So this is the power of royalty.
Princess Victoria must have been deeply impressed by what happened that day, as she apparently inquired about my position. The director, sharp as ever, had reportedly responded by introducing me as a "full-fledged doctor" on the spot.
And so, that very day, I found myself standing before the hospital's key figures—including the director and Dr. Liston.
"Now… let's proceed with the official interview," the director began, smiling in a way that suggested he held a high position but lacked genuine warmth.
It seemed some groundwork had already been laid, given the sour expressions on the faces of those who'd never been fond of me—Thomas, Zemel, and the like.
But really, what could they even say now? They'd been outmaneuvered by royal influence. All they could do was grit their teeth in silence.
"Dr. Liston?"
"Yes. Dr. Pyeong's talent far surpasses mine. His accumulated knowledge is vast, and his clinical skills are exceptional. Above all, as you saw yesterday, his teaching ability is outstanding. He shouldn't just be a doctor—he deserves a professorship."
"I see."
Wait…
In a properly established medical college, this would've been outright impossible.
Right?
Since when does being "good" get a student appointed as both a doctor *and* professor? It shouldn't make sense…
Fortunately, European medical colleges at this time were a complete mess.
Nepotism ran rampant, and professorship positions were handed out like favors. And here I was, temporarily—albeit clumsily—backed by royalty, the ultimate nepotism card.
Well… even without that, I probably would've gotten there eventually.
With Dr. Liston and Blundell pushing for me, how could they refuse?
Especially Dr. Liston—lately, he'd been making so much money that the hospital had practically become his subordinate. Telegrams kept arriving, all about recruitment offers. Some even came from France—Paris, no less—asking to have limbs amputated.
"Dr. Blundell?"
"His excellence isn't limited to clinical skills. He has an inventive mind, capable of groundbreaking ideas. Take, for instance, his method for determining death… You've seen it, haven't you?"
"The stethoscope?"
"Yes."
"It's far superior to what I knew. It could be useful beyond just determining death."
"Absolutely. And beyond that—"
"So, he's the best of the best, is that it?"
Blundell was somewhat overshadowed by Liston, but that was a recent development. He, too, was a renowned obstetrician-gynecologist in London. With more training under me, he'd only improve.
"Now, does anyone else have anything to add?"
The director had only sought detailed opinions from these two before scanning the room with a bored expression, effectively reducing the others to mere spectators. While they might've resented it, none dared to speak up.
Such was the overwhelming influence of the British monarchy and aristocracy.
Bastards…
Of course, not everything was ideal.
By the exalted orders of Princess Victoria and the Prime Minister, I was now required to conduct regular anatomy demonstrations—no, *lectures*—at the Royal Opera House in London.
"We'd like to see something truly fascinating," they'd said.
A request driven purely by curiosity.
By 21st-century standards, this would've been bizarre, but in an era where "anatomical art" was a recognized term and public dissections were held as exhibitions, it made perfect sense to them.
At any rate, after that farcical interview, I was summoned by the director.
"Very well. Unanimously, we grant Dr. Pyeong the qualifications to practice as a physician. Step this way."
"Yes, Director."
"I had a feeling this would happen soon, but I never expected it *this* quickly. Ha! No matter—it's a good thing. Dr. Liston was struggling to handle amputations alone. Now that you're officially a professor, hm? You can start cutting away."
"Ah… Yes. Though my approach might differ—"
"Hahaha! Do as you see fit. Just make sure to see plenty of patients. Understood?"
"Yes, Director. I'll follow your instructions."
"Ah, no, no. Actually, dissections alone would suffice. The donations… Ahem. Yes."
"Yes, Director."
There were some unsettling remarks, but fortunately, the director—more beholden to royal and aristocratic influence than anyone—eventually circled back to reasonable demands.
At the same time, I was handed a white coat.
I'd already been wearing an improvised one, but this one bore my name—well, part of it.
My full name was Kim Tae-pyeong, so just "Pyeong" felt odd…
If they were going to shorten it, why not "Kim"?
Did they really know *nothing* about Joseon?
Typical islanders, honestly. Zero interest in other cultures.
"Oh… Professor Pyeong."
"Professor Pyeong."
Stepping outside in my new coat, I realized another issue.
"Professor Pyeong" made me sound junior, like an assistant professor.
Not that it was wrong—I was just a professor now.
But still…
Wouldn't I eventually earn a higher title?
"Now you're really a professor."
"Honestly, it'd be weirder if you *weren't* one."
"Professor."
Of course, their teasing aside, I felt genuinely pleased.
How could being called "professor" by friends, seniors, and subordinates *not* feel good?
