The Devil's Disease
[Julian. Are you doing alright?]
I was in the middle of organizing my tools at the clinic when a voice suddenly resonated inside my head. 'It's the Master.' It was the Master’s telepathy. Just like when we first met, he would occasionally speak to me directly like this. At first, I was quite flustered. I even worried that I might have finally snapped and gone insane from failing to endure this grim world. Fortunately, my sanity was intact.
"Yes. I have a moment to spare. What brings you to me, Master?"
[I contacted you because it is that time of year.]
"If you mean that time..."
I thought for a moment before realizing what he was referring to. "It's already that time of year, isn't it?"
[Indeed. The Autumn Academic Conference is just around the corner.]
As I expected. Whether here or back in my old world, major academic conferences always seemed to take place in the autumn. Summer was too hot, winter was too cold, and spring felt a bit too early. Autumn was the standard. Plus, it was the season when seasonal ingredients were most abundant, allowing for the most extravagant hospitality for guests. And during this period, the Master was usually unable to descend to the Limbus Pit.
[There are simply too many recommendation letters this year as well...]
"You must be having a hard time, Master."
In this world, magic is synonymous with powerful military weaponry. Therefore, the Empire's Autumn Academic Conference is not merely a place for the exchange of knowledge. It is a venue where young (averaging in their 40s) magic scholars dreaming of success appeal to be selected as mages directly under the Imperial family, and it is also where each Magic Tower pours its life force into proving the results of the research grants they received the previous year. And the person overseeing this entire process is none other than the Master.
Evaluating how valuable the research from countless Magic Towers is academically, while simultaneously assessing its military utility—that was the role of the supreme advisor and final judge. That was why the Master became so busy during this period.
[My eyes are practically falling out just from reviewing the budget proposals and theses submitted by the Magic Towers across the Empire. On top of that, there are quite a few promising prospects the Imperial family is keeping an eye on this year, so there are more than one or two places where this old man must sit in the judge's seat and show his face.]
I could feel a deep sense of fatigue through the telepathy.
[They take a theory from 50 years ago, twist it slightly, and present it as if it were their own, or they bring back an experiment that already failed 300 years ago, calling it an 'innovative reinterpretation.' I’ve gone through over ten theses and haven't found a single one that makes my eyes widen...]
Before I knew it, the Master had started grumbling. Once he started, there was no end to it. In times like these, he didn't even need a response. So, I let the grumbling go in one ear and out the other while taking in my next patient.
[In the end, I told that child where the old archives were and sent them back. Told them to go find and read it themselves. You should have seen how crestfallen they looked.]
Having finished his grumbling, the Master's voice sounded much lighter. After prescribing medicine to the patient, I focused back on the telepathy.
[I’d rather be doing research with you than sitting at such a boring conference. So, Julian, do you have any thoughts on our next research topic?]
It seemed he was truly hooked on our previous vaccine research. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind at the moment.
"I apologize, Master."
[I didn't say that to make you apologize. Instead, Julian, would you consider coming to the conference with me this year?]
"I refuse."
[Aigoo. Tsk. It’s a suggestion from your teacher; it would be nice if you at least pretended to consider it once...]
"Just as you dislike the conference, Master, I dislike it for the same reason."
There is nothing for me to learn at the conference. The magic of this world has developed toward the side of killing things. In other words, it’s called an academic conference, but it’s effectively no different from a military expo. Naturally, there is no way I, whose mission is to save lives, could learn anything there. Moreover, there was another reason.
"There is no Magic Tower for Black Magic, is there?"
Among the 13 magic systems classified by the Great Sage, only Black Magic lacks a Magic Tower. Of course, academically, Black Magic is also a legitimate branch of magic. But there was a reason why only Black Magic had no tower.
"You were the one who erased that tower, Master, so what would I see there?"
In the past, the Master had personally erased the Black Magic Tower. He had told them to gather mages to protect humanity, only to find them plotting mass genocide. It was a problem that arose because Black Magic was more specialized in killing people than monsters. Since that incident, there has been no Black Magic Tower in the Empire. Not only the tower, but the very gathering of Black Mages is prohibited by law. For that reason, Black Magic, unlike other magics, ended up with a structure of single-successor transmission. Regardless, because of this history, I had no desire to go to the Autumn Academic Conference.
"Or is there something I absolutely must see?"
[Well. Who knows if there might be new encounters or things to see.]
"Are there more patients than in the Limbus Pit?"
[Ugh.... That’s not it.]
"Then I won't go."
[I understand...]
The telepathy felt strangely dejected. It seemed he really wanted to take me along this year.
[Then, even if you can't come to the conference, can you send the scholarship fund under my name again this year?]
"How much?"
