*
-- Madam! The young master... the young master isn’t breathing!
“Huh!”
Baroness Nihirite, Linie, opened her eyes with a gasp.
Her heart was pounding violently.
Awakened from a nightmare, the first thing she did was search for her child.
Fortunately, inside the cradle, her beloved youngest son lay fast asleep.
The tiny infant, who had once seemed like he could stop breathing at any moment without surprise, had now put on enough weight to bear cute little contours.
It had been six weeks since this little one had come into the world, and he had finally reached forty weeks.
After her youngest son reached the same number of weeks as other ordinary babies, his breathing grew fairly steady.
Soft and even.
Linie listened to that breathing for a long time.
Only then did her fluttering heart gradually subside.
*That nightmare again.*
Though things were better now,
the memories of the nights this child had been in danger still came back as nightmares.
In those nightmares, Yulian was absent, and every time, Linie would lose this precious life.
Whenever that happened, Linie would deny that terrible nightmare and return to reality.
She turned her head to the other side.
On the small bed, the blanket was neatly folded.
It was the spot where Yulian, the eldest son of the Nihirite family and a healer, should have been.
Linie was not alarmed by his disappearance.
That child would keep watch here all night, then slip away quietly at dawn.
….
For some unknown reason, she suddenly missed Yulian, that child.
Linie rose from her bed.
***
A month and a half had passed since the new family member arrived.
Finally, Prid reached forty weeks—meaning he was now one year old like other ordinary babies!
Ah, in Western culture, that would be zero, I suppose.
Anyway.
A lot happened on the way here.
There is too much to describe it all, but I can say for certain that I went through hell because of our youngest.
Good job, me.
Pat, pat.
There were times when Prid’s weight dropped and my heart would sink, but thankfully it was just his bowel movements.
He sure does poop a lot.
*‘Prid has finally stabilized, too.’*
Of course, just because six weeks had passed since birth and he had reached forty weeks did not mean he no longer needed care.
But since he was past the premature infant stage, there was no need for 24-hour close monitoring.
It was enough just to confirm that Prid played well and ate well in the evening.
*‘It’s about time I returned to the red-light district as well.’*
Sick children and mothers were not only in our home.
There were still many people in the world who needed the protagonist’s helping hand.
Before returning to the red-light district,
I headed to the kitchen to prepare a lunchbox for the first time in a while.
*‘Looks like no one is around.’*
On the way to the kitchen. Since it was still early dawn, I confirmed no one was there.
Back when I was in the annex, there was no need to be cautious.
Because there was no one watching, and no one who cared.
But after moving to the main house, I had to be careful even going to the kitchen.
Because there was someone who disapproved of me going to the kitchen.
*‘Then for today’s lunchbox menu, shall I use yesterday’s leftover ingredients…’*
As I was thinking about the menu, I quietly arrived at the kitchen.
Just before my hand touched the doorknob, a cough suddenly came from behind.
“Yulian.”
When I turned around, Mother Linie was standing at the end of the corridor.
Seeing the frown forming on her brow, I could guess what she was about to say.
“I told you the kitchen is off-limits.”
“…I’m sorry.”
I immediately lowered my head to apologize.
At my apology, Mother’s lips trembled ever so slightly.
A few months ago,
when she had eaten my cooking and been moved, I had thought she had given her permission.
But that was not the case.
She said that eating deliciously and having her son get his hands greasy were separate matters.
Since that day, Mother had begun to scold me for going to the kitchen.
Just like now.
As if avoiding my gaze, Mother turned her head toward the window and let out a deep sigh.
“… I know your heart well. But you are now the eldest son of the Nihirite family. There are eyes watching, so you must mind your dignity now.”
“I’m sorry, Mother. I was thoughtless. I will not do it again.”
“You say that, but you… haah… never mind.”
Of course, this exchange was the twentieth time.
Mother clearly knew that my answer lacked soul.
Nevertheless, she yielded to me each time.
“Only for today.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
Of course, I am sorry to say, but I suspect this exchange will continue for the rest of our lives.
Cooking is my individuality.
Still….
*‘Thank you for scolding me.’*
It felt good.
Because it meant she treated me like her own son, not merely the eldest.
***
Today was the day I was returning to the red-light district after a long while.
To check the monorail and tram dispatch times, I looked at the route notice section in the newspaper for the first time in a while.
*‘That route is blocked due to heavy snow, and that one requires too much of a detour…’*
I thought as I looked at the route map overlaid on the map.
This city’s gravity flows entirely according to status.
It is not arranged vertically but structured like a pyramid, rising toward the center.
*‘The trams likely won’t run for a while due to the snow, so I’ll have to use only the monorail… Direct routes…’*
My finger traced down the route map.
Sanctum Hill.
The center of the city, the sanctuary of the nobles that overlooks everything.
This is my starting point.
Going slightly down from here is Civitas Square.
The commoners’ plaza, serving as the city’s waist.
Transfer here.
And at the very bottom is Limbus Pit.