"Dr. Pyeong. Now that you're a professor, why not visit your new lab?"
"Ah…"
A lab!
Come to think of it, even in my past life, I'd never had a proper lab of my own.
I'd died right after getting tenure…
Before that, I'd been crammed into a windowless room with four other fellows.
And before that—well, no need to even mention it.
"Let's go."
In a way, I might've already surpassed my past life's social standing.
In high spirits, I chuckled and headed to my new lab.
The director had thoughtfully placed it between Dr. Liston's and Professor Blundell's offices.
Good. Being near familiar faces was always more comfortable.
Creak.
When I opened the door, the room wasn't empty.
"Huh?"
"Ah, the previous professor's belongings haven't been cleared yet."
"The previous professor?"
"Yep. Passed away. Haha."
"What kind of…?"
"A bit of an odd fellow. Dedicated to surgeries others avoided."
"Avoided…?"
Muttering to myself, I glanced around.
Inheriting a deceased professor's lab gave me a strange feeling, and for a moment, I was lost in thought.
But soon, I realized it was too early for sentimentality.
"What's this?"
I picked up a tool shaped like a bird's beak.
It looked familiar, but I asked anyway, hoping I was wrong.
"Ah, that's likely an anal speculum."
"Oh."
Right.
Also known as a rectal retractor…
I'd used these more often than I'd liked.
And in this era, they were probably even more common.
Without modern imaging, doctors had to rely on these to infer conditions of the lower intestines.
"This professor specialized in hemorrhoids and prostatic hyperplasia. These are… well, critical conditions, but ones most doctors prefer to ignore. A truly remarkable man."
"Ah…"
I see.
Hemorrhoids and prostatic hyperplasia…
From a purely academic standpoint, these conditions were entirely unrelated—one fell under general surgery, the other urology.
But in this era, with its loose classifications, anything below the waist was lumped together.
Or maybe he'd simply taken on the cases others avoided…
"Don't throw anything out. There might be valuable research here. In fact, I should take a look myself."
"Me too. Too many of my patients suffer from hemorrhoids. Before, I could refer them to this professor, but now… It's become troublesome."
Given how highly they spoke of him, Dr. Liston and Blundell seemed to genuinely admire the late professor.
Well…
If he'd dedicated himself to these conditions in this era, he must've had an incredible character.
Though whether he actually *saved* lives was another question…
Knock knock knock.
As I absentmindedly considered tidying up and settling in, someone rapped on the door.
"Yes?"
"It's the director."
He walked in, rubbing his hands together.
"How is it?"
One look at him told me everything.
This bastard… He didn't give me this lab out of kindness.
Hemorrhoids and prostatic hyperplasia were *extremely* common conditions.
Hemorrhoids, in particular, were so prevalent that even in 21st-century Korea, they ranked as the second most performed surgery.
For bipedal creatures like humans, hemorrhoids were practically inevitable—a fate as unavoidable as death.
And now the doctor who'd treated them was gone.
How inconvenient for the hospital.
"You know I have faith in your talents, don't you?"
"Yes, I'm aware."
"Good, good. You haven't settled on a specialty yet, have you?"
"No, not yet."
"Then… how about considering hemorrhoids and prostatic hyperplasia? What a coincidence, isn't it? He passed away just yesterday."
Sigh… Is that so?
No wonder the lab didn't feel long abandoned.
No dust, books and notes left open on the desk…
A closer look revealed dates on the notes, likely logging scheduled surgeries.
Beside them were simple sketches—clearly of hemorrhoids.
Wow… Forget the pain—this would've been fatal if left untreated.
You might wonder if hemorrhoids could kill, but yes, they could.
Severe bleeding…
And with fecal matter passing through open wounds, infections were inevitable.
Some even died of sepsis.
Tearing my eyes from the gruesome sketches, I turned back to the director.
He was still watching me intently.
"I'm not asking you to start immediately… but review his research. If you need practice subjects, just say so. Though it's not something to say publicly… London has no shortage of people willing to serve as test subjects for the right price."
He delivered this horrifying statement with a straight face.
The worst part? He wasn't exaggerating.
In this era, human life in London *was* a commodity.
Even the police turned a blind eye—as long as the payments were proper.
"Ah… Yes. I'll start by reviewing the materials here."
Not that I needed practice.
But given the limitations of the era, reference materials were invaluable.
If things seemed too outdated, I'd have to improvise tools, but a lifetime's worth of research would still be helpful.
Now that I'm a professor… If I don't want to spend my days amputating limbs, I'll need to establish a lucrative specialty.
Incidentally, hemorrhoid surgery was so common that it was practically the "cash cow" of surgery—to the point where nearly every surgeon was a master at it.