Chapter 9
*
-- My lady! The young master... the young master isn't breathing!
“Gasp!”
Baroness Liniere of Nihirit woke, swallowing a breath.
Her heart was pounding loudly.
The first thing she did after waking from the nightmare was look for her child.
Fortunately, her beloved youngest son was sound asleep in the cradle.
That little blood-red bundle, which looked as if it could stop breathing at any moment, had now filled out and taken on a cute shape.
This tiny child had been born six weeks ago, and now 40 weeks had passed.
After her youngest son reached the same number of weeks as ordinary babies, his breathing also became much steadier.
Soft, even breaths.
Liniere listened to that breathing for a long time.
Only then did her pounding heart gradually calm.
'It was that nightmare again.'
Though things were better now.
The memory of that night, when this child had been in danger, still came back to her in nightmares.
In those nightmares, Julian was absent, and every time, Liniere would lose that precious life.
Each time, Liniere would deny that horrible nightmare and return to reality.
She turned her head the other way.
A blanket had been neatly folded on the small bed.
The place where Julian, the eldest son of House Nihirit and a healer, should have been.
Liniere was not surprised that he was gone.
He would keep watch here all night, then slip away at dawn.
“….”
She didn't know why, but suddenly she missed Julian, that child.
Liniere sat up in bed.
***
It had been a month and a half since our new family member arrived.
At last, Fried was 40 weeks old—meaning he'd turned one, just like any other ordinary child!
Ah, since this is a Western culture, maybe he's zero years old.
Anyway.
A lot had happened on the way here.
Too many to recount in full, but I can say for sure that our youngest really put me through the wringer.
Good job, me.
Pat pat.
Sometimes Fried's weight would drop and my heart would sink, but fortunately it was just because of poop.
He sure pooped a lot.
'Fried's finally stabilized, too.'
Of course, just because six weeks had passed since birth and he had reached 40 weeks didn't mean he no longer needed care.
But he was past the premature-infant stage, so there was no need to keep him under 24-hour close watch anymore.
It was enough to just make sure Fried played well and ate well in the evening.
'I guess it's about time I went back to the Red-Light District, too.'
Sick children and mothers weren't only in our house.
There were still plenty of people in the world who needed the protagonist's hand of salvation.
Before I returned to the Red-Light District.
I headed to the kitchen to prepare a lunchbox for the first time in a while.
'Looks like no one's here.'
On the way to the kitchen, I confirmed that nobody was around yet since it was still early dawn.
Back when I stayed in the annex, there was no need to read the room.
No one saw me, and no one cared.
But after moving to the main house, I had to be careful even about going to the kitchen.
Because there was someone who disliked me going there.
'Then should today's lunchbox be made from yesterday's leftovers...'
Just as I was thinking over the menu and quietly arriving at the kitchen.
Just before my hand touched the doorknob, a cough suddenly sounded behind me.
“Julian.”
When I turned around, Liniere's mother was standing at the end of the hallway.
From the wrinkle between her brows, I could tell what she was about to say.
“I told you, no kitchen.”
“…I'm sorry.”
I immediately bowed my head in apology.
At my apology, Mother's lips trembled ever so slightly.
A few months ago.
I thought she'd given me permission after being moved by my cooking.
But apparently not.
Apparently, enjoying the food and her son getting grease on his hands were separate matters.
Since that day, Mother had started scolding me whenever I went to the kitchen.
Just like now.
Mother turned her gaze toward the window as if avoiding mine and let out a long sigh.
“…I understand how you feel. But you are now the eldest son of House Nihirit. People are watching, so you need to mind your dignity.”
“I'm sorry, Mother. I was thoughtless. It won't happen again.”
“Even if you say that, you... Haa... Never mind.”
Of course, this exchange had already happened twenty times.
Mother clearly knew my answer lacked any real sincerity.
Even so, she gave in to me every time.
“Only until today.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
It was a sorry thing to say, but I suspected we'd be having this exchange for the rest of our lives.
Cooking is my thing.
Still....
'Thank you for scolding me.'
It felt good.
It meant she treated me like her own son, not just a foster son.
***
Today, for the first time in a while, I was headed to the Red-Light District.
I checked the route notices in the newspaper to confirm the monorail and tram schedules.
'That line's blocked because of the heavy snow, and that one takes too much of a detour....'
I thought as I looked at the route chart laid over the map.
The gravity of this city flows strictly according to social status.
It's not arranged vertically, but in a pyramid-like structure where the closer you get to the center, the higher it rises.
'The tram won't be operating for a while because of the snow, so I'll have to go by monorail only.... As for a direct route....'
My finger traced down the route map.
Sanctum Hill.
The center of the city, the sanctuary of nobles who look down on everything.
This is my starting point.
A little farther down from here is Civitas Square.
The square of the commoners, it serves as the city's waist.
Transfer here.
And at the very bottom is Limbus Pit.
