A Saint's First Miracle

After slaughtering countless bacteria and molds over several months, I had finally become something of an expert in culturing them. At this rate, I was undoubtedly one of the top five microbiology graduate students in the world for this era.

With the research dragging on for six grueling months, both I—Marx Stahl—and Freud were growing exhausted. Freud had already washed his hands of the actual penicillin research, doing little more than offering occasional ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠advice from the sidelines while immersing himself entirely in his own work.

Sigh... I always hated this kind of mind-numbing, brute-force labor in the lab. And here I am, doing it all over again. Normally, any sane researcher would have thrown in the towel after failing to produce results for this long. It was a sheer act of madness that no one but Marx, armed with his glimpses of the future, would have ever dared to attempt.

Wait a minute. Is the blue mold actually supposed to kill bacteria? What if it's only called blue mold, but it's actually red or something in this era?! Just as I was beginning to doubt my own sanity, I mechanically peered through the microscope to inspect the culture medium.

"...?!"

They were gone. The bacteria.

To be precise, there was nothing left in the petri dish but the mold and the lifeless corpses of the microbes.

"I-I did it! It actually worked!"

Late summer, 1897. This was the exact moment the true nature of penicillin was first confirmed.

To be fair, this wasn't the first time I had made a fuss. There had been plenty of times before when poor maintenance of the culture medium had simply killed off all the bacteria, leaving only the mold behind.

"Ah... is that so? How nice. Now, why don't you tell me more about this 'history of madness' instead?"

Having seen me cry wolf several times already, Professor Freud's reaction was utterly lukewarm.

But still. Even if I was, in the eyes of a professor, nothing more than a glorified lab ape whose only real talents were drinking and smoking, a true researcher possesses a certain instinct.

Inside the medium, the mold—which should have been locked in a fierce struggle for survival against the bacteria—had completely conquered this tiny ecosystem. The remaining bacteria were either completely shriveled up or had dissolved into faint, blurry outlines.

"No, wait. It's not over yet."

I hurriedly and carefully transferred the mold filling the dish to a larger culture medium. I couldn't afford to let these precious spores die, not even by accident.

Over the next two days, I repeated the experiment under identical conditions with various other bacterial strains. The results were consistent.

"Professor."

I approached Freud, who was reading a paper, with a triumphant smirk. Freud looked up, his expression laced with irritation.

"What is it now? Did you massacre another batch of bacteria? I told you, managing the pH level is the most critical part, honestly...!"

"It's not that. Would you mind taking a look through the microscope?"

His concentration broken, Freud grumbled as he began to inspect the petri dishes one by one.

"Hmm. You killed all the bacteria again. That's why the mold is growing so rampantly."

"Exactly. Now, would you mind looking at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the dish next to it?"

"This one is dead too. Marx, research is well and good, but I think you need to take a breath and rest."

"Look at the next one, and the one next to that, please."

"Good grief. Did you wipe out every single one of them this time?! Look, instead of wasting your time here, why don't you go help your father with his business... wait, what?"

Though he might have been a perverted doctor obsessed with phalluses and anuses, he was still a medical doctor. As such, he was thoroughly versed in the cutting-edge theory of the day: that germs were the root cause of disease.

Pneumonia, tuberculosis, cholera, typhoid, and even syphilis... all these lethal diseases that slaughtered humanity were caused by bacterial infections. If that was the case, there was no way he could fail to grasp the monumental significance of this discovery.

"H-haha... Is it... is it really the mold...?"

Freud's hands were trembling violently. To be honest, he had probably assumed this was nothing more than the wild delusions of a young boy.

"Ah, I suppose this is the burden of being a pioneer. It is never easy, heh."

Despite my chuunibyou-esque remark, Freud merely stared at me in a daze before suddenly erupting.

"Marx, my boy! You are the savior of humanity! Bwahahaha!"

"No, wait! That's a bit of a stretch—cough! Please, let go of me, you're squeezing too hard...!"

