For some reason, the director watched the entire scene with an uneasy expression.
His eyes kept darting between Reston and me, making it obvious what was on his mind.
'He's worried the hospital's income will drop if amputations disappear.'
Well…
Every time a groundbreaking medical technology emerges, there's always some concern.
But…
Even without checking, I'm sure 21st-century medical expenses far outweigh those of the 19th century.
It couldn't be helped.
The more medical technology advances, the more patients it can help.
Things once deemed untreatable suddenly become manageable—how could demand not grow?
"Good. This'll completely shift the paradigm."
While I was lost in thought, Reston let out a hearty laugh.
Was it really okay for him to laugh so brightly right after delivering what amounted to a death sentence—amputation—to several patients?
Then again, this was an era where human rights weren't exactly a priority.
Everyone clung to their bright visions of the future, but in doing so, they turned a blind eye to the darkness right in front of them.
"But still… this traditional method—"
"It's a treatment proven by time—"
"Look at this copper oxide! That brilliant green hue!"
And then there were these idiots, spewing nonsense with absolute confidence.
If I didn't shut this down hard, these clowns would keep yapping about how their "different perspectives" justified their barbaric practices.
"Traditional or not, how many patients actually need amputations? And the number of patients we initially reported doesn't match who's here now. Did the rest die?"
"We wouldn't know."
"Maybe they recovered and didn't need to come back?"
"You know damn well that's bullshit. Recovered? Patients in this state don't just magically heal."
"Hmm."
"Uhhh…"
In that sense, Reston was nothing short of a revolutionary.
Convince him, and the rest would fall in line.
He had the strength, the logic, and the reputation to back it up.
"From now on, this hospital follows Pyeong's guidelines for wound treatment. Any objections?"
"Well…"
"Huh?"
"N-No, none."
Doctor #1 sank into silence.
"You?"
"I, uh…"
Doctor #2 followed suit.
No surprise there.
I'd heard this guy once got his nose rearranged by Dr. Reston.
Looking closely, his nose did seem crooked—probably not like that before.
"You?"
"I… I…"
"If you've got a problem, get out."
"N-No, it's not that."
"Then follow orders."
"Y-Yes."
Doctor #3 caved just as easily.
Who knew what they really thought, but outwardly, they complied.
Might as well tear this filthy treatment room apart while we're at it.
Get people to scrub it clean…
And for God's sake, burn those disgusting rags.
I'd bet my life they're crawling with bacteria.
Ahem.
Just as things were settling down, the director approached, clearing his throat.
His expression was complicated.
Understandable.
He'd brought me in because he sensed something needed to change—but now, seeing the scale of that change, he was probably second-guessing himself.
Amputations still made up a significant chunk of the hospital's revenue, after all.
"Dr. Reston, Dr. Pyeong. A word."
"Ah, yes."
"Of course, Director."
No surprise there.
He only called the two of us.
Not quite a private meeting, but…
An audience of three?
Even in my past life, I rarely got that kind of privilege.
'My knowledge really is broken. At least for this era… I can dominate.'
Anyone else might've been trembling with nerves.
But I'd always been like this, and surviving the 19th century had only sharpened my ability to stay optimistic.
Besides, I could ease his financial worries.
How?
Just let word spread that patients here wouldn't need amputations.
Boom—instant goldmine.
Sure, Reston might see a temporary dip in work, but…
As long as other hospitals kept butchering people, amputations in London weren't going anywhere.
"Sit."
The director's office had impressively high ceilings.
Otherwise, it wasn't particularly lavish.
Then again, hospitals in this era weren't exactly cash cows.
You either got lucky and lived or didn't and died—where was the profit in that?
It survived on noble patronage and the desperation of the lower classes, who had nowhere else to go.
"Yes."
"Understood."
I sat across from the director.
He'd been struggling to keep his expression neutral, but now he just sighed, looking weary.
"First off—you did well. Very well. But…"
"Yes?"
"If amputations stop entirely… what happens to you, Reston? The hospital does still need that revenue…"
The director was worried about amputations decreasing?
Even he seemed embarrassed by his own words, quickly adding:
"Not that this isn't progress. But the hospital must stay operational…"
"They won't disappear completely."
No point dragging this out.
I cut straight to the reassurance.
