Chapter 4: Angel of the Red-Light District |
Lately, the way people around me have been treating me has gotten a little strange.
Before, they looked at me like an inconvenient nephew who never came home.
Nowadays, it's... different. Their gazes are somewhat lukewarm.
It's like they feel I'm both commendable and pitiful at the same time.
Whenever I tell the adults I want to do something, they sigh heavily and reluctantly give me permission.
'Just where is this misunderstanding coming from?'
This wasn't the kind of misunderstanding I was hoping for.
A prodigy who wrote poetry at four! Mastered the basics of magic through self-study at six! Mastered the liberal arts at eight! Created Quinine at ten!
I was expecting to be treated like Mozart or Leonardo da Vinci.
Ever since, the adults started granting all my requests with reluctant faces.
So, curious to see how far they'd let me go, I asked if I could visit the Red-Light District.
The result was a yes.
I was given permission to go as I pleased.
'What's this? Does this era not care about children going to places like that?'
No way.
No matter how barbaric and pre-modern this world is, with its scant awareness of children's rights, there are still lines you don't cross.
They might chain-smoke cigarettes in a room with a child, but it's not an age so depraved that they'd allow a 10-year-old to go to the Brothel District.
The question, then, is why they gave me permission...
'Don't tell me... this is the start of a Troublemaker Genre plot?!'
That would explain everything.
It's a common story for a noble young master who lost his parents and has mediocre talent to go astray.
Does the Godfather think I'm one of those cases?
I wondered where to even begin correcting this misunderstanding, but I just gave up.
When has a Troublemaker Genre plot ever been resolved with words?
It always gets whitewashed by some overwhelming achievement.
Figuring it would all be cleared up eventually, I decided to just focus on what I had to do.
Well then, let's head to the Red-Light District to gather some data.
***
Even in a city within dazzling brass walls, shadows are bound to form.
In exchange for fending off the Demonic Beasts and Demonkin from outside the wall, the humanity within gave up its breathing room.
Since the speed of the wall's expansion couldn't keep up with the growing population, buildings were naturally stacked higher and alleys grew narrower.
It was then that the heroes and great men made their appearance.
Like flogging a dead horse,
I'm talking about the fools who still haven't given up on freedom and venture outside the wall.
- "Hero! Great man! Time to eat!"
Ah, that's not it.
Anyway.
Those heroes and great men, who live only for today, always need a place to burn their passions for a night.
As a result, in the area closest to the wall—the place that would be the first to be fed to Demonic Beasts if the wall were ever breached—a commercial district for heroes was formed.
Tanner Street, the Slaughterhouse Back Alley, and the Brothel District.
And so, these three zones became tangled together, forming the Red-Light District.
Naturally, life is conceived even in a slum like this.
No.
In a slum like this, unblessed lives are conceived even more frequently.
I've had perfect attendance in the Red-Light District for a year now.
To exaggerate a bit, half of the children born in the Red-Light District last year passed through my hands.
It was thanks to the overwhelming survival rate of the mothers in childbirth I attended to.
'Honestly, it would be strange if rumors didn't spread at this point.'
In this era, if 100 women scream from labor pains,
one will close her eyes, saying she's sleepy after losing too much blood,
one will pass away in a cold sweat because the baby won't come out,
and one will develop a raging fever the day after giving birth and never wake up.
That's roughly a rate of three deaths per 100.
Add to that the fact that a mother doesn't just have one child in this era, and you get a tragedy of independent events.
As a result, 3 out of every 10 mothers passed away.
'It's no wonder young ladies and young masters in the Romance Fantasy Genre always start off having lost their mothers.'
But the people who passed through my hands were different.
For the past year.
Among the little over 100 mothers in childbirth I tended to, the number of cases with complications could be counted on one hand.
And among them, not a single one has passed away.
'Everyone was making a fuss, calling it God's miracle or whatnot.'
It's not for nothing that I was able to break the "no men allowed" barrier and act as the leader of the midwives.
'At this rate, I'm going to get all-board certified in this other world.'
Heh.
I never studied obstetrics and pediatrics this hard, not even when I was a medical student.
Ironically, this was only possible because it's a world where human lives are cheap.
Unlike the 21st century, which doesn't tolerate a doctor's failure, here, if you can't save someone, as long as they're not a noble, it's just considered fate.