"No, it isn't! Not at all!"

It was indeed a massive stretch. I only knew of penicillin's existence; I had no idea how to actually use it to treat patients yet. Furthermore, while we knew that the mold historically known as Penicillium notatum possessed antibacterial properties, we had yet to isolate and identify the exact chemical substance responsible for it.

Nevertheless, Professor Freud held onto me tightly, showing absolutely no intention of letting go.

"B-but, by any chance... will my name be listed as a co-researcher...?"

Ah, so that was his angle. Professor Freud was currently being shunned by the mainstream medical community, leaving him absolutely starved for academic recognition.

"What kind of nonsense is that? Honestly, you didn't believe this would work for a single second while we were doing the research, did you? You just thought it was child's play."

"But you wouldn't have even been able to start this research without me!"

"The same goes for your research, Professor!"

Still, he wasn't entirely wrong. The real research was only beginning. We had to characterize the properties of this mold. We had to set up various control groups and run experiments. The ultimate goal of this research was to successfully extract the miracle antibiotic substance known as penicillin.

Would it end there? Not a chance. Once we successfully produced penicillin, we would have to find a trustworthy pharmaceutical company or physician to ensure our papers and patents weren't stolen. And wouldn't it be wonderful to rake in a mountain of cash in the process?

In any case, Professor Freud and I broke the news to my father.

"M-my son... discovered a miracle substance that can completely cure tuberculosis, pneumonia, and typhoid?"

My father froze on the spot, unable to believe his ears.

Freud stepped in to vouch for my research. "Just to be absolutely certain there were no errors, I conducted the experiment several times under the exact same conditions myself. It is the real deal."

Of course, knowing my father's loose lips, we couldn't share the finer details of the research for fear he would blab to the entire world. Perhaps because of that, my father remained standing there, completely rigid.

"Come on, Father! It's true! The details are a secret until the paper is published, but... that's why I think you should invest in this. Father? Ah, Father!"

"G-gack!"

Overwhelmed by sheer ecstasy, my father foamed at the mouth and collapsed, fainting on the spot.

"F-Father!"

"Argh!"

"Professor Freud, you're a doctor! Do something, quickly!"

As I said, this was where the real research began. First, we had to define the unique characteristics of the mold compared to other blue molds—such as its distinct bilateral symmetry when viewed under a microscope.

After defining the mold's characteristics, it took another three months of employing various chemical techniques to successfully extract penicillin. Even with Professor Freud actively assisting me this time, the process was incredibly time-consuming.

"Damn it, this is ridiculously hard!"

This time, the sheer difficulty of the experiment held us back. Finding the mold was one thing, but actually extracting the penicillin from it was an entirely different beast.

"Marx, my boy, it seems the mold secretes this antibiotic substance just before it dies."

"Let's try adjusting the pH levels. Acidic, neutral, and strongly acidic. Damn, it's barely dissolving."

"Oh? It works in strongly acidic conditions!"

"But Professor, it doesn't seem to dissolve in oil at all."

"You mean we have to start all over again from the beginning?!"

Still, this was well within the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠realm of what I had handled multiple times back in my chemical engineering days. Granted, doing it with the crude laboratory equipment of the 1890s was no walk in the park, but honestly, I had conducted research in far worse environments in the modern era. Research funding was always notoriously tight back then. Here, my father had practically lost his mind and was eagerly throwing money at us whenever we asked, so our situation was actually much better.

In the end, despite some remaining impurities, we succeeded in producing a small quantity of penicillin—the absolute best that could be achieved with the technology of this era. All that was left was to spend several days drafting our research paper!

"By the way, why is the species name Penicillium notatum? Is notatum derived from the Latin notatus, meaning 'marked' or 'distinguished'?"

"...? Is that what it means?"

"Then why did you name it notatum?"

"Let's just say it is."

"I don't like the name. How about Penicillium freudii?"

"...Let's go with Penicillium stahlium."

