"Ah… So you're saying we'll perform the dissection right away?"
"Well, yes…"
"Hmm…"
"But then we won't get to watch it!"
"This is unfair!"
"Do it in a theater!"
At Liston's words, the crowd seemed to reluctantly agree—but that didn't mean they quieted down.
If anything, even more absurd remarks poured out, louder than before.
'A… theater? Did he just say theater?'
Who in the world holds dissections in a theater?
But surprisingly, during this era, dissections were a kind of… how should I put it?
A show?
Calling it a "show" might sound too crude, but that's exactly what they were.
Take William Burke, who was hanged last year.
What happened to him?
'The verdict was so shocking that it's hard to forget.'
Though my memory is good, it's not photographic, so I don't recall the full text—just the final sentence:
*"Your body shall be publicly dissected for anatomical study, and your skeleton shall be preserved so future generations may remember your crimes."*
And they meant it literally.
Back then, "publicly" didn't mean releasing it to the press—it meant holding the dissection in a square or theater where anyone could watch.
Was this some rare exception?
Not at all.
There were even dedicated *anatomical theaters*—what were they called again?
Ah, right. Padua?
"A theater, you say…"
"Listen here, Pyeong. This is a golden opportunity."
"Huh?"
"From what I saw earlier, most people still don't know your name. How does that sit with you? You're the greatest doctor I know—far greater than most."
"But… a theater?"
"Pyeong. You're confident in your dissection skills, aren't you?"
Confident?
It'd be stranger if I *wasn't*.
I mean, come on—I was a board-certified surgeon in the 21st century who'd performed countless surgeries, on top of mastering anatomy.
Even if you lined up every doctor from the modern era, I'd still outdo them. And this was the *19th century*?
"Of course I'm confident."
"Good. I know you sometimes feel guilty over strange things."
"Hmm."
Not *strange*—it was perfectly reasonable.
But I wasn't about to argue with him.
Judging by how things were going, Liston's persuasion was working wonders on these people.
At the end of the day, I was an outsider here—better to follow the locals' lead.
"But when else will you get a chance to showcase your skills in front of so many people?"
"Hmm… Probably never?"
"Exactly. Unfortunately, your skin color alone will make many view you with prejudice. Even in our hospital—aside from that money-crazed director or Blundell—most look down on you. Even if they know you're skilled, there'll always be those who spread rumors. But if the public acknowledges you… well, what then?"
His words flowed like water—smooth and convincing.
And he *meant* them.
Well…
He *did* genuinely care for me, despite his occasional brutishness.
Blundell got beaten, but I never did—that alone showed how highly Liston regarded me.
"Understood."
"Good. Now, you should be the one to announce it."
"Me?"
"Who else?"
"Hmm."
"You've got a sharp tongue. Give it a try."
"Ugh."
Before I knew it, I was standing before the crowd.
A sigh almost escaped me, but…
Well, I *was* good at this.
Hadn't I given countless presentations at medical conferences in my past life?
"Greetings, everyone. I am Dr. Pyeong. Originally… this was meant to be a closed dissection for fellow doctors. However… since this was meant to teach surgical techniques, holding it in a theater might actually be more appropriate."
"WOOOOOAH!"
"Justice!"
"Dissection!"
The crowd erupted in cheers.
They were *this* excited?
Hah.
These lunatics.
Who knew the idea of a public dissection would hype them up so much?
Anyway, I still had more to say, so I continued.
"However, dissection itself wasn't the sole purpose… so we'll need a large enough theater to accommodate other doctors onstage. That means we'll need a fairly sizable venue… Would that be possible?"
*Becoming a star?*
Fine by me.
But honestly…
It wasn't exactly urgent for me.
I'd get there eventually.
Right now, the priority was…
Teaching as many people as possible about surgical techniques.
*'Given the mood, they'll riot if we don't do this… The commissioner will handle it, right?'*
I trailed off mid-sentence and glanced at the police commissioner.
Just moments ago, he'd looked perfectly at ease—having tossed the responsibility to us.
But now?
He'd have to secure a theater, wouldn't he?
"Uh…"
Caught off guard, the commissioner looked utterly bewildered.
"Get a theater!"
"Do it!"
"Make it happen!"
*Did he just curse internally?*
But what could he do?
Cursing wouldn't change anything…
"W-well…"
"The commissioner will get us a theater!"
"You bastards! Fine!"
"Do it!"
*Oh?*
*If you refuse, you're dead.*
*You know that, right?*
This place was *not* safe.