The gutter of the unchosen, located at the foot of the mountain or on the outskirts.
This is my destination.
'Okay. Today the No. 14 monorail leaves at 8:00.'
Needless to say, the Red-Light District is located in Limbus Pit.
Just the commute there takes a full two hours.
Just thinking about the crowds at Civitas Square, the transfer station, already made my humanity hit rock bottom.
'What the heck. Why did the world change, but my commute pattern is exactly the same as in my previous life?'
There is a difference, though.
Instead of going from the outskirts to the center, I'm going from the center to the outskirts.
I was sorting out those thoughts and getting ready to head to work when—
“Julian. You said you're going back there again starting today.”
When I finished getting ready to go out and went to the entrance, Father was standing there.
“I left a car waiting outside. Take it.”
“A car... sir?”
Looking outside, I saw it was the car Father normally used to commute.
“If I take that, how will you get to work, Father?”
“I got a new one.”
Ah.
So you wanted an excuse to get a new car.
No wonder the car ads in the newspaper were always spread out every time I went to the office lately.
“Just in case, may I ask if Mother gave her permission?”
“…Sorry. I used your name a little.”
I could roughly picture the situation.
She probably gave a passionate performance to Mother, saying something like, “How could a father sleep soundly when his son has to walk all the way to the gutter?”
No matter how powerful the head of the family's authority may be in this age, one cannot ignore the mistress of the house.
Besides, for a big expense, they'd need justification and permission.
Well, it was good for both me and Father, so I decided to think of it as mutual benefit.
“I'm fine with it.”
“Thank you. I bought this recently thanks to the Quinine shares you put under my name. Don't feel burdened; ride it every day.”
He spoke casually, but the corners of his mouth were twitching.
Was he happy to have bought a new car?
Or proud that he could buy a car for his son?
I decided it was both.
“Thank you, Father.”
“Can't it be Dad at least at times like this?”
“Thank you, Father.”
“…Fine.”
I gratefully accepted Father's kindness.
Outside, a black, boxy sedan that looked like something from a late-1800s black-and-white photograph was waiting in front of the manor.
Beneath the door, there was a long step used for getting in and out, brass ornaments here and there, and even engraved detailing on the door handle.
It was a luxury limousine that looked vintage to anyone.
Ah, maybe by this world's standards it's not vintage.
'But it's safe, right? It is, right?'
The problem was something else.
The wheels, with their exposed spokes reminiscent of a bicycle,
the copper exhaust pipes stretching long along the side,
and the blue embers of the magic-stone furnace visible through the lattice at the front.
Those looked a little concerning.
From a doctor's perspective, they looked like a skinless leg bone, an exposed vein, and a heart visible between ribs, respectively.
Well, that's probably just because I don't know much about cars.
I trust the dwarves made it safe on their own.
I stepped on the footboard below the door and climbed into the back seat.
'Oh. Leather smell.'
The moment I got in, it felt like I had been tamed.
It was the kind of comfort unique to a seat someone had occupied for a long time.
It didn't take long to realize that what I'd smelled was Father's scent drifting from between the leather seams.
'Ah, come to think of it, who's driving?'
Father's driver was the head butler.
Naturally, the head butler would stick with the new car.
Then who was driving this car?
I turned my gaze toward the driver's seat.
A tight iron grille was installed between the back seat and the driver's seat.
Beyond it, I could see an unfamiliar back.
Perhaps sensing my gaze, the driver met my eyes through the rearview mirror.
The driver turned and greeted me through the partition.
“My name is Otto. I'll be in charge of driving this vehicle and serving as your escort, young master.”
“I look forward to working with you.”
That was the end of the conversation.
It would have been better if they'd assigned someone more talkative.
Better yet, someone with livelier reactions.
“….”
“….”
Through the rearview mirror, Otto's thoughts seemed to reach me.
— 'Our statuses are way too different, so please let's not get too friendly.'
I knew that look all too well.
It was the same look military drivers gave the company commander in the back seat.
I'd seen it from the passenger seat plenty of times.
Fair enough.
I won't talk to you.
The car descended toward Limbus Pit in awkward silence.
My thoughts on riding a limousine for the first time in both my past and present lives
As expected, an expensive car is better in every way, from ride comfort to speed.
*
The limousine's windows were clean when we departed.
But the farther down into the city we went, the dirtier they became.
In turn, Sanctum Hill's white marble changed to Civitas Square's gray bricks, and even those gray bricks gradually darkened.
Before long, the view outside began repeating the same scenery.
Under the bridge, a long line stretched through the dark shadows.
Each person in line had a tag hanging around their neck like the nameplates used to indicate livestock quality.
<Transfer>, <Quarantine>, <Debt>…
Transfer was a nice way of putting it; the direction was always one.
From top to bottom.
As if the city were excreting leftovers it couldn't digest,
the sick, the disabled, the bankrupt, and so on were silently walking down toward Limbus Pit.
