[The Angel of the Red-Light District]
'I really need to start getting my pre-incarnation instincts back.'
A lot of time had passed since I first started supplying quinine to the merchant guild. In that time, I had come to a realization: my instincts as a doctor had completely withered away. 'I guess my skills really do rust even after just a little break.'
I realized this while researching quinine. Making the quinine itself was fine. The problem arose when I was intravenously administering it to a malaria patient. 'A surgeon who can't find a vein on the first try?'
I had to poke the clinical trial patient three times before I finally found the vein. This was a pretty serious issue. If I just spent my childhood like this, there was a good chance I’d lose all my manual dexterity by the time I turned twenty. Realizing this, I immediately started looking for ways to secure patients. Fortunately, finding a place that needed a doctor wasn't difficult.
'I can just go do medical volunteer work.'
Down there, in the slums, there would be no shortage of patients waiting for a doctor. Once I made up my mind, I acted fast. 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, I’d like to go to the slums for a while—"
"Go ahead."
"?"
"I suppose the bloodline doesn't lie. I’ll assign you a guard, so do whatever you want."
To my surprise, he gave me permission without a second thought. Come to think of it, the way my godfather treated me had been a bit strange lately. In the past, he looked at me like an inconvenient nephew who wouldn't go home, but these days... how should I put it? His gaze is a bit warm and lukewarm. It’s like he feels pride and pity at the same time.
And now, he even gave me permission to go to the red-light district without hesitation. 'What is this? Does this era not care about kids going to places like that?'
That couldn't be right. No matter how barbaric and pre-modern this era is, with its lack of awareness for children's rights, there are lines you don't cross. Even if adults smoke like chimneys in a room with a child, it’s not so depraved that they’d let a ten-year-old go to a brothel. So, the question is, why did he allow it?
'Don't tell me... is this the prologue to a "prodigal son" story?!'
That would explain everything. It’s a common trope for a noble boy who lost his parents and has mediocre talent to go astray. Does my godfather think I’m that kind of case? I wondered where I should start correcting the misunderstanding, but I just gave up. Since when did "prodigal son" stories ever get solved with words? Aren't they usually "washed clean" through overwhelming achievements?
I decided to just focus on my work, assuming it would naturally be cleared up someday. Alright, let’s head to the red-light district to get my instincts back.
From that day on, I started commuting to the red-light district regularly. Of course, at first, the people there were suspicious of me.
— "A doctor? Ah, like a healer. What is a healer teacher doing in a bottom-of-the-barrel place like this?"
Maybe it’s because this world has no concept of medical volunteer work. The residents were suspicious of the sudden kindness. But as I proved myself with overwhelming results, they gradually started to accept me.
— "Teacher. Thank you for saving my younger sister the other day."
In an era where the number one cause of death for women is puerperal fever after childbirth, just paying a little attention to hygiene increased the survival rate of mothers exponentially. That was how I reached my first year of perfect attendance in the red-light district. Before I knew it, the residents of that street started looking for me instead of a midwife when they were about to give birth. 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 is this? Usually, if a protagonist does this much, shouldn't there be some kind of "fated encounter"?'
One year in the slum red-light district. Other than my skills and reputation as a doctor rising, there were no dramatic changes in my life. There was no retired archmage or assassin guild leader hiding in the slums, no polymorphed dragon or demon king out for a stroll, and no future sword saint or hero-in-the-making. What the hell. Where are my fated encounters?
'Ugh. Or is one year just not enough?'
I’d already started the volunteer work, and there was no way I could stop now. In the end, all I gained was knowledge, technique, and some clinical trial data. Oh, and a bit of fame, and a title too. Though it’s the title of "Angel of the Brothel," so it’s not something I can exactly brag about anywhere. Ah, come to think of it, it’s not like I gained nothing at all. The slum residents gave me a proper clinic. It’s like I have a house in my own name now.
"Alright, shall we head to work today?"
Enough with the stray thoughts. I grabbed my medical bag and rolled out of bed for today’s rounds. It’s December, so the weather is cold. I put on a child-sized coat and grabbed the doorknob. But today, the brass knob felt unusually cold, sticking to my palm. I sensed that something was wrong from that chill alone.
Whoosh!
When I opened the door and the cold wind slapped my face, I realized my intuition was right. The air felt like it was freezing my nostrils shut as I inhaled. When I finally managed to open my eyes, the world was completely turned white. I couldn't even see the garden tree in front of the annex. Naturally, I couldn't see the state of the buildings beyond the wall either. I couldn't see anything, but I was certain that if I stepped into that blizzard, a person would be buried in an instant.
"..."
Come to think of it, it was just about the season for heavy snow. The snow had been hitting the windows with an unusual intensity all night since yesterday. I briefly estimated the situation while looking at the blizzard, which was dirty with smog, unlike its white appearance. Usually, in novels, a patient appears at a time like this. There’s always a girl on the verge of death in some household during these moments. So, is this the "doctor event" where I have to brave the blizzard for a house call? Hmm...
'No way, this can't be it, right?'
Even if you're a protagonist, there are adventures you can take and reckless stunts you shouldn't. And an eleven-year-old kid going out into that blizzard is a reckless stunt. More specifically, there’s a better term for it: suicide.
'I’d go missing before I even met the patient.'
Yeah, this doesn't seem like an event. A protagonist in a misunderstanding-trope story isn't an invincible cheat, so today is a day off. I put my medical bag back in the room and threw myself onto the bed. 'What should I do today, then?'
I was just spending some constructive time rolling around on the bed when the door burst open and the butler rushed in.