[...It’s shameless of me, but even 50 million marks would be a large sum.]
The total budget shared by the Magic Towers is largely composed of three things. One is the Imperial subsidy. One is the scholarships from senior mages. And the last is external donations. Each one was crucial money for the Magic Towers to barely scrape by for a year.
"Would 50 million marks be enough?"
[How could I, as a teacher, take more from my youngest disciple?]
"I probably have the most money out of all your disciples, including my seniors."
[Ahem.]
The Great Sage’s direct disciples—my seniors—are mostly Magic Tower Masters or Elders. However, being a Tower Master is closer to an honorary position. In the first place, a Magic Tower is like a 'Mage Gallery.' The Tower Master, who is their head, is close to being a mere forum moderator. So, my seniors don't actually have that much money. To begin with, they are the ones receiving donations, not the ones donating to research.
"Please tell me the proper amount. That way, I can send it properly."
[Seventy million...]
"Are you sure that's all I should send?"
[...I ask for 100 million marks.]
"I'll send it."
One hundred million marks. It’s roughly the annual income of a Baron's estate. But now, with the profits from the vaccine trickling in, it was money I could easily afford to pay for the Master.
[...I really chose a good disciple in my later years.]
"If you get moved by things like this, it makes me feel a bit awkward."
[Ahem.]
Perhaps this part also accounts for a significant reason why the Master likes me. He would always say that it was so nice not to have to worry about money when doing research with me.
[I understand. Then let's see each other in the winter.]
"Take care, Master."
[Yes.]
There was a moment of silence. Just as the telepathy was about to cut off.
[Julian.]
"Yes."
[Come to think of it, I don't think this conference will be a completely meaningless period.]
"...Pardon?"
[Never mind. It’s just an old man's grumbling, so don't pay it any mind. I'll contact you first in the winter.]
"Yes. Goodbye, Master."
With those words, the telepathy cut off.
After the telepathy with the Master ended, I closed the clinic doors after finishing my rounds, just as I did every other day. When I stepped out the back door, I ran into a young man wearing a hat pulled low over his eyes.
"Otto. You've been waiting?"
Otto. Our frail bodyguard and driver. He had remained my bodyguard ever since he collapsed last time. The reason was simple. Paradoxically, it was because he collapsed that I was able to connect with the Master. At the time, Otto was the only one who hadn't developed immunity and had fallen victim to Belgian's curse. Because of that, I had to take him to the clinic, and that was where I met the Master. So, I decided to keep Otto as my bodyguard. I don't know if it has anything to do with the logic of misunderstanding tropes, but I felt that Otto was my lucky totem.
On the way home, as I walked side-by-side with Otto, I suddenly remembered one fact.
"Right. The bodyguard contract renewal period is coming up soon, isn't it?"
"Yes, that is correct."
"I'll raise your salary again this year."
"...What did I do to deserve this?"
Ever since that day, I have been raising Otto's salary by 10 percent every year. It felt like putting money into an offering box when the new year arrived. Of course, that wasn't the only reason.
'It's hard to find a bodyguard as loyal as Otto.'
The most important thing for a bodyguard is not martial prowess, but loyalty. Even if a bodyguard is strong, if they are only thinking about slitting my throat, they aren't a bodyguard—they're an assassin. In that sense, Otto was a talent too valuable to let go over such a minor mistake. He was tight-lipped and highly loyal. Since I had even done him a favor, in the logic of this genre, he was someone I could trust even more.
"Or perhaps, you don't have the confidence to live up to my expectations?"
"...That is not the case."
"Good."
I nodded calmly. "Then Otto. After we receive the beef from Wangcho, let's pick up Eri and head up."
I left the clinic behind, leading the bewildered driver.
After picking up Eri, who was training with Department Head Shen in Civitas Square, I returned to the Sanctum Hill mansion and had the servants unload the beef from the carriage. While the servants were busy working, the butler approached me.
"Ho. What kind of beef is this today?"
"It's a gift from below. Wangcho said he had a hard time getting it."
"Such a precious thing. I should send that friend some wine later."
While we were talking, the massive beef was stored in our mansion's freezer. "I'll be picking up the rest tomorrow and the day after. The meat was so big that I couldn't fit it all in the carriage."
"Understood. I will inform the chef."
After a brief conversation with the butler, I passed the busy servants and naturally headed toward the dining room.
"Yo, Young Master?!"
"Shh. I've come to cook again today."
Even after several years, I held my index finger to my lips toward the flustered chef. Cooking had become my hobby. It was something I started to build the character 'Julian,' but as I kept doing it, I found it fun. So, I would often sneak into the kitchen without my mother knowing. Of course, most of the time I would get caught later and scolded.
