Dark-Haired British Doctor Chapter 174

Episode 174 Hashishi Club [1]

and…….

The smell of cigarette smoke… … .

The place Dr. Pierre took me to was a place where the smell of cigarettes was coming from outside the building.

No, I mean, literally, cigarette smoke was just leaking out through the cracks in the closed door?

But it is absurd that they are acting like this even though they are called doctors… … .

At that time, people knew that cigarettes were a kind of health tonic, so it couldn't be helped.

'Hold on… … my lungs… … .'

Come to think of it, my father was a heavy smoker and he's still alive and well, so I thought maybe he could survive thanks to his genes.

Well, if you live long enough during this time, you'll be 60, and if you live a long life, you'll be 70…

"hmm?"

As I opened the door and went inside with that thought in mind, strange things caught my eye.

"iced coffee."

Dr. Liston, who was quite thoughtful in his own way, read my question and began to explain.

It was only natural that Liston was the only one who had any interaction with the French people.

“Some of these people enjoy smoking like that.”

Liston did something that could be considered quite rude.

So he pointed with his finger to people who had just snorted something that was probably tobacco leaves.

Naturally, he looked very upset, but what can I do?

It's Liston, so I have to endure it.

"ah……."

“I also think this is a more refined pipe. Well, don’t worry. Our hashish club doesn’t smoke cigarettes.”

Besides, it looked strange to anyone who saw it.

no…….

It's not even cocaine, right? Why are you snorting that through your nose?

Pierre also shook his head, sighing, as if he thought the same thing.

Not only that, but he seemed a bit skeptical about cigarettes themselves.

It was truly a blessing.

I already feel like I've inhaled enough toxic fumes just from secondhand smoke, but when other people are smoking too, I have to adjust to the atmosphere.

Words like "You're still young" didn't make sense.

I'm sorry…

“Oh, I see. You are truly amazing.”

I liked those words so much that I mustered up the courage to praise them.

Then, Dr. Pierre also seemed to be in a good mood and walked up to stand in front of the waiter.

“Oh, Doctor. Everyone is here. I will greet you.”

“Yeah, haha.”

As if this wasn't his first or second time coming here, the waiter headed towards a secret room inside as soon as he saw Pierre's face.

It was a bit ominous.

Why?

Here too… … .

Smoke was leaking out through the crack in the door.

I sniffed it and it wasn't the smell of cigarettes at least.

But that doesn't mean I feel fortunate.

It smelled like shit.

Squeak.

The door opened regardless of my worries.

Then, several drunk people appeared.

There was no alcohol in sight.

What on earth are you drunk on?

It has become clear and concise.

“Haha. I was wondering if your name was Hashishi, but it really is Hashishi?”

First, Liston sat down, laughing heartily.

Then, without any permission, he took out a cigarette placed in front of him, bit into it, and lit it.

Then, the smell of taffy that had been leaking out through the crack in the door began to come from there too.

Only then did it become certain.

I've smelled this somewhere before.

'Where was it… … Oh, right. When I went to the US… … At the LA conference!'

I went there for an academic conference, but at first, the professor who was there took me from the airport to his house in Orange County, so I didn't get to see downtown LA and only saw a quiet town called Irvine in the suburbs.

So I thought it would be great if I could live in America… … .

As soon as I got to downtown LA, my mind changed.

They were smoking weed everywhere?

My head was spinning… … .

This smell is just like that, that is, hemp.

“Is this really good quality?”

“Yes. It’s from the Ottomans. It’s top quality.”

“Haha! It was a good thing I came to Paris. Oh, everyone, don’t just stand there like that. Sit down, don’t sleep. Let’s suck each one. This is really good.”

Our London resident and our godfather, Dr. Liston, was sucking it up with gusto.

That alone is really scary, and yet he was even recommending it.

There were no drug dealers.

Of course, no one else had any particular thoughts about drugs, so when I told them it was good, I sat there, taking it literally.

Alfred, who was quite sociable, even greeted the person sitting right next to him.

“Oh, hello. This is Alfred. Oh, you don’t speak English… … ?”

“What are you talking about? English is basic.”

"aha."

“Actually, I did a collaboration before, so I studied at that time. Haha.”

“Collaboration… …?”

Fortunately, he was good at English.

Anyway, I was also interested in the word collaboration, so I sat down next to him.

There wasn't really any other way since the people who came later were sitting sporadically in the middle.

“Oh, this is it. I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Berlioz.”

“Berlioz… …?”

It's a familiar name.

Where did you hear that?

I tilted my head without realizing it, and all of a sudden, everyone's gaze turned to me.

Pierre in particular was staring at me intently.

“Did you know?”

But when I looked into it, I found that this kid was kind of ignoring us.

People who only study medicine.

Actually, if you are a doctor, that would be the right thing to do… … .

Aren't intellectuals of this era suffering from the compulsion to be well-versed in many areas?

I think that at that time, you should just do one thing properly, but what can you do about the flow of the times?

Besides, when I looked at Liston, I saw that he had a face full of expectations, so I laughed and decided to tell him what I knew.

