The Power of "Professor Young"

"A knife whether you stick your neck out or pull it back!"

As the red sun sank low, Smith gritted his teeth and steeled himself. Deep down, he cheered himself on:

"At worst, it's like sitting in the electric chair! If I can't measure up to revolutionary martyrs, at least I can match Kim Jae-gyu!"

With that thought buoying him, Smith felt a temporary sense of calm. Though his heart still quaked, he managed to muster some semblance of courage and spirit.

The moment of treatment arrived swiftly. Smith couldn't recall how he ended up in the room filled with peculiar machinery, but the bizarre devices within left an indelible impression:

The largest component of the setup was a battery pack occupying about a third of the room's floor space. Its crude, clunky appearance alone was intimidating. Beside it stood a machine fitted with numerous cranks and gears, far more intricate than the ungainly battery pack. This human-powered generator, crafted from polished brass with elegant engravings, gleamed under the room's lights. The steel parts had been meticulously polished and oiled, their glossy sheen making them appear both refined and menacing.

As an "engineering nerd" well-versed in mechanical systems, Smith quickly spotted numerous design flaws in the generator. Still, placed in his current predicament, not even the most die-hard tinkerer would feel inclined to improve such a contraption.

At the room's center lay a bed, compact in size—just enough to accommodate Smith's small frame, clearly tailored to his current stature. However, this was no ordinary crib. Straps dangled from its sides, each equipped with thick brass buckles that had been polished to a disturbing shine. The purpose of these restraints was obvious: to securely bind Smith to the bed during "treatment," preventing any attempt to escape.

This setup made the apparatus look less like medical equipment and more like instruments of torture.

Next to the bed was a wooden control panel, about waist-high, densely packed with dials and switches. As Smith approached, he saw that the dials displayed parameters such as voltage and current, while the switches controlled various settings. Designed in classic Victorian fashion, even the dials' pointers bore intricate cut-out patterns that astonished Smith.

The various components were connected by black, stiff-looking wires, their rubber insulation adding to their sinister appearance.

Operating this human-powered device clearly required a team. A "professional crew" stood ready by the machinery: some burly individuals in tailored suits, presumably the "power generators" who would crank the machine, and others, scholarly-looking, likely tasked with reading the instruments and adjusting the settings.

Their leader, naturally, was Thomas Young. Perhaps aware of the gravity of today's "treatment"—Smith's inaugural session—Young had dressed to impress. He wore a perfectly tailored tailcoat, a gold-rimmed monocle, and even carried a top hat, embodying the quintessential Victorian gentleman. To Smith, however, this gentlemanly facade only made him wish to string the man up a lamppost.

Oblivious to the murderous glare from Smith, Young was engrossed in conversation with Frederick and Victoria—Smith's adoptive parents. After all, such a significant event warranted their attendance.

What exactly they discussed was beyond Smith's knowledge. The room included a temporary partitioned-off area separated by opaque curtains. Smith, upon entering, was wheeled directly into this secluded corner by palace attendants.

Inside, Smith discovered a makeshift dressing room, though it was more than that. Temporary wash facilities had been added, further fueling Smith's unease. His freshly bolstered courage wavered, leaking away unnoticed.

The attendants wasted no time dressing Smith in a specially designed garment, easy to put on and take off.

After countless medical examinations over the past year, Smith was no stranger to this type of clothing—a white patient gown typical of the era, with a notably antiquated design. Given Smith's noble status, the material was high-quality silk, making it exceptionally comfortable to wear.

Yet Smith loathed the garment, as donning it invariably preceded unpleasant experiences. This time seemed no exception, and the foreboding of psychological scars loomed large.

But life marched on. After changing into the patient gown, Smith's stroller was escorted by a crowd to the bed with its daunting straps. Two maids carefully lifted him onto the bed, while a group of men deftly secured his body and limbs with the straps to prevent escape.

Smith, however, paid little attention to the restraints. His gaze was fixed on his adoptive parents. Victoria wept silently, covering her mouth with a handkerchief as she struggled to suppress her sobs. Yet the stifled cries echoed in the machinery-filled room, tugging at every heart present.

Frederick stood beside her, holding her tightly and occasionally kissing her forehead to console her. But Smith noticed the redness in Frederick's eyes and the bulging veins on his clenched hands, betraying his true emotions.

Once everything was ready, Professor Young, brimming with satisfaction, turned to the couple and declared:

"I understand how you feel, but for the sake of the treatment, I must ask you to step outside!"

