You're Giving Me This?
Pfft! Pffft!
“Ngh……”
Pffft pffft! Pew pew pew pfft!
“Urgh……”
Pew pew pew pfft! Pew pew pew pew pfft! Pweeeew!
“Gaaah……”
After finishing the ultrasound scan, I started jabbing from Marquis Ecna's double chin with rapid, precise movements, skillfully avoiding nerves.
“Faster! Speed it up! Cast healing the instant I poke!”
Pweeeew! Pfft! Pweeeew!
“Urghh!”
“Heal!”
“Urghhh!”
“Heal!”
“Gaaaaah!”
“Heal!”
Rebecca, Hazel, Stella, George, Josephine, Joy, Jonathan, and even Res. The seven of them plus one hatchling moved like an artist's brush following my swift hand, casting healing spells nonstop.
“Flip him!”
Pweeeew! Pweeeew!
“Flip!”
Pweeeew pweeeew!
From chin to shoulders, knees, feet—I jabbed his entire body top to bottom, flipping him over and over, repeating the pokes relentlessly.
Just like hands get the knack for simple repetitive labor, my surgical assistants(?) were already reacting before I could finish speaking.
Before I knew it, my eyes could see right through to the fat spots that needed poking, and I flipped the marquis's son around like a pancake, stabbing every inch of him mercilessly.
“Good, just a bit more—”
“Guhhh…… St-stop……!”
Even as he groaned nonstop, the marquis's son—who had endured so well—finally begged to stop the treatment.
“Hmm…… Alright, that's enough for today.”
Lost in the whirlwind of handiwork, I'd kept up the trance-like stabbing for hours, and I could see the witches, Jo family, and Res hitting their physical limits.
Can't blame them. I had them chugging potions and casting heals non-stop while monitoring the mana meter.
Their mana was full, sure, but physically and mentally, they were wrecked.
“Great job, everyone. Help the patient get dressed and move him to the inpatient ward.”
“Huff, y-yes, un-understood.”
“Good work, you've all…… worked hard.”
“Haa, thank you for…… your efforts.”
I stepped out of the director's office first.
“Baron! Is our young marquis alright? The treatment took longer than expected……”
“Yes, it wrapped up well. He'll be out soon. I told them to take him to the inpatient ward, so let's head there together.”
Abdul, waiting anxiously on the bench outside, rushed over the moment he saw me. I led him up to the ninth-floor inpatient ward.
Creak—Roll roll roll—
And shortly after.
“Young marquis! Are you okay?!”
The rattling of the hospital bed grew louder, and as the exhausted marquis's son was wheeled in, Abdul bolted toward him, calling his name.
“Huff? Is, is that really…… the young marquis?!”
I nodded instead of answering, but Abdul's wide eyes stayed glued to his master, unblinking.
“A-Abdul…… I'm fine. The treatment just took longer than expected, so I'm tired. It hurt a bit too.”
“No, it's not that…… Young marquis, have you looked in a mirror?”
“Mirror? No, not yet…… Huh?!”
The marquis's son's lips trembled as Abdul cautiously held up the mirror.
Way too early to be that shocked.
The six-hour Violet frenzy wasn't limited to just his chin.
“We'll move the bed forward. Check yourself in the full-length mirror.”
At my nod, the witches wheeled his bed in front of the full-body mirror.
Finally snapping to, the marquis's son looked down at his arms, belly, legs, then back to the mirror, alternating frantically.
“Ha, haha…… hahaha!”
“Better results than expected.”
Not liposuction, not gastric sleeve or bypass—just fat dissolution via Violet injections. A treatment only I could pull off in this world.
“It's late today, so we'll continue Violet tomorrow, then move on to the gastric balloon. For now, let me explain your diet and management routine.”
* * *
Three days since Marquis Ecna's son was admitted to the Beauty Tower.
I thought we'd wrapped Violet on day two yesterday. But his body was absurdly massive—not just him, but the witches, Jo family, and Res were mana- and stamina-drained, so we only got to the balloon surgery this afternoon on day three.
“Director, pre-op's done.”
