't know why these bastards love revolution so much."
Liston clicked his tongue disapprovingly.
The others did the same.
To be fair, it wasn't like I hadn't seen orphans in London.
Just not as many as here…
But there were still quite a few.
"Ugh."
Was it a relief?
Such thoughts didn't last long.
Because…
The stench hit.
"This is the famous Seine River."
"Ah…"
The Seine?
I once read a book titled The Han River Divides North and South, the Seine Divides East and West.
I don't remember the content, but the title stuck with me.
And wasn't Georges Seurat's famous painting A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte inspired by the Seine?
Here?
Is the Seine any better than the Thames?
In fact, it looked worse—narrower and filthier.
"Huh? Wha—?"
"What's wrong?"
"Someone just—"
"Huh? No, what the hell? Is that normal?"
Just then, a man wearing what looked like goggles dove into the river.
Do goggles even help here?
It's not like he'd see anything…
"Ah, he's retrieving a body."
The friendly coachman chimed in.
He was a Brit who'd settled in Paris and made a living guiding fellow Englishmen around.
Normally, his explanations were helpful, but this time, I couldn't make sense of it.
Maybe his English had gotten rusty.
Retrieve what?
"Huh?"
I wasn't the only one confused—Liston also asked for clarification.
The coachman shrugged like it was no big deal.
"A body. People die here all the time."
"They drown?"
"Ah, no. They throw themselves in."
"Suicides?"
"Yes."
"Why go through the trouble of jumping into water…?"
No one questioned why they'd commit suicide.
There were simply too many deaths to dwell on such things.
It was that kind of era.
Everywhere you looked, lives brimmed with nothing but despair.
Even in our hospital, the maternity ward windows were installed two meters high—to prevent depressed mothers from jumping.
Ironically, this led to poor ventilation. Not miasma! Germs accumulated, and more people died…
Anyway, in London, hanging was more popular than drowning.
"No idea. But a lot of people jump. So body retrievers make decent money."
"How do they even find anything in this filthy water?"
"Well… often, the bodies they retrieve aren't the ones they were hired to find."
"Huh…?"
"With so many jumpers, most have no next of kin. So they fish out the unclaimed ones."
"Then they don't get paid?"
The coachman laughed at Liston's question.
By now, he should've realized how terrifying Liston was—so his reaction meant this was genuinely amusing.
We even ran into bandits on the way here…
Rest in peace, honestly.
You should've sized up your targets before attacking.
Did you really pick a fight with a swordmaster?
Thankfully, we were all doctors—otherwise, we'd all be dead.
Because of my efforts, only two died.
"Ah, there it is."
Still chuckling, the coachman pointed to an island visible midway across the bridge.
It was larger than I'd expected.
And I wasn't sure how to describe this, but…
"Is there an anatomy lab here?"
Ah, right.
The stench of corpses.
Specifically, decomposing corpses…
The coachman laughed again at Blundell's question.
"There's the Morgue."
"Morgue? What's that?"
"A mortuary—though 'exhibition hall' might be more accurate."
"Exhibition hall? What on earth do you mean?"
Blundell looked baffled.
So did Liston and the students.
Me?
If even 19th-century folks were confused, how could I possibly understand?
The coachman nodded like this was perfectly normal and casually adjusted the carriage's direction.
"I'll show you. Normally, I wouldn't take visitors there, but you're doctors. It's quite popular."
"Popular?"
His explanation only deepened the confusion.
The carriage soon stopped in front of the mortuary.
It seemed to double as a research facility.
How could I tell?
A man in bloodstained clothes had just walked out barehanded, completely unfazed.
Not just one—several of them, bustling about…
Well, London or Paris, it's all the same 19th century.
Having seen worse, I didn't flinch this time.
"Step down. There's an entry fee."
"A fee?"
"It's an exhibition hall."
"You're not scamming us, are you? That wouldn't be funny."
"Huh? Scam you? I'd rather scam the Pope. I don't have a death wish."
"Fair enough."
Liston chuckled, amused.
As someone who thrived on scams himself, he wasn't worried about being duped.
We paid the fee and entered.
"Ah…!"
Someone gasped in horror.
Blundell.
If even he was shocked, that said it all.
Thankfully, the crowd blocked most of the view, but…
There was a glass window.
Beyond it, what looked like a marble slab held a corpse.
"Heh, I figured it'd be crowded today. Told you."
"What does that mean?"
Blundell was still dazed.
Even for someone from London, this crossed a line.
I felt the same.
These lunatics are displaying corpses? For entertainment?
And charging money for it?
But the worst was yet to come.
"On the way here, I saw a newspaper article about a dismemberment case."
"And?"
Liston, fearless as ever, strode forward and asked.
His height probably let him see inside already.
"When a peculiar corpse like that surfaces, crowds flock here. They speculate, discuss… It's a form of entertainment."
"Ah… good grief…"
Is this because it's the land of revolution…?
Or the land of the guillotine?
People pay to gawk at dismembered corpses and chatter about them?
Now that I listened, I did hear murmurs.
"Ah. Damn. It's real."
Liston, at the front and tallest of us all, sighed.
Even from the back, his height gave him a clear view.
"Wh-What…?"
"Uh…"
"Faites place."
I don't speak French.
But those who turned to look at Liston probably said something like that.
Otherwise, the crowd wouldn't have parted like the Red Sea.
Whether this was fortunate or not, we soon saw the corpse.
It was gruesome.
A murder victim.
And they were displaying it.
The police…
The police must've approved this.
"An amateur's work."
"Huh?"
"An amateur. Look closely, Pyeong. The cross-section."
"Uh… what?"
Why the hell are you analyzing this like a detective?!