Penicillin (5)
"Professor! Don't you know anyone in Germany?"
"Uh, well... I do know a few people in Austria, but..."
"But everyone in Austria hates you, Professor!"
"C-cough!"
Summer, 1898.
Honestly, I thought that by this time, my research on penicillin would have everyone hailing me as a "genius physiologist," granting me special admission to university at the age of fifteen, and setting me up for life.
Yet, my paper on penicillin remained buried in obscurity.
Ever since I reincarnated, absolutely nothing has gone my way.
First, I caught typhoid fever.
Then, I got beaten up at the Gymnasium.
And then, Professor Freud framed me as a homosexual.
So many things have gone wrong that I'm practically numb to it now.
On the bright side, I at least had a comrade in misery by my side.
"It seems all the intelligent people in the world have died out. I expected nothing less."
The initial sales of the first edition of The Interpretation of Dreams stood at roughly 783 copies.
And forty-three of those were bought by my father and his friends.
Thanks to my father's tireless promotion, it was undoubtedly selling far better than it had in the original timeline.
Even so, it was still only 783 copies.
For once, I couldn't help but deeply empathize with Professor Freud's despair.
Back in my past life, I had once written a web novel as a hobby. When the view count stalled at a measly three, I felt utterly devastated. This had to be a similar feeling.
Naturally, Professor Freud was in a foul mood.
"Professor, just wait a little longer. It's bound to blow up, I swear."
"No. It would probably be faster for me to make a name for myself as a penicillin researcher."
"You never know."
"Will those fools ever recognize the genius of my book?"
Although Freud's book in this timeline was armed with far sharper, more refined arguments than in the original history, Freud was still Freud.
In reality, it would take another five years before he achieved widespread fame.
The Interpretation of Dreams will definitely make it big someday. Someday!
And once Freud stepped into the spotlight, the penicillin research we conducted together would inevitably share that glory.
But it's still so irritating!
Just imagining him smugly saying, "Of course it succeeded. Anyone with a brain would see that," once the book became a hit, made my teeth itch.
In any case, I set to work refining the penicillin—which was currently stuck at the level of a mere "discovery"—to make it more engineered and practical.
The penicillin I extracted was fundamentally in a liquid state. While attempting to convert this liquid into a solid form, I ran continuous extraction experiments to isolate an even purer strain.
This is no different from my days as a chemical engineering grad student, which I absolutely loathed.
Creating a new substance to benefit human life, and researching ways to extract it more efficiently and purely... isn't that the quintessential chemical engineering experience?
Actual mass production should be left to biologists, and clinical trials to doctors. Once I finish this stage, I'm washing my hands of it.
At the very least, my role would end once I proved the feasibility of mass production and its pharmacological efficacy.
While continuing my research, I also studied English and Russian—the languages destined to rule the world. As if that wasn't enough to keep me busy, I had other matters to attend to.
"Father, you've gathered the scientists, right?"
"Yes. I've invited the industrialists as well."
My father's connections lay mostly with communist and republican revolutionaries. Consequently, the scientists and industrialists he managed to assemble weren't exactly high society, but what choice did I have?
Since my paper had been rejected, I had to personally spread my research findings to scientists to make a name for myself.
Besides, my true talent wasn't actually research. Research was just me bashing my head against the wall using future knowledge.
Most chemical engineering grad students lacked social skills; they were nerds, much like Professor Freud. The type who were only good at research.
Think back to university professors. Those brilliant minds would spend lectures staring at the blackboard, mumbling things no one could comprehend.
A competent researcher, a competent educator, and a competent presenter are entirely different beasts.
The sole reason I survived a 21st-century chemical engineering lab that didn't even suit my aptitude was my presentation skills.
Heh, I'll show them the advanced presentation—no, propaganda—skills of the twenty-first century.
"...Isn't this a bit too cheap for a scientist? I can't tell if this is an academic presentation or a circus act."
"What does it matter? Even if I don't go down in history as a scientist, I might as well make a name for myself as a talented designer."
I drew clean, colorful charts on sheets of paper as large as blackboards. I didn't forget to include diagrams of molds and bacteria, along with actual photographs.
Once you capture the audience's eyes, they'll pay attention, no matter how dry the content is.
Furthermore, in this 19th-century era, most presentations consisted of scribbling on a blackboard while lecturing. It was rare for anyone to go to such lengths to aid the audience's comprehension.
That wasn't all. I mobilized my father and all his red comrades.
Honestly, despite my father's tireless legwork, the venue still looked sparse. We needed to plant shills to pad the numbers.
But simply padding the numbers would be a waste of all that manpower, wouldn't it?
"Uncle Heinrich! You remember the question, right?"
"Yes, I'm to ask about the 'feasibility of mass-producing penicillin,' correct?"
"Yes, exactly. And please make sure to ask if it's effective in animal testing as well!"
First: our plants would preemptively ask the questions that real scholars were likely to raise. If actual academics asked, unexpected variables might crop up. Frankly, penicillin was far from perfect at this stage.
By having our own people raise the sensitive topics first, and then nod understandingly before sitting down, the other scholars would likely accept the explanation without digging deeper.
Second: planting a crowd of hype men!
"Uncle Reinhardt! As soon as the presentation ends, you need to be the first to stand up and applaud. Then the other uncles will follow your lead."
"Understood. I'll do just that."
"And finally, Uncle Wilhelm, what you need to do is..."
Marx Stahl began his presentation before an audience of corporate representatives and mediocre researchers.
The audience looked as if they were watching a talent show put on by a green, fifteen-year-old amateur.
Some were even subtly hostile upon realizing he was a collaborator and disciple of Professor Freud, and Jewish to boot.
