Can you believe this?
Surprise!
Kim Taepyeong and Liston, the worst narcos of the 19th century.
It feels like I'm possessed by a spirit—future visions keep flashing before my eyes.
If I had been joking around half-heartedly before…
Now it's reality.
'Damn it!'
Why did they make cocaine?!
If I had known this would happen, I would have absolutely forbidden anyone from touching coca leaves.
No…
Wait.
"Don't do it, okay?" ("I'm definitely going to do it.")
Those British bastards…
Those tea-drinking bastards…
They're the ones with a rebellious streak, aren't they?
Maybe being surrounded by water on all sides makes them a little strange, but in any case, most of them are the type who have to taste something to know if it's shit or bean paste.
'Hmm. Thinking about it, maybe it's not entirely my fault?'
After all, cocaine was made in the original history anyway, right?
Though it feels like I might have accelerated it…
But still, well, what?
Did I make it?
It was made in the lab I funded.
'No, but still… no… this is really not…'
Even if it's not my fault, we can't let that stuff spread in London right now.
It's already hell here.
I know the word "hell" isn't something to throw around lightly.
But I'm not throwing it around lightly.
19th-century London.
And specifically, the East End.
So this place where I'm riding a mounted police horse right now…
This isn't the East End. This is just the End.
"Where are you going?!"
This isn't a place I can go alone without Liston chasing after me.
In fact, there are already a lot of people glancing at me.
Although the horse is fast, and since it's a helmeted horse, they quickly avert their eyes.
This is a place where law and order don't exist, plain and simple.
And opium and marijuana have already taken root here.
And now, add cocaine to that?
Clatter.
I ignored Liston and kept riding.
"Hey, where are you going?!"
It's not just because I'm in a hurry.
Honestly, unless you're quite skilled at riding or have insane core muscles, you can't talk while riding a horse.
Liston knows that, so he's just shouting.
If he didn't, he would've stopped me already.
I don't know how he'd stop a galloping horse, but somehow I feel like Liston could do it.
After all, Liston is probably also from another world like me.
"Ah, are you going to Inspector Jamie? Is it because of the cocaine?"
Anyway, we were now at the entrance to Kensington Street.
If you go a little further, you'll reach Inspector Jamie's residence.
It's called a residence, but given its location, it's more like a large house.
The real one is in the suburbs.
The place where they host parties… that's massive.
The reason he's here is because of the Opium War.
I don't know much about it, but war can't be an easy thing, right?
It seems they've concluded that the Qing Dynasty is likely weak, but…
'Russia also thought… even though it's in a game, they occupied Washington and caused chaos.'
You can't really know until you actually fight, right?
So they've been busy crafting various war scenarios.
The fact that the tea-drinking Brits are stealthily drinking coffee instead of tea shows just how busy they are.
I've even heard that the younger ones are collapsing from the sheer overwork.
How did I hear this?
I'm quite well-connected now.
If I weren't, how could I have opened a hospital in Kensington?
Of course, it's not just me running it—I'm doing it with several influential figures—but my own reputation and influence are also supporting it.
Just having money wouldn't be enough, even if you were a genuine Brit.
"Halt!"
Neigh.
"Ah… Plague Doctor?"
Because of all this, I've done quite a bit of horseback riding.
Practice makes perfect, and horseback riding is no exception, so we soon arrived in front of the residence where Inspector Jamie was staying.
The security is usually quite tight, but recently it's been even tighter.
It's the home of someone planning military operations, so it's understandable.
"Ah, I have business to attend to."
"Go ahead."
I passed through without issue.
As you just heard, I'm the famous Plague Doctor, after all.
No matter how you say it, it sounds like an insult, but…
"What's the hurry?"
Liston, who had also entered immediately after his face was recognized, got off his horse and asked.
I had already been thinking about how to phrase it convincingly.
'Sell out the Lord?'
I might sound a bit like Judas, but that's not what I mean.
'Sell out Joseon?'
I might sound a bit like Lee Wan-Yong, but again, that's not what I mean.
"Ah, yes. Hyung-nim. Um…"
"Alright, go ahead. I'm sure you have your reasons, but I'm curious. Is it because of the cocaine?"
"Yes, yes, that's it."
"Why? From what I heard earlier… the sense of omnipotence is a bit strange, but doesn't it make you feel good? Didn't they say it makes you forget fatigue?"
While I was pondering, I looked at Liston and saw he genuinely looked confused.
Well… he would be.
Even in 21st-century South Korea, the belief that eating something gives you strength hasn't disappeared.
Actually, to be healthy, it's not about eating more but eating less…
But even if a doctor or a grandfatherly doctor says that, no one listens.
Instead, they'll listen to the neighbor saying, "I heard this is good for you."
Liston and the chemist probably think of cocaine as some kind of health supplement.
The term "health supplement" doesn't exist yet, but it's that kind of feeling.
"Hyung-nim, you're starting to understand the dangers of opium now, right?"
