Wow!
Long live France!
I'd heard rumors that things were a bit wild, but…
It seems like it's no joke.
Money…
Rubber is being copied into money!
"Hahahahaha!"
I wasn't the only one getting overly excited.
That old man was even more worked up than anyone else.
Look at him, throwing silver coins everywhere, overjoyed.
"Wooaaah! All of this is pocket money!"
Alfred wasn't any different.
He'd received a pile of silver coins, so his reaction was only natural.
The chemist, too, burst into laughter, inhaled a handful of laughing gas, and then collapsed on the floor.
He seemed to be lying in a rather awkward position… Surely he wasn't dead, right?
No, he could have died.
In this era, death is closer than I ever imagined…
"This is insane."
Hey, look at this.
A guy with sleep apnea inhaling enough laughing gas to knock him out—what if something happens?
There have been recent reports from Dr. Liston and others performing surgeries about anesthesia accidents…
Literally, people dying just from inhaling anesthetics.
But that didn't mean anesthetics were pulled from the market.
Why?
Because the prevailing belief was that people are bound to die anyway.
"Huff!"
I'd already let go of some of my concerns.
If I worried about every death, I'd go completely mad.
"Huff!"
But there's a limit to that. You can't just let someone die like this.
I pounded on the thick-necked man's chest, reviving his heart, which had momentarily stopped due to the anesthesia gas suppressing his breathing.
If someone saw this, would they call me Jesus or a witch?
It probably looked a lot like black magic, but I didn't have to worry.
At least while everyone was busy counting the silver coins from Paris, I was the only one paying attention to anything else.
"Oh, grandpa, all of a sudden…"
"Are you okay?"
"Of course, I'm fine! Haha! With this much money!"
You almost died with all that money right there…
Instead of saying something gloomy, I just patted his shoulder and stood up.
"But why does my chest hurt so much? Did someone hit me?"
I forced myself to look away from the pile of silver and finally turned my attention to my own money.
Wow.
All of this is mine?
Even after giving away 10%, this much is left?
Our old man really hit the jackpot.
He hit the jackpot, I tell you!
I heard he'd already recouped the investment in London, but I never expected this much more to come in.
'With this money… Starting a hospital right now might be a stretch, but…'
Hospitals are money pits.
Why?
Because you only get paid if you cure someone… If you can't, you don't get paid.
And in this era, there are so many cases where you can't cure people.
From my perspective, it's even more obvious… But even so, I don't have the guts to demand payment.
'If you want to make money, a funeral home is the way to go.'
Compared to hospitals, funeral homes are a much more promising business.
Even in 21st-century South Korea, funeral homes were more profitable than hospitals, and here, it's even more so.
People worry more about funeral costs than surgery costs, which says it all.
Especially in London, where land is ridiculously expensive.
Land for hospitals is expensive, but land for burying people is even more so.
Anyway, I plan to keep most of this money.
Some of it will go into research, development, and donations.
'We can't keep relying on rotten bread, willow bark tea, and that laughing gas forever.'
At first, I thought I'd become some kind of medical prodigy since I know the future.
I mean, come on.
I have knowledge that's 200 years ahead, and those 200 years were the fastest period of progress in human history.
But…
'I know that Gleevec was like a magic bullet for chronic leukemia… But how to make it? No idea…'
I know what's good.
But I don't know how to make it.
I can probably reduce some trial and error, but…
Beyond that, I'd have to squeeze the brains of this era's intellectuals.
Heck, I didn't even invent the condom.
Oh, that guy's collapsed again.
"Sir. Sir."
"Oh, this time it's grandma…"
"Let's stop this now."
"Why? I'm feeling so… Ow, my chest… My chest hurts. Is it a coincidence that I'm thinking of my first love?"
"No…"
I was about to say that you almost died, but instead, I helped him up.
Fortunately, the old man seemed to have come to his senses and was now puffing on a high-quality Cuban cigar instead of playing with silver coins.
That's more like it.
That's how you do business.
"Come over here."
This guy…
The so-called miracle chemist who made condoms out of rubber… His skills were a bit hit-or-miss.
I gave him arsenic to cure syphilis, and all he did was make various poisons instead of a cure.
But I couldn't just fire him—he was the alchemist who made condoms.
Well, they're condoms, but since they're being copied into money, he's basically an alchemist, right?