Located at the foothills or outskirts, a cesspool for the unchosen.
This is my destination.
*‘Okay. Monorail number 14 is at 8 o’clock today.’*
It goes without saying, but the red-light district is in Limbus Pit.
The commute alone takes a full two hours to get there.
Just thinking of the crowds at the transfer station, Civitas Square, already made my faith in humanity hit rock bottom.
*‘What is this. Why is my commute pattern the exact same as my previous life even though the world has changed?’*
There is a difference.
Instead of going from the outskirts to the center, I’m going from the center to the outskirts.
I was just organizing my thoughts and preparing to leave for work.
“Yulian. You said you’re returning to that place starting today.”
When I finished getting ready and went to the front door, Father was standing there.
“I’ve had a car waiting outside. Go on and ride it.”
“A car… you mean?”
Looking outside, it was the car that Father originally used for his commute.
“If I take that, how will you get to work?”
“I got a new car.”
Aha.
So you wanted an excuse to get a new car using me as a pretext.
No wonder whenever I went to the study recently, the newspaper’s car advertisement section was spread open.
“I’m asking just in case, but did Mother permit this?”
“… I’m sorry. I sold your name a little.”
I could roughly picture the situation.
He probably gave an impassioned performance to Mother, saying, ‘How could a father sleep when his son walks all the way to that cesspool?’
No matter how powerful the patriarch’s authority is in this era, one cannot ignore the lady of the house.
Moreover, before a large expense, justification and permission would be necessary.
Well, it’s good for both me and Father, so I decided to think of it as mutual aid.
“I don’t mind.”
“Thank you. This was purchased recently thanks to the quinine shares you registered under my name. Don’t feel burdened and ride it every day.”
He spoke indifferently, but the corners of his mouth twitched.
Was he happy about getting a new car?
Or was he proud to be able to buy a car for his son?
I decided it was both.
“Thank you, Father.”
“At times like this, can’t you at least call me Dad?”
“Thank you, Father.”
“… Fine.”
I gratefully accepted Father’s kindness.
When I stepped outside, a black, boxy sedan that looked like it belonged in a late 1800s black-and-white photo was waiting in front of the mansion.
From the long step beneath the door for boarding, to the brass fittings studded here and there, to the engraving on the door handles—
to anyone’s eyes, it was a vintage luxury limousine.
Ah, though by this world’s standards, it might not be vintage.
*‘But it’s safe, right? Right?’*
The problem was something else.
The wheels with spokes reminiscent of a bicycle, the long copper exhaust pipe extending from the side, and the blue embers of the magic stone furnace visible through the front grille.
These parts were a little concerning.
From a doctor’s perspective, they looked like a peeled leg bone, an exposed blood vessel, and a heart visible between the ribs.
Well, that’s probably because I don’t know much about cars.
I trust the dwarves made it safely.
I stepped on the footboard and got into the back seat.
*‘Oh. The smell of leather.’*
The moment I got in, I felt a sense of familiarity.
A comfort unique to a seat that someone had occupied for a long time.
It did not take long for me to realize that it was Father’s scent wafting from between the leather.
*‘Ah, come to think of it, who’s driving?’*
Father’s driver was the head butler.
Naturally, the head butler would be attached to the new car.
Then what about this one?
I directed my gaze toward the driver’s seat.
A thick iron grille was installed between the back seat and the driver’s seat.
Beyond it, an unfamiliar back was visible.
As if sensing my stare, the driver met my eyes through the rearview mirror.
The driver turned around and greeted me through the partition.
“I am Otto, who will be in charge of driving this vehicle and serving as your escort from now on.”
“Pleased to be in your care.”
That was the end of the conversation.
I would have preferred if they had assigned someone talkative instead.
Someone with good reactions would be even better.
“…”
“…”
Through the rearview mirror, Otto’s thoughts reached me loud and clear.
— *‘Our statuses are too different, so please, let’s not become friends.’*
I know that look too well.
It’s the look army drivers used to send to the company commander in the back seat.
I know it well because I witnessed it a few times from the passenger seat.
Fine.
I won’t make you talk.
The car descended toward Limbus Pit in awkward silence.
What I felt riding a limousine for the first time across both my past and present lives:
Expensive cars are indeed better in every way, from ride comfort to speed.
*
When we departed, the limousine’s window was clean.
But the further down the city we went, the dirtier the window became.
In sync with this, the white marble of Sanctum Hill turned into the gray bricks of Civitas Square, and those gray bricks gradually turned black.
Before long, a single scene began to repeat outside the window.
Beneath the bridge piers, a long line stretched out in the dark shade.
Around the necks of the people in line, tags dangled like nameplates indicating livestock quality.
\
Transfer was a nice word for it, but the direction was always the same.
From top to bottom.
As if the city were excreting waste it could not digest,
the sick, the disabled, the bankrupt, and more silently walked down toward Limbus Pit.
The iron masks of the soldiers sending them down bore no emotion whatsoever.
