"You're doing it like this…?"
"It feels like you removed too much…"
The group continued muttering their thoughts as they examined the tumor I had excised. None of their comments carried much significance—at least not medically. They were products of ignorance. I had no intention of arguing about it now.
At first, it bothered me, but by now… I'd long accepted that it was inevitable.
What fascinated me, however, was something entirely different.
'How on earth… did they develop proper surgical concepts here half a century ahead of time?'
Dr. William Halsted—the father of modern surgery, a man who embodied the very definition of genius. He was so brilliant that by his thirties, he had already pioneered entirely new procedures: herniorrhaphy, mastectomy, cholecystectomy, and more. Ironically, he himself died of septicemia from cholecystitis because the doctors around him couldn't match his skill—despite records showing he taught diligently and his students learned earnestly.
'Geniuses like him must be the ones responsible for quantum leaps in medicine.'
Fortunately, there were geniuses here too. I didn't know how many, but one thing was certain:
Liston.
That man was a genius.
Not only that, he was progressive and had an almost terrifying drive. Best of all, he didn't even need to persuade others when trying something new—his authority was absolute.
"Alright, let's close. We need to hurry—it's been over an hour since anesthesia was administered."
"Ah, right. But… it looks like it'll close surprisingly well?"
"Huh?"
"If we remove this much, wouldn't it usually not pull together properly?"
"Ah."
Just listen to this question.
It was actually quite good. Especially considering they had no foundational knowledge, it was impressive.
Common sense would suggest that the larger the resection, the harder it would be to close, right? Of course, modern resection techniques evolved precisely to account for such factors.
"If you look closely… I undermined the tissue like this. I barely resected any skin."
"Hmm… Ah, I see. Only the central part is slightly stretched?"
"Exactly. That's why it closes well."
"I see… Hmm… Hmm…"
I wondered what he was thinking. His expression suggested it wasn't anything pleasant—maybe something vicious or cruel, but not cunning.
The kind of thoughts like killing someone or killing them to steal something.
In short, someone was probably going to die.
But most likely…
Even I couldn't be sure, but he was probably just pondering how to apply this to his own surgeries.
Tap.
While thinking that, I continued suturing.
It was still a mess compared to modern standards… but at least the silk thread was sterilized this time, unlike before.
Not just boiled—it had been treated with alcohol too.
Not that it was fully sterile. Silk thread is made of thin fibers twisted together, after all. Bacteria or viruses could lurk in the gaps.
'Well… I'll just have to trust in the resilience of us 19th-century folk.'
One thing I'd learned since coming here was that humans were tough.
Maybe the saying "people were tougher in the old days" was true.
Either way—
Snip.
With that thought, I finished the sutures.
Only then did the starkly altered shape of the breast—now asymmetrical—begin to draw reactions.
Everyone sighed.
"Oh dear."
"This is…"
"Well…"
Still, it wasn't as severe as I'd expected.
Wasn't amputation the most common surgery in this era?
Come to think of it, few procedures altered the human form as drastically as amputation.
And "amputation" usually made people think of limbs, but…
Jaws were actually amputated quite often too.
Since Liston wasn't specialized in that, I didn't see it much, but…
Apparently, it happened a lot.
Makes sense.
'If someone nicks themselves shaving and it gets infected…'
What then?
Let it rot.
Then, when they're on the verge of death, they'd just cut it off.
And that's how you lose a jaw.
Not to mention, with dental hygiene being practically non-existent, cavities could fester until the jawbone itself rotted away.
Point being, people here were very accustomed to bodily disfigurement.
"Hmm…"
Of course, that familiarity was only among doctors.
For the patient, it was a different story.
Sophie Germain thankfully woke well from anesthesia, but when she saw herself in the mirror, she fell silent for a long moment.
'Understandable.'
The impact of physical changes on the human psyche was profound.
"But at least I'll live longer, right?"
Of course, reactions varied.
Some people were strong; others, weak.
And Sophie Germain was very strong.
"Yes. You'll live at least several more years."
Would it really be years?
I wasn't sure.
But…
She'd definitely live much longer than if she hadn't had the surgery.
I was certain of that.
"Then I can keep doing mathematics. First, I need to write a letter."
"A letter?"
"Yes. I have a friend in Germany… He's been worried."
"Oh, you have a friend in Germany?"
"Yes. Gauss."
"Gauss…?"
Wait, did I know that name?
Was this Gauss the Gauss?
I was slightly confused, but regardless, I couldn't just stand there staring while my patient talked about writing letters.
Besides—
"Piong. Let's go. Time to deal with those Parisian bastards again."
"Ah, right. The cadavers are ready, right?"