I habitually tied on an apron and rolled up my shirt sleeves. Then, I explained today's menu to the chef.
"Today's menu is steak tartare."
"Pardon?"
I pushed aside the astonished chef and took over the cutting board. When I was 12, I needed a footstool, but now I was tall enough to stand in front of the cutting board without one.
"Fresh beef has arrived just in time. So, I wanted to cook it myself."
Beef is meat that is hard to come by even in Wangcho's slaughterhouse. So, whenever beef like this arrived, I would sometimes take the kitchen knife myself.
"The lean meat can be left for a while, so let's process the innards first."
The chef furrowed his brow at the word 'innards.' In the first place, the period when innards were rebranded as 'specialty parts' and became high-end wasn't that long ago, based on the world I lived in. Even foie gras, the symbol of high-end cuisine, apparently only became high-end in the late 19th century. This is because specialty parts spoil quickly and are cumbersome to process, yet they don't taste very good even after going through all that trouble. As such, there was a strong perception in this world that it was food for the lowly to scavenge.
However, that’s a story from when cooking techniques were less developed and specialty parts were cooked poorly.
'If it tastes good, it's gourmet; if it's beautiful, it's art.'
Even if made with innards, it becomes high-end food if it tastes good and is plated well. So, I didn't throw away the innards and often used them in my cooking.
"Today, I will use the heart and bone marrow of the cow."
Actually, while unloading the meat from the carriage, I had secretly tucked away the heart and bones. I winked once at the chef, who couldn't even stop me due to the status gap, and wiped the kitchen knife with a dishcloth. A dark reddish-brown heart was placed on the cutting board. And next to it, a cow's leg bone, cut long in half, was placed.
'Shall I process the blood vessels first?'
Blood vessels were tough and tasteless parts. No matter how much you processed them, they could never taste good. In particular, a cow's heart had many tough or greasy parts, so it needed to be processed with care.
'Remove all the coronary arteries and veins...'
I pushed the blade along the traces of the aorta. The tip of the knife separated the two coronary arteries from the heart. Understanding anatomy as a surgeon acted as a significant advantage in cooking. Since I knew well how to treat them, I also knew well how to beautifully remove the blood vessels.
'Remove the fat and connective tissues as well.'
I cut the remaining lump of heart muscle in half. Then I cut it in half again, and thinly sliced the four pieces of heart. I tapped it with the back of the knife while keeping a rhythm.
'Shall I roast the bones next?'
I pushed the split cow leg bone into a preheated oven.
Before long, the bone marrow in the oven began to bubble. When heat is applied to bone marrow, it gives off a scent like butter, so it could be utilized in this way. I scraped out the bone marrow, which had been roasted to a golden brown and become soft like pudding, and placed it over the finely minced heart meat. Next, I prepared the seasoning. Capers, finely minced shallots, whole grain mustard, a drop of black vinegar, and olive oil. After mixing these well with the heart, I seasoned it with rock salt and black pepper. With that, the steak tartare was complete.
'Just blanched yukhoe... would that sound a bit cheap?'
It was a French dish that a professor bought for me when I was training in the US. When I ate this back then, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was just French yukhoe. No, wait. Yukhoe is also a high-end dish. What's wrong with Korean food?
'...Let's just focus on the plating.'
As originally planned, I decided to use the bone as a plate. I carefully filled the empty bone, from which I had scraped out the marrow, with the heart tartare. And next to it, I neatly added young herb leaves with a bitter taste. A total of 6 plates were completed. I chose one of them and stir-fried it once in a frying pan.
'Freed might still find it hard to digest raw meat.'
My youngest brother is turning four this year. He eats meat well, but raw fish or meat would still be difficult for him.
I stir-fried it once for Freed and plated it again. With this, today's dinner was ready.
"It's done."
"Young Master? This dish is..."
"It is Tartare de cœur à la moelle."
"Pardon?"
I smiled brightly at the bewildered chef and wiped my hands with a dishcloth. I hung up my apron and headed toward the dining room exit.
"I'll be heading upstairs. If Mother looks for me, please tell her I was never here. I trust you'll explain the dish well."
"Yo, Young Master!?"
"If there's anything you'd like to add, please feel free to do so at your discretion."
Leaving the urgently calling chef behind, I hurried toward the dining room. It was to create an alibi before I got caught by Mother.
'That I had things to organize in the lab...'
However, my scheme ended in failure.
"Julian."
A cold voice heard from behind my back. I slowly turned around. And there stood the mistress of the Nihilit family.
"Julian. Will you tell me what happened?"
"I apologize."
"Haa..."
Julian Schnabel Nihilit, the eldest son of the Nihilit family. The number of times caught by Mother in front of the kitchen. Today, I achieved the monumental 1,000th time.