Thinking of borderlines might have been a mistake after all.
Even though I'm transplanting hair, it keeps feeling like I'm drawing a map...
Truth be told, I never thought I'd be particularly good at cosmetic procedures or surgeries.
It's not exactly a mechanical procedure; it's more of an art form, isn't it?
- "Is that... the only way you can dress?"
- "You don't look bad, but... don't you think you're too indifferent?"
But I've never had any connection to such things since my past life.
No, should I say I just had no interest...?
So how could I be good at it?
I had friends who said they'd dress well once they made money, but when they saw me—still looking pretty much the same even after internship and residency—they quickly accepted they were wrong.
So, well...
"Truly... fascinating."
"Indeed. How could such a thing be possible...?"
"Are you becoming interested as well, Your Highness?"
"Hm? Ah... yes. Actually, I am."
What we're doing now is a completely mechanical procedure, as they say.
Even to my eyes, this...
The shape...
Isn't pretty.
'And yet, I've practiced quite a bit, and this is the result.'
It should be normal to improve with practice, but...
No matter how I look at it, it's about going from nothing to something.
Moreover, since what we're implanting isn't hair but other body hair, even implanting just one doesn't look particularly good.
But the reaction, contrary to my expectations, was explosive.
"Does that mean it will stay like that permanently?"
"Ah, yes, Your Highness. If you go to the next room, there are people who underwent the procedure about ten days ago."
Strictly speaking, hair transplantation isn't a procedure that requires hospitalization.
In fact, in the 21st century, it's not even classified as surgery but as a procedure.
Anesthesia is just something like sedation...
The cost is probably as high as or even higher than most surgeries...
But anyway, isn't this the 19th century?
Things are different in many ways.
"Is that so? May I take a look?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
First of all, the people undergoing the procedure are incredibly wealthy.
Even after explaining that it's still at the clinical trial stage, they're going through with it.
Calculating the cost, they're paying about five times what they would in the 21st century...
But what we can provide here isn't even half of what's available in the 21st century, is it?
So, to make them feel like they're getting something, we're having them hospitalized.
That was the sole purpose, but coincidentally, since His Majesty the King took an interest in the procedure, they're even being used as teaching material.
"The door is locked?"
"I'll open it."
Even while performing the procedure, I kept my ears open.
I was extremely nervous earlier, but as I continued, I grew more accustomed to it. Perhaps because His Majesty the King had left, my hands felt freer too.
Bang bang.
"Wh-Who is it?!"
None of the people inside had announced to others that they were getting hair transplants.
They said they were on a business trip, going on vacation, or recuperating.
So, if someone knocks on the door without prior notice, would they be happy about it?
The fact that no curses were hurled immediately is proof of their remarkable character.
"His Majesty the King has arrived."
"?"
Ah, the '?' is my imagination.
But I'm sure all the patients inside had question marks on their faces.
They couldn't help it.
In 21st-century Korea, if you turn on the TV, you see the president's face almost every day...
But in 19th-century London, even for someone of considerable status, having an audience with His Majesty the King is like plucking stars from the sky.
Of course, if invited to a large banquet or party hosted by the King, one might get to go...
But even there, unless you're a key figure, you'd only catch a glimpse or exchange a brief greeting; getting a close look would be difficult.
Even after the Glorious Revolution, which significantly reduced the King's power...
The prestige of the British royal family was still immense.
"R-Really?"
"Yes."
"How can this be...?"
They must have seen many people impersonating the president online.
And they must have seen the flood of malicious comments underneath.
Even if it were the president, the belief that leaving a few nasty comments on an anonymous forum wouldn't get them arrested probably played a role.
After all, 21st-century Korea is a country in the free world.
But 19th-century Britain is different.
The very thought of impersonating the King would be difficult to entertain.
That's treason.
Clunk.
Naturally, the door soon opened.
"Y-Your Majesty!"
"Remain lying down."
The patients inside found themselves having an unexpected audience with the King.
How...
Flustered must they be?
Actually, this is an era when most British gentlemen wear hats outdoors.
There are some who don't, but usually, that means they're either drunk out of their minds or not gentlemen at all.
While hats are removed indoors, wigs are typically worn at parties, so it's rare to reveal one's natural hair.
This might be the first time they're showing their bare heads in front of others, and since it's in front of the King, they must be truly embarrassed.
'Poor guys...'
I felt a bit sorry.
But thinking about it, isn't it a good thing that they get to meet His Majesty the King because of me?
'It's thanks to me.'
Hehe.
Perhaps because I felt more at ease, my speed increased.
Moreover, since our Duke doesn't have an abundance of hair, even if we harvested from his groin, the procedure ended quickly.
"It seems well done."
Liston said, looking at the hair that had become his own.
Before, he kept trying to touch it, which drove me crazy, but now he seemed to be careful.