“Got it. Watch closely—this isn't an everyday procedure.”
“Yes.”
Unlike planned, he was a scaredy-cat, so we went with sedation for the balloon insertion.
Fell asleep fast.
For a normal patient, propofol alone would've sufficed. With it, you can monitor via oxygen saturation, and unlike midazolam, they wake clean in 3-4 minutes after stopping. But propofol depresses breathing, so we mixed in midazolam to compensate.
“First, scope in to check the stomach fully, then measure fixation length for the spot.”
“Yes.”
Shoo—Sloooow—
Endoscope first to confirm no ulcers, bleeding, or issues before balloon insertion.
“Not for this patient, but skip on gastric resection cases, esophageal varices, cirrhosis, or hiatal hernias over 5cm. Don't forget.”
“Yes, Director. And those on continuous anticoagulants too.”
Lately, I've been quizzing Stella during surgeries— she's picking it up steadily.
Train her a bit more, and even if I break a limb, we're good. Not that it'd happen.
Shoo—Sloooow—
Like a long string slurped into his mouth, I monitored the insides with Stella.
“See? No issues, right?”
“Yes, Director. Huh? Why inflate air with the scope?”
“Expands the fundus and body for space. Confirms balloon spot too. Stella, pull the scope.”
“Yes.”
Good, she's got it.
Step by step—make Stella all-purpose first, then train the other witches hands-on.
After scope out, we lubed the L-tube balloon catheter and slid it in.
Shoo—Sloooow—
“In position—now inflating.”
“Yes.”
Ballooning started, and the twisted tissue-like deflated balloon swelled like a soccer ball on the monitor.
“VR sim said 500-1000cc. We'll do 600cc proportional to his size.”
“Yes. But it's blue?”
Injecting blue saline repeatedly into the expanding balloon.
“Methylene blue. Some use indigo carmine saline—both blue dyes. If it bursts, blue pee alerts us. Tell him for post-op care.”
“Got it.”
Gastric balloon's simple—done in under 20 minutes.
Ten minutes later, the awake marquis's son was wheeled back.
“Young marquis, young marquis……!”
“Haha, Abdul. I did great.”
His voice carried fatigue from morning Violet and balloon, but no gloom.
“Well done, young marquis. Stella explained, but keep the balloon six months. Ideally, monthly check-ups here.”
“I'll make time, no matter how busy. Thank you, Baron.”
No wonder—42kg down after three days of Violet. From 326kg to 284kg.
Presenting this at a conference would've caused a riot……
Regrettable, but whatever. Regret's payable in cash.
“For trusting me and cooperating on obesity treatment, I prepared a modest gift.”
“A gift? I haven't even paid properly yet……”
No need for that guilty face. It's all on the bill anyway.
I smiled warmly and messaged Kellogg next door via crystal orb.
Knock knock—
“Looks like your gift's here. Come in, Kellogg.”
The door opened, and Kellogg wheeled in the commissioned item.
“That's……? A moving chair?”
“Correct. A wheelchair. You desperately need exercise, so use this for all movement from now on.”
“Kyuuu—?”
“Kyuuu—!”
“Kyuuu—!”
“Kyuuu—!!”
As I explained, the pangolins sprawled on the floor popped up meerkat-style, roaring excitedly.
Quokka faces, almost.
Even speechless beasts know gratitude.
But the recipient's reaction was lukewarm.
“Not to your liking?”
“N-no. It's just…… will it hold me? Haha.”
“No worries. Special alloy—holds up fine.”
Kellogg's replica medical wheelchair maxed at 315kg. Theoretically fine for him.
“Haha, really? Then let me……”
Leaner(?) now, he shuffled to the chair with Abdul's help.
“Oh! Haha! It holds me steady!”
“Please use the wheelchair over bed for mobility. Try pushing yourself.”
“Ooh! Ooooh! Haha, I'm moving myself!”
Marquis Harish Ecna boomed with laughter that day, riding off on his massive elephant back home.
Promising a monthly check-up.
* * *
Days after he left the Beauty Tower.
I received a letter from him.
“No way…… You're giving me this?”