chapter 3

"Ugh."

Unfortunately, I didn't pass out.

I felt like I was about to, but over ten years of working as a surgeon had hardened me enough to keep my mind steady.

Thanks to that?

No. Because of that, I had to witness everything that followed.

"How long did it take?"

Dr. Robert Liston asked his assistant with a face that suggested he already knew the answer.

The assistant, filled with pride, beamed as he replied.

"32 seconds for the amputation, about 5 minutes for the suturing."

"The operation was a success, then."

Yeah. That, I could acknowledge.

Cutting off a human leg in 32 seconds?

I almost wanted to bring my old orthopedic colleagues here to see this.

The ones who spent so much time and effort perfecting their amputation techniques—this guy did it in under 30 seconds.

"Without anesthesia, without sterilization… and with his bare hands."

Shit.

I kept cursing.

I'm not usually like this.

I mean, I've even endured blatant racism right in front of me without reacting.

How? Well, after years of enduring the hierarchy at a university hospital, I got used to it.

I really did everything I could to become a professor.

"But with bare hands?"

Still, this was too much.

Surgery with bare hands?

He might as well be a martial artist at that point.

"Ah, but did the patient survive?"

Of course, it was still too early to be surprised.

After all, they were only asking about the patient's survival after calling the operation a success.

19th century... you're really something else, huh?

"Uh, hold on."

Hold on?

Dude, you're a doctor—

You were supposed to be checking if the patient was alive during the operation!

"Uh... Ah, yes. He's alive. For now."

"Then it's truly a success."

Dr. Liston nodded at his assistant's response and casually tossed the blood-stained amputation knife into his bag.

The fresh stains of blood and smears of fat didn't seem to bother him at all.

He didn't even wipe them off.

He probably saw them as badges of experience.

Damn bastard.

"Now, citizens of London!"

Liston let out a hearty laugh and shouted.

He was a huge man with a booming voice, so the entire square seemed to tremble.

"As you have just witnessed, my surgical skills are the best in all of London! If anyone needs an arm, a leg, or even a jaw removed, come to me! I will cut it off in just 30 seconds. Those who know, know—anyone else takes not one, not five, but several minutes! With me, it's only 30 seconds. Just 30 seconds of pain!"

Listening to him… well, technically, he wasn't wrong.

After all, anesthesia didn't exist in this era.

"Surely, they wouldn't have anesthesia and still do this, right?"

I couldn't quite recall, but I was pretty sure proper anesthesia hadn't been introduced yet.

And if you're wondering why a doctor wouldn't know that—

I have a perfectly good excuse.

Medical history.

Yes, it's an important subject.

Something I should know?

Maybe.

But in medical school, with so much to study, it was just another pass-or-fail subject.

All I needed was the test guide.

"Five minutes of amputation without anesthesia versus thirty seconds… I guess that is different."

Still, looking at the patient, I didn't think he would make it.

"O…"

He had barely regained consciousness and was groaning, but—

He had drunk a ton of alcohol before surgery.

The leg was cut off without anesthesia.

There was no sterilization.

He had lost a lot of blood, and there was no transfusion.

"Listing the causes of death alone is taking forever."

I was so horrified that my mouth just hung open.

Then, someone suddenly smacked my back.

I turned around—it was the old man.

"Haha, looks like our Upton country boy is in shock. You scared?"

Scared?

I just watched a man get hacked up and probably killed in front of me.

How could I not be scared?

But the old man was talking about the sight itself, and I wasn't dumb enough to miss that.

"No? I'm totally fine."

And honestly? This wasn't even a big deal for me.

Modern surgery had become highly precise, but—

Emergency trauma surgeries, orthopedic procedures, and open surgeries were still pretty brutal.

It might feel a little different, but still…

Let's just say I was used to it.

"And you, Joseph? Do you still want to be a surgeon?"

The old man turned to Joseph, studying my face carefully before doing so.

Joseph's face was flushed with excitement.

"Yes. I want to be just like him, Father."

Then he started rambling about how amazing it all was.

"Yeah… that's not good."

But if that was his dream, I could guide him properly.

Someday.

"Uh… Old man?"

As I was thinking, the old man suddenly stepped forward.

He didn't even hesitate despite the blood pooling on the ground.

Then he spoke to Dr. Liston.

"Uh… Doctor?"

With his rough face and blood-stained coat, Liston looked more like a gang boss than a doctor.

So, even though the old man had initiated the conversation, he visibly shrank when their eyes met.

"Haha, don't be afraid. I'm a doctor, after all."

Liston chuckled, used to this reaction.

He put on a friendly smile—but still didn't wipe off the blood.

"What can I do for you?"

Of course, I caught it.

Before putting on that smile, Liston had scanned the old man's clothes.

His eyes darted so fast I thought he was having a seizure.

The old man was from Upton, a small town, but he was its wealthiest resident.

Even though he worked hard and smelled a bit of sweat, his clothes were of high quality.

Doctors…

Well, at least by 21st-century standards, they were usually well-off.

So, Liston probably recognized the wealth.

"Ah, my son is here, and his closest friend as well."

"Oh?"

"The boy beside him is from Joseon. It's near Qing China. He's a God-fearing Christian."

"Ah."

Liston's gaze lingered on me for a moment before nodding at the old man's words.

Since the man was wealthy and they were all God's children, he seemed to accept it.

The old man noticed this and continued.

"And they both dream of becoming surgeons."

"Surgeons?"

"Money isn't an issue. I can sponsor them."

"Oh…"

"I could also fund your professorship, Doctor."

"Haha… Haha! This—this isn't something to discuss standing here. Shall we walk as we talk?"

"What about the patient…?"

"My assistant will handle it. Hahaha."

The moment funding was mentioned, Liston's eyes gleamed.

"Is he broke…?"

That was strange.

Wasn't he the best doctor in London?

It was the early-to-mid 19th century…

London was supposed to be the greatest city in the world.

Although, looking at its dark skies, filthy streets, and the people who looked indistinguishable from beggars—maybe not.

Still, a doctor here should be rich.

So why was he so eager?

Following him, I soon found out.

"This is my medical college."

"Oh… I've heard of it. A prestigious school, right?"

"Well, of course. It's in London, after all. And I'm here."

"Haha, naturally."

"Would you like a tour?"

"Is that allowed? We're outsiders."

The building was grand.

Made of stone, covered in ivy, exuding an air of exclusivity.

Guards stood at the entrance—not the friendly, university-type guards.

They looked more like soldiers, like military police.

"I went to Seoul National University, but…"

Korean universities were practically picnic spots compared to this place.

Here, the atmosphere was solemn, almost sacred.

"It's fine. Follow me."

Liston chuckled, and the guards stepped aside.

I had no idea what awaited me inside.

But the smell alone was already warning me.

And then—

I saw it.

The dissection room.

And for the first time—

I actually wanted to pass out.