*
=====================
Today's Patient Summary
Vaginal Deliveries: 3 cases
- Primiparous: 2, Multiparous: 1. One case required sutures for a second-degree perineal tear.
Preterm Delivery: 1 case
Estimated 35 weeks. Weight approximately 1,900g. Admitted to the nursery on the second floor.
Breech Delivery: 1 case
A case the midwife couldn't handle and delayed. External cephalic version attempted, resulting in successful vaginal delivery.
Suspected Puerperal Fever: 2 cases
Persistent high fever after delivery. Suspected endometritis. Disinfected with herbal decoction and placed under observation.
Wound Treatment: 4 cases
Two lacerations from blades (presumed fights), one burn (kerosene accident), one contusion.
STD-Related: 3 cases
One suspected primary syphilis, two cases of gonorrhea symptoms. Prescribed experimental antibiotics and herbs.
Malnutrition and Dehydration: 2 cases
Starvation patients occurring during the heavy snow period. Oral rehydration and nutritional treatment administered.
Gout Follow-up: 1 case (Wangcho)
=====================
Hmm. As expected, another peaceful day in the Red-Light District.
For reference, I didn't record the last patient.
It was a patient who'd been engaging in certain kinds of play at a brothel and ended up with a foreign object stuck in an embarrassing place; I didn't particularly want to record that.
'Right. This is the average for Limbus Fit.'
I'd been living too high up, having forgotten the endless depths to which humans can sink.
Sometimes I wonder if it's okay for someone who grew up so sheltered to see things like this.
I closed the medical log.
Setting down my pen and turning my neck, a cracking sound was followed by a rush of sore pain.
It's not good to develop habits like this at my age.
"Whew…."
Consultations were over.
Only after organizing today's patients did I suddenly recall the things that had been backlogged for six weeks.
I had to organize the report Wangcho had handed me in the afternoon, containing the information I'd requested.
To be exact, it was a pitiful scrap of paper barely deserving to be called a report.
I took out the paper I'd folded and put in my pocket, then unfolded it.
And in my own way, I set about translating that memo into a proper report format.
=====================
[6-Week Mortality Report]
Death by Exposure/Starvation: 42 bodies
Special notes: Heating costs soared due to heavy snow. Includes 3 cases of entire families freezing to death.
Infant Deaths: 18 bodies
Stillbirths: 12, Deformities: 4, Abandoned immediately after birth: 2.
Maternal Deaths: 9 bodies
Obstructed labor: 4, Puerperal fever: 3, Excessive bleeding: 2.
Accidents and Other: 11 bodies
Caught in factory gears (amputation followed by excessive bleeding), sewer gas poisoning, stabbings, suicide, etc.
= Total Processed: 80 bodies =
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The tips of my fingers trembled as I turned the page.
Eighty people in six weeks.
And that was only within this clinic's sphere of influence, a number culled solely from those under Wangcho's management.
In the places no one sees, even more corpses must have piled up.
I folded the paper and put it back in my pocket.
If this were the 21st century, disaster alerts would be chiming, breaking news would be flashing, and the National Assembly would be holding hearings—a catastrophe on that scale.
But Wangcho's comment at the time he handed me the memo transcended my imagination.
- "We did pretty well."
- "The ground was frozen so burying them was a pain, but thanks to that the corpses didn't rot much and didn't smell. We were short on firewood, so I cremated a few to help with heating. The living have to survive too."
- "...You used them as firewood?"
- "Once you're dead, you're just meat anyway. The ones ground up by the gears weren't even worth cleaning up, so I just flushed them down the sewer."
- "...Wangcho."
- "Yes, Doctor."
- "Please don't burn corpses for heating from now on. The smoke is bad for the living's lungs too."
- "Oh my, as expected, the Doctor is merciful. Even respecting the dead."
- "..."
Every time, I think I just can't adapt to this world's morality.
But I had no intention of adapting anyway.
After all, a protagonist doesn't conform to the world; the world conforms to the protagonist.
