Mac and Donald
“Pardon? You want to experience anesthesia firsthand?”
“That’s right. We came all the way to the Beauty Tower clinic because we were so curious after hearing what Minor Tower Master said yesterday, hahaha!”
It made sense—Mac’s enthusiasm wasn’t hard to understand. Antibiotics were miraculous enough, but rendering someone completely pain-free? That had to be even more astonishing.
“Anesthesia falls into two main categories: general and local. General anesthesia can be subdivided into lighter doses that induce sleep, known as sedation.”
“Heavens! So it doesn’t just block pain in one area—it eliminates it across the entire body?”
“I can hardly believe it myself, Master!”
Mac and Donald had apparently only imagined local anesthesia; hearing about general had them bouncing like kids who’d just unwrapped presents.
“I’d love to let you try various types, but we’ll have to stick to local for you both.”
“Why is that? Side effects?”
“No, nothing like that. General requires at least eight hours of fasting due to respiratory risks.”
“Ah! I’ve had no appetite since yesterday—I haven’t eaten a thing! Could I take Master’s spot for general anesthesia?”
Donald’s eyes sparkled as he shot his hand up like a kid begging for a toy.
“No drinks either?”
“Well… I had some water about three hours ago. Is that a problem?”
“No, water’s fine. Then Donald, you’ll get sedation under general, and Tower Master, local for you.”
“Yesss! General anesthesia! Master, record it all with the crystal orb!”
“Guh…! I’m so jealous. Describe every sensation in detail when you wake up—don’t forget a thing!”
“Yes, Master! I won’t let my guard down for a second!”
Donald’s solemn vow didn’t last thirty seconds after the propofol injection.
“Propofol, the most common sedative, is a controlled substance, so it requires strict handling even inside the hospital.”
“Incredible… I can’t believe my eyes! A needle, and not even three minutes—thirty seconds to sleep…”
Propofol was a phenolic compound. Injected intravenously, it spread through the body in just ten seconds. Donald took to it fast, slumping forward before thirty seconds were even up.
“Why tie down the arms and legs? Risky side effects if they move?”
“Less about side effects, more preventing injury. Sedation’s for procedures—if they thrash mid-treatment, it’s dangerous.”
“Heavens, truly astonishing.”
“Not everyone reacts the same to sedatives like propofol. Some drop off instantly like Donald; others lose consciousness but mumble or talk to themselves.”
Back in Korea, celebrities hyped it as some dream drug, but that was nonsense. Some had good dreams; others nightmares. Some even responded to staff or held conversations.
“Wh-what? They can converse without consciousness?”
Mac’s eyes bulged as I shared cases from propofol patients.
“Yes, but don’t worry. Most don’t remember post-anesthesia—it’s unconscious chatter.”
“So some do remember?”
I nodded lightly at Mac’s stunned question.
“That’s the key point. We call it anesthetic, but propofol itself has no pain relief—it just makes you forget the pain. Like waking from a nightmare with no recall.”
“Hoo… nightmare needle, indeed.”
Like Mac said, treating propofol as the “nightmare needle” with proper caution made it a safe therapeutic agent. But abusers and quack doctors who mismanaged it turned Korea into the only country classifying it as a narcotic.
Doctors who inject propofol recklessly should lose their licenses. In Korea, they act like kings.
I was a doctor, but Korea desperately needed medical law reform. Even criminals with licenses rarely lost them. Among professionals—lawyers, patent attorneys, accountants—doctors topped sex offender lists. Even with mental health laws, a psychiatrist could vouch for a disturbed colleague, and they’d keep practicing.
Just make one psychiatrist buddy, and you’re golden. Not me here—they should be the ones getting amputations. Tsk.
“It’s been about ten minutes—when does he wake? What if something goes wrong…?”
Mac started with curious glee, filming Donald via crystal orb, but ten motionless minutes soured his face with worry.
“Call their name, nudge or shake gently—like waking a sleeping child.”
“Simpler than expected?”
I nodded.
“Administering and reversing are easy, but doctors must monitor from start to finish. I wake patients in two cases.”
“Two cases?”
“One: excessive movement during sedation. Two: inadequate breathing.”
“Inadequate breathing too?!”
Mac gaped.
“Of course. No drug’s perfect—no side effects. Like high-grade stamina potions not curing everything.”
“Hmm… fair point.”
“Propofol’s the same. Same dose, different reactions—like alcohol: one gets drunk fast, another holds it.”
Mac nodded in understanding.
“That’s why we use monitors—like that one tracking oxygen saturation. If it drops, wake them immediately. Remember, Tower Master: only the mage—no, the doctor—is responsible for the unconscious patient.”
“Of course! Today’s lesson is priceless, hahaha!”
They marveled through local anesthesia too, leaping at every word: “This belongs in a Sky Tower paper!”
They got it—my casual remarks could upend isekai medicine.
“Haha, sorry to take so much time. We’ll head out.”
“We’ve learned so much, Gold Tower Master.”
“No trouble. Come anytime with questions.”
“Hohohoho! Thank you! We will!”
Over two weeks passed since Mac and Donald left. Today was Monday, May 29—the last week of May.
“Mana measurable! Unbelievable!”
“Antibiotics too—a Sky Tower paper for sure!”
And Mac really came back. Often. Very often.
“Anesthesia! I fasted since dinner yesterday to try it!”
“Hygiene’s the real shocker—overturns medical fundamentals!”
Even in isekai, he’s got that Korean persistence… my fault for inviting it.
Idle chit-chat like “Let’s grab a meal!” or “Drinks sometime?”—but Tower of Truth Master Mac showed up constantly. A social butterfly, he dragged other tower mages each time. Last week, some—including him—treated patients in my clinic.
A bit annoying, but better than clueless Jo family hacks. Basic knowledge… wait, is that even medicine?
I shook off the confusion. Bigger things today.
“Tower of Truth Master, could I have a private word?”
“Haha, of course. I’ll make time for new teachings. Finish this patient first.”
Among the tower masters treating here, Mac stood out. Eager to learn unknowns, scholarly fire as Truth Tower head.
Not just that. Unlike others hoarding info, he brings Donald and disciples to observe Beauty Tower work.
But his Cache-like affinity charmed most. No flirty banter, just warm amiability easing conversations. Though it led to overcrowding my clinic.
“Haha, sorry for the wait. Double-checked the finish. These tools don’t grip like ours.”
“No issue. Your suturing’s flawless.”
True praise. If Rebecca, Hazel, Stella were tragic geniuses exiled as witches, Mac was elite pedigree top to bottom.
“I called you aside for a small gift.”
“Aigoo, your lessons are gift enough—what more… Wait! A mana meter!”
I knew those greedy eyes coveting it for weeks.
“You said stock was gone—made more already?”
“Haha, yes. My blacksmith finished other work.”
Lie, of course. Hundreds stocked in subspace pouch from day one.
“You’re the first true mage I connected with—had to gift it.”
“Aigoo… such treasure… truly grateful! I must repay somehow…”
“Haha, then one favor?”
“Of course! What?”
There it was.
“Nothing big. Sell mana meters for me?”
“Consignment?”