Chapter 128: Stop (4)

It was strange when I thought about it.

Why was I… huh? Why did I have to beg people to stop something so obviously wrong?

Huh?

No, seriously—

Just a little critical thinking would've sufficed.

"Pyeong."

"Yes?"

Did he sense my frustration?

Listen's expression grew solemn as he spoke, glancing at the elderly man lying in the distance.

"Not being able to piss—that's worse than death, I tell you."

"You too, brother?"

"Me? I'm fine for now. But my father… suffered terribly from it in his later years."

"Hmm."

Suffered…

Well, of course.

Not being able to urinate was bad enough, but…

Add to that the other illnesses that come with age—

Like diabetes, which was incurable until insulin was developed.

People act like it's a modern disease, but…

It's not like it didn't wreak havoc throughout history, right?

'Diabetes damages nerves, leading to urinary dysfunction… and now uncontrolled prostate hypertrophy on top of that?'

At this point, it was basically God ordering you to die.

That old man probably thought death was preferable to living like this—why else would he agree to such a shady surgery?

"Desperate people are everywhere, Pyeong. Among my patients, my acquaintances… they'd try anything. And what's the current treatment for prostate hypertrophy?"

"Dangerous, and barely effective."

I recalled the instruments in the professor's office and the pamphlets detailing surgical methods.

They'd tried various approaches, but…

None seemed to have made much difference.

Hence the castration idea.

"Exactly. But if… this surgery *does* prove effective, even I'd have no choice but to recommend it."

"What? Even so—!"

"Can't just let them die, can we? I'm uneasy about it too. When I first heard, I considered killing Harry."

"Yikes."

I never thought "I'll kill you" could sound so natural coming from a doctor.

No wonder Harry had squeezed his eyes shut earlier—

He must've genuinely feared for his life.

But then, Listen's expression shifted entirely.

"But… the more I listened, the more it made sense. Our professor wasn't the type to remove something so… precious without reason."

Wait…

He was absolutely the type. A bad person, or at least insane.

"Anyway, my point is this: I wouldn't even be saying this if it weren't for you. But…"

While I stood dumbfounded, Listen rubbed his chin, searching for the right words.

It took a while.

Frustrating, but maybe for the best—it gave me time to rationalize the situation.

'Right… they don't know about hormones yet.'

The discovery of hormones was likely late 19th or early 20th century.

Not critical for clinical practice, but I remembered it because hormones were that pivotal.

Was there any substance in modern medicine as revolutionary as hormones?

Plus, one of my best friends had been an endocrinologist—a man obsessed with hormones.

'So… they don't know what happens when you remove the source of male hormones.'

Male hormones—

The very thing that made men 'men'.

Remove that?

You'd end up neither male nor female.

Even a conscious choice would be hard—how could anyone handle the aftermath uninformed?

'They don't know… that's why.'

But this was an era of ignorance.

They knew almost none of the foundational knowledge of modern medicine.

So this…

This was possible.

Repeating it to myself eased my mind a little.

"I'll trust your genius. Just… bring me a new surgical method within months. Until then, I'll keep this bastard on a leash. And I'll silence the patients. If word spreads… even I might not be able to stop the frenzy."

In short: If castration worked, every self-proclaimed surgeon in 19th-century London—hell, any hack with a knife—would start chopping balls off.

Unthinkable, but true.

"Anyway, you handle that. Harry."

"Y-Yes?"

The tense atmosphere made Harry switch to honorifics, kneeling with his hands clasped like a penitent sinner.

"How many surgeries today?"

"F-Four."

"Then why are there only two here?"

"O-One died, and…"

"Died? You fucker."

Listen sighed. I silently mourned.

God…

To die from this surgery—

What a grotesque way to go.

"And the other?"

"Said he had urgent business and went home."

"Home? After that surgery?"

Listen turned to the patients—one with blood-soaked groin, the other lying still (likely no bleeding).

Neither looked fit to walk home.

"Y-Yes. He was… quite distinguished."

"Don't lie. Since when does trash like you—"

"He originally sought your professor, but circumstances led him to me."

"Damn it."

The professor—meaning someone of considerable standing.

Not necessarily the man himself, but the hospital's reputation now spanned *all of England*, thanks to Listen's amputations and phantom limb treatments.

So Harry's claim held weight…

"Who?"

"Jamie Bell…"

"You madman. A noble? This… I can't sweep this under the rug."

Listen shook his head, muttering curses.

I sighed too.

Unbelievable.

For Listen to be this worried…

Just how influential was this noble?

"Prayers won't… no. But as doctors, we can't let patients suffer more… Damn it. Pyeong."

"Yes."

"We might not have months. If word spreads among nobles in weeks… even I can't stop them from calling this butcher."

"So the Butcher starts castrating nobles… is that it?"

"Exactly. To prevent that… Hmm. First, we kidnap him."

"What?"

Under normal circumstances, kidnapping would've been unthinkable.

We were doctors, damn it.

But if it stopped a castration epidemic, so be it.

"First—"

"Ghk!"

Listen punched Harry in the solar plexus.

Like a cartoon character, Harry collapsed instantly.

Might've actually died this time. Ignoring him, Listen turned to the patients.

"Ugh…"

Naturally, they were terrified.

With Listen standing over an unconscious "doctor," he looked every bit the gang boss.

"Let's go nicely, shall we?"

"Uh…"

That phrasing definitely didn't help.

But the patients, despite their surgeries, scrambled into the carriage with surprising coordination.

Watching them, I figured they'd be fine for now.

Clatter.

Thus, we "kidnapped" three people—well, one kidnapping, two…

Let's call it a transfer.

A forced one, but…

Even in the 21st century, we sometimes overrode patient consent if they couldn't make rational decisions, right?

(Though we'd usually contact family first.)

Before I could finish rationalizing, we'd arrived.

"We're here."

"Good. Take the patients to… the amputation ward."

"Huh?"

"They were amputated."

"Oh… well, technically, yes."

With that flawless logic, Listen escorted the two to the amputation ward—equipped with restraints and staff to keep them contained.

Efficient, in a way.

"Oh no."

Harry?

He was taken deeper.

"Dr. Cain. A favor."

"Kidney stones? Wait—Harry? The Butcher? Why's he here?"

"Spare me!"

Cain, the master of lithotomy, was sharpening his blade.

With his gaunt face, he looked like a literal assassin.

No wonder Harry trembled more than he had with Listen.

"Kill—no, not kill. Just strap him to the restraint table."

"Huh? Execution?"

"No, just…"

I eyed Cain's leather restraints and explained the situation.

Even Cain—a man who performed horrors daily—whistled.

He'd occasionally operated on prostate hypertrophy too (similar area), but this idea was new.

"Madness. But it works?"

His intrigued tone made me rush to clarify:

"We don't know! And minor improvements to existing methods might suffice!"

"Hmm. Hmmmm."

"Please don't start cutting people—"

"I've got a backlog anyway. But if it does work… and if nothing else does, I'd try it."

God damn it.

Was there one sane person here?

'Now I have to develop this…'

But it was fine.

I knew exactly how future surgeries handled this.

Yeah…

I could do this.

I'd do it.