Calmly finishing my records, I put the report in the safe.
"Nngh."
Medical duties were thus finished.
But my workday wasn't over.
A protagonist always has plenty to do.
*
One year after I began selling quinine through my father's trading company.
I introduced a new medicine to that company.
It was none other than insulin.
Thanks to that, the pharmaceutical company was preparing for a second boom following quinine.
"Wangcho. Is what I asked for ready?"
And this was also the reason I had formed a close relationship with Wangcho.
Just as quinine requires tree bark, insulin requires pig pancreas.
The interesting thing is that slaughterhouses are shunned facilities, so they are located in Limbus Fit.
And the one dominating that slaughterhouse business was none other than Wangcho.
'So that's how it all connects.'
Perhaps it was only natural.
In the medieval era, it was undertakers or information guilds;
in the modern era, slaughterhouses or waste disposal;
in contemporary times, building materials or scrap cars.
In any era, the shunned industries—unhealthy, seemingly inauspicious, yet indispensable—were all bread and butter for criminal organizations.
In that sense, Wangcho and I might have been fated to become close even without the gout.
"Wangcho. Are the pigs ready?"
"..."
"Wangcho?"
"..."
"Wangcho!!!"
"Huhk!"
Wangcho, who had been dozing off at the entrance, startled awake.
"Huh? Ah, yes! Of course. I set aside pancreases only from the plumpest ones we slaughtered today."
"Thank you as always. Let's go."
Wangcho guided me with an obsequious attitude.
In that appearance, one could not find the slightest dignity of a Red-Light District ruler even after washing their eyes.
But that was natural when considering the relationship between Wangcho and me.
Because half of Wangcho's slaughterhouse revenue was currently shouldered entirely by our trading company.
"Hehe. Doctor. No, should I call you Director from this hour?"
As the time came, Wangcho mentioned the relationship not as patient and doctor, but as a large corporation's director and a client company president.
But I shook my head.
"It'll get confusing, so just keep calling me Doctor."
"Understood, Doctor."
That's just how the underworld is.
They may look fearsome on the outside, but if money doesn't flow in from the lawful world, they starve.
Even if Wangcho had a hundred slaughterhouses, without a trading company to buy the meat, they'd just be piles of rotting flesh.
Wangcho knew that well, which was why he acted so servile toward me.
"But, Doctor. It's been a year now; couldn't you start speaking casually to me? Your honorifics are too much for the likes of me."
"You are not my subordinate, Wangcho."
But separate from that, I don't treat Wangcho poorly.
I have a character I've been building since I was four.
If I went around speaking casually to everyone, I'd look really cheap.
What I pursue is a dignified young noble shrouded in an air of mystery, not some nouveau riche drunk on power.
"And etiquette doesn't discriminate between people. I will continue speaking formally, so know that."
"Tch. Talking with the Doctor makes me feel ashamed of myself."
"Then let's go, Wangcho. I, you, and Mr. Otto should all get some rest tonight."
With Wangcho scratching the back of his head sheepishly in the lead, we set out for the slaughterhouse.
Exiting through the clinic's back door to go to the slaughterhouse, I saw Otto, my bodyguard and driver.
Otto stood with his hat pulled low, arms crossed, leaning against the wall to kill time.
I wondered if he really had to be outside in this cold weather, but he stubbornly insisted that this was how a bodyguard should be, so I left him be.
"Working hard, sir."
Wangcho greeted Otto cheerfully.
Otto received the greeting with a slight nod.
Thus Wangcho took the lead, and I followed behind.
Otto followed us from quite far back like a shadow.
"This way. Since the snow is melting, the smell will be rather foul."
Our destination was the slaughterhouse located beside the waste processing facility.
It was the warehouse behind it.
The floor was sticky with unidentifiable liquid—rainwater or blood.
Squelch.
Avoiding the puddles, I stepped under the eaves.
Faded red cloth scraps danced under the eaves, welcoming me.
