Methanol.
It might sound like an ignorant thing to say, but… the only thing that came to mind when I heard "methanol" was soldiers going blind from drinking it because they weren't allowed real alcohol.
Damn.
"Ah, methanol? That's not difficult at all."
"Huh? Really?"
I was about to give up halfway, but then…
Dr. Liston, who had heard me mention methanol and what could be done with it, dragged me straight to the condom factory.
Thanks to all the money we'd been making, the factory had even relocated.
Of course, the chemist who used to handle rubber had long since upgraded his wardrobe.
Dressed in a dazzling suit and a stylish hat, he shrugged the moment he heard my request.
'This bastard… Didn't he say the same thing when we talked about arsenic compounds?'
But I couldn't just blindly trust him—not after the arsenic incident.
Reading my skepticism, he protested indignantly.
"No, I'm serious this time! Methanol's been around for over a hundred years—what's the big deal?"
"Really?"
"Do you really think I'd lie to you?"
"Arsenic."
When I'd asked him to try making something for syphilis treatment, all he'd produced was a colorless, odorless poison.
This crazy bastard…
I asked for medicine, and he went and intensified arsenic's toxicity instead?
At least he had enough conscience to blush at my reminder.
"Ahem. Well… Haha! But come on, treating syphilis with arsenic? Who does that?"
Dude, people actually used to do that.
Sure, it was a different era, but… not that different.
Not that I could say that.
"But methanol's a different story. That's easy—you can just buy it."
"Ah, I see. Then would oxidizing it be possible?"
"Oxidizing? Hmm. Just expose it to oxygen—shouldn't be hard. But… that stuff's toxic, you know?"
"It is."
"Right. There's no other use for it. I mean, I made it sound simple, but… it'll still take some time to get. What do you even need it for?"
Apparently, I wasn't the only one who associated methanol solely with toxicity.
The chemist sighed and gave me a puzzled look.
Honestly, did he think I wanted to mess with that crap?
Of course not.
Even now, the smell of formaldehyde from the anatomy lab occasionally haunts my memories—not exactly pleasant.
But…
'They're not just stealing corpses—they're killing people.'
If enduring some discomfort could help stop such a massive crime, wasn't it worth it?
Of course, it'd be even better if I could just tell them not to do it, but…
The problem was, these weren't the kind of people who'd listen to reason.
"I heard someone say something like this before… someone you might know. That if you preserve animals in burned methanol, they won't decay at all."
"Hmm. Really? You mean the factory owner?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I did hear he hunted tigers in India… Taxidermy must've been a pain."
It was an absurd claim—formaldehyde was so toxic, how could a tiger's hide withstand it?
But ever since condoms made him rich, the chemist had developed a habit of nodding along to whatever I said.
"Alright, I'll get it for you. Shouldn't be too hard. Paying people to bring garbage? Someone'll bite."
"Thanks, I appreciate it."
True to his word, he got the methanol—and even oxidized it—in no time.
Apparently, it wasn't that difficult. Heat copper, mix it with methanol, collect the gas, and voilà—a foul-smelling liquid called formaldehyde.
'Maybe he's more competent than I thought.'
"Ugh."
The smell…
It was pungent, stabbing straight into my nose.
'This is a carcinogen… and the concentration feels way stronger than usual.'
If the smell in the anatomy lab was like regular coffee, this was like a triple espresso.
Not that I could blame the chemist.
How would he know the right concentration? He just made what I asked for.
Thankfully, the world had a wonderful substance called water.
Mix it in, and the concentration dilutes.
"What the hell is this? Why'd you bring it here?"
"Ah… Damn, even outside, it's unbearable."
"I respect you as my teacher, but… Jesus. This is…"
Before diluting it, I took it straight to the hospital.
And chaos erupted.
Joseph, Alfred, Colin—everyone close to me started freaking out.
"Even if it's you, if you tell me to wash my hands with this, I'll kill you."
Blundell was no different.
"Stay the hell away from me."
Liston had the strongest reaction.
Honestly, they were acting like lunatics.
This or the stench of rotting corpses—which was worse?
Rotting corpses, obviously!
Plus, the anatomy labs were infested with rats, flies, and every other imaginable pest.
