'It's about time I started regaining the feel from my past life.'
Quite some time had passed since I began supplying quinine to the merchant guild.
During that time, I realized something.
Namely, that my instincts as a doctor had completely died.
'As expected, even a short break causes skills to rust.'
I realized this while researching quinine.
Making the quinine was fine.
The problem came during the process of intravenously administering quinine to malaria patients.
'For a surgeon to not find a vein on the first try...'
Back then, I had to stick the clinical trial patient three times just to find the vein.
It was a rather serious matter.
At this rate, if I idled away my childhood, I might lose all my manual dexterity by the age of twenty.
Having grasped that reality, I immediately looked for a way to secure patients.
Fortunately, finding places that needed a doctor wasn't difficult.
'All I have to do is volunteer medical services.'
If I go down there, to the slums, it would be overflowing with patients waiting for a doctor.
Once decided, I acted quickly.
I went straight to my Godfather's office to ask for permission.
"While researching quinine, I realized there are many people who need my help. For that reason, for the time being, to the slums—"
"You may go."
"?"
"Blood will tell, as they say. I'll assign you an escort, so go ahead and do as you please."
But unexpectedly, permission was granted with surprising willingness.
Come to think of it, the way my Godfather treated me had been a bit odd.
Long ago, he looked at me like a troublesome nephew who never went home.
Nowadays, how should I say... his gaze is somewhat lukewarm but warm.
I could sense both pride and pity at the same time.
And now, he even easily permitted me to go to the red-light district.
'What's this? Does this era not care about children going to places like that?'
No way.
Even in a barbaric pre-modern era with a weak sense of children's rights, some things are acceptable and others aren't.
They might smoke like chimneys in a room with a child, but it's not such a degenerate era that they'd allow a ten-year-old to visit brothels.
So the key question is why he allowed it...
'No way... is this the opening of a wastrel story?!'
Then everything makes sense.
For a young noble who lost his parents and has mediocre talent to go astray is common enough.
Does Godfather also think I'm such a case?
I wondered where to start correcting the misunderstanding, but I just gave up.
Since when are wastrel stories resolved with words?
Aren't they all whitewashed with overwhelming achievements?
Thinking it'd somehow be resolved in due time, I just decided to focus on what I had to do.
Alright, let's go to the red-light district to regain my instincts.
***
From that day onward, I started attending the red-light district regularly.
Of course, at first, the people there were suspicious of me.
- "A doctor? Ah, something like a healer? What business does a healer have in the dregs like this?"
Is it because this world has no concept of medical volunteering?
The residents greeted the sudden goodwill with suspicion first.
But after proving myself with overwhelming results, they gradually began to accept me.
- "Sir, thank you for saving my little sister last time."
In an era where the number one cause of death for women is puerperal fever after childbirth.
Just by paying a little attention to hygiene, the survival rate of mothers skyrocketed exponentially.
Thus, on my first anniversary of perfect attendance in the red-light district,
at some point, the residents of that street began to call for me instead of the midwife whenever a baby was being born.
To exaggerate a little, half the children born in the red-light district last year passed through my hands.
However, there was one problem.
'What's this? Normally, if a protagonist has been this active, shouldn't there be some fortuitous encounter by now?'
One year in the slum's red-light district.
Aside from my skills and reputation as a doctor rising, there had been no dramatic change in my life.
There was no former archmage or assassin guild leader hiding in the slums,
no polymorphed dragon or demon lord out for a stroll,
nor any future sword saint or young hero hopeful.
What the hell. Where did my fortuitous encounters go?
'Hmm. Or maybe a mere one year isn't nearly enough.'
Now that I've started this volunteer work, I can't just stop, tsk.
In the end, all I got was knowledge, technique, and some clinical trial data.
Ah, and a bit of honor, plus a title.
Though it's a title like 'Angel of the Brothel,' so it's a bit awkward to mention elsewhere.