Indifference toward one’s neighbor was one of this city’s essential morals.
Tap, tap.
It was while we were waiting for a signal.
Someone knocked on the car window.
Grimy fingers were visible.
It was a child.
Clutched in his hand was not a tin can for begging, but a crumpled piece of paper.
A look pleading to say something.
As I reached out to roll down the window, the driver looked at me through the rearview mirror and said,
“Young master. Do not roll down the window.”
Since he was my escort before he was a driver, he did not permit me to open the window.
“The collection squad won’t like it either. It will interfere with their work.”
Collection squad.
The moment that word left his mouth, a soldier in an iron mask snatched the child’s wrist.
The child did not scream.
It was not that he didn’t know how.
It was because he knew it would be useless.
The iron mask fastened something around the child’s neck.
It was a small iron tag.
The child thus became a part of the line.
And the soldiers who dragged the child away continuously bowed toward this car as if apologizing.
Watching that scene, what I felt was not superiority but discomfort.
I adjusted my gloves once more on my lap.
*‘… Patients are increasing.’*
In this city, the reason the protagonist must be kind is always given in the most horrifying way.
*
As I entered the red-light district, a scene reminiscent of London’s Chinatown in the 1800s unfolded.
I'm not sure if Chinatowns existed back in those days, but anyway.
The limousine came to a stop beneath a massive *pailou* gate.
Peeling red pillars from which every last bit of lacquer had flaked away, and a dragon carving with its neck snapped in two, greeted me.
*Ssshhh... Hah.*
I drew a deep breath inside the car.
The street I had returned to after six weeks was, as ever, saturated with the stench of filth and the acrid smoke of kerosene.
Of course, the air inside the walls is never particularly good anywhere you go.
But as if there are depths even to rock bottom, the further you descend, the more the air shifts into a different league entirely.
And this lung-piercing reek of the slums only reinforced my certainty that I was back where I belonged.
*...Ugh, the smell.*
I took out the crow mask I hadn't worn in a long time and put it on.
Originally, I had no intention of plagiarizing a plague doctor's look.
But as I pursued various functions, things came full circle, and it ended up being a crow mask.
I suppose this is what they call convergent evolution.
*Hoo... A bit better.*
I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with the scent of herbs packed into the bird's beak.
It was fleeting, but I felt as though I had escaped this city's rotting air—
even if it was only running away from the smell.
Mask still on, I stepped out of the car.
*Every time I come here, I feel like I've walked into a Chinatown.*
The buildings of the red-light district, unlike other parts of the Empire, followed the styles of the Sù-rén cultural sphere.
Roofs whose eaves curled up toward the sky, pillars with their faded red lacquer peeling away, lanterns hanging in every alleyway.
Even within Limbus Pit, this was a sight unique to the red-light district alone.
"I'll park and come straight back down, young master."
"Thank you, Otto."
Otto bowed his head and drove the car back up to Civitas Square.
Since there's nowhere to park in these slums, we had to resort to this cumbersome routine every time.
Wearing my mask, I walked toward the clinic.
On the way to the clinic, beneath a crumbling wall still bearing the faded traces of the character for *Fortune* (福), multiple lines of black chalk markings overlapped one another.
It was a kind of bamboo grove where the locals communicated anonymously—a forum, a gallery of the red-light district, you might say.
=============================
[Fucking guards. Only show up after three corpses pile up. Two, and they ignore it.]
[Saw those Sanctum bitches casting Heal on a dog. The way they dote on it, those bastards have definitely fucked that dog.]
[Why do they even collect taxes? Won't give us clean water.]
[Hope the walls collapse. Those bastards'll be the first ones I throw over.]
ㄴ Bet it'd be you and your family getting thrown over instead.
[Called a Healer, but he left when I said I had no money. Rita died that night. So much for the love of god. God's a miser.]
ㄴ I know him. Heard the baby went with her, too.
ㄴㄴ There never was a baby. She died because it wouldn't come out.
[Roa, hyung's sorry I couldn't protect you. I'll be there soon.]
ㄴ If you're going anyway, drop your home address.
ㄴㄴ Go fuck yourself.
[Buying / Selling]
ㄴ Succubus's Kiss Farm. Make me an offer for trade.
ㄴㄴ Selling my daughter. 8 years old. Small, doesn't eat much. Good worker.
ㄴㄴㄴ Guy above's a lunatic.
ㄴㄴㄴㄴ Try starving for a month yourself. See if you still spout that crap.
[Who said it? Heard a doctor's coming here. Guy in a crow mask.]
ㄴ Not a doctor, a miracle. But if a miracle stays too long, even it gets taxed.
ㄴㄴ What's the point of a miracle showing up? We end up paying the price for it anyway.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*Limbus Pit, business as usual today, I see.*
Overflowing hatred for Sanctum Hill and resentment-filled envy toward Civitas Square.
Limbus Pit was running smoothly again today.
I drew one more deep breath of the herbal scent inside the beak, then hastened my steps once more toward the clinic.