Clinical Trials (2)

Due to the mana invasion, humanity faced a catastrophic population collapse.

The first method humanity chose to overcome it was unification.

To maintain and prosper any society, the most crucial element is population—people. Without them, nothing can be done.

So, whether through wars deploying military force or peaceful negotiations, nations merged to secure at least a minimal population base.

The remaining challenge: boost population growth to strengthen national power.

Early unified nations focused their major policies on increasing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠birth rates.

All sorts of incentives were rolled out: benefits for jobs, promotions, and raises upon having children; free housing; tuition support... you name it.

As a result, the average marriage age, which had skyrocketed to the mid-30s, plummeted to the early-to-mid-20s. Families raised at least three kids per household as the norm.

Yet even after 200 years, one problem persisted unsolved.

Mana rejectors.

They were surplus humans.

Treated worse than criminals, discarded or treated as non-entities.

Despite it not being genetic, they couldn't even dream of marriage.

They had no such thoughts anyway.

Countless talents were ignored simply for being mana rejectors.

If born into a good family, at least they'd live comfortably into their 20s before passing.

But for kids from poor families with mana rejection syndrome?

Of course, the world couldn't just stand by.

Nations worldwide had steadily sought solutions.

Of course, with no success.

For 200 years, the medical and scientific communities had poured everything into treating mana rejection syndrome. And now someone claimed to have found a cure?

"We've completed the phase 1 and 2 clinical trials. Administered the treatment to 20 severe patients, and now they're all living normal ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lives just like anyone else. That's a success, right?"

- Uh... uh...

The emperor on the other end of the line couldn't find words.

He sounded like he was about to faint.

"We're gearing up for phase 3. The treatment isn't perfect yet, so we'll need a broad sample—half men, half women; infants to teens; diverse races; at least 500 people..."

- W-wait a moment.

Murmurs leaked through, faint voices of Geum Suhu and the emperor, followed by a stifled scream—urk!

Soon after.

- Ahem. You've done something monumental for the empire's prosperity. No, it's a legacy for the entire Earth. Truly grateful. The world will thank you.

The emperor stammered, voice thick with excitement.

"Yeah, pretty much."

This merited a hundred grand bows from the emperor.

A mana rejection ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cure would upend the world.

If Nobels still existed and allowed multiples, he'd sweep medicine, chemistry, and peace prizes single-handedly.

- One small request, though...

"What is it?"

- Entrust the phase 3 recruitment and procedures to the imperial government. We'll handle it with utmost care.

Government-led... no reason not to.

"Make it fair."

- Don't worry. No external interference. And 500's too few. Can't we up it? Say, 1,000.

"Possible."

Materials were plentiful.

- Oh! Thank you, truly.

Taeju had hoped for that anyway.

Easier with the state stepping in over private efforts.

- Also, may the palace PR team visit Gurye? We'd like an interview...

"Interview?"

- Word's out you made the cure. People are desperate, waiting. Give them hope. Tell them to hang ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on.

Hope for mana rejectors.

Good idea.

"Sure, come to Taehong Orphanage. The cured patients are under observation now."

- Right! You'll sell to the Amerian Republic too, yes?

"Have to. No reason their people should die over a few scammers."

- Knew it. ...But maybe scare them a bit first? Your thoughts?

"...What're you planning?"

- Just annoyed. That bastard Billy Pitman, and those Pfizer guys too.

"Ah..."

What an emperor.

They'd clearly clashed hard.

At his age, no less.

Probably over generic drug disputes.

"Do as you like. But I'll sell the treatment."

- Heh, got it. Focus on research, nothing else.

Thus, phase 3 prep fell to the government.

No worries there—back to treatment refinement.

The next day, palace PR staff and aides swarmed Gurye.

Hauling filming gear, they interviewed every phase 1 and 2 subject before leaving.

Articles on the trial's smashing success exploded the following day.

Interviews hit news and NewTube simultaneously.

Explosive reactions.