That might have sounded a bit harsh.
I sounded like a real villain just now.
"Of course they're ready. I heard they have a supplier. Though apparently the placenta guy died in the recent outbreak."
"Ah, right. A supplier."
I figured there'd be hangings in Paris soon.
But it didn't matter now.
It wasn't like they'd act immediately.
Sure, many suppliers had died from cholera, but so had many police officers.
Administrative resources were also stretched thin.
In other words, no one would make a fuss over something as minor as corpse theft and supply.
After all, it wasn't like we were doing this for fun, right?
Clatter.
With that, we left the patient behind and boarded the carriage.
The driver, who'd arguably survived this disaster thanks to us, had become extremely polite.
Well, he'd always been somewhat deferential—because of Liston.
"Hurry. We're late."
"Late?"
"Yeah, I thought surgery would take about 20 minutes."
"Ah…"
"But seeing this, I realize anesthesia does let surgeries take longer. It's not just dragging things out pointlessly… I learned something."
"Ah, I see. That's good."
Well, as long as he learned something.
Though the idea that he expected a mastectomy to take 20 minutes was a bit shocking…
Then again, if I looked into how they originally did it, maybe it wouldn't be so surprising.
They probably used some bizarre instruments…
And performed it without anesthesia…
'That's horrifying.'
Limb amputations were bad enough, but the thought of cutting into a jaw or breast without anesthesia felt even worse.
Maybe it was just because I'd grown too used to limb amputations…
"We're here!"
The driver, having overheard Liston's earlier comment, had raced here as if his life depended on it.
Not that it was strictly necessary—the streets were so empty now that it was at least feasible.
"Ah, you're here. The cadavers just arrived too."
Jean-Pierre stepped out.
Once severely emaciated, he had since recovered considerably.
"How many?"
"Plenty. We can do as we like."
"Plenty? Not cholera victims, I hope?"
Liston's expression soured at the word "plenty."
He wasn't the same man he used to be—not after learning about hygiene.
"No. After that frenzy the other day? Unlikely. These are just starvation cases."
"Ah, good then."
Saying "good" in this context felt a bit off…
Regardless, we entered the room where the cadavers were laid out in rows on tables.
Twenty of them.
All dead from starvation…
France was hell too.
Not just England.
"Forgot to mention—the Montpellier guys are here too."
"Korai?"
"Him? No, he's a theorist, not a clinician. But his underlings are here."
"Oh?"
Each cadaver was surrounded by several doctors.
Most wore eager expressions.
In an era where dissection experience directly impacted surgical skill, this was inevitable.
Our university was slowly introducing formaldehyde, but other places had nothing like that.
For young doctors building their skills, chances to dissect were almost nonexistent.
"Those guys?"
"Show them what we're made of."
"London upstarts with no roots…"
"Should've stuck to drinking tea."
Some of them were particularly competitive—likely the Montpellier group.
Jean-Pierre looked apologetic as he watched them.
"No manners at all."
"Works out better for us."
Liston, of course, didn't care.
If they were too disrespectful?
Perfect—he could crush them guilt-free.
If they were moderately disrespectful?
Then he'd just trample them with sheer skill, as planned.
"Got it?"
"Got it."
"Good…"
"Let's go."
With villainous grins, we headed toward the cadaver reserved for us.
"Starvation victims," they said—and indeed, the bodies were emaciated.
Come to think of it, this was a strangely unfamiliar kind of death.
At least in 21st-century Korea, starvation deaths…
Well, they weren't something I'd ever had to consider.
Lost in thought, I put on gloves first.
Not just me—everyone did.
"How extra…"
"What kind of weird custom is that?"
The others—especially the Montpellier group—muttered among themselves.
In the past, reactions like these would've been damaging.
For others, not me.
Since they'd just followed my lead without understanding why…
"Bastards."
"Savages…"
"No idea they're swimming in miasma."
"With this crowd, at least one or two will drop dead today, right?"
Even the usually polite Colin was riled up.
Heh.
I didn't bother suppressing my laughter.
Only after laughing did I realize I was grinning in front of cadavers that might've died just yesterday.
But here… it didn't matter.
'My apologies. May the departed rest in peace.'
I still offered a silent prayer for the dead.
Then, picking up a scalpel, I spoke.
"I am Dr. Pyeong, and I'll be lecturing on anatomy today."
"Lecturing?"
"He said lecturing?"
"The audacity of this prick!"
The reactions were as expected.
And since I'd expected them, I was prepared.
"Brother, it's a bit noisy."
"Got it."
Liston stepped forward.
"Keep talking, and I'll lay you out right here."
Silence fell instantly.