How I Nursed Her -2-
The Young Lady was uncomfortable in her body. She couldn't walk on her own, couldn't even use the bathroom without someone else's help. In a world where people flew through the skies with magic and forged unnatural strength through physical training, the Young Lady had ended up with a body restricted in movement.
This world wasn't kind to those with disabilities. Everyone was healthy and robust. Even in old age, those who'd trained sufficiently rarely suffered the physical inconveniences of aging. Sure, compared to their youth, there might be some drop in stamina or appearance, but it never hindered their mobility to that extent.
That had been one of the biggest shocks since coming to this world. At the same time, I'd been appalled by how people with disabilities were treated. Where I'd lived before, consideration existed because it was a place filled with people who had physical limitations—due to aging, illness, accidents, and such.
I wasn't saying the people here lacked heart. There were always helping hands extended to a middle-aged man who'd lost a leg in an adventure. It was just that this world sorely lacked any concept of welfare for the disabled. There were no systems or institutions for disabilities, no development of wheelchairs like the one the Young Lady used, no rehabilitation programs. Society made no secret of its intent to discard them.
Prosthetic arms did exist, though. Maybe because they could be modded into weapons? It was an incomprehensible world, anyway.
This place was harsh on those with inconveniences. As a child, I'd stood back, thinking it had nothing to do with me. But as an adult, I felt that injustice more directly than anyone. After the disability struck the Young Lady, I'd felt a bitter pang over discriminations I'd forgotten.
Even the smallest things were hard to obtain. Hospital beds, commonplace in my old world, simply didn't exist here. In a place with the massive alternative of healing magic, the idea of rest as treatment might exist, but consideration for those unable to use mana was woefully inadequate. And the prices were outrageously beyond imagination.
I still remembered leaving a shop with a wry smile after seeing the exorbitant cost of items made for nursing the sick.
So I'd started caring for the Young Lady through self-sufficiency. Drawing on my experience from my previous life, nursing a grandmother I was close to in a nursing home.
It wasn't my profession. I wasn't smart enough for medical work, nor did I have the money. It was just crude, patchwork knowledge I'd glimpsed over a nurse's shoulder while helping care for the grandmother who often visited our orphanage.
Back then, I'd thought it was useless experience. But nursing the Young Lady, it proved valuable in so many ways. You really never know with life.
The ailing Young Lady was stubbornly headstrong. She always had been strong-willed, but once the inconvenience hit, she wouldn't listen to anyone.
...She was depressed. Disappointed. Listless. She clung to silence with such stubbornness that I'd almost wished she'd just lash out in anger.
"Young Lady, you can't stay lying on one side too long."
"Don't fuss."
To prevent bedsores from prolonged positions—the skin condition that arises from it—she'd snap, "Don't touch me," if I tried changing her posture. When I'd lift her up from the bed, she'd brush off my hands and coldly push me away: "Don't pity me. You think I'm pathetic too, don't you?"
I couldn't understand the Young Lady. I never presumed I could grasp her sorrow, so I didn't even try. I just stayed by her side, quietly offering help.
With that one-sided care, she gradually improved. Compared to the early days after losing use of her legs, she talked more and even had days when she smiled. Things were getting better, bit by bit. Thank goodness.
*
"Yaaawn..."
After escorting the Young Lady to the bathroom, I leaned against the wall, rubbing my sleepy eyes. Maybe because I'd just used Rehabilitation Touch, an unusual fatigue weighed on my body. If I closed my eyes, sleep would claim me any second—but then, her shy, tentative voice reached my ears, laced with embarrassment.
"Ricardo... are you out there?"
The trembling voice of the Young Lady, who feared the night. I paused, teasing her with silence.
"Ricardo...?"
"Eek... I need you there. I'm scared of the toilet ghost story with the red and blue tissue..."
"Eek..."
I chuckled softly at her whimpering, scaredy-cat murmurs, then carefully spoke up.
"Our mansion has no red or blue tissue, Young Lady."
"Don't joke! I got startled thinking there wasn't any."
"I see. Next time, I'll wait a bit longer to reply."
"Eek...! You're dead if you leave."
"Shall I run away, then?"
"Sorry."
With a quivering voice, like a spoiled plea, she murmured timidly through the door: "Don't go anywhere."
"..."
"I'll give you allowance... Got it?"
My lips twitched. Her cute sulking wish was just too adorable. Afraid she'd cry if I teased more, I hummed a tune while picturing her in the bathroom.
"Three bears lived in one house."
"..."
"Wicked bear. Butler bear. Just-bear."
"My house bear doesn't even listen to me."
"..."
"Gonna eat him."
"Gomtang would cry if he heard."
"He can cry."
She seemed to have a lot pent up. Smiling faintly, I told her:
"Anyway, no need to worry. I need the bathroom too."
"You in a hurry...?"
"I won't bolt to the first-floor one, so relax."
"Phew... Then don't come in right after I come out."
"Yes."
As a seasoned butler, preserving the lady's mood was my duty, so I replied with a small smile to ease her worry. She was still such a girl. After over ten years together, her moments of appreciation for my consideration still moved me deeply.
The Young Lady took longer in the bathroom than most. Adjusting her skirt hems, handling everything with her uncomfortable body—it required more time. I actually thought it fortunate. If she'd stubbornly insisted on doing nothing alone, that would've been worse. For rehabilitation's sake, and her mental health, I liked this stubbornness of hers.
Normally, she rarely voiced wanting the bathroom. Having lost sensation in her lower body, she noticed her bladder's signals later than others.
Whenever she said she needed to go, I'd prepare her clothes.
"Ricardo..."
"Pink suits you today."
"..."
"Sky-blue dress just doesn't cut it, no matter how I think about it."
"Yeah."
At first, we'd struggled a lot with such things. Figuring out how to change her clothes without stressing her, finding ways to avoid mishaps. Over time, I got better at timing her needs, but those early days had been rough.
Things were improving. My nursing skills. Her brighter demeanor. Much better than at the start. I believed tomorrow would be brighter than today. Her stubbornness hated staying stagnant.
A short time passed. As a loud flush echoed from beyond the bathroom door, I pondered how to hand over the pre-prepared clothes—mentally rehearsing lines.
How to offer them nicely.
It wasn't proper for a butler to make a lady ask for clothes to change into. I needed a plausible excuse.
"Ahem."
At this hour, ideas weren't coming easily. Inventing a reason for a predawn change was high difficulty. Summer weather could've been an excuse, but spring didn't work.
I clutched her clothes, lost in thought. Even as the sound of running water ('shaaa') came from beyond the door, no good line emerged.
Just hand them over today.
I'd knock gently without a word; she'd understand by now. With a wry smile, I raised my fingers to the door—and then it burst open with a 'bang,' revealing the Young Lady's brightly smiling face right before me.
She was laughing.
"Heehee..."
Biting her lip to hold back an explosive grin, cheeks puffed out. Flustered, I tried averting my eyes, but seeing her fully dressed, a question mark popped up over my head.
"Huh?"
Beaming, she declared:
"No need to change today!"
Hope glimmered. A tiny hope, screaming at me to abandon my petty greed.