"Ha, ridiculous. What could a kid like that possibly know?"
"Dr. Freud? Figures. That's the kind of research you'd expect from a charlatan."
"Why stop there? Why not claim he's invented a perpetual motion machine?"
Of course, the content of the presentation was incredibly compelling. That was the first hook that caught the scientists' interest.
"We established three primary experimental groups. First, mice infected with tuberculosis that received no treatment. Second, mice injected intravenously with ethanol. And finally, mice injected intravenously with penicillin."
A logically sound experimental design. Charts organized for immediate comprehension. Clear explanations that even a layman could grasp instantly.
"It has been less than thirty years since we discovered that bacteria are the root cause of countless diseases. Until now, our only methods of combating them have been primitive, such as disinfection and heat. And at this very moment, we have discovered the first true weapon to fight back against bacteria!"
Furthermore, between explanations, he masterfully emphasized scientific progress like Steve Jobs, making the audience's hearts swell with awe. The applause from the planted shills was the cherry on top!
Even the scientists who harbored doubts about the experiment couldn't help but think:
"To think scientific progress is moving this fast."
"I'm glad I chose to be a scientist. To witness such a sight..."
The ultimate quest of mankind: the complete eradication of disease. Feeling an immense rush of exhilaration at this potential breakthrough, they naturally fell into the dream of human progress—a dream only scientists could dare to dream.
On top of that:
"It destroys cells? Are there no side effects on the human body?"
"None at all. Human cells do not possess cell walls. What makes this substance truly remarkable is that it targets bacteria exclusively. Selective toxicity—it is a miracle drug."
"How does it function once introduced into the human body?"
"Intravenous or intramuscular injection will be the most effective. This substance acts instantly the moment it encounters bacteria."
By preempting the questions a skeptical scientist would ask, we defused their hostility.
Moreover, even if the explanations were slightly lacking, the fact that the "questioner" nodded and accepted the answer led the skeptical scientists to unconsciously accept it as well.
Still, they couldn't entirely discard their prejudices, their minds still clouded by lingering hostility and doubt.
But then:
"Whoaaaaa!"
"My god... Austria has birthed a genius."
As the shills Stahl had planted began to cheer and stand up to applaud, even the cold-faced scientists found themselves clapping along. The atmosphere shifted in an instant.
The highlight of today's presentation was Uncle Wilhelm, the actor.
"Thank you, thank you, young Stahl! No, thank you, Teacher Stahl! Thank you for saving my son!"
Ludwig, the actor, even shed tears as he grabbed Marx Stahl's hand and shook it frantically.
"Please, there is no need. Our miracle is not even half-complete."
"T-then..."
"The rest will be up to the senior scientists gathered here today. Everyone in this room will help drive the progress of humanity."
With that, Ludwig began walking through the audience, thanking them one by one.
When a grown man was weeping openly, begging them to save his child, what could these soft-hearted doctors and scientists possibly say?
"We will study tirelessly to liberate humanity from disease."
"Thank you! Thank you for paying attention to penicillin!"
"Pardon? Oh, well..."
"Sob... To think we will finally be liberated from tuberculosis thanks to you, esteemed scientists...!"
"P-penicillin, yes. Indeed. We shall strive to liberate humanity from tuberculosis with penicillin."
Slowly, the minds of the audience began to shift.
"Wait, is there actually something to this?"
"Damn it, was I just too stupid to understand the seminar, and that's why I doubted it?"
Mold samples were distributed to the seminar attendees. They were even given tuberculosis-infected mice as promotional gifts.
Both the scientists and the industrialists returned to their laboratories and conducted actual experiments on the bacteria. The result:
"The bacteria actually died?"
"Holy crap!"
Realizing the research was genuine, rumors about Stahl's penicillin seminar began to spread like wildfire among scientists and industrialists.
Naturally, the discovery of an antibiotic substance that killed bacteria should have sent shockwaves across the entire nation, but...
"...Penicillin? Isn't that the paper we rejected?"
"C-cough. In any case, that experiment clearly violated research ethics."
"How can we trust a drug experiment conducted in a mere private laboratory?"
Fearing for their own prestige, the universities in Vienna did their utmost to disparage penicillin and suppress the rumors.
Yet, the train had already left the station.
Small local newspapers in Vienna cautiously carried the news of Marx Stahl.
The audience for the seminars grew day by day. Now, even without his father bribing people, a significant number of scientists attended.
"Wait. Mass production is still difficult?"
"If only we could mass-produce it..."
"We'll be rich!"
Scientists seeking fame and fortune began forming their own "Penicillin Research Societies," while corporations eyed the potential for investment.
Meanwhile:
"Marx Stahl, a fifteen-year-old boy who hasn't even finished Gymnasium, made this?"
"He turns sixteen this April."
"Regardless, does this make any sense? Ah, his co-researcher, Professor Freud, must have helped him. The boy is probably just the son of the financial backer."
"...That doesn't seem to be the case. Just to be sure, I visited Professor Freud's office and asked. He just kept begging me to buy his perverted book—which is practically erotica—so I just left."
"I heard there's a strange boy whose brain has been eaten away by blue mold. Is that him?"
"That's the one."
Several figures in Vienna's political and financial circles began to take an interest in the person of Marx Stahl.
Thanks to this, the Stahl household was filled with sinister laughter day after day, sounding like a Qing Dynasty opium den.
"Fufu... Fufufu..."
"Kehehehe!"
"Muhahaha!"
"Wheeeew, yee-haw!"
An antibiotic substance invented by a genius boy that would change the course of humanity.
"Though investments are still small since mass production is a long way off..."
At least we've gathered several well-meaning doctors. Even with its flaws, bringing penicillin into the world decades ahead of schedule is practically child's play.