'I never get used to this, no matter how many times I see it.'
It was eerie, perhaps because it was night.
Among those cloths was a rotting wooden signboard.
The letters were soaked in blood and grease, making them hard to read, but they roughly conveyed what this place was.
"Right here, Doctor. It's dark, so mind the threshold."
"Thank you."
On either side of the doorframe Wangcho guided me to, two pig heads hung from hooks like gatekeepers.
They were supposed to be talismans that summon fortune, but I still couldn't understand that aesthetic.
...Damn. We made eye contact.
I'll have to eat something other than pork tonight.
Passing between the pigs' empty eye sockets, I moved toward the warehouse.
The moment the door opened, the fishy stench of blood and rotting guts invaded through my mask.
Every time I come here, I think that if I didn't have a mask, I might break character and dry-heave.
In contrast, Wangcho merely sniffed, showing no further reaction.
Wangcho strode inside, leading the way.
And pointing to a drum that should be full of pancreases, he said:
"They should still be nice and warm... huh?"
Wangcho, who had been walking ahead, suddenly halted.
"Is something wrong?"
"No, it's just... wait. Didn't you hear that, Doctor?"
"I didn't hear anything?"
I'm just an ordinary person, not a beastman.
I can't even use mana yet.
Then Wangcho made a 'shh' gesture and beckoned me.
The direction he guided me was the area where blood troughs (血槽, blood-collecting buckets) were gathered.
As I approached the blood trough area, I understood what he had meant.
Splash, slap, gulp.
I heard the sound of something gulping down liquid.
Wangcho frowned and picked up a torch hanging on the wall.
"What crazy beast dares touch another's goods...!"
As the source of the sound drew close enough, Wangcho rolled up his sleeves, muttering thick curses.
The torch he held split the darkness.
And at the sight revealed, I couldn't help but exclaim.
"Hah."
"Well, I'll be."
What had been devouring blood was not a beast.
What stood there was a child of small stature.
The child had their head buried in a bucket of collected pig blood.
With their face buried in a container of red liquid, greedily seeking rotten blood, one doubts they could be called human.
Wangcho cried out in shock.
"Y-you crazy brat again!"
Startled by the shout, the child jerked their head out of the bucket.
Between blood-clumped hair, ruby-red pupils were revealed.
Reflected in the torchlight, those beastly gleaming pupils held no trace of reason.
"Kyaaah--!"
The child hissed and ran toward the exit.
But with those emaciated legs, starved for days, there was no way to outrun a healthy adult man.
And if that opponent was a beastman who'd conquered the Red-Light District with his fists, it was utterly impossible.
Wangcho instantly snatched the child by the scruff of the neck.
"Got you, you little wretch!"
"Let go! I said let go!"
The child thrashed, trying to bite Wangcho's arm.
Wangcho made a vicious expression, about to slam the child onto the floor.
Then, seeming to remember I was watching, instead of slamming the child down, he upturned a bucket over them and forced them to their knees.
"My apologies, Doctor! I said I'd keep the door locked, but I don't know how this wretched thing crawled in...!"
"Do you know this child?"
"Yes. It's quite famous in these parts. The bastard child of a Blood Ghost."
"A Blood Ghost's bastard?"
Blood Ghost.
It was a term for demons beyond the walls that feed on human blood.
Here, Blood Ghosts are not the type to sip blood from wine glasses like vampire counts.
They are monsters who crack open chests and bury their heads inside to suck blood—creatures devoid of dignity.
Wangcho was saying this child was the bastard of such monsters.
"Every night, it sneaks in and steals animal blood to drink. On unlucky days, it tries to lick drunkards' wounds and gets caught and beaten. A blood-crazed little vampire runt."
- "I don't know about the rest, but that was a misunderstanding!"
A child screaming from inside a bucket.
Even then, the sight of the child clutching the bucket tightly with both arms—afraid that even the remaining blood inside might be stolen away—was like a starved stray dog guarding a bone.