"Well… I know it can be bad if used incorrectly."
It's bad no matter how you use it, but pointing that out would be too exhausting for me.
Even after seeing how opium addicts die right in front of him, he's still saying that. What can I do?
One thing I've learned since coming to the 19th century is the art of letting things slide.
If you try to pick apart every little thing, you won't get anything done.
You'll die.
No, I'm already dead.
"Right? That's why it's being used in war."
"I've heard it's working well. Just looking at you… it's clear that Asians are vulnerable to drugs."
Do I have to let this slide too?
It's really troubling.
To some extent, different races can have varying susceptibilities to diseases or drugs.
But is the difference really that big?
No.
We're all humans, so how could the difference be that significant?
- Are you saying Black people and we are the same humans now?
But if you bring up race, you'll inevitably hear this.
Some people think that way, don't they?
How could that be possible?
- Humanity reaches its fullest perfection in the white race. The yellow Indians have a lesser talent. The Negroes are lower. The lowest are some of the peoples of America.
- The difference in mental capacity (Gemüthsfähigkeiten) between the white and Black races seems greater than the difference in skin color.
Do you know who said this?
It's a statement that appears frequently in ethics and moral textbooks, attributed to the great philosopher Immanuel Kant.
Maybe it's because he's German…
Unfortunately, Kant was an 18th-century figure, and the 19th-century intellectual world largely operates under the shadow of Kant and other 18th-century philosophers.
"Well, that might be true. But aren't there also some white people who are struggling with opium addiction?"
"There are. I'm not one to stubbornly ignore facts."
"What did you say those opium addicts feel when they take opium?"
"Huh? Relief. Ah…?"
Speaking of which, you might wonder how we know so much about opium.
It's because of Inspector Jamie.
Or should I say, thanks to him?
As our friendship grew, he started assigning me more significant tasks, including digging deeper into the harms of opium.
Even though I submitted detailed reports on the dangers, opium use wasn't banned in Britain—it's still occasionally used—but…
Having seen the harm firsthand, Liston and I couldn't help but feel differently.
That's why Liston's face is so serious right now.
"Earlier, you mentioned euphoria and a sense of omnipotence, right?"
"Yes. If it were just about relieving fatigue, I wouldn't be acting like this. But those sensations are dangerous. They can lead to dependency."
"But Inspector Jamie is white."
"And he's the white man who cut off his own testicles."
"This is bad."
What if Inspector Jamie gets addicted to a strange drug?
What if he becomes like the opium addicts he's seen?
He must have thought it would cause great harm to Britain.
"Ah, Dr. Liston? Plague Doctor?"
"Hm. Is he inside? We have urgent matters to discuss."
"He is, but… he just had some wine. Alone."
"That's fine. No, we need to see him."
"Hmm…"
That's why he's moving so quickly.
Even so, in the old days, the butler would have cut us off.
But we're famous now.
We're also Inspector Jamie's friends.
No, more than that—he might have been dead by now if it weren't for us.
Diabetes is no joke in a world without insulin.
"Go ahead. He's been very tired lately, so his nerves are on edge. Please keep that in mind."
"Got it. I understand."
"Yes, I know."
So we were able to enter without any resistance.
Following the servant who was waiting inside, we went up to the second floor.
We were led not to a bedroom but to the study, and sure enough, Inspector Jamie was there.
His wife and family were at the suburban residence, so he was alone.
Maybe that's why he seemed so lonely even when he came to the hospital…
"Huh? Oh! You're here! Hahahaha! What brings you here today?!"
Today, he seems unusually energetic, as if he's boiled a train whistle and drank it.
'Is it really that good of a drug?'
'Does he seem normal?'
'He looks extremely happy.'
'Wouldn't it be abnormal for someone planning a war strategy to be in such a good mood?'
'I think it's fine.'
'That's because you're a natural leader!'
'Is that so?'
I gave up on talking to Liston and approached Inspector Jamie.
To be more precise, I approached the wine glass he had set down on the table.
The suspicious powder scattered around.
And the trace amounts of powder still clinging to the glass.
I've got circumstantial evidence.
If this were the 21st century, he'd be heading straight to jail, but…
"Oh my, you look good today!"
"I've been exhausted, but suddenly I feel great. It's like everything's going to work out, you know?"
While conversing, I glanced back at Liston.
That earlier statement didn't seem like something a person who was just feeling good would say, so Liston was also becoming serious again.
So, as I whispered to him, he quickly picked up the wine glass.
There's a saying that hands are faster than eyes, right?
Liston's hands truly are.
"Hmm?"
As I watched Inspector Jamie's hand flail in the air, I thought:
'Cocaine has a short duration… let's wake him up first.'
The chemist…
He's more competent than I expected, but he probably couldn't suddenly make something on the level of Pablo Escobar or Pastor Jeon Yo-Hwan, right?
The purity is likely lower.
So there's still hope.