Don't Get Weak Already
“Wh-what did you just say? How dare you mock the Wind Tower! Even if you are Baron Gold, we cannot overlook such insolence!”
“My ears hurt. No need to strain your neck veins screaming like that.”
An ENT specialist would’ve grimaced, but I dug in my ear and stepped forward.
“Looks like you’ve misunderstood me. I’m not blanket-insulting the Wind Tower. If you’re so confident that drilling into brains with a spoon or that ice…… ice pick lobotomy? has no side effects, then hand over that ice pick. I’ll do it for you.”
“Wh-what are you doing? Treating a perfectly healthy person?”
Perfectly healthy, my ass. The nonsense he’s spouting screams mental illness. I let out an involuntary sigh at the sheer novelty of it.
“And ice water anesthesia? Dunking in a tub full of ice water for a ‘bit’? Are you kidding? It’s obviously meant to knock them out for 6-8 hours, and you call that a ‘bit’? When I offered to teach you proper anesthesia, you dismissed it as bullshit and wouldn’t even listen.”
“……”
The bastard had nothing to say, so I’d hit the nail on the head. But I wasn’t stopping there.
With everyone gathered and the stage set, the Korean thing to do is play along.
“Anyway, I said that because you keep calling your absurd treatments—no, tortures—‘medicine.’ I’m not singling out the Wind Tower to mock.”
“Wh-what? ‘Flapping your mouth’? How dare you speak so rudely! Does that mean you, Baron, can cure this mental illness?”
I met Elvin’s trembling, fist-clenched outburst with a sly grin.
“I’ll need to diagnose and treat to confirm, but first off, I know what it is. Unlike you, Elvin.”
As Elvin’s mouth twitched to spew more nonsense, I cut him off. I was sick of watching a quack play doctor.
“Retired hero Bomba’s grandson— I haven’t done a full exam yet, but what I see is schizophrenia.”
“Schizo-what?”
“Like a string instrument that doesn’t sound beautiful until properly tuned, it’s a disease where the split mind gets realigned.”
“You could just say ‘split-mind disease.’ The Beauty Tower really loves fancy names.”
This prick?
It was annoying, but before Swiss psychiatrist Eugen Bleuler coined “Schizophrenia” from Greek roots meaning “split mind,” Korea called it “mental split disease” or “split-mind syndrome.” But since “split-mind syndrome” led to misconceptions like multiple personalities, the Korean Medical Association officially changed it to “schizophrenia” in March 2011.
“If you don’t even know the proper name, don’t pretend. Call it schizophrenia from now on. And it’s not a disease that’s easily cured.”
“Hmph, so even you, Baron—”
“But with consistent treatment, and if the patient engages early and actively, it can sometimes be fully cured.”
Elvin’s lip curled smugly at my explanation.
“There’s a flaw in your words. You’re admitting even you don’t know for sure if it can be cured.”
“Of course not, without a proper diagnosis and treatment. Oh, don’t misunderstand—I won’t drill holes in skulls like some lunatic at a limb-chopping contest, or spoon out brains, or stab eyelids with an awl.”
Elvin’s face twitched violently as his “latest treatment”—ice pick lobotomy—was dismissed as barbaric.
“Ah, no offense to the Wind Tower as a whole. This is aimed at you, Elvin, for bragging about that crap as ‘treatment.’ Haha!”
You psycho bastard. Spooning brains? Stabbing? What, is the brain pudding, asshole?
The Beauty Tower and Wind Tower were already at each other’s throats. Now with my barony, I wasn’t playing nice anymore.
“How dare you insult our Wind Tower—”
“No, you still don’t get it? What you do isn’t medicine. So what I’m saying is……”
I locked eyes with Elvin’s furious glare, my expression turning icy.
“Shut up and hand over the patient.”
“Don’t cross the line! This is right in front of the Wind Tower, Baron Gold!”
Elvin wasn’t Servius, the Wind Tower master, but a 4th Circle mage. His thunderous shout had the other Wind Tower mages outside draw their blood-soaked “medical” tools. Shing— My guard Walter drew his sword too, turning the air electric with tension.
“Everyone, stop!”
A jangling bell cut through the chaos as Black Moon Church priests intervened with the Wind Tower mages.
“I am Priest Bap of the Black Moon Church. Forgive my late greeting, Baron Gold.”
