Penicillin (1)

"Be famous, and they will applaud you even when you take a shit." This quote, attributed to Andy Warhol—a man who claimed a urinal was a work of art, a concept utterly baffling even to someone from the cutting-edge 21st century—is famous. What if we flip that saying on its head? "Take a shit first, and you will become famous." Having contracted typhoid fever and hovered on the brink of death, I had taken plenty of shits. And thanks to that, I had figured out a way to become famous.

To change history as a mere commoner, you'd have to be on the level of Hitler. To alter history through political action, you either had to be royalty or, at the very least, a noble with a tiny fiefdom. What about commoners? Sure, one could enter parliament as an MP, but frankly, Austrian members of parliament in this era had zero presence. They were basically human totems, human amulets meant to ward off rebellions and riots. To change history in a barbaric, feudal empire, you couldn't just be an ordinary commoner. Therefore, my most fundamental goal was to achieve something monumental and become a celebrity. Step one: get famous, then dive into politics! But even this starting point was incredibly daunting.

Moreover, there were exactly twenty-five years left until the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Excluding the years of World War I, that left me with twenty-one years. In that time, I would have to do something extraordinary—like inciting a riot in a beer hall—just to get noticed.

Then again, I can't exactly go around robbing banks at the age of thirteen like Stalin to become a superstar of the revolution. I wasn't royalty, nor was I nobility. Becoming a soldier was out of the question—the timeline was too tight, and my social standing was too low. That left me with only one option: to spread my name far and wide as a genius scientist and a tycoon. However, being a mere genius scientist wouldn't suffice. Einstein had dedicated his life to anti-nuclear activism, yet he couldn't stop the Soviet Union and the United States from building over a hundred thousand nuclear warheads combined.

Scientific advancement is all well and good, but I need to have at least one foot in the political arena. That was why I settled on penicillin. I would claim the role of the savior who rescued all of humanity from pathogenic bacteria. With this, my reputation as a scientist who saved hundreds of millions of lives will be secure. And once I have that, stepping into politics will be a breeze. It was perfect. First, let's make penicillin. The concept itself was simple enough.

I hadn't studied biology since my high school college entrance exams, but I was still a STEM graduate student. If I didn't even know that a mold called Penicillium notatum dissolves bacterial cell walls, I'd have to hand in my engineering degree. All I had to do was culture blue mold and bacteria together, confirm that the mold killed the bacteria, and then inject the antibiotic substance extracted from the mold into the veins of a tuberculous mouse, right?

Hehehe... I'll show these people what 21st-century advanced science is all well and truly about. Just imagining myself playing the role of an isekai hero, smugly telling these 19th-century folks, "This is called penicillin, you see," brought a smirk to my face.

Although there were no other cases of modern people slipping back into the past besides me, a 21st-century person arriving in this era could easily fall into the illusion of being a genius. The very first plan I devised to gain fame was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the discovery of penicillin and the nitrogen fixation process. There was a specific reason I chose penicillin first.

Let's look at the nitrogen fixation process, which is used to produce nitrogen fertilizers essential for plants. Nitrogen molecules are bound together so tightly that they cannot be broken by ordinary means. Breaking that bond requires an unimaginably extraordinary method. In other words, it demands an environment of extreme temperature and pressure. You need a pressure of at least 250 atmospheres and a temperature of 500 degrees Celsius just to make an attempt. The temperature is one thing, but generating that kind of pressure is the real issue. Such high-temperature, high-pressure environments can only be created in a proper university laboratory. Is that explanation too complicated? To put it simply, if I tried to do that in my tiny personal study, there was a 99.99% chance I would blow myself to smithereens. In short, without sufficient advancement in mechanical and materials engineering, discovering it was flat-out impossible.

In that sense, even though penicillin was discovered historically late, nothing is simpler than this. I already knew of the existence of Penicillium notatum, the blue mold that dissolves bacterial cell walls. I just had to grow that mold alongside bacteria on a culture medium, observe the complete collapse of the cell walls, and write a paper about it.

How simple was that?

Of course, to make it truly profitable, it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠would require a massive industrial process that rivaled nitrogen fixation. But all I needed right now was the title of "the genius boy scientist who discovered a miracle substance that kills bacteria." I could just leave the mass-production process to the engineers to bust their asses over. If they succeeded, I'd graciously allow them to share the Nobel Prize with me.

Wait, the Nobel Prize?! I hadn't even thought of that. If I discovered penicillin and then added the discovery of nitrogen fixation to my resume, becoming the youngest Nobel laureate in history wouldn't just be a pipe dream.

“Just wash your hands thoroughly before surgery!” “This is soap. If you rub your hands with this, it makes bubbles, you see.” I could play the role of a prophet just by teaching people how to wash their hands properly. How incredibly simple! I, too, intended to reap the sweet rewards of creating penicillin. I had a microscope, and my basic bacterial culture techniques were more than sufficient. I immediately pestered my father, claiming I wanted to study biology, and had him purchase a microscope and the basic laboratory equipment needed for culturing bacteria.

Now, all I have to do is find Penicillium notatum...

But here lay the first problem. In the 21st century, a quick search on the internet would yield a deluge of academic papers. If anything, there was too much information, making it hard to filter. Even that had become convenient after the advent of AI. However...

"Where on earth am I supposed to find a book on culturing bacteria?!"

Normally, one would look for papers at a university. But not only was it difficult for a mere middle-to-high school kid to access a university library, but even if I did manage to get in, there was no guarantee that the specific knowledge I needed would even be in their collection. It was the absolute peak of the analog era.

"Ah, screw it. Can't I just grow them like plants?"