I gazed proudly at the ten-page manuscript we had compiled.

January 1898. With thirty copies of our completed monograph in hand, Professor Freud and I submitted our paper to the academic society of the University of Vienna.

Unbelievable. This godforsaken Austro-Hungarian Empire deserved to burn to the ground. Up until the discovery of penicillin, I had been brimming with dreams and hope for the future. Heh. What could be easier than changing history through the power of science? I had expected a classic isekai progression where I could just toss out a few pieces of future knowledge, say, "Here, this is penicillin," and watch the world bow in awe. If this were America, such a development might have actually been possible. But here?

Sure, fine. If I strained my brain hard enough, I could somewhat understand that part. Imagine if a fifteen-year-old in the modern world claimed to have discovered a room-temperature superconductor and published a paper on it. Who would believe them? While a true scientist ought to perform at least a basic verification, it would naturally lack credibility at first glance. But I knew that wasn't the real reason.

Indeed. While antisemitism was rampant all across Europe, the Austro-Hungarian Empire was easily one of the worst offenders. Even in Vienna, the mayor himself openly campaigned on expelling the Jews.

Professor Freud and I sat in the laboratory, enveloped in a heavy, suffocating silence. Freud, who had otherwise become a gentle soul capable of listening to others, was muttering under his breath.

"Idiots... They've always been idiots. You show them the truth, and they plug their ears. No matter what anyone says, I am right. Idiots..."

He muttered endlessly, his signature stubborn, defensive mindset threatening to resurface.

I couldn't bring myself to stop him. If Freud's anger was festering into a towering self-righteousness, my own anger was burning with a fierce, venomous hatred.

Did I miscalculate? Is it impossible to change this world with a mere scientific discovery? Was tearing down the Austro-Hungarian Empire the only true way to save humanity?

Deep within my chest, the embers of a violent revolution began to spark. Just then—

"Well, well! Is this the laboratory of my genius son?"

"Pwahahaha! It certainly is! I wonder who he gets his brains from, heeheehee!"

"...Yes, yes. But more importantly, the smell of mold in here is dreadful. Good heavens, you'll drive all the patients away from the clinic at this rate."

"But this musty stench is the very scent of a monumental discovery!"

"Haha, my wife has been feeling a bit anxious lately. Perhaps I should have her see Professor Freud for a consultation?"

"And who do you think is the patron of that very professor? It's me! Mwahahaha!"

My father and his band of socialist friends had barged into Professor Freud's lab uninvited. Naturally, they were loaded down with bottles of wine and whiskey.

"F-Father?"

"What brings you all here, Mr. Stahl?"

My father replied with an air of nonchalance, as if the answer were obvious. "Why, to celebrate the world-changing, monumental discovery that I funded, of course!"

"I am terribly sorry, but as I mentioned before, the university has rejected our paper..."

"Haha! Our dear Professor Freud, whom I funded, may be highly educated, but it seems he doesn't know how the world works."

"...Excuse me?"

"Just ask any of my friends here. We all knew from the start that you stood absolutely no chance of getting a fair evaluation from those snobs."

Regardless of how bewildered Freud and I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were, my father and his companions began clearing off the tables and laying down tablecloths.

"In any case, the fact remains that this discovery—which I funded—will save tens of millions, if not hundreds of millions, of lives. Now, shall we have a drink?"

Despite ourselves, Freud and I couldn't help but smile at my father's ridiculous insistence on emphasizing "which I funded." Yes, just as my father said, this country was a complete joke. But that didn't mean our discovery was a joke.

"Marx Stahl, sit down!"

"Me too?"

"Of course. A boy should learn how to drink from his father, kiddo."

In an instant, the gloomy atmosphere evaporated, replaced by warm, lively chatter. Once again, the seeds of hope began to bloom in the laboratory. So the established academia of the Austro-Hungarian Empire won't accept us? Fine. We'll keep hammering away until someone does!