“No need. What do you want?”
The priest named Bap pulled back his black cloak’s hood at my cold tone, revealing his face.
“We require observation for any mental illness treatment.”
What fresh bullshit was this? As rage boiled at the thought of shoving these pricks under Josephine’s clippers, a realization hit.
“Ha, the Dungeon Zone Special Law?”
“You already know. But our intelligence says the Beauty Tower bars non-medical staff from treatment rooms.”
Now it was clear who that law was for—and why it even existed baffled me.
“The Beauty Tower won’t show procedures even to barons, earls, or dukes, so naturally, our Church observation would be—”
“Fine, let’s do it.”
“Pardon?”
Bap’s face twisted in surprise at my unexpected reply.
“If the law says so, even a baron can’t ignore it. Let’s go.”
“……Yes.”
I could tolerate anyone but Black Moon Church scum. I boarded the carriage and messaged Josephine right away.
—Yes, Director!
“Busy these days? Need extra staff for the barbershop?”
* * *
“Thank you, Baron. I went home and the kid was gone……”
I’d practically kidnapped retired hero Bomba and his grandson, loading them into the carriage back to the Beauty Tower. Soon after we arrived, the Black Moon priests rolled up on the Dungeon Zone patrol carriage.
“No problem. Doctors exist to treat patients.”
Now we were all in the Beauty Tower’s 6th-floor Mental Health Department. I’d peeked once on my first day here, but never visited since.
Bomba, who’d followed me with his grandson, kept sighing deeply, watching Joseph mutter alone in the corner with a face full of worry.
“My grandson Joseph is a pitiful kid. Lost his mother at birth, raised alone by my son.”
“……”
“He wasn’t like this as a child. But two years ago, my son…… died in a dungeon accident, and my wife followed from the shock. That’s when he started acting possessed, like a demon took him.”
From Bomba’s story, Joseph’s illness had lasted about two years.
Then a Black Moon priest butted in.
“If you need demon possession confirmed, we at the Black Moon Church can thoroughly—”
“Hey, can’t you see I’m consulting the patient’s family? Observe quietly. Don’t interrupt.”
“Ahem…… my apologies.”
I glared at the line of Black Moon priests standing rigidly two steps behind me and Bomba. Their mouths shut again.
Two years already…… Would’ve been better earlier, but timing’s never perfect. Not every treatment happens on demand.
As the priest fell silent, Bomba continued.
“When Joseph first showed symptoms, I scolded him that only the weak get such unseen illnesses, prayed, tried everything. But his condition only worsened.”
“……”
“We came to avoid the horrific surgeries at the local magic tower, but…… is a real cure possible?”
Bomba wanted a straight yes or no. But hearing him talk about his grandson made it clear even he, who’d watched it all, knew nothing about schizophrenia.
“I called it schizophrenia, right? Mental illnesses like schizophrenia, depression, anxiety disorders are diagnosed phenomenologically—based on visible symptoms. Basically, ‘these symptoms mean this diagnosis.’”
Korean doctors learn psychiatry in med school and internships, including psychopathology and treatments like meds. They can diagnose and prescribe.
“Schizophrenia shows auditory hallucinations, hallucinations including those, delusions, bizarre behavior, speech issues, negative symptoms like poor social relations or isolation. Seeing those lets us diagnose phenomenologically.”
In other words, unlike fractures or heart attacks, no biological test exists yet.
“You asked if it’s treatable, Bomba.”
“Yes.”
“Statistically, of 100 patients, about 35 recover fully with injections or pills and stay relapse-free even after stopping. Another 45 relapse if they stop but improve when restarting.”
“Then…… the remaining 20?”
Bomba’s face darkened as he asked cautiously.
“Honestly, they don’t respond well. We switch meds often, try electroconvulsive therapy, etc. Their prognosis is poor—about 20%.”
“N-no……”
Bomba, who’d gritted through phantom limb pain on his amputated leg, now writhed like a child hearing his grandson’s diagnosis.
“Don’t get weak already. We haven’t started real treatment.”
I handed him a tissue and continued. Schizophrenia needs lifelong management like hypertension or diabetes. He couldn’t crumble now.
And I’d save him. Not just spare him a lobotomy. I’d heal that scarred young heart.