On the way home in the carriage, I couldn't stop thinking about white phosphorus matches.
Not because I was inhaling the fumes or anything…
It was more accurate to say I was worried.
And really, how could I not be?
'A mask… Can that even prevent exposure?'
If I could make a different kind of match, that'd be great. But I had no idea how. That was the real problem.
I didn't even know what the other kind of match was called.
So how was I supposed to figure out how to make it?
Without an alternative, just opposing something was meaningless. It wasn't like I could just ban white phosphorus matches outright.
Of course, if I had power and money, I would've found a way to stop them…
'If you're chronically exposed to white phosphorus… your bones will start to dissolve…'
White phosphorus was highly toxic in cases of acute poisoning, but chronic exposure was just as dangerous.
There's a reason it was covered in occupational health laws.
It wasn't even a major topic in my studies, yet I still remembered it. That alone showed how dangerous this stuff was.
"What's got you so deep in thought?"
Lost in my worries, I was startled when Alfred spoke up.
He looked utterly clueless.
He had seen the white smoke from the matches earlier, so he knew it was dangerous. But the fact that I had actually gone to a match factory? That, he didn't get.
'He probably thinks I was hoping for something grand from the director…'
I could read him like a book.
I responded with a faint smile.
"It's just… I'm worried about white phosphorus."
"Nothing's happened yet. Why worry so much?"
Right.
That was the way things worked here.
The concept of preventive medicine didn't even exist in this world.
People only sought treatment after they were already sick. If they weren't in pain, they didn't care.
Some didn't even recognize diseases as diseases.
I forced a smile and tried to think about something else.
"I guess you're right. But still…"
As I wrestled with my thoughts, I caught a glimpse of Alfred's face.
As usual, he looked a little slow, but he also seemed… unwell.
How would I know?
Because I had saved this guy's life.
I was the one who prevented his fingers from rotting away.
Back then, there hadn't even been anesthesia. I had just gone in and done what needed to be done.
So if there was anyone who could recognize the look of pain on Alfred's face, it was me.
"Are you feeling sick?"
"Huh? Oh, um… not really, just my stomach…"
"Your stomach? Where?"
"Here."
Alfred pointed to his upper abdomen.
And immediately, a thought struck me—white phosphorus.
Acute poisoning could cause vomiting and stomach pain…
'No, wait. It's been hours since he ate that grilled meat…'
Besides, Alfred was a bit of a coward.
I had no idea how he'd ended up becoming a surgeon in this era.
For someone in this brutal time period, he was surprisingly skittish.
Even earlier, when we visited the factory, he had been hesitant.
So this was probably something else entirely.
That meant there was still hope.
I relaxed my expression a little and asked,
"When did it start?"
"Uh… an hour or two ago? But it wasn't that bad, so I just put up with it."
"An hour or two? That's pretty long. Maybe gastritis?"
"Maybe. It's not that bad. I'll just endure it."
Gastritis, huh?
It was a common condition.
For modern people, it was practically a lifelong companion. But even in this era, it wasn't rare.
People ate whatever they could find. It was inevitable.
To survive in this time period, everything had to be strong—including stomach acid.
"You don't have to endure it. Try eating some cabbage."
"Cabbage? That helps?"
"They say so in Joseon."
I wasn't entirely sure, but "cabbage" did sound like a foreign vegetable.
At this point, I had already spun so many tales about Joseon that one more wouldn't make a difference.
"Oh, really?"
By now, my stories about Joseon were considered gospel truth.
I could probably tell them we used red beans to make soybean paste, and they'd believe me.
"Yep."
So I figured that as long as his gastritis didn't turn into an ulcer, he'd be fine.
Sure, chronic gastritis and ulcers could eventually lead to stomach cancer…
But, unfortunately, most people in this era didn't live long enough to get cancer.
"Here, drink this."
As soon as we got home, I made some cabbage tea and had him drink it. Just to be safe, I gave him some cabbage to eat as well.
But in hindsight, I shouldn't have given him anything.
"Ughhh…"
Alfred and I slept in rooms separated by a single wall.
Originally, I had been given a separate annex to stay in. But after saving his son's life, starting condom production, and generally proving I wasn't going anywhere, his father had given up and let me stay in the main house.
It was great—except for tonight.
"Senior, are you okay?"
I groggily opened my eyes and saw a pale moon shining outside the window.
Considering how cloudy London usually was, it had to be the middle of the night.
"I feel like I'm dying… It hurts so much…"
That was bad.
Sure, Alfred was a bit of a coward and sometimes exaggerated his pain, but that was by 19th-century standards.
Compared to 21st-century people, the folks in this era were like Guan Yu.
They had an insane tolerance for pain.
So for someone like Alfred to say it hurt this much… I needed to take this seriously.
"Should I come in?"
"Yeah… Yeah, please…"
I woke up Joseph, and together, we hurried to Alfred's room.
His room had a clock, so I checked the time. It was already 1 a.m.
'He's been in pain for nearly ten hours… and it's been five hours since I gave him cabbage juice.'
Could it really just be gastritis?
It didn't seem likely.
He had eaten more than just cabbage. He'd had soup too.
If it were just gastritis, it should've eased up by now.
At the very least, he shouldn't still be in this much pain.
"…Where does it hurt now?"
I watched as Alfred clutched his stomach.
People instinctively grab the area that hurts the most.
Earlier, he had been holding his upper abdomen.
But now… he was gripping his lower right side.
"…Here?"
Oh, shit.
I cursed under my breath and rushed to his side.
"Lie down flat."
"Ugh…"
Up close, I could see that his face was drenched in cold sweat.
The pain must've been excruciating.
This was looking more and more like appendicitis.
I instinctively laid him flat and bent his knees.
"Ahhh…"
Joseph, looking panicked, asked, "Pyeong, is he gonna die?"
Alfred didn't even have the strength to answer.
The pain was just that bad.
This wasn't looking good.
And worse… there was no one else who could treat him.
I was the only one who knew what was going on.
And I was the only
one who could save him.
So I took a deep breath—
And said, "I'll operate."