Preparations for the Construction Are Complete.
“……Gahhh! M-my, my back! My back!!”
“Traban! Try eating this! Open wide!”
Just as Traban collapsed to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut, curling up like a shrimp and writhing in agony, the other elves shoved some unidentifiable herbs and thick, viscous liquid into his mouth.
“Urgh…… m-my, my stomach……!”
“Chew it good! Swallow and you’ll feel better!”
“That’s it, gulp gulp, nice and easy!”
Up to that point, I half-wondered if the random junk the elves were cramming into Traban’s mouth might actually have some potion-like miraculous effect.
“Gueh! Kaaaa…… s-save, save meee……”
“Huh? That’s weird. No effect this time either?”
“Yeah. Guess we have no choice but to leave him be?”
After stuffing Traban full of their mystery concoctions to their hearts’ content, the elves patted his back with expressions like they were spectators enjoying a distant forest fire at someone else’s expense. No need to activate micro-expressions to see they had nothing better than weeds up their sleeves.
Timing, huh. Of all the moments to keel over like he swallowed poison?
Was it the grace of some ancestor lounging in that clear blue sky up there? Gazing at Traban, who’d collapsed at this perfect, jaw-dropping moment, I approached with a grave, solemn expression.
“Everyone, step aside. Before I’m the lord of Gold Territory, I’m a doctor. Patient, does it hurt when I press here—?”
“Kyaaaaak!”
If you ranked reasons for visiting a university hospital ER, third place goes to lacerations or perforations, second to fever, and the undisputed first is abdominal pain.
Abdominal pain at home is a nightmare. So many possible causes. Even hearing your cousin bought land can give you a stomachache.
But ER patients describe everything as “abdominal pain,” so when they rush in with acute symptoms, there’s a shortlist of differentials to rule out.
Right lower quadrant…… that’s the spot that screams trouble.
In women, it could be ovarian torsion or pelvic inflammatory disease—OB-GYN territory—but Traban’s a guy, so no.
Which leaves……?
“We’ll take Traban to my hospital, the Beauty Tower, for a proper exam. Jason, Walter. Move him now.”
“Yes, Director.”
“Got it!”
It was a clear emergency, so I pulled a stretcher from my subspace pouch and handed it to Walter and Jason—right then.
“What do you think you’re doing?! Don’t take Traban to that magic tower just for a little tummy ache!”
“Yeah! He always bounces back from this!”
A few elves standing by Traban glared daggers at me, bristling with hostility.
“Of course he’s always been fine. That’s why he’s still breathing.”
“……?”
“Plenty of people die from ‘just a little tummy ache.’ If Traban kicks the bucket without proper treatment, you gonna take responsibility? What’re your names?”
“W-what? D-die?”
“Traban…… dies?”
My sharp words hit home; the elves blocking the stretcher paled and stumbled back.
“Abdominal pain has a ton of causes, and the pain itself varies wildly. He’s been lucky so far, but if it’s gotten bad, he could drop dead! You wanna be the one responsible if Traban dies?”
“T-that’s……”
Exactly. They couldn’t.
A specialist’s words—especially a doctor’s, spoken in front of a sick patient—carry absolute weight.
I’ll figure out what’s wrong later, but this is at minimum a 60,000-gold condition. Can’t let it slip away, whatever it is.
I barely suppressed a pleased smile creeping onto my face, resuming my stern demeanor as I ordered Walter and Jason.
“Bluebird! Move fast!”
“I’ll carry the Director!”
“No! Me!”
“Let’s both!”
“Wait, I……”
Calling code blue, Walter and Jason loaded Traban onto the stretcher and bolted for the Beauty Tower.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
And like I was riding a palanquin, with half-orcs hoisting my legs over their shoulders one by one, I too was whisked to the hospital in a speedy—but utterly undignified—position.
Might be better to just ride Res. Feed her one gold, and she can cast speed magic or something.
Humans are creatures of adaptation. Even excluding Beauty Tower consult fees, the profits from ex-Black Moon cultists getting haircuts, dyes, and perms at the total beauty care shop. Pharmacy sales of various internals and topicals. First-floor Cache Shop aesthetics sold by Cache, plus wolf boy Ravi’s cafe treats—not to mention I’m raking it in just sitting on my hands.
And that’s not all. The gold-silver mine’s pulling silver out like taffy with the silver separation method.
Sure, I still owe that damn territory office 29 years of land fees and such. But the days of life-or-death cash shortages are over, so like back on Earth, I crave that classy, high-end elegance.
Not this palanquin ride on thick half-orc shoulders.
“Director! Bluebird received. Exams prepped.”