Ah, come to think of it, it's not like I gained absolutely nothing.
The slum residents had set up a proper clinic for me.
In a way, a house was established in my name.
"Alright then, shall I head to work today?"
Enough with stray thoughts.
I packed my doctor's bag and rose from bed for today's practice.
It's December, and the weather is cold.
I put on my child-sized coat and grabbed the front door handle.
But today, the brass handle was so cold it stuck to my palm.
From that unusual chill, I already sensed something was wrong.
Whoosh!
And as I opened the door, the cold wind struck my face, confirming that hunch was correct.
Taking a breath, the inside of my nose felt numb and tingly.
When I barely opened my eyes, the world had turned completely white.
I couldn't even see where the garden trees in front of the annex were.
Naturally, I couldn't see the state of the buildings beyond the wall either.
Though I could see nothing, I knew for certain that if I stepped into that blizzard, a person would be buried in an instant.
"...."
Come to think of it, it was about the season for heavy snow.
Since yesterday, the snow had been beating against the window all night with an ominous intensity.
Gazing at the dirty blizzard, white on the outside but filled with smog, I briefly calculated the odds.
In stories, this is when patients inevitably appear.
At times like this, there's always a girl on the verge of death at some household.
Is this the setup for the doctor's house-call event through the blizzard?
Hmm...
'Even so, it wouldn't be this, right?'
Even for a protagonist, there are adventures you can do and reckless acts you shouldn't.
And an eleven-year-old kid going out into that blizzard is a reckless act.
To be more specific, there's a fine expression: suicide.
'I'd go missing before I even get to the patient.'
This doesn't seem like an event after all.
The protagonist of a delusion story isn't an invincible cheat, so today is a day off.
I returned my doctor's bag to the room and flung myself onto the bed.
'What should I do today then.'
As I was rolling around in bed, spending time constructively like that, it happened.
The door burst open roughly and the head butler rushed into the room.
"Young master!"
Oh my, that startled me.
What if I had been enjoying some happy time?
I rose from the bed to greet the butler.
Seeing the snow piled high on his shoulders, it looked like he had run all the way from the main building.
The fact that he didn't even knock meant something serious must have happened.
"What's the matter?"
"The baby is coming!"
"Already!?"
I didn't bother asking whose baby it was.
Recently, my Godfather and Godmother had been blessed with a late child.
They already had a daughter, but wanting one more son, they had tried for eight years, resulting in this.
The problem was, if my memory served, this late child was only at 34 weeks.
Meaning this was a baby I was supposed to meet six weeks later.
"What's the rush with that child?"
"Is now really the time for jokes! Please come quickly! The midwife says she can't come because of the snow!"
"Oh, it's just like a market day on the day you decide to go."
"Pardon?!"
"Nothing. Of course, I must go."
No wonder the heavy snow came.
The event was right at my own home.
I immediately packed my doctor's bag and put on my coat.
Though the blizzard raged, it was only a problem if I had to go outside the walls; moving from the annex to the main building was no issue.
It's time for the ace of the brothel to shine.
...That phrase sounds weird, so I'll correct it.
It's time for the Angel of the Brothel to shine.
...No matter what I add, it sounds weird. This.
*
- Uuugh... Aaah!
When I arrived at the mansion, screams came from the end of the hallway.
As I opened the door, a steamy heat and an unpleasant smell stung my nose.
The distinctive damp air of a delivery room, mixed with sweat and amniotic fluid.
A smell I had encountered dozens of times in the red-light district.
Godmother was on the bed, screaming while clutching Godfather by the hair.
Godfather was taking it all.
I wonder if Godfather might end up balding at this rate.
"Rinie! Hold on just a bit! Yulian is coming!"
"Yulian? That child... Aaah!"
It was clear to anyone that full-blown labor had begun.
I immediately obtained Godfather's permission and performed an internal examination on Godmother.