Thanks to that, an environment was created where I could freely attempt all sorts of techniques that I only knew in theory and never expected to perform.
If I keep filling in the gaps with combat experience like this, becoming a legendary all-board certified doctor might not just be a pipe dream.
'Wow! The Hippocrates of another world!'
But that's not what's important.
What's important is that I haven't gotten the side benefits I was expecting.
There was no retired archmage or head of an assassin's guild hiding in the slums,
naturally, there was no polymorphed dragon or Demon King out for a stroll,
and no future Sword Saint or hero-in-the-making.
What the. Where did all my fortuitous encounters go?
'Ugh. Or maybe just one year isn't nearly enough.'
Having started this volunteer work, I can't just stop now, geez.
In the end, all I got was knowledge, techniques, and some clinical trial data.
Oh, and a little bit of honor, and a title, too.
Though the title 'Angel of the Brothel District' is a bit awkward to announce anywhere.
*
"Alright, time to head to work today, too."
Enough with the idle thoughts.
I grabbed my doctor's bag and got out of bed for today's consultations.
It's December, so the weather is cold.
I put on my child-sized overcoat and grabbed the doorknob.
But for some reason, the brass knob was so cold today that it seemed to stick to my palm.
From that unusual chill, I had a premonition that something was already wrong.
Whooosh!
And when I opened the door and a cold wind lashed my face, I realized my premonition was correct.
As I inhaled, my nostrils felt like they were freezing numb.
When I managed to open my eyes, the world was completely overturned in white.
I couldn't even see where the garden trees in front of the annex were.
Naturally, I couldn't see the state of the buildings beyond the wall either.
I couldn't see anything, but I knew for sure that if I stepped into that snowstorm, a person could be buried in an instant.
"..."
Come to think of it, it was about time for the heavy snow season.
The snow had been hitting the windows with an unusual ferocity since last night.
Looking at the snowstorm, which, unlike its white appearance, was probably dirty with smog, I quickly assessed the situation.
In novels, a patient is bound to show up at a time like this.
There's always a girl on the verge of death in some house at a time like this.
So, is this the setup for a doctor event, where I have to brave a snowstorm to make a house call?
Hmm...
'Even so, this can't be it, right?'
Even for a protagonist, there are adventures you can take and bravado you must avoid.
And an 11-year-old kid heading into that snowstorm is just bravado.
More specifically, there's a good phrase for it: a suicidal act.
'I'll go missing before I even meet the patient.'
Yeah, this doesn't seem to be the event.
The protagonist of a Misunderstanding Genre doesn't have an invincibility cheat, so the clinic is closed today.
I put the doctor's bag back in the room and threw myself onto the bed.
'So, what should I do today.'
Just as I was spending that constructive time rolling around in bed.
The door burst open and the Head Butler stormed into the room.
"Young Master!"
Whoa. You scared me.
What would you have done if I was having some private time?
I sat up in bed to face the Head Butler.
Seeing the snow piled high on his shoulders, it seemed he had run here from the main building.
The fact that he didn't even knock meant something serious must have happened.
"What is it?"
"The child is coming!"
"Already?"
I didn't bother asking whose child it was.
The Godfather and Godmother recently had a late-born child.
They already had a daughter, but this was the result of eight years of trying, saying they wanted at least one son.
The problem is, if my memory serves me right, the late-born child is at 34 weeks.
This is a child we were supposed to meet six weeks from now.
"Why is that child in such a hurry?"
"Is this any time for jokes! Please, hurry! The midwife can't come because of the snow!"
"Oh, of all the days..."
"What?!"
"It's nothing. Of course, I must go."
So that's why there was a heavy snow.
The event was right here in my house.
I immediately grabbed my doctor's bag and put on my overcoat.
The snowstorm was raging, but going from the annex to the main building was no problem, unlike going beyond the estate walls.
It's time for the Ace of the Brothel District to shine.
... That sounds a bit strange, so let me correct it.
It's time for the Angel of the Brothel District to shine.
... It sounds weird no matter what I call myself.
*
- Ugh... Aaaah!
When I arrived at the Main Building, I could hear screams coming from the end of the hallway.
When I opened the door, a wave of stuffy heat and an unpleasant smell assaulted my nose.
The damp air unique to a delivery room, a mix of sweat and amniotic fluid.
