"Even so, it's not allowed."
"Hoho."
But what's not allowed is simply not allowed.
Yes, telling a British person they must only eat British food for the rest of their life…
Even Hitler would recoil at such a punishment.
But desserts in this era could essentially be considered almost entirely composed of flour and sugar, excluding the heavy metals added for color.
They are incredibly sweet.
Lumps of sugar.
Not just sugar, but in a set with heavy metals.
'Well… there is such a thing as sugar addiction.'
Sugar causes a very powerful and fatal addiction, even if not quite like drugs, you see.
If there were many other pleasures in the world, it might be different, but that's not easy in Britain.
"You still have to endure it."
"Hohohoho…."
"You will die. You know that, right? What happens if you get diabetes."
"I know, I know…"
Didn't I just explain, tailored to 19th-century understanding, why things are likely to go wrong if you get diabetes?
There might be some slightly inaccurate academic parts, but it can't be helped.
If you go by that, most of what I've been spouting since coming here isn't correct.
Anyway, even aside from my explanation, Sir Jamie was already thoroughly frightened by the word 'diabetes'.
Why?
"If you get it, you usually die within a year or two. Your legs… are almost always amputated."
It was because of Liston's words.
That seemed to be the reality.
Well…
It's bound to be different from the 21st century in many ways.
First, the diagnosis itself…
Isn't it very delayed because it's difficult until the urine becomes sweet?
If diagnosed at a late stage and told to just roughly control your diet without insulin, could you survive?
No.
"So, don't eat it. You also need to exercise."
"I do plenty of exercise."
"Um… like hunting?"
"That's right. As a proud member of the British nobility, I hunt constantly."
The concept of exercise…
In this era, it's practically non-existent.
There's even debate about whether moving your body is good for health or not…
Actually, even in the 21st century, there's no dispute that exercise is good for the body, but aren't there enormous disagreements about how much exercise is good?
At this point, where proper science is just beginning, it seems even what constitutes 'exercise' isn't well distinguished.
Since no one has defined it, it's hard for me to say, but it seems 'manly activities' are perceived as exercise.
"You're not really moving your body, are you?"
"Why not? I ride horses, I shoot guns."
"You don't ride the horses that hard, do you?"
"Then, unless it's a battle, how can one gallop recklessly for the sake of noble dignity? That's something for the lower classes to do."
Right, this is what exercise is.
The lower classes drive the animals forward, and the high-ranking gentlemen wiggle their fingers and shoot guns.
Even if it's hit, it runs away wounded?
Hired hands release dogs or shoot another round.
The nobles just laugh heartily while looking at what they've caught that way.
Sir Jamie is already losing muscle mass due to his castration reducing male hormones; if he only does that kind of 'exercise', he won't last six months, let alone a year.
The organs capable of consuming sugar are also decreasing, and if he doesn't exercise either…
While I was thinking that, my expression must have darkened.
"Ah, I'm not saying this to you. You're a noble physician, right? I heard you are a Yangban."
Wrong lead.
"Well… it's not incorrect, but anyway. You need to move your body yourself."
So, I personally stood up and assumed a squat position.
My form is pretty good, you know?
Besides, for bodyweight squats, as long as your knees or back don't hurt… the form can actually be a bit sloppy.
Who cares if it mainly works the legs or the glutes?
The important thing is that someone who did nothing is now moving.
And whether it's legs or glutes, it's still your own body.
Muscle builds anywhere it's worked.
"Hmmm… It's not working well."
"It will be difficult. But you must do it."
"Isn't there medicine for this, instead of this? Something like Fowler's solution."
"Well…"
Taking arsenic would end it in one go, I suppose.
If you're worried about diabetes, you could just destroy and eliminate the diabetic body.
But that's not treatment, it's murder, right?
I couldn't possibly do such a thing, especially to someone else.
"It's not allowed. You must control your diet and exercise."
"Sigh… I see. Anyway, so if I quit desserts and just do this, I won't die? Thank you."
Perhaps because I kept saying things he didn't want to hear, Sir Jamie hurriedly left the room.
He wasn't heading home but somewhere else… Judging by his direction, he seemed to be going to a quack who would only tell him what he wanted to hear, which made me very uneasy.
'A year at most.'