Chapter 6: You Gotta Oil Up While Living (2) |
It's a rule that a genius never neglects their studies, no matter when or where.
'There's no reason not to study while looking after Fried.'
A day had passed since Fried was born.
I opened a book in the room where the baby and the mother in childbirth were resting.
I used to study while looking after patients during my days as a resident doctor, so there was no reason I couldn't do it in this world.
I was tracing the numbers with my finger, checking my calculations.
"Yulian."
Suddenly, the Godmother, who had been resting in bed, called out to me.
I looked up from my book and glanced her way.
"What are you studying so hard?"
"I'm reviewing how to identify the loopholes of double-entry bookkeeping through the Merchant Guild Revenue Ledger the Family Head permitted me to read."
I replied, turning a page.
"Then what do you plan to study in the afternoon?"
"Hmm... I'll probably review alchemy."
When I turned my head, my eyes met the Godmother's.
She was furrowing her brow deeply.
Her lips were pressed into a thin line, as if she were displeased about something.
'Is she unhappy that I'm not focusing on Fried?'
It was certainly a reasonable complaint for a guardian to have.
Here I was, nonchalantly studying in the same room as a baby who had just overcome a critical crisis yesterday.
I reflected on my lack of consideration and closed the book.
Just then, she broke the silence and spoke.
"Why 'Godmother' and not 'Mother'?"
"..."
My hand, which was putting the book into my bag, froze.
Ah, so that was the problem.
***
Godmother Linier had gotten fixated on something strange.
"Yulian."
"Yes, Godmother."
"..."
She was trying to get the word "Mother" to come out of my mouth, one way or another.
I could guess why she was suddenly acting like this.
She'd been like this since the day after I saved Fried, the late-born child of the Nihilrit Family. How could I not know the reason?
'So she's also trying to get in on the protagonist by buying low.'
A child just over ten years old pulls off something that even skilled healers can't. It'd be strange if she didn't feel a bit of greed.
She was probably trying to stake her claim on me while I'm still young.
And to repay the grace of saving her late-born child, to boot.
'It feels good to be acknowledged as a genius... but I still don't want to change my family name.'
There was just one problem.
The title of the work I was possessed by is .
If I start calling my Godmother 'Mother,' the title of the work would change.
Of course, that's a joke.
The real reason is that it's just awkward.
We've lived with a wall between us for ten years. Ten years.
For that to crumble overnight because of a single incident was a little... too cringey for me to bear.
"Do you dislike me that much?"
The Godmother's voice was weak.
I waved my hands in denial.
"Not at all, Godmother."
"Then after all the years we've lived together, why do you still call me that?"
It was true; more years than I could count on both hands had passed.
When I thought about it, as the protagonist, I couldn't just keep pushing her away like some petty person.
So, I compromised.
"Mother...?"
The Godmother's expression changed subtly.
It was a complex look, a mix of disappointment and relief.
"...Yes. I suppose that will do."
She said, as if sighing, and closed her eyes.
It might have been my imagination, but it seemed her arms holding Fried tightened.
As if she was relieved about something.
*
'That aside, Mother needs to recuperate too.'
I'd put out the urgent fire, but there was still work to be done.
And that was postnatal care.
'Of course, postnatal care exists in this era too...'
The problem is that it's a method that would make a modern person freak out.
This fantastic dark fantasy fusion punk world recommends beer or wine to a mother who has just given birth.
You might not believe it, but it's true.
By the common sense here, alcoholic beverages are treated as drinks safer and more nutritious than water.
That's why a postnatal recovery meal called Caudle exists—oatmeal porridge mixed with ale or wine, with egg and spice added.
Something about how mixing nutritious alcohol with nutritious eggs and tasty spice will help with milk production.
'I can't even begin to describe how much I freaked out when I saw that...'
My heart sank when I first saw them using Caudle for postnatal care in the Red-Light District.
Feeding alcohol to the mother in childbirth, sealing the room shut with no ventilation, touching her with unwashed hands.
And then, if the mother died from puerperal fever or complications, they'd just call it fate.
...I try my best not to think of the people of this world as barbaric, but when I see things like this, that thought always starts creeping back in.
'This is why I always have to step in myself.'
Naturally, my Mother Linier would not be recuperating with something like that.
To ensure that, I had to prepare the recovery meal myself.
'The menu will be...'
I'll have to use seaweed and abalone.
It wasn't because I was some "Korea is the best! The East is the best!" kind of person.
It was simply because I was from Korea, and I didn't know any foods good for a mother in childbirth other than seaweed and abalone.
However, there was a minor problem.
'But it's not like she'd readily eat it if I just abruptly served her seaweed soup and grilled abalone.'
It's easy to get seaweed even in this dying world.
It's just that, due to the cultural sphere, it's not treated as an ingredient.
As if to prove it wasn't called seaweed for nothing in the West, here it was also treated as something only the poor with nothing to eat in seaside fortresses would resort to.
At least it wasn't hard to force the mothers in childbirth in the Red-Light District to eat seaweed soup.
I just had to call it a Green Potion and force-feed them.
But that was not a method I could use in the baronial family.
If I put it on the table, I'd probably be scolded and have it treated like some Feast of Cthulhu.
'Then how should I present it?'
After a moment of thought, I came up with an answer.
Risotto.
I could make a cream base, add a generous amount of cheese, and mix in finely minced seaweed.
If I thinly slice the abalone and place it on top, it would complete a plausible-looking high-class dish.
'Seaweed Abalone Cream Risotto. The name alone sounds quite plausible.'
Even a commoner's ingredient can be tailored to a noble's palate just by changing the recipe.
It's not for nothing that French cuisine puts on all sorts of airs with miscellaneous parts.
