Chapter 131: Improvement [2]
Chapter 131: Improvement [2]
“No… Is something wrong with you?”
“There’s a lot wrong. I don’t even know how many times I wake up at night.”
“…Wait—does that mean you cut off my balls?”
“What? I mean, you already have a child, so it doesn’t really matter, right?”
That was the biggest problem. Back then, they had no understanding of hormones. They still thought the testicles existed purely for reproduction.
In reality, people probably did notice the broader effects of losing them—things like losing facial hair, weakening muscles, or even changes in body shape.
Statistics… Sorry for underestimating you.
But the truth was that statistics barely existed as a proper discipline in this era. Most knowledge came from anecdotal experience or vague impressions. Sure, practical fields like farming, military strategy, and finance had accumulated useful patterns over time. But medicine? It was still treated as an afterthought in the larger flow of society.
“That professor—”
“You mean Harry?”
“No, the other one. The original professor who came up with this surgery. What was his name again…?”
“Oh, him. Yeah, he was a great man. Invented the procedure. A real shame when he died.”
“There’s a problem, though. That surgery doesn’t just affect urination.”
“What do you mean?”
That was when I realized I should have gone to meet the man personally. But I hadn’t. I’d planned to figure things out first and spread the information afterward. Honestly, I didn’t know how people would react if I approached them alone, so I’d even considered dragging Robert Liston along. For now, though, I improvised.
“First of all, you’ll lose your beard.”
“Eh? That’s it? Ha ha! I can pee properly, but I lose my beard? I’ll just glue one on!”
“Your strength will weaken too.”
“What? I can just hire people to carry things for me.”
I thought I was getting somewhere, but apparently not. The man was obviously wealthy, and the casual indifference of this era didn’t help. Still, after noticing his declining appetite, I finally found the weak point.
“It won’t… stand properly anymore.”
“…What?”
Honestly, judging by his body shape and diet, I doubted it was functioning very well in the first place. Still—
“It won’t stand.”
“Why not?!”
Oh.
That finally got a reaction.
There it is. Maybe I can use this to stop more of these pointless surgeries.
A spark lit up in my mind. Right. This was the answer. No matter the era, virility always sold well. Even in highly developed societies, people still did all kinds of ridiculous things in the name of stamina and sexual performance.
“You never know. But once it’s gone, it’s gone.”
“…Ha… then I can’t…”
“So just wait. Let me look into it properly. If I find anything definitive, I’ll tell you.”
“No, I’m not Pharaoh—”
“Pharaoh? What does that have to do with anything? Isn’t the issue your—”
I stared at him in confusion. Meanwhile, the chemist looked at me as if I were the one talking nonsense.
“Shouldn’t we practice first?”
“You’re actually going to do it? On a worn-out body—no, wait, you mean once you go in?”
A surgical demonstration…
Ha. Calling it a “performance” sounded dramatic, but honestly, that was basically what it was. Public executions were still common, and since the number of condemned criminals had decreased, cadavers were in short supply. We lived in an age where the death penalty doubled as public entertainment.
If we do get a cadaver, I should try using the formalin I made to slow decomposition.
Fortunately, methanol was easy enough to produce, which meant I could prepare formalin solutions in varying concentrations.
Note to self: I still need to refine that too…
I’d become used to the smell during anatomy training. It was the sort of odor you never forgot. I’d assumed I would instantly recognize the proper concentration, but that wasn’t the case at all. Whether diluted or not, you could still smell it up close. The undiluted version? Just one sniff made me feel like tumors would start growing immediately. There was a reason it was classified as a Group 1 carcinogen. I hadn’t returned to the lab since then. Even with the lid closed, the sealing technology in this era was terrible.
“Huh, look at you. Must be serious! Of course, real surgical practice has to be done on living people.”
While I silently lamented how barbaric this era was, the man beside me casually said something horrifying enough to make me scream internally.
Living people?
Was he insane?
I glared at him, but the chemist continued as if nothing were wrong.
“Just look at Louis XIV. Seventy people died trying to cure his hemorrhoids! But thanks to that, he lived a long life. So hey, once your surgical skills are polished, call me. And if you figure out whether cutting them off causes… performance issues, let me know.”
What the hell…
Louis XIV?
That had been over two hundred years ago, and they were still using it as justification? No wonder karma eventually came around and his great-grandson ended up losing his head during the Revolution at sixteen.
“Yeah… sure…”
The era was so barbaric that even discussing it felt absurd, but I knew better than to argue. Instead, I focused on something more practical: the pile of failed rubber materials the chemist had accumulated. There were all sorts of different stiffness levels. Closing my eyes, I started feeling through them, trying to find something similar to the Foley catheter I’d used in my previous life.
Too soft… too stiff… hmm?
Eventually, I found three that felt close enough. Out of dozens of failed attempts, getting three usable candidates was already a decent result. I set them aside separately.
“Do you look that happy?”
“Huh?”
