"Making that face before even cutting someone open..."
I must've let a smile slip without realizing it.
Even Dr. Liston—the very embodiment of brutality—looked at me with disgust.
"That's… mildly terrifying."
"I thought you were timid..."
"Guess he just doesn't like showing this side to others."
The rest of them—Joseph, Alfred, and Colin—were no exception.
Honestly.
This is unfair.
I'm not a murderer.
"Joseph, pull here. Senior, hold that and stand by."
"Uh… got it."
"Sure."
"What should I do?"
"Professor, just observe for now. Step in if anything seems off."
"Fine. Will do."
Anyway, once I had the scalpel in hand, there was no turning back—the surgery had to proceed.
Rather than citing some grand reason, the truth was that the nitrous oxide (laughing gas) we had on hand wasn't suitable for prolonged use.
It should hold for about 30 minutes, but…
This wasn't based on blood tests or imaging to confirm brain damage—just an empirical conclusion. In other words, the faster the surgery, the better.
'Look at him, all excited just because I told him to supervise.'
To ensure success, I had to eliminate any potential interference.
It was obvious these idiots would only get in the way, so preemptive measures were necessary.
Normally, in an operating room, the surgeon would pick up a scalpel and announce, "Today, we're performing [X] surgery," right?
Hand over the scalpel, and the assistant would handle the retracting, right?
Ugh.
This is how I survive.
Squeeak.
I vented my frustrations briefly, but the moment I began cutting into the flesh, all distractions vanished.
I'm a surgeon at heart—the sight of blood locked my focus in place.
"Wipe it."
"Uh, okay. But I'm your senior."
"I'm the professor here."
"Oh, right. Sorry."
For now, retracting was Joseph's job.
Before making the incision, I had him pull the skin taut. Once the cut was made, he used a fork-like tool to hold the layers open. By the time we reached the peritoneum, I had him retract with a tool as close to an Army-Navy retractor as possible.
Under normal circumstances, he'd need to do better, but given the vast differences in surgical concepts between eras, expecting more would be…
Well, a sin.
No—evil.
'If they try to do more, they'll definitely mess up.'
I shook my head vigorously and glanced at Alfred's hand, which had just wiped away blood.
Sterile gauze? Unthinkable.
Sterile?
Not happening.
We were using the cleanest cloth we could boil.
Squeeak.
Ideally, there'd be minimal bleeding to wipe, but… it's not like I could magically produce an electrocautery device.
If we had more time, I might've considered using a heated iron for hemostasis, but…
'The problem is reaching a high enough temperature.'
If I heated it in a kitchen, it'd cool down before reaching the operating area.
So, heat it here?
Here?
The image of a lecture hall engulfed in flames flickered in my mind.
For now, I'd just have to work with what I had.
At a glance, this might seem like a primitive technique, but it wasn't.
"Retract."
"Got it."
"Where…?"
First, the incision site and direction were the result of countless trials and errors.
Liston's initial approach was likely a cross-shaped incision—straight out of a horror story.
More like butchery than surgery.
But with me here, that wouldn't happen.
The McBurney point—a diagonal incision parallel to the groin, entering from the lateral to the medial side.
This method minimized damage to the abdominal muscles while providing optimal visibility and access.
"Where is it…?"
"Like this?"
"Wait, it just… works?"
"What are you even looking for?"
On top of that, the surgeon's skill was unmatched.
It feels weird saying this myself, but…
Think about it.
I was a university professor, right?
I died right after getting tenure, but still…
My proficiency in basic surgeries was beyond exceptional.
'I could find it blindfolded. I've dug through hundreds of abdomens… Praise me more! Worship me!'
For dramatic effect, I closed my eyes, still holding the appendix I'd already located.
Sure enough, Liston—who'd been silent until now—couldn't hold back.
"Cut wider. How do you expect to operate through a hole this small?"
He was dead serious.
And it would y look that way to him.
Despite his concern for patients, he was used to bold, brutal surgeries.
A man who'd casually amputate limbs with a single slash would naturally find my 6–7 cm incision frustrating.
"You can't even see properly. Visibility is everything in surgery."
And he wasn't wrong about visibility.
Half of surgery is securing a clear field of view.
Sometimes, this savage genius left me conflicted.
"Found it."
"With your eyes closed?"
"I remembered it clearly from dissections. That odd protrusion always stood out."
"You located it… from memory? You're…"
"Yes, a genius."
To preempt any backlash, I timed my reply perfectly and tugged the appendix free.