"Young Master!"
Whoa. You scared me. What would you have done if I was having some "happy time"? I sat up on the bed to greet the butler. Seeing the snow piled high on his shoulders, it looked like he’d run all the way here from the main building. Seeing that he didn't even knock, 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 trying for a late child. They already had a daughter, but this was the result of eight years of effort, wanting one more son. The problem was, if my memory served me right, the baby was only at 34 weeks. That meant the baby was supposed to arrive in six weeks.
"Why is that kid in such a hurry?"
"Is this the time for jokes! Please, come quickly! The midwife says she can't come because of the snow!"
"Oh, talk about bad timing."
"What?!"
"It’s nothing. Of course, I have to go."
No wonder it was snowing so hard. The event was happening in our own house. I immediately grabbed my medical bag and put on my coat. The blizzard was raging, but it was fine to go from the annex to the main building, even if going outside the wall was out of the question. It’s time for the ace of the brothel to shine.
...That sounds weird, so I’ll correct it. It’s time for the Angel of the Brothel to shine.
...Whatever I add, it sounds weird.
"Ugh... Ahhh!"
When I arrived at the main building, I could hear screams from the end of the hallway. When I opened the door, a wave of heat and an unpleasant smell hit me. The damp air unique to a delivery room, a mixture of sweat and amniotic fluid. It was a smell I had encountered dozens of times in the red-light district.
My godmother was screaming while clutching my godfather's hair on the bed. My godfather was taking it all in. I wonder if he’s going to go bald at this rate.
"Linier! Hang in there! Julian is coming!"
"Julian? That child is... Aaaah!"
It was clearly the start of active labor. I immediately received permission from my godfather and performed a pelvic exam on my godmother. 'Cervical dilation at 4cm, station -2. Amniotic sac has ruptured, fetus is cephalic, umbilical cord... not palpable. It’s still okay for now.'
According to the maids, only about 10 minutes had passed since the water broke. 'So there’s still time.'
Thank goodness. If the baby had already started crowning, I wouldn't have even had time to disinfect the room. I immediately persuaded the butler and my godfather to set up the delivery environment. A reasonably clean room. Freshly washed towels. Lime water for hand disinfection. A quite excellent delivery room was completed.
'This is perfect.'
If it were a C-section, it would be different, but for a natural birth, this was a perfect environment that could be considered sterile. It would have been even more perfect if the timing wasn't 34 weeks.
A few hours later, I caught the baby that slid out with my godmother's final scream. The process of this baby coming into the world wasn't particularly special compared to other babies. It was just a repetition of pushing and breathing, so there was nothing noteworthy. The fortunate thing was that a situation requiring a C-section didn't occur. I didn't have proper anesthesia technology, so if something like that had happened, even I would have been in trouble.
But that didn't mean the problem was solved. If anything, you could say the real problem was just beginning.
'34 weeks... Oh dear. It’s a premature baby, no doubt about it.'
Will this baby survive? At 34 weeks, 21st-century modern medicine would ensure survival. But in this world, it’s a different story. The miracle of "Heal" can cure any wound, but it can't make underdeveloped organs grow. That’s why premature babies in this era are in the realm of having to pray to God.
'Well, I’m different.'
But that’s this era’s situation, and as a protagonist who transmigrated from the 21st century, I’m an exception. 34 weeks? I can save this baby and then some. 'This isn't even a difficult case.'
Compared to the red-light district, which is overflowing with bizarre cases, this is nothing.
'No meconium staining.'
Suction won't be necessary. First, I wiped the baby down and checked its condition. The baby wasn't crying. So, I tapped the baby’s sole with my finger. Stimulated by the nerve, the baby let out a small cry, "Ugh... waaa!"
'Okay. Breathing confirmed.'
Next, I slathered the baby’s body with the oil I’d prepared. It masked the smell of blood with the scent of oil, and I wrapped it in clean wool. The wool felt slightly heavy as it absorbed the oil. Since there was no incubator, these were measures to maintain body temperature.
"Godmother. You need to have skin-to-skin contact with the baby. You must keep the baby warm. Oh, excuse me, but I’m going to wipe your chest before you hold the baby."
Finally, before letting her hold the baby, I wiped my godmother’s chest with a cloth soaked in lime water. The smell of lime water rose from her damp skin. It probably wasn't good for her skin, but I had no choice. You can't trade the life of a premature baby for beauty.
Thus, an excellent incubator—a mother's embrace—was completed. Just doing this increases the survival rate exponentially. Next, I spoke to the maids who were staring blankly from behind.
"I’m going to the annex to make some medicine. Please take good care of the godmother in the meantime. If I come back and find you nursing her without washing your hands with lime water, or leaving dirty towels around, I’m going to flip this place upside down."
I didn't explain why. There was no time, and I didn't think they’d understand anyway. Germs, miasma... I’d screamed myself hoarse about it in the red-light district, but they never listened. So, I decided to just press down with authority. I figured if I led the way, they’d follow.
I checked the condition of my godmother and the baby one last time. I wiped the sweat from my godmother's forehead and checked the baby's chest movement through the wool. It’s still okay. For now.
'Now, let’s go to the annex to get the medicine.'
Just then, I heard the butler calling me urgently as I was about to leave the main building.
"Medicine? We have most medicines in the main building!"
At those words, I stopped and poked my head out from the doorway.
"Do you have surfactants, too?"
"Surfact... excuse me?"
"I thought as much. I’ll be back from the annex."
I hurried to the annex. If my estimation was correct, today or tomorrow would be the critical moment.