It was a smell I had encountered dozens of times in the Red-Light District.
The Godmother was on the bed, screaming while clutching the Godfather's hair.
And the Godfather was just taking it all.
I wonder if the Godfather will go bald from that.
Anyone could see that full-blown labor pains had begun.
I immediately performed an internal examination on the Godmother.
'Cervix is 4cm dilated, station is -2. Water has broken, fetus is cephalic, umbilical cord... I can't feel it. It's fine for now.'
From what the maids said, only about 10 minutes had passed since her water broke.
'That means I still have some time.'
Thank goodness.
If the baby had already been on its way out, I wouldn't have even had time to sterilize the room.
I immediately convinced the Head Butler and the Godfather to create a delivery room environment.
A reasonably clean room. Cleanly washed towels. Limewater for hand disinfection.
A rather excellent delivery room was completed.
'This is perfect.'
It would be a different story for a Cesarean section,
but for a natural birth, this is a perfect environment that can be considered sterile.
It would have been absolutely perfect if only the timing wasn't 34 weeks.
A few hours later.
With the Godmother's final scream, I caught the baby as it slid out.
The process of this child coming into the world wasn't particularly special compared to other babies.
It was just a repetition of pushing and deep breaths, so there was nothing noteworthy.
The fortunate part, I guess, was that a situation requiring a Cesarean section didn't arise.
With no proper anesthesia techniques available, even I would have been in trouble if that had happened.
But the problem wasn't solved.
Rather, you could say the real problem was just beginning.
'34 weeks... Good grief. This is a premature baby, no doubt about it.'
Can this one even survive?
At 34 weeks, it's a viable gestational age with 21st-century modern medicine.
But in this world, it's a different story.
The miracle known as Heal can cure any wound, but it can't make underdeveloped organs mature.
That's why in this era, a premature baby is in a realm where all you can do is pray to God.
'Well, I'm different.'
But that's this era's situation; I, a protagonist who was possessed from the 21st century, am an exception.
34 weeks?
I can save it and then some.
'This isn't even a difficult case.'
Compared to the Red-Light District, which is overflowing with bizarre cases, this is child's play.
'No meconium staining.'
Suctioning won't be necessary.
First, a quick wipe-down and a status check.
The baby wasn't crying.
So I gently tapped the sole of the baby's foot with my finger.
The baby, its foot's nerves stimulated, let out a small cry, "Euh... wah!"
'Okay. Breathing confirmed.'
Next, I slathered the baby's body with the prepared oil.
The smell of oil masked the smell of blood, and I wrapped it in clean wool.
The wool absorbed the oil, feeling slightly heavier.
Since there's no incubator, these were measures to maintain its body temperature instead.
"Godmother. You need to hold the baby skin-to-skin. You must keep it warm continuously. Ah, excuse me, but I'll wipe your chest before you hold it."
Finally, before letting her hold the baby, I wiped the Godmother's chest with a cloth soaked in limewater.
The smell of limewater rose from her damp skin. It was probably bad for her skin, but it couldn't be helped.
You can't trade the life of a premature infant for cosmetic concerns.
And thus, a wonderful incubator in the form of a mother's embrace was complete.
Just doing this raises the survival rate exponentially.
Next, I spoke to the maids who were staring blankly from behind.
"I will be going to the annex to prepare some medicine. Please take good care of the Godmother in the meantime. If I come back and find you nursing without washing your hands with limewater, or if the towels are left dirty, I will turn this place upside down."
I won't explain why.
I don't have the time, and it's not like they'd understand anyway.
Germs, miasma... I talked myself blue in the face in the Red-Light District, but they never listened.
So I decided to just crush them with authority.
Thinking that if I take the lead, they'll follow on their own.
I checked the condition of the Godmother and the baby one last time.
I wiped the sweat from the Godmother's forehead and checked the movement of the baby's chest through the gaps in the wool.
It's fine for now. For now.
'Now, shall I go to the annex to get the medicine.'
Just then, as I was about to leave the main building, I heard the Head Butler call out to me urgently.
"Medicine? We have most common medicines in the main building!"
At his words, I stopped on my way out and peeked my head back through the doorway.
"Then do you have surfactant?"
"Surfac... what?"
"Just as I thought. I'll be back from the annex."
I hurried to the annex.
If my prediction is correct, the crisis will come either today or tomorrow.