'Cervical dilation 4cm, station -2. Membranes have ruptured, the fetus is cephalic, and the umbilical cord... can't feel it. Not yet, so it's fine.'
Hearing from the maids, it had only been about ten minutes since the water broke.
'So there's still some leeway.'
That's a relief.
If the baby had been in the middle of crowning, I wouldn't have even had time to sterilize the room.
I promptly persuaded the head butler and Godfather to set up the delivery room environment.
A reasonably clean room. Freshly washed towels. Limewater for hand disinfection.
A fairly excellent delivery room was complete.
'This much is perfect.'
If it were a C-section, maybe not,
but for a natural birth, this environment could be called aseptic enough.
If only the delivery timing weren't at 34 weeks, it would be perfect beyond reproach.
A few hours later.
With Godmother's final scream, I caught the slipping baby with both hands.
The process of this child coming into the world wasn't particularly special compared to other babies.
It was just a repetition of pushing and deep breathing, so there wasn't much to note.
The fortunate part was that a situation requiring a C-section never arose.
Without proper anesthesia techniques, if something like that had happened, even I would've been in trouble.
But the problem wasn't solved.
Rather, you could say the real problem had just begun.
'34 weeks... Oh dear. It's clearly a premature baby, no need to look further.'
Will this one survive?
34 weeks—in 21st-century modern medicine, that's a gestational age with sufficient viability.
But in this world, it's a different story.
The miracle called healing can treat any wound, but it can't make underdeveloped organs grow.
So, in this era, premature babies are left to the realm of praying to the gods.
'Well, I'm different.'
But that's the circumstances of this era; I, a protagonist reincarnated from the 21st century, am an exception.
34 weeks?
It's still viable and more.
'At this level, it's not even a difficult case.'
Compared to the red-light district, overflowing with bizarre cases, this is nothing.
'No meconium staining.'
Aspiration won't be necessary.
First, wipe the baby down and check its condition.
The baby wasn't crying.
So, I tapped the sole of the baby's foot with my finger.
Stimulated on the soles, the baby let out a small cry, "Eu... ngah!"
'Okay. Confirmed breathing.'
Next, I slathered the prepared oil thickly over the baby's body.
The smell of oil masked the scent of blood, and I wrapped it over with clean wool.
The wool, soaked in the oil, felt slightly heavier.
Without an incubator, these were measures to maintain body temperature instead.
"Godmother. You must keep the baby against your bare skin. You have to keep it warm continuously. Ah, pardon me, but I'll wipe your chest before you hold him."
Lastly, before handing the baby over, I wiped Godmother's chest with a cloth soaked in limewater.
The smell of limewater rose from the moist skin. It was probably bad for her skin, but it couldn't be helped.
You can't equate the life of a preterm infant with cosmetic concerns, after all.
Thus, an excellent incubator called a mother's embrace was complete.
Doing just this sends the survival rate soaring exponentially.
Next, I spoke to the maids who had been staring blankly from behind.
"I will go to the annex to prepare medicine. In the meantime, please take good care of Godmother. If I return to find you nursing without washing your hands with limewater, or leaving towels dirty, I will turn this place upside down."
I didn't explain why.
No time, and they didn't seem likely to understand.
Germs, miasma... no matter how much I said it in the red-light district, they never listened.
So I decided to just squash them with authority.
Hoping they'd follow along once shown the way.
Finally, I once again checked on Godmother and the baby's condition.
I wiped the sweat from Godmother's forehead and confirmed the baby's chest movements through the wool.
Still fine. Still.
'Now, let's go to the annex to get the medicine.'
Just then, as I was about to leave the main building, I heard the head butler urgently calling for me.
"Medicine? Most common medicines are available in the main building too!"
At that, I paused mid-exit and peeked my head back through the doorway.
"Then, do you have surfactant as well?"
"Surfa... Pardon?"
"As expected, no way. I'll be back from the annex."
I hurried to the annex.
If my prediction was right, the critical moment would be today or tomorrow.