"Shut up, you wench!"
Wangcho raised his voice toward the child and lifted his foot.
Though the child likely couldn't even see it coming, her shoulders flinched.
She instinctively knew that a kick would land at this timing.
"Wait."
At that sight, I broke my neutrality and stepped in between them.
It was the appearance of a named figure from the red-light district who had broken from his routine to come here—something anyone could tell was unusual.
No matter how I looked at it, it was an event.
Whether a companion event or a foreshadowing event.
Either way, I couldn't stand by and let this child get hit.
"Wangcho, please calm down. You aren't going to hit a child in front of me, are you?"
"...I apologize, Sir."
Wangcho's foot came back down.
I squatted down in front of the child.
And I quietly placed my hand over the child's hands that were wrapped around the bucket.
Wangcho, realizing I was trying to remove the bucket, urgently tried to stop me.
"It's dangerous, Sir. That brat might try to go after your blood!"
"Dangerous? You don't truly believe this child is the illegitimate child of the Blood Demon, do you?"
"What?"
"If it were truly the illegitimate child of the Blood Demon, you would have killed it already. The fact that you haven't means you instinctively know this child is actually human, doesn't it?"
"..."
Wangcho shut his mouth.
Humans are such contradictory beings.
Even knowing she is not a witch, they call her one so they may throw stones.
Even knowing she is human, they call her a monster so they may despise her.
"I'll give you something tastier than blood, so how about letting go of the bucket?"
The strength faded from the child's hands that had been clutching the bucket.
I moved those hands aside and gently peeled the bucket away.
Perhaps because the suddenly pouring light was too harsh, the child furrowed her brows.
I lowered myself to the child's eye level.
Though trembling violently from terror, the child was licking the pig blood smeared around her mouth with her tongue.
It was a grotesque, yet simultaneously pitiful sight—a contradictory scene that aroused compassion.
I put my hand in my pocket and approached the child.
The child flinched and hung her head.
"I'm not going to hit you, so look up."
"..."
When she still didn't raise her head, I took out a star candy from my pocket and waved it in front of her.
It was my secret weapon when examining children.
If I gave something like this to children in the 21st century, I'd only get scolded with remarks like, "Is this the army?" but in this world, this alone was extremely effective.
Suddenly, I found myself wanting some hardtack and milk.
But I digress.
Showing interest in the star candy, the child slowly raised her head.
I took that opportunity to carefully examine the face revealed in the light.
Her tangled short hair was matted with pig blood, making it difficult to discern its original color, but the strands reflected in the torchlight had a dark red hue.
She wore a beige shirt and brown overalls.
Overall, her attire was boyish, but looking closely, she was a girl.
I looked back at her face.
Beneath the blood smears, her skin was pale, devoid of any color.
Her lips were blue.
First, a check for anemia.
"Let me see your eyes."
I lifted the child's chin with one finger and flipped her eyelid with the other hand.
The whites of her eyes were stained yellow.
A check for jaundice.
"Let me feel here."
Finally, I shifted my gaze to her abdomen.
Without waiting for permission, I probed the child's left flank.
Before the child could twist away, my fingertips touched a hard lump.
An organ bulging out beneath gaunt, protruding ribs.
It meant her spleen was swollen.
"All done."
I withdrew my hand and placed the star candy in the child's mouth.
"You."
"Munch, munch..."
"When you wake up in the morning and take your first piss, what color is it?"
"..."
The child didn't answer.
But that silence was already the answer.
"Having dark urine doesn't make you a monster, so don't worry."
"...!!"
The child's breath stopped.
"Kek, kek!"
She coughed and spat out the star candy.
When she tried to pick it up again, not wanting to waste it, I kicked the candy away to stop her and pressed a new one into her hand.
"Don't eat this one, it's dirty. I'll give you a new one."
I pressed a handful of star candies into the child's hand and grabbed her wrist.
"Before that, want to get a quick checkup?"
***