This stuff would wipe them out in one go.
"No, this is a preservative. I'm not asking anyone to wash their hands with it."
"A preservative…?"
Liston, who had been keeping the farthest distance, finally spoke up.
The same man who never wore a mask in the anatomy lab was now pinching his nose shut—almost comical.
"Yes, for preserving corpses. Remember what I said before? Why do we need so many bodies? Because they rot too fast, right?"
"And you think this will solve that?"
"We won't know unless we try. Two thousand bodies disappearing from a single graveyard… Shouldn't we do something about such a horrific crime?"
Two thousand bodies…
At least 5% of them had probably been alive when taken—meaning around a hundred people had been murdered.
Insane.
Wasn't that just horrifying?
Compared to that, this smell was practically fragrant.
"Well… You're not wrong."
"Yes, that's a fair point."
Liston and Blundell nodded reluctantly.
Honestly, they were practically accomplices at this point.
No—not just them. Every medical professor in London was the same.
In other words, every medical school in this era was full of accomplices.
Was that something we could just ignore?
Could we really justify it as necessary for medical progress?
If there was a way to fix it, we had to try.
Drip… drip…
With that thought, I carefully poured the oxidized methanol—formaldehyde—into separate containers of water, adjusting the concentration until the smell matched what I remembered.
"Ugh…"
Each time, the sharp, piercing odor spread through the air.
Even if they didn't know it was carcinogenic, the stench alone screamed danger.
Honestly, one of the reasons we even had a sense of smell was to detect hazards like this.
'Damn it… I don't even need to study anatomy.'
I had no real reason to practice surgery or dissection anymore.
Why?
Because I'd already mastered both. Unless it was an extremely complex new procedure, I could handle most surgeries just fine.
And who in this era could even teach me anything new?
The best I could do was pass on what I already knew.
"Phew…"
Anyway, I endured the reek of formaldehyde vapor—a Group 1 carcinogen—with nothing but a flimsy mask, finally finishing the dilution process.
At this point, smelling it was pointless—my nose had gone completely numb.
"Hah…"
I stepped outside for a breather, and Blundell approached.
He, too, was pinching his nose—but he was holding something strange in his hand.
What was that… a weapon?
Was he going to punish me for the smell?
"It's a stethoscope."
"Oh."
Right, a stethoscope.
In an era without plastic—or even proper rubber molding—it looked bizarre, like a futuristic concept slapped together haphazardly.
Using it properly would require both doctor and patient to adjust their posture carefully.
"Hmm…"
"Well?"
"This might hurt a bit."
"Hurt? Oh… here? Yeah, I guess it would dig into the ears."
A concave metal disc connected to a tube—thick enough to be uncomfortable—extended about 20 centimeters before splitting into two, bending to fit into the ears.
In other words, you had to stick metal into your ears.
A rubber cushion would've helped, but…
The real question was whether it actually worked.
"Listen to my heartbeat."
"No, me first!"
"Students should go first!"
Fortunately (or unfortunately), the 19th century was an era of wild experimentation.
Remember how they volunteered to test anesthesia by having teeth pulled?
Compared to that, baring your chest for a stethoscope was nothing.
This was a romantic era—where even a random passerby might volunteer for science.
Within moments, I was surrounded not just by my usual allies but even those who usually kept their distance.
'Well… good.'
Everyone's body was different.
Chest shape, heart position, even lung structure varied.
Meaning, some people's sounds would be clearer than others.
(Though body type probably played the biggest role.)
Anyway, I nodded and started listening to everyone's heartbeat.
To compare properly, I even pressed my ear directly to their chests a few times.
"Hmm."
A bit more intimate than using a stethoscope, but…
This was the age of romance.
People just frowned and moved on—no one made a fuss.
'Definitely… much clearer. Of course, it's not perfect yet. But still…'
The stethoscope was undeniably better.
Not just for heartbeats—breathing sounds were clearer too.
It wouldn't match an EKG's precision, b
ut…
The improvement in accuracy was undeniable.
Adding rubber padding would minimize sound leakage even further.
"Good. Very good."
"Glad to hear it. Just got word from the police, by the way."
"Huh?"
"They're carrying out the sentence today."
"Ah…"