Come to think of it, cream and cheese are also sources of calcium and protein needed by a mother in childbirth, so it's not bad nutritionally either.
As a bonus, I could cover up the off-putting green color with a more palatable white.
'Decision made.'
While the Godmother was getting some sleep, I left the Head Maid in charge and headed to the kitchen.
*
On the way to the kitchen.
I was walking down the hallway when I ran into someone at a corner.
A child with striking silver hair and blue eyes.
It was Freya, the little young lady a year younger than me.
The Young Lady of the Nihilrit family, and the biological daughter of the Godfather and my Mother.
So, what should I call it.
'Sworn siblings? Adoptive siblings?'
I didn't know the exact term, but we had a relationship similar to siblings anyway.
"...Older Brother."
Freya looked up at me and spoke.
Unlike usual, the rims of her eyes were red and swollen.
'She's been crying.'
How scared must she have been while her mother was in childbirth.
In this era, it was common for a mother who went to give birth to a younger sibling to never return, so it was understandable that she would worry.
On top of that, she must have heard that her newborn sibling was in critical condition all night...
So, I was about to reflexively reassure her when I suddenly remembered something.
'Ah, we're not that close.'
We had lived under the same roof for ten years, but I had few memories of having a proper conversation during that time.
I was always engrossed in my studies and Quinine research, and Freya had her own life.
We'd just nod when we occasionally met in the hallway.
Or exchange formal greetings at family gatherings.
That was the extent of the distance between us.
'But now that I think about it... the protagonist of a misunderstanding genre shouldn't act coldly toward his younger sister.'
Does it make sense for a persona who will be called a Saint to be cold to his family?
Even if we've been awkward until now, I have to build an image as a kind older brother from now on.
So I decided to use this opportunity to get closer.
'Like a gentleman. Kindly.'
I consciously softened my tone of voice and relaxed my expression slightly.
While consciously making the face I used when dealing with patients' guardians at the hospital in the 21st century.
The fact that I was in Trauma Surgery, where I spent more than half the day wearing a mask, is not important.
"Freya."
"...Yes."
"Are you going to see Fried?"
Freya nodded.
I thought for a moment before speaking.
"Mother and Fried are both fine. So don't worry too much."
"...Really?"
"Yes. Of course, I checked on them myself."
I answered confidently.
The baseless confidence of a misunderstanding genre protagonist is meant to be used at times like this.
Freya's expression eased a little.
But her eyes still held a hint of anxiety.
"Older Brother, I... I want to be of help, too."
"Help?"
"Yes. Is there anything I can do?"
It must be frustrating being unable to do anything when a family member is sick.
I thought for a moment and then made a proposal.
"Then will you help me out?"
"Really?"
"I'm going to the kitchen now to make Mother..."
I rolled the still-unfamiliar word on my tongue for a moment, then continued.
"I'm about to make some food for Mother to eat. It would be a great help if you could assist me."
Freya's eyes widened.
"You're cooking, Older Brother?"
It wasn't because she now had something to help with.
She seemed surprised by the fact that I was cooking.
'It's true, a noble's child holding a kitchen knife isn't a common sight.'
In an era with small windows, a poor ventilation system, and a lack of the concept of cleanliness, the kitchen was a far cry from a modern cooking studio.
It was a space more akin to a dirty, dangerous, and demeaning job where one had to constantly deal with rats and flies.
Naturally, kitchen work was bound to become a lowly affair.
Especially for nobles, to whom dignity was as important as life itself, the kitchen was a taboo space.
In that sense, a supposedly perfect noble protagonist frequenting the kitchen might be an error in characterization.
But on second thought, my persona needed a hobby like cooking.
'Because a genius-type protagonist has to be multi-talented.'
I wanted to become this another world's Da Vinci, too.
A painter, sculptor, architect, anatomist, and inventor. That kind of genius.
That had been the ideal of an intellectual since the Renaissance, and this world was not much different.
The problem was that I had no talent in the arts or athletics.
So, I compromised with cooking.
I found out after trying, but I surprisingly had a talent for cooking.
Handling innards on an operating table wasn't all that different from handling an ingredient on a cutting board.
'I know I'll be called lowly for this, but that's something I can cover up with dignity later.'
I know that me frequenting the kitchen would seem like a lowly act.
But in the end, dignity is not a matter of what you do, but who does it and how.
If a commoner digs the earth, it's labor, but if a noble digs, it becomes horticulture.
In the face of overwhelming accomplishment and dignity, prejudice has no choice but to fall silent.
That is why I could say this with confidence.
"There's no need to be surprised. It's just a hobby."
"...A hobby?"
Freya tilted her head.
It seemed she wasn't convinced yet.
Well, what's the use of explaining the concept of overwhelming prejudice with dignity to a 10-year-old?
Seeing this would go nowhere, I just changed the subject.
"Anyway. Fried is sleeping right now, and Mother is resting too. There's nothing you can do even if you go now. That's why I'm asking you to help me."
"Then what should I do..."
"Give me some tasting feedback while I cook."
"...Pardon?"
Freya blinked.
"I'm making it for Mother, so I have to check the taste. So, you taste it first and let me know if it's okay."
She's the one in charge of tasting.
I couldn't ask the young lady of the family to do kitchen chores, so this much should be appropriate.
Besides, it was a role that was actually needed.
My palate is so unrefined that there's no guarantee I can satisfy the tastes of this world's nobles.
"I... can be the first one to taste it?"
"Of course. Who else would check it?"
Freya's expression brightened subtly.
It seemed she felt like she'd been given a special mission.
"I understand."
Freya nodded.
Her eyes were still red, but her expression looked better than before.
"Then let's go."
I took Freya and headed to the kitchen.