The iron masks of the soldiers sending them down showed no emotion whatsoever.
Indifference toward one's neighbors was one of this city's essential morals.
Knock, knock.
I was waiting for the signal.
Someone tapped on the car window.
I could see dirty fingers.
It was a child.
What the child held was not a tin can for begging, but a crumpled scrap of paper.
A pleading look, as if the child wanted to ask for something.
As I reached to roll down the window, the driver looked at me through the rearview mirror and said,
“Young master. Do not lower the window.”
He was my escort before he was my driver, so he would not allow me to lower the window.
“The collection team wouldn't like it either. It would interfere with their work.”
The collection team.
The word rolled around in my mouth.
The next moment, a soldier in an iron mask grabbed the child's wrist.
The child didn't scream.
Not because it didn't know how, but because screaming would do no good.
The iron mask fastened something around the child's nape.
It was a small metal tag.
<Unregistered>
Just like that, the child became part of the line.
And the soldiers who dragged the child away kept bowing repeatedly toward this car as if apologizing.
Watching that scene, what I felt was not superiority but discomfort.
I adjusted the gloves on my lap once more.
'...More patients.'
In this city, the reasons why the protagonist must be kind are always horrific.
*
Once I entered the Red-Light District, a scene straight out of 1800s London Chinatown spread out before me.
I don't know if Chinatown even existed in that era, but anyway.
The limousine stopped beneath a huge paifang archway.
Red pillars with all their paint stripped away, and a dragon carving with its neck broken, greeted me.
'Sss... Haa.'
I took a deep breath inside the car.
This street, which I had returned to after six weeks, was still filled with the smell of filth and burning kerosene.
Of course, inside the walls, the air isn't that great anywhere to begin with.
But as if there were levels even to the bottom, the air changes quality the farther down you go.
And the lung-piercing stench of this slum only reinforced my certainty that I had returned to where I belonged.
'...Ugh, the smell.'
I took out my crow mask and put it on for the first time in a while.
I hadn't originally intended to plagiarize a plague doctor.
But after pursuing all sorts of functions, I ended up circling back to a crow mask.
Is this what convergent evolution is?
'Hoo... that's better.'
I deeply inhaled the herb scent filling the bird's beak.
For a moment, it felt like I had escaped this city's rotten air.
Though all I had really done was escape one smell.
I got out of the car wearing the mask.
'Every time I come here, it feels like I'm in Chinatown.'
Unlike the other districts of the Empire, the buildings in the Red-Light District followed the style of beastkin culture.
Roofs whose eaves curved up toward the sky, pillars with faded red paint peeling away, lanterns hanging in every alley.
This was a unique sight possessed only by this Red-Light District, even within Limbus Pit.
“I'll park it and come right back down, young master.”
“Thank you, Otto.”
Otto bowed his head and drove the car up toward Civitas Square.
There was nowhere to park in this slum, so we had to resort to this troublesome method.
I put on my mask and walked toward the clinic.
On the way to the clinic, several layers of black chalk marks overlapped beneath a wall that still bore the faded traces of the character for fortune, 복(福).
It was a kind of anonymous bamboo-forest message board, perhaps the Red-Light District's version of a forum or gallery.
=============================
[Fucking guards only come when three corpses pile up. They ignore two.]
[Saw the Sanctum Hill bastards use healing on a dog. If they treasure it that much, those bastards definitely fucked a dog.]
[Why do they collect taxes? They don't even give us clean water.]
[I hope the wall collapses. Then we'll throw those bastards in first.]
ㄴ You'll be the one getting thrown in, along with your family.
[We called a healer, but when we told him we had no money, he left. Rita died that night. And they call it God's love—bullshit. God is a miser.]
ㄴ I know her. Didn't the baby go too?
ㄴㄴ There was never a baby. It died because it wouldn't come out.
[Roa, I'm sorry I couldn't protect you, little brother. I'm coming soon.]
ㄴ If you're going anyway, send your home address.
ㄴ ㄴ Go screw yourself.
[Buying/Selling]
ㄴ Succubus Kiss Farm. State your trade goods.
ㄴㄴ Selling my daughter. 8 years old. Small, eats little. Good labor.
ㄴㄴㄴ The guy above is insane.
ㄴㄴㄴㄴ Starve for a month and see if you don't say the same.
[Who said that? I heard a doctor is coming here. A guy wearing a crow mask.]
ㄴ Not a doctor, a miracle. But even miracles get taxed if they stay too long.
ㄴㄴ What good is a miracle? We end up paying the price for it anyway.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
'Limbus Pit is open for business as usual today, too.'
Sludgy hatred toward Sanctum Hill and envy toward Civitas Square.
Today, too, Limbus Pit keeps running just fine.
I took another deep breath of the herb scent inside the beak and hurried my steps toward the clinic again.