Upon hearing this, Victoria's suppressed sobs turned into heart-wrenching cries, filling the room with anguish. Her sorrow moved the court attendants and guards present; even the maids wept quietly.

Yet to everyone's surprise, Smith did not cry. As a mentally mature adult, he knew tears would accomplish nothing. One way or another, there was no escaping the ordeal. Furthermore, Smith understood that crying would only deepen his adoptive parents' anguish. Though he initially felt no connection to Frederick and Victoria, their unwavering love and care over the past year and a half had softened his heart. While he could not regard them as his real parents, offering them this small gesture of comfort was the least he could do.

Bound tightly to the bed, Smith still had control over his gaze. Though he couldn't speak, he directed an encouraging look toward his adoptive parents.

Yes, it was an odd gesture. But no stranger than the so-called "treatment" awaiting him.

Frederick caught the signal instantly. "Vicky, look! Willie is a true little gentleman. See, he's looking at us!"

Victoria, tears blurring her vision, raised her head and saw Smith smiling faintly, as if the ordeal ahead were nothing to fear.

That smile tugged at her heartstrings, but also steadied her emotions. Leaning on Frederick, she reluctantly turned to leave. Even so, she glanced back every few steps until her figure gradually faded from view.

Because his entire body was restrained to the bed, Smith couldn't see what was happening behind him; he only heard the door to the room close shortly thereafter. Moments later, Professor Yang's face—one that practically begged to be hanged—appeared before him. 

In the professor's hand was an object that Smith squinted at for clarity. It resembled a collar, but it was larger. Judging by its material, the object was primarily made of leather straps with punched holes and brass buckles, clearly designed for size adjustment and secure fastening. 

If it were just that, it would be no different from a standard leather belt. However, the distinctive feature lay in the numerous metallic plate-like components embedded in the leather. Wires connected these plates, serving as electrodes, while the wires appeared to provide power to the electrodes.

As Smith processed the peculiar device's design, Professor Yang began his preparations. He wrapped the leather strap tightly around Smith's head, positioning the electrodes snugly against his scalp. The cool, constrictive sensation of the strap made Smith uncomfortable but not intolerably so.

Once the device was secured, Professor Yang turned toward the control panel, now out of Smith's line of sight. All Smith could hear was the sound of switches being toggled, accompanied by the professor's commands. Shortly after, the hum of machinery came to life, followed by the telltale sound of levers being adjusted.

Smith knew what this meant: the machine was starting up. He understood that this marked the first true hardship he would face since his transmigration. Over the past few days, he had known this moment would come. He had even pondered what thoughts or actions might arise when the time came. 

But now that the moment had arrived, Smith found his mind utterly blank. He could do nothing but instinctively clench his entire body and grit his teeth.

The electric shock struck without warning. The instant the circuit was completed, Smith's body convulsed involuntarily. A numbing sensation coursed through him from head to toe, immediately followed by a sharp, needle-like pain that compelled him to clench his teeth even tighter.

The shocks were not continuous but intermittent, which made the experience all the more unbearable. The torment would recede momentarily, only to return, leaving Smith teetering on the edge of collapse. 

Rationally, Smith understood that this method was likely safer. A constant flow of electricity might have cost him his life. Yet the repeated onslaughts nearly drove him mad. 

As the shocks persisted, his physical discomfort grew. It wasn't long before nausea welled up in his stomach. After yet another jolt, Smith could no longer keep his teeth clenched. His head lolled to the side, and with a loud retch—

He vomited.

Professor Yang, evidently unsurprised by this reaction, waved his hand nonchalantly in the direction of Smith's attendants, who Smith could not see. A group of maids swiftly approached with water basins and towels. While one team cleaned the vomit nearby, another used the brief respite between shocks to tidy Smith's soiled body.

But this was only the beginning. Soon, Smith felt a violent churning in his lower abdomen, as if some primordial force were wreaking havoc inside him. Unable to speak and further incapacitated by his restraints, Smith had no choice but to endure.

However, the discomfort rapidly escalated. Before long, it felt as though invisible hands were wringing his intestines inside his belly. The agony was excruciating, and a searing warmth began building, threatening to erupt.

By this point, Smith was so disoriented by the repeated shocks that he forgot he had transmigrated into young William's body. The only thought flickering in his mind was:

"If it happens now, my social life will be over…"

Yet the impending eruption was unstoppable.

"Well, I'd better make a lot of noise to cover it up…"

As the eruption occurred, Smith let out an anguished wail. Though his words were incomprehensible, the volume reverberated throughout the Crown Prince's palace: 

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"