"Huh? Really?"
"Yes."
It wasn't a lie.
Without proper antiseptics or antibiotics, how could we treat every patient?
Amputations might drop to less than 10% of cases, but…
Eliminating them entirely? Impossible.
"But they will decrease?"
"Yes, they will."
"Dr. Reston is one of our pillars…"
At this, Reston finally spoke up.
There was a sudden intensity to him.
Granted, his face always carried a certain gravitas, but today felt different.
"There's something I haven't even mentioned to Pyeong yet…"
"What? Don't tell me—"
Is he leaving?
No.
That can't happen.
Without Reston, I'm just a loudmouth clown.
I need Reston's scalpel to back me up.
"I've been considering abdominal surgery."
"Abdominal…?"
Contrary to my worries, Reston's words took an entirely unexpected turn.
The abdomen.
In the 21st century—no, even the 20th—general surgery revolved around the abdomen.
Subspecialties were divided by organs: colorectal, hepatobiliary, gastric…
But in this era?
"That won't be easy."
The director's face darkened for a different reason now.
Operating on the abdomen was taboo.
People died from abdominal pain all the time.
Sure, they occasionally opened the bladder for conditions like kidney stones, but that was a last resort—a "we're screwed either way" gamble.
Opening the abdomen properly? Unthinkable.
"Patients will die."
"Patients are already dying."
"Well…"
The director faltered.
He couldn't deny that.
Corpses were a daily reality here.
Not that 21st-century hospitals were much better, but…
Comparing the two was just unfair.
People dying when they should versus people dying when they shouldn't—there's a world of difference.
"But if they die after you open them, you'll take the blame. It won't be seen as unavoidable."
"Then start with patients who'd die anyway."
"Hmm…"
"Besides… amputations were always going to decline, Pyeong or not. All my surgical techniques were designed for anesthesia-free procedures."
"Really? I thought you just preferred it that way."
"Does that make sense? I'm a doctor. Of course I prioritized the patient."
"Ah. Right."
The director nodded, though he still looked skeptical.
Fair enough.
Anyone who'd seen Reston operate would've pegged him more as a butcher than a surgeon.
But that wasn't entirely fair.
Reston wasn't just saying this because we were close—without anesthesia, speed was mercy.
Think about it.
Thirty seconds of agony versus thirty minutes—which would you choose?
"Anyway, I've been planning this since anesthesia became viable. And I've practiced extensively."
"Practiced? On whom?"
"Cadavers, obviously. Do I look insane?"
"Ah. Right."
The director still seemed doubtful.
Honestly, so was I.
No matter how I looked at it…
Our Dr. Reston resembled a back-alley gang boss more than a physician.
"Regardless, with Pyeong's help, simpler surgeries are feasible. And during dissections… I noticed a suspicious pattern."
His gang-boss face grew serious.
This was news to me, too.
Diagnosing diseases through dissection?
'Well… medicine did advance that way once.'
Not that it was outdated.
Autopsies were still crucial.
Some conditions could only be confirmed postmortem.
"Look at this."
"Is that… a chili pepper?"
"What? We're talking about abdominal surgery—why would I show you a pepper?"
"Wait… is this the appendix?"
"Exactly. What the hell do you take me for?"
"Sorry. Put the fist down. You're scaring me."
"I won't hit you!"
"Sure, sure."
Rumor had it the director was the only one who could tease Reston.
Seeing it in action, I believed it.
How is he so casual with a fist-wielding Reston?
My curiosity was short-lived, though.
Reston quickly shifted to proving why he was a renowned doctor.
"Anyway, dissecting patients who died of abdominal pain, I noticed this part was often swollen."
"Swollen? Here? But isn't everything swollen postmortem?"
"No, just this part."
"Fine, let's say you're right."
"Tch."
"Lower the fist."
Reston glared at the ceiling before continuing.
There was clearly history between them.
Anyone else would've gotten punched by now.
Still, I was impressed.
Reston had made this discovery alone.
That was incredible.
"Not every case, but some had swelling here. So for patients dying of abdominal pain, we open them up, check for swelling, and remove it if present."
"And if there's no swelling?"
"Then we're out of luck."
"Ah."
That last "Ah" was me.
I was impressed all over again.
So very 19th-century of him.