“You’re sitting there with your eyes closed like you’re tasting fine wine.”
“It’s not like that. I can feel the differences between the three, but they’re subtle.”
“Then stop overthinking and just make all three. Test them all.”
“…What?”
I must’ve said “what?” at least five times already today.
But seriously—just test them all?
The enthusiasm these people had for shoving things into human bodies was unbelievable.
“What can I say? Nothing’s perfect on the first try. How many times do you think I failed while making gloves?”
Oddly enough, he had a point. This was an era where precision materials were almost impossible to produce. If I hadn’t invented condoms earlier, people would probably still be mocking me for “wasting resources.” But that invention had earned me at least a little credibility.
Yeah… anything’s better than getting impaled with a metal rod.
So I gave the go-ahead.
“How long will it take?”
“I’m just modifying an existing process. Honestly, it looks just like making condoms.”
“…Huh?”
“It’s long. There’s a tube inside. Same principle.”
“…Ah… yeah, I guess that’s true.”
“Tomorrow? Maybe the day after?”
“Oh…”
So urinary catheters might arrive sooner than expected.
Hmm…
These weren’t just for people who couldn’t urinate. In modern medicine, they were essential for critically ill patients. Even during long surgeries, catheters were necessary. Without them, urine could backflow and damage the kidneys. They were also vital for monitoring input and output during fluid infusions.
Good. There are still limitations… but this is progress.
Once everything was settled, I thanked the chemist and headed back to the school.
“Ah, Professor…”
One of my classmates approached me hesitantly. He was the same guy who had made comments about my skin color earlier. It must’ve been awkward for him. Young and stupid. He really should’ve picked his battles more carefully—imagine trying to provoke a twenty-first-century genius.
“Yes? What is it?”
I smiled magnanimously, like a proper adult.
He informed me that the director wanted me to prepare for a lecture. Well, I was a professor now. And this era desperately needed competent teachers. I’d deal with that later. Right now, there were more urgent matters.
“By the way, where’s Professor Liston?”
“Ah… he’s in the operating room.”
“Still cutting through patients like there’s no tomorrow, huh. Alright. Carry on.”
“Yes, Professor.”
I glanced toward the operating room—the small surgical theater. Six procedures were still lined up. He must have postponed everything from yesterday. No matter how fast he operated, it looked like the entire morning would disappear.
That said, I had other things to handle.
“Let’s go see the patients. Also…”
Before beginning rounds, I asked Liston’s assistant to locate the former patients who had undergone castration.
The man understood my relationship with Liston, and he clearly shared my unease regarding this barbaric procedure, so he agreed immediately.
“I’ll be seeing Dr. Liston this afternoon. You don’t need to track down everyone. Just the nearby ones.”
“Understood.”
With that taken care of, I finally started my rounds.
There weren’t many patients, since I’d spent so much time demonstrating dissections lately. Still…
“That wound looks infected.”
“It does? Ah… isn’t that a good thing?”
“What?”
“People say it’s part of the healing process, right?”
Just because there were fewer patients—or because the surgery itself had gone well—didn’t mean complications wouldn’t happen. This particular patient had nearly lost his limb. I’d worked hard to save it, carefully debriding the wound and encouraging healthy tissue growth. But after only two days, the inflammation had returned.
“Who’s been treating this wound?”
“Just whichever doctors and nurses happened to pass by.”
Fuck.
These savages genuinely believed infection was proof that healing was progressing.
Fortunately, the infection hadn’t spread deeply yet. The patient had at least been wiping away the pus himself, even if his methods were primitive.
“Agh!”
I immediately debrided the infected tissue again and redressed the wound properly.
“Don’t touch this anymore.”
“Y-yes.”
“If it gets worse, I’ll have to cut it again.”
“Y-yes…”
I felt like a lunatic.
But in this era, this really was the best option.
“Ha ha! As expected of my brother. He’s my sworn brother, you know.”
Robert Liston had returned from surgery, grinning as though we were comrades who had survived a battlefield together.
“That… right.”
I couldn’t even argue with him anymore.
Footnotes
Translator’s Notes
Louis XIV — King of France from 1643 to 1715, known as the “Sun King.” Historical accounts describe him suffering from severe anal fistulas and hemorrhoids, leading to multiple experimental surgical procedures that helped advance early anorectal surgery in France.
Formalin — A solution of formaldehyde in water commonly used to preserve biological specimens and cadavers. Formaldehyde is classified as a Group 1 carcinogen by the International Agency for Research on Cancer (IARC).
Pharaoh — Title used for the kings of ancient Egypt. The chemist jokingly compares himself to rulers who historically kept eunuchs in royal courts.
Group 1 Carcinogen — Classification used by the International Agency for Research on Cancer (IARC) for substances confirmed to cause cancer in humans.
Foley Catheter — Flexible urinary catheter invented by American surgeon Frederic Foley in the 20th century, designed to remain inside the bladder for continuous drainage.