But that also means that once the raw material is discovered, our absurd boom won't last long.
"Well, Pyeong. It's good timing."
The old man seemed to be thinking the same thing, his face serious despite the piles of silver coins behind him.
"Do you want to smoke too?"
"Huh? No."
"This is a high-quality cigar, even treated with asbestos."
"Ah… No, thanks…"
Cigarettes alone are a top-tier carcinogen, and now with asbestos added…
The 19th century is truly astonishing.
And these guys actually believed it was good for their health.
Not immortality, but they thought it helped you live longer…
Their evidence was that old people who lived long lives smoked…
'Of course, if everyone smokes, the ones who live long will naturally be smokers, right?'
It's such an obvious point, but I couldn't say it.
If I said, "I'm from the future, and this is a carcinogen," what would happen?
Being labeled a witch and killed on the spot would be a mercy.
If they thought I was insane…
This era already had no concept of human rights, and it was even worse for the vulnerable.
When was it…
Lobotomies were a thing in the 19th century, right?
"Well, then, how about some wine?"
"Yes, that sounds good."
"Great. The French sure know how to make wine. Oh, Joseph, I wasn't targeting you."
"No, I… I do prefer French wine."
"Good. This is champagne, and I hear it's delicious."
Champagne.
The epitome of luxury, and it seems our old man has fully embraced his newfound wealth.
Despite making a lot of money, he's been frugal, but now he's splurging like a wild horse on things only nobles could afford.
"Anyway… How long do you think this monopoly will last?"
The old man, holding a glass of wine in one hand and a cigar in the other, pointed at the condom on the table with his chin.
It felt a bit unsanitary, but the thought that it would turn into silver coins by tomorrow made me feel better.
"Hard to say. It took you about three months to develop it, right?"
"That's right."
"Others will catch on… It might not last long."
"We're trying to hide how much we're making, but… With this much, how can we keep it a secret?"
More than that, I'm worried about the daily deliveries of porcelain, cigars, and wine to our house.
But since I'm a perceptive person, I kept my mouth shut.
No, I brought up something else entirely.
"How about finding a new source of income?"
"You mean give this up?"
"No, no. It's too good to give up. We're the market leader. If we invest in mass production and lower costs, we can keep selling for a while, right?"
From what I've seen…
The condom market will only grow as time goes on.
It's the most effective and safe contraceptive, and it also prevents STDs.
The only downside is that it reduces sensation, but even the thick ones sell well, so thinner ones will sell even better.
Anyway, that's beside the point. I had something else to say.
"So what are you suggesting?"
"That laughing gas… The painkiller I make from willow bark. And the rotten bread."
"Ah… Right, those things."
Just listing them makes it sound like some occult stuff, but these are actually the latest medicines.
I looked straight at the old man, who seemed a bit skeptical, and continued.
"I'll invest my money too. But I don't know many people, especially chemists. I don't know any."
"Hmm. I'm a chemist too. I feel a bit… Is it because of the arsenic?"
"No, I mean we need more people. If more people are researching, we can come up with something faster, right?"
"Hmm."
The old man grunted and then asked again.
"Condoms had rubber as a raw material. The demand was clear… Let's start with the willow bark. Does it really have painkilling effects?"
"Yes, absolutely. There are reports from patients. It's effective."
"Hmm… How does it work?"
If I explained that, I'd be dead.
I continued, thinking to myself.
"There must be some component in the willow bark. If we can isolate it and synthesize it chemically… We could make a much stronger painkiller."
"Ah… Hmm. If this works, it'll be way bigger than condoms."
"Yes. But it'll be much harder."
"Of course. It's not like processing rubber. It'll take a lot of money… And time."
"In the meantime, we can cultivate willow trees and sell the tea."
"Ah. You're a genius."
Willow bark tea?
I might end up being remembered as a legendary scammer on some future wiki, but what can I do?
I'm doing my best in this era, and that's all that matters.
Anyway, I went on to talk more about the rotten bread and the anesthetic.
Both were crucial, but from a surgeon's perspective, the anesthetic was more important.
"There's one more thing."
Of course, it wouldn't be easy, so I just mentioned it briefly, but the miracle chemist who almost died from laughing gas spoke up.
"Huh?"
There's something like that?
"Ether. People use it for parties… Now that I think about it, it seems similar."
This guy…
I really need to find another chemist.
Who were the famous chemists in the 19th century?