It was already swollen—handling it roughly risked rupture, so I retracted the surrounding tissue.
What emerged was an inflamed, grotesque mass—undeniably the culprit.
Finally…
My dim-witted students realized what surgery I was performing.
"Wait, I think I've seen this before…"
"Uh…"
Alfred was excused—he'd been the patient last time.
"Yes, Senior Alfred likely had the same condition."
"Hold on, what are you talking about?"
Belatedly, Liston realized he was out of the loop.
He hadn't been present back then.
Let's see…
Liston believed his words had inspired me.
But in reality, I'd once rushed and sliced Alfred open without explanation.
'How do I spin this?'
I didn't ponder long.
Why bother being a master liar if not for moments like this?
"Remember when Senior Alfred was bedridden for a while?"
"Yeah."
"He had abdominal pain and a fever."
"Pain and fever? He nearly died, then."
To 21st-century folks, this might sound trivial—So what if he had a fever and stomachache?
But in an era without proper medicine, those symptoms were practically a death sentence.
Liston wasn't being callous—he was stating facts.
"Exactly. As you know, Senior Alfred is… my benefactor. Thanks to him, I could study properly without financial worries."
"No, Pyeong—no, Professor. No, Doctor. You're my life's savior—"
"I knew I had to do something."
Alfred wasn't the focus.
Joseph? Colin? Same.
But Liston needed careful handling.
I always felt it—in an era where fists trumped laws, having Liston's backing meant near-absolute immunity (except against royalty).
So I looked up at the sky.
"I prayed."
"Huh?"
Joseph voiced his confusion.
Had I prayed?
He remembered me muttering something in Korean…
'Dude, it's written all over your face.'
Right, I had cursed!
But I had also prayed.
Seriously.
In the 19th century…
Operating in a rat-infested room demanded some form of divine appeal.
"Ah… okay, but?"
"That's when it happened. My mind cleared, and I just knew—the problem was on the side where Senior was in pain."
"Wait, so you just… cut him open, and he lived?"
"Uh, Doctor, why are your clothes…?"
"The incision was this small back then too?"
Liston's expression shifted to skepticism—or rather, 20% belief, 80% doubt—as he yanked Alfred's clothes aside.
This was outright contamination.
Peeling clothes off in what should've been a sterile environment?
Who knew when Alfred last bathed?
As I mused, I discreetly shielded the surgical site with a gloved hand.
"Yes, the surgery I performed then… happens to match today's."
"Hah… unbelievable. Truly… divine intervention?"
Liston muttered "Hah…" a dozen more times before finally surrendering to confusion and nodding blankly.
"You… have no reason to lie."
That's how it must've seemed.
Why would I make this up?
And that's exactly when a master liar strikes.
"Exactly. Why would I lie to you, Brother?"
"Right, of course. The Lord's grace. Alfred survived this surgery, and this patient… From what I see, the inflamed tissue can be safely removed."
"Yes. Here, take a look."
His skepticism seemed to be wavering.
Time to push harder.
Snip.
I ligated the base of the appendix and cut it free.
A foul odor immediately filled the air.
'We're not done yet.'
Without pause, I squeezed the appendix right under Liston's nose.
The stench that erupted was unbearable even for these 19th-century savages.
"Gah!"
"The miasma is overwhelming—this was undoubtedly the source of the illness."
"Ugh, just—throw it away!"
"Where?"
"Don't—don't hand it to me. Colin!"
"Me?"
"You're taking it out."
"I'm not even gloved… and I have to monitor the anesthesia."
"I'll handle that. Unless you want me to pry your mouth open with this stench?!"
"Eek!"
Cowed by the savage's roar, Colin grabbed the severed appendix barehanded and bolted.
Poor guy…
That stench would cling to him for days.
"Blegh—"
While Colin retched in the hallway, I finished up.
With the appendix out, all that remained was closing.
Simple enough.
The sutures were a bit iffy, but…
'Well… Senior Alfred survived with this.'
I suppressed my unease and completed the closure.
Only then did I notice—
Liston had his eyes closed.
Gazing upward.
Then he muttered something bizarre.
"Pyeong."
"Yes?"
"I think I've received a revelation too. I'll operate on the next patient."
"Huh? What?"
This wasn't like him.
He was usually more cautious…
Oh.
'Oh shit… the anesthesia gas.'
Liston had inhaled a bit of laughing gas and was now hallucinating.
Given his piety, he probably thought he'd seen God.
"Wait, stop!"
Liston strode down the hallway like a divine messenger, forcing me to sprint after him.