And naturally, word reached the Amerian Republic.

Billy Pitman and his aides stared at the TV, faces etched in disbelief.

"This all real?"

"...Verified already. Those trial subjects on Samhan broadcasts? All severe-to-critical before."

"Severe-to-critical?"

"Yes. Most bedbound, oxygen-dependent, couldn't even sit up."

"..."

Billy knew well: unable to breathe on their own meant end-stage—dead men walking.

Yet hale and hearty now?

Suddenly!

"Mr. President!"

"Hm? What?"

"Palace PR spokesperson's holding a presser soon."

"On?"

"Phase 3 details..."

What would it say?

Billy had to wonder.

His beloved daughter was fighting a terminal mana rejection diagnosis.

Soon.

The palace spokesperson on air.

Billy and White House staff tensed.

Extending spots overseas?

Samhan and Ameria had been allies since founding.

How many slots?

"Nations included: Europan Empire, Moscow Kingdom, Saudi Federation, Uyghur-Tibet Federation, Indian Mughal Empire, Malay Federation, Latin American Union, New Egypt, British Constitutional Monarchy, Austral-New Zealand..."

Names rolled out.

But not the one they awaited.

Even after the conference ended.

Replayed—no miss.

'...No.'

No Amerian Republic.

Heavy silence blanketed the White House.

Just excluded from phase 3, but to Billy...

'No mana rejection cure for Ameria.'

※ ※ ※

Immortal Realm.

An unprecedented phenomenon unfolded.

In a hall packed with ancient immortals, children's laughter echoed out of nowhere.

"Everything's so magical!"

"Whoa, tall building!"

"Can we climb it?"

"Kyahaha!"

Smiles lit immortal faces.

"Hey now, no running—you'll trip."

"Candy?"

"Yay, candy!"

"I love chocolate best."

"Here, cool drinks all around."

They were celestials.

Heaven had the most kids.

Innocent, pure—children who died young.

Celestials ascended in their death-form, retaining childlike souls despite centuries lived.

All followed Haemnak.

Daily, without fail.

Each carrying sacks brimming with heavenly petals.

Haemnak got subspatial gourds and bags.

She filled them solo.

Handed off to infinite storage; got empties back.

"Dokseon! Filled 'em up!!!"

"Already?"

"Empty quick—gonna do another run."

"N-no, that's plenty. Delivery signal's due soon."

"Hehe, really?"

"Rest up—no work. Movie? Cravings?"

"...C-can I get somethin' expensive?"

"Anything!"

"Ice cream... Häagen-Dazs?"

Expensive? Pfft.

"Häagen-Dazs it is."

"Yay!"

Dang Gunak piled ice cream from the freezer into Haemnak's arms.

"Kids! C'mon—treats! Dig in together."

"Woo! Ice creeeam!"

"Me too!"

"Hurry—might melt."

"No running, I said."

Already shipped mass gold ginseng and yin-yang flowers.

Yet petals piled higher.

Immortal Realm vibe shifted.

Immortals beamed at kids playing.

Requests to Dokseon changed.

"Dokseon, kid-friendly movies? Dramas? Animation, puppet shows."

"Not always sex and violence—pure stuff."

"Newly ascended? Why crave excitement?"

"..."

Dang Gunak was floored.

Shameless immortals.

They loved the exciting stuff.

Art films? "Boring!" Trash? Skipped. Caught on ero? Still.

Much to say, but held tongue.

Can't fuss near kids.

Real uproar hit the third-floor arcade.

"Real gamers, huh?! Think celestial means you win? Eh?!"

Geomseon.

"Geomseon's mad."

"You're too good."

"Throw this round."

"Tried... but..."

Multiplex's top kid draw: games.

Heaven kids hauled petals, gamed hard, routine.

Geomseon: arcade king.

Crushed by celestial kids.

Last round: perfect loss.

Geomseon trembled, humiliated.

"S-sweaty palms... r-rematch!"

Lame excuse.