‘Thank goodness… … My father in my previous life was a king of ignorance… … .’

You guys, our father's nickname in Insa-dong was 'Professor.'

In reality, he was unemployed, but he knew so much, that's what he meant.

“I know. I heard that the Symphony Fantastique was also performed at the July Revolution.”

“Huh?”

“No, my name is in England too… … Have you heard of me?”

Anyway, as I kept talking like this, Pierre's eyes widened.

Berlioz, whose eyes had been drowsy from drinking hashish just a moment ago, was the same.

-He's a true genius. He went to the Paris Conservatory after only four years of studying music in earnest.

I made a fortune thanks to my father in my previous life who was very knowledgeable about miscellaneous knowledge, especially music.

“Oh, I was originally interested in music.”

At my words, Joseph, Alfred, and even Colin, who was always polite, looked puzzled, but they knew better.

It was obvious that just a few sips of hashish would make me lose my senses, like Blundell, who was starting to snicker next to me.

“Haha. Our London doctors are all educated! Haha! Symphony! I’ve heard it too!”

Liston?

If a person is strong, he is also strong against medicine, so he was fine.

Judging from his words and actions, he might seem drunk, but since that's usually how he is, you could just assume he's sane.

Anyway, Berlioz was so impressed by my words that he started mumbling.

“I see. If I had gone to medical school in London, I might have become a doctor.”

I thought, what the heck is this nonsense?

What does that have to do with doctors?

Of course, the more I listened, the more I realized that it was just my ignorance.

“I also went to medical school until I was 18. My father strongly wanted me to become a doctor.”

"ah……."

Even at that time, there were parents who wanted their children to become doctors.

To be honest, I don't quite understand it.

What is a doctor in the 21st century…?

Whatever it is, it really saves or heals people, right?

Overall, the treatment is pretty good… … .

But today's doctors, if unlucky, could die from an unknown disease while practicing dissection, or, if they barely survived, they could be stabbed to death by the patient's guardian after killing them.

'This gentleman doesn't seem to be that big.'

For someone like Liston, it would be unlikely that he would die whether he killed 100 or 1,000 people, but Berlioz, unless he was a master of horsemanship, would not have lasted more than 10 years.

“Oh, I remember. This guy had a particularly hard time with dissections.”

Then Pierre intervened.

Then he patted Berlioz on the shoulder.

“I threw up and passed out… … I thought it was fortunate when you said you were going to leave it alone. To be honest, I can’t perform surgery on a cat that faints to the point of being dissected.”

They said those things to comfort me, but it seemed like they didn't realize that it was them who were the strange ones.

What's strange about an autopsy room with rats running around, maggots running around, and corpses lying around in disarray? Is it strange that someone faints in there?

If that's the case, I think more than half of my peers would not be able to become doctors.

“Anyway, it’s great. Now that you’re a famous composer, you know? If you’re even getting into the Hashish Club, you know? You’re a young artist who’s popular even in Paris.”

Pierre continued to laugh, whether or not he did so.

It wasn't particularly funny, but I started to laugh a little because I kept indirectly absorbing it.

Did that make your hair look better?

I remembered where I had heard the name Hashishi.

This is from a game with an assassin in it.

I think it was a leap to turn people into zombies… … .

'Hehehe.'

I took a leap of faith!

I sucked something precious!

“Hoo hoo hoo.”

“I guess our ratings are in a good mood too.”

“Hahaha. This is that kind of medicine. Even after your family dies, one dose of hashish can relieve your worries.”

As I laughed, my mind became more relaxed and I was able to talk to the person next to me who had a stern expression.

Even though this gentleman was sucking hashish, he had an expression on his face as if he was carrying all the troubles of the world.

If it were my usual self, I wouldn't have even looked at you, let alone said hello.

If Liston was next to me, I would have seen it, but it's impossible to do it alone.

Even though he looked so scary, I mustered up the courage to speak to him.

“Hello. My name is Noble Kim, Doctor Pyeong, from London.”

“Ah. Hello. My name is Victor Hugo.”

"huh?"

“Do I know too?”

Don't you know?

Les Miserables.

Smiling man.

Notre Dame de Paris.

If we were to pick out only the books written by this gentleman that would be remembered as masterpieces in human history, they would be as follows.

The problem is that I don't know when this was written… … Looking closely, it seems like he's at most about the same age as Berlioz.

'I wonder how someone could write so many great things. Did he do it on drugs?'

Sometimes I remember the comments I left to the author.

Hey, what kind of drugs did the writer take to come up with something like this?

I got goosebumps.

What if it's really sucked and used?

“Do you know me?”

He looked at me and asked again.

Les Miserables was in my mouth, but unfortunately, due to the limitations of my common sense, I couldn't specify the era.

I should have listened more intently when Dad was talking.

I shook my head.

“No, I like the name. It’s a name that makes me think I’d be good at writing.”

But I didn't want to pretend I didn't know, so I sold some drugs.

Then, a rather surprised look appeared on Liston's face, and he smiled again, still looking fine.

“Ah, I heard that in Joseon, there is something called physiognomy! It seems to be quite a skill!”

So I built another mystery stack.