No, when I warned him that touching it might make the meticulously implanted hair fall out, Liston became even more cautious than I was.
The patients were the same.
Actually, since this is an era without 21st-century higher education and medieval观念 still persist, they really listen well—or rather, they have no choice but to listen.
There are times when they don't listen to the point where I want to kill them...
But this time, everyone is being so careful that it feels like we're in the 21st century.
"Yeah, it seems well done."
"I think so too."
Colin is handling the extraction of follicles, plucking the hair harvested via the excision method along with the grafts.
This guy is incredibly meticulous and has skilled hands.
Plus, perhaps because he's young, his eyesight is better than Liston's, making him perfect for this job.
Of course, that doesn't mean I plan to train him specifically for hair transplantation.
I know baldness is a desperate condition for those who suffer from it.
I'll probably become desperate too if I start losing hair as I age.
But...
The 19th century lacks the medical infrastructure for doctors to focus solely on cosmetics.
'It's too much of a waste.'
Money-wise, I might make more if things continue like this, but was that the reason I was sent to the 19th century?
Probably not.
What if I get struck by lightning and end up in the actual Middle Ages?
Here, joking about being a shaman or something... if I were an Asian in the Middle Ages, there's a high chance I'd be mobbed and burned at the stake.
No, I can't...
"Ugh..."
While I was lost in such thoughts, Alfred—who is reborn as an exceptional doctor, arguably the world's first anesthesiologist—perfectly timed turning off the gas valve, and the Duke woke up shortly after.
"Are you alright?"
"Ah... my head?"
When I asked the usual question, I got a response unlike any other patient.
At first, I was really surprised.
When a doctor asks if you're okay, you usually check your physical condition first.
But every single person who underwent this surgery asked about their hair first.
Seeing this makes me wonder if I should pursue this as a side practice.
Being a doctor is about saving lives, but it's also about improving quality of life. Perhaps this surgery is exactly that...
"It turned out well. Ah, you must not touch it."
"Ah."
At my words, the Duke's hand immediately assumed a disciplined posture.
With other surgeries, even if told not to touch, they would have touched it and caused a scene.
They wouldn't understand no matter how much we talked about infection or germs.
Even after showing them microbes—pathogens—with their own eyes, it was the same.
I've come to realize that humans are governed by观念 more powerfully than by directly observed phenomena.
Well...
Looking back, didn't the adults in my previous life often say, "Do you want to live and die like this?"
The world keeps changing, but people want to live in a familiar, comfortable world, especially one they envision for themselves. It took me almost 20 years after rebirth to realize this.
"Oh..."
"How does it look?"
This is the most nerve-wracking moment.
When showing them their hair in the mirror.
What if they don't like it?
What if they say it was better bald?
"Ah... Lord..."
But I can confidently say not a single person expressed dissatisfaction.
On the contrary, many, like our Duke here, were moved to tears.
The way they unconsciously bring their hands to their heads, then startle and lower them at my glance, is all too familiar now.
"How is it?"
"Th-Thank you... How is this possible... To think it could be like this. I look 20 years younger."
He actually does look somewhat younger.
Since it's hair, the color is a bit darker, so maybe that's why...
"Brother. It looks good."
"Ah, Brother!"
"Now it looks like there's a decades-wide gap between us."
"Isn't it wonderful that I look young again?"
The conversation shifted to the brothers as soon as His Majesty the King returned.
Everyone was itching to talk, but since they couldn't possibly interrupt His Majesty the King and His Grace the Duke, they kept their mouths shut.
After chatting for a while, the King looked at me first.
"May I speak with you privately?"
Without realizing it, perhaps quite disrespectfully, I found myself scrutinizing His Majesty the King's hair.
'No matter how I look, it doesn't seem like a wig...?'
It's not that my eyes are sharp enough to tell.
It's just that wig-making technology in this era is too crude.
If you can't tell at a glance?
Then you need an eye test.
If you need glasses, you should wear them, that's what I mean.
And if you have cataracts?
I'd recommend surgery?
You could just behead me and run away.
"Please, come this way."
"Ah, yes."
Lost in such thoughts, I soon found myself alone in a room with His Majesty the King—William IV.
Well, alone except for two soldiers acting as guards.
But the soldiers stood motionless, expressionless, feeling more like interior decor than people.
"I've heard all the rumors about you, Mr. Pyeong-shin."
"The honor is mine, Your Majesty."
"Shaman, this and that..."
"I am a child of God. Such rumors are—"
"But the part about you being skilled must be true, no?"
"Uh..."
I wondered if he wanted me to predict the future or something.
If that's the case, I'm totally screwed.
"In your opinion, how much longer do you think I can live?"
"Ah."
Thank goodness.
The future, but specifically lifespan.
This also can't be predicted accurately, but...
At the very least, I can probably help him live a bit longer than currently expected.