“Run the full workup and report back.”
“Yes.”
Arriving at the ninth floor’s comprehensive health check center, Rebecca was waiting by the elevator. She took custody of the patient and headed straight for tests.
And moments later.
“Director, the patient—”
“Kidney stones, right?”
“……How’d you know it was urolithiasis?”
As if I wouldn’t. The whole ride to the hospital, he clutched his flank, sweating bullets and screaming.
Right lower quadrant pain? Appendicitis or ureteral stones. And agony like this? Nine times out of ten, stones.
“Head to the fifth floor.”
“Yes, Director.”
The Beauty Tower’s fifth floor wasn’t just dentistry—it housed urology too.
Some patients with urinary issues agonize over urology clinic vs. urology department.
They worry which is better since the names differ, but no need. It’s all the same.
As of November 2017, “urology department” became the official term for the specialty, but board-certified urologists staff them all regardless.
Not that I’m one, of course.
“Prep for extracorporeal shock wave lithotripsy.”
“Patient, lie back and look at the ceiling.”
“Guh-huh…… i-it huuurts!”
Eyeing the pointy-eared guy still bawling tears and snot, I pulled out my crystal orb and activated recording.
“Lord Traban, your condition is urolithiasis—kidney stones, in simple terms. Stones forming inside you cause the pain. And treatment’s pricey.”
“S-stones? Why would stones be in my…… guh!”
Traban missed my casual price drop, big ears or no—too lost in pain.
I continued softly to the writhing elf.
“Urolithiasis has many causes, but main ones are salty diets, low fluid intake, and too much meat.”
“Guh-hup…… I, I…… don’t……”
This bastard’s a carnivore?
Purebloods and half-elves differ mainly in ear pointiness. Yet Traban and his land-squatting elf crew had cheeks plump as bursting sausages.
And even groaning in pain, they dodged my micro-expression scan—clearly carnivores, unlike taboo-shunning purebloods. This gravel-gang walks the path of the apostle.
“Director, ESWL ready.”
Rebecca confirmed the stone’s position via ultrasound, adjusting the procedure bed to align the machine.
Time to smash.
“Patient, we’re starting now. No big breaths, coughing, or moving—dangerous. It’ll sting a bit. Stay calm.”
Bam—!Bam—!Bam—!Bam—!Bam—!Bam—!
“Gaaaaaaah!”
“Tch! Don’t move! You’ll damage the kidney or surrounding tissue!”
Waste being nice to a broke pointy-ear. Traban probably didn’t even know what a kidney was, but he treasured his body enough to tremble and endure.
Bam—!Bam—!Bam—!Bam—!
“Guhk, guh-hup……”
Medicine’s top three pains: labor, acute toothache, and urolithiasis.
If death-level agony is 10/10, these hit 9—extreme.
Among kidney, ureteral, bladder stones, ureteral ones hurt worst.
Women who’ve given birth sometimes say it’s worse than labor. Like brushing hell’s gates.
Bam—!Bam—!Bam—!Bam—!
Patients wonder if ureteral stones stab or tear the ureter.
But pain isn’t from the stone itself.
Ureter walls are muscular, tough. Tears are rare.
Main causes: ureter spasms, or hydronephrosis from urine backup flooding the kidney.
Folks tough it out thinking “lots of water fixes it,” delaying till unbearable—big mistake.
Untreated ureteral or kidney stones can impair function long-term. Seek care fast.
Bam—!Bam—!Bam—!Bam—!Bam—!
About 35 minutes into pulverizing Traban’s stones with ultrasound, Rebecca halted the machine after analyzing the images.
“Patient, feeling better now?”
“Yeah…… yeah, much improved.”
Traban avoided eye contact, ashamed of his earlier screams.
I gazed at him soulfully for a beat, then turned to Rebecca.
“Rebecca, healing magic and discharge instructions.”
“Yes, Director.”
Heading out, I paused—almost forgot the key part.
“Send him to Cache Capital after. Prescribe gum at the pharmacy too.”
“Gum?”
“You know, the stuff we ration to the Jo folks.”
“Oh! Got it, I’ll load him up.”
Traban and his tribesmen had punchable faces even without micro-expressions—prime back-of-the-head targets.
Nothing beats nicotine gum for scum like them.
Soak ‘em slow like a drizzle wetting clothes. Hook on gum first, then nicotine patches await.
But that’s not the end.
We’ve got vapes stocked for staff quitting smokes…… warehouse stuff always finds a use eventually, huh?
I never trust anyone who’s tried to fool me once.
And my creed: return a slap twofold. With generous interest.
Construction preparations were now complete.
Liquid nicotine enough for years, too.