Like a pet bacterium. If I fed them, watered them, and showered them with love, surely they would grow big and strong. This lack of reference material forcing me to build everything from scratch was the first problem.

The second, and by far the biggest, problem was...

"It's not here! It's nowhere!"

No matter how hard I looked, the species name Penicillium notatum was nowhere to be found! Scientists are often eccentric creatures who obsess over fields no one else cares about. Even in this 19th century, there was a scientist deeply infatuated with mold. I managed to scrape up a book on fungi written by a French scientist, but even in those pages, the name Penicillium notatum did not exist.

In any case, the only information I had was this: mold of the genus Penicillium is blue-gray and has a musty smell. That was it.

So, what was I to do? What else? I had no choice but to gather all three hundred or so species of the Penicillium genus and test them one by one.

And thus, that was the day the "Mold Freak" made his debut in Vienna.

"I heard your son has been completely absorbed in researching mold lately."

"Ha, haha..."

"The rumor has spread all over Vienna."

Schmidt Stahl was sweating bullets, entirely because of his eccentric son. Marx's grades had been decent, his physical fitness average. Schmidt had expected his son to attend the Gymnasium—the equivalent of a middle and high school in 21st-century Korea—and eventually inherit his publishing business. But after a severe bout of typhoid fever, the boy's eyes had suddenly rolled back, and he had thrown himself into researching mold.

Even today, the moment his son returned from the Gymnasium, he glued his eyes to the microscope as if they were about to pop out.

"Aaaargh! Why do these damn bacteria keep dying on me every single day?! Is it the pH level?!"

Schmidt Stahl was deeply unnerved by his hollow-eyed son's display of sheer madness.

"By the way, son... what on earth are you doing that has you searching for mold like a man possessed?"

"Oh, yes, Father. I believe there's a substance in mold that kills bacteria."

"..."

Naturally, the anxiety of Schmidt Stahl and Anna Stahl deepened with each passing day.

"Dear... do you think our son has... lost his mind?"

"It's driving me crazy. I think he's been like this ever since he caught typhoid."

"Does typhoid even have symptoms like that?"

"Just wait. I'll look for a doctor right away."

How could anyone consider it normal behavior to wander all over town hunting for mold while claiming, "A mold called Penicillium kills bacteria!"? It looked like a symptom of some paranoid delusion, akin to believing one would drop dead if they didn't wash their hands. Granted, he seemed far too intelligent for a typical delusional patient, but still.

Regardless of their worries, Marx Stahl continued his crusade as the Mold Freak.

"Excuse me, sir! Do you have any bread?"

"Of course. What kind of bread are you looking for?"

"Moldy bread!"

"Ah, ahaha... We don't sell things like that."

"Then just give me any bread. The cheapest kind! As much as possible, please!"

And so, he returned home with armfuls of bread. Marx Stahl shoved the bread into the mansion's basement to let it rot and grow mold. Was that all? To obtain as diverse a range of molds as possible, he also had to conduct field research. Since different environments hosted different molds, Marx Stahl roamed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠through abandoned houses, junkyards, forests, and all sorts of places. Digging through piles of fallen leaves in search of mold, it was only natural that rumors of the Mold Freak quickly spread throughout Vienna.

Before long, the Stahl residence was completely overrun with moldy bread.

"W-What on earth is all this?!"

"Father, don't touch that! There's a high probability that this mold will kill the bacteria... but the experiment isn't finished yet."

While it wasn't a glittering, palace-like estate owned by tycoons or high nobility, it was still a spacious, well-decorated house that fully deserved to be called a "mansion." Except for one thing.

Piles of moldy bread were being stacked neatly in every corner of the house.

Naturally, even Schmidt Stahl's cherished socialist friends began to worry about Marx.

"Um, Chairman Stahl? I'm terribly sorry to bring this up, but..."

"Yes?"

"It seems your son... might require professional medical attention."

"..."

Under normal circumstances, Schmidt Stahl, a devoted parent, would have immediately flared up and defended his son. However, no matter how much he tried to rationalize it, Marx's bizarre behavior had crossed a line even in his eyes.

"I've heard of people with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this kind of illness. They gather trash from all over the city and stack it up inside their homes."

"I-I've heard of that too."

"And if you try to clean it up, they fly into a furious rage."

Indeed. No matter how one looked at it, wasn't he acting exactly like a compulsive hoarder? Listening quietly to the conversation nearby, Anna Stahl shed silent tears.

To make matters worse:

"Father, I'm going to drop out of the Gymnasium."

"W-What?! Are you out of your mind?!"

His son had never once mentioned dropping out of school before. To be considered a proper human being, graduating from the Gymnasium was an absolute necessity. How were people with only an elementary school education treated in 21st-century Korea? In the 19th-century Austro-Hungarian Empire, academic discrimination was even more severe, never less. Because of this, Schmidt Stahl, who suffered from a deep academic complex himself, felt his fists tremble violently.

"I'm busy to death researching mold. What's the point of going to the Gymnasium?"

"Y-You...!"

"Instead of wasting time learning useless Latin and Greek, it makes much more sense to spend that time researching antibiotics. Honestly, the only thing they teach there is toxic military-style discipline!"

Dropping out of the Gymnasium was something Schmidt could, by stretching his patience to the absolute limit, try to understand. But the reason was what? An antibiotic made from mold?

Schmidt Stahl was now absolutely certain.

My son has finally lost his mind...

A few days later, Schmidt Stahl invited a psychiatrist recommended by the Jewish community to their home.

And the name of that doctor was one that no student of philosophy or psychology could possibly fail to recognize.