Not that someone like the police commissioner would ever walk alone through London's back alleys, but if he *did*, he'd probably end up on an anatomy table sooner rather than later.
"I-I'll take responsibility. The theater… the largest one available…"
"WOOOOOAH!"
"Long live the commissioner!!!"
"WOOOOOAH!"
"Justice!"
Knowing he had no choice, he reluctantly agreed.
As the commissioner, he'd surely book a decent place, right?
"Now… let's proceed with the execution. You've waited long enough. Bring it."
"Yes, sir!"
With the commissioner's nod, officers scrambled to prepare the poison, and the crowd fell eerily silent.
People were about to *die*—even in the barbaric 19th century, a moment of solemnity was expected…
"Kill them!"
"Kill!"
…Or not.
Turns out they were just catching their breath to scream louder.
Executions really *were* entertainment here.
*'Mind control… pull yourself together…'*
Just because they were bloodthirsty didn't mean I had to be swayed.
Besides, this was a critical moment.
We had to confirm death.
*'These people… probably assume a dissection guarantees a 100% kill rate.'*
Dissecting someone *alive*…
The thought alone was horrifying, yet shockingly, it wasn't unheard of.
What was it called again…?
Ah, right—vivisection.
Herophilus, the so-called father of modern anatomy, was said to have practiced it on living convicts. That's how he discovered nerves—even distinguishing between motor and sensory ones—knowledge considered "demonic" and lost until modern medicine revived it.
*'But I could never do that…'*
Wait, no—of *course* I wouldn't!
*'I'll make absolutely sure they're dead.'*
Steeling myself, I watched as officers brought out suspicious substances for the grave robbers—especially their ringleader—who were tied to chairs on the platform.
"Open your mouth!"
"Ghk!"
"Someone! This bastard's resisting— Oh, Professor."
"GYAAAAH!"
How many would willingly open their mouths knowing what awaited them?
Aside from the ones who'd already given up and the guy Liston had grabbed earlier, the rest clenched their jaws shut.
Naturally, none held out for long.
Especially those handled by Liston himself.
I wasn't sure if doctors were *allowed* to force-feed poison, but…
*"I dissect to save lives. But if criminals are involved… I won't hold back."*
Recalling his earlier words, I understood.
Beneath his rough exterior, he *was* a true doctor.
Just one who took insults *very* personally.
I'd never force poison down someone's throat, no matter how insulted I felt, but…
"Ugh… G-gah…"
One by one, those who drank the poison collapsed.
Some vomited violently; others suffered diarrhea.
The reason?
Arsenic.
To be precise, a failed experimental drug originally meant to treat syphilis—modified to be *even deadlier* than ordinary arsenic.
"Don't get too close. The poison might still be active."
"Ah, right."
One of them had already rolled his eyes back, so I almost stepped forward to check—but an officer stopped me.
Come to think of it, he had a point.
Back during my internship, I'd nearly approached a poisoning victim bare-handed and got chewed out for it.
"Let's clean them up first… then check. If any wake up, we'll just give them more."
"Ah… Right."
I decided to stay put for now.
This was *terrifying*.
Their determination to *ensure* death was palpable.
As a doctor who'd dedicated both my past and present lives to saving people, this was a horrifying sight.
In the past, I might've vomited or fainted.
The fact that I wasn't…
Meant I'd adapted more than I thought.
"This one first."
While I waited…
The crowd had never *actually* quieted—they'd been screaming nonstop.
Not surprising, considering each of these men was guilty of *at least* a hundred counts of grave robbery and trafficking…
They *deserved* death.
"Hmm."
I approached one who seemed to have already passed.
He *looked* dead, but I had to be sure.
First, I checked for muscle tone.
If he was holding his breath, he could hide his breathing—but not this.
Tensing muscles required effort, after all.
*'If he were in respiratory distress, it'd be different…'*
But he didn't seem to be.
Even when I applied stimuli, there wasn't so much as a twitch.
Strangely, standing before a corpse brought back everything I'd learned, guiding my movements.
I checked his pupils, muscle tone, breathing…
Finally, I used a stethoscope.
*'Hmm…'*
It wasn't as good as the ones I'd used before.
But still far better than pressing my ear directly to his chest.
The device amplified sound dramatically, mimicking the human ear.
"He's dead. But just in case, leave him as he is and call his name."
"His name…?"
"Hearing is the last sense to go. He might still respond to auditory stimuli."
"Ah, right!"
To me, I was just following protocol—but to Liston, the officers, and the crowd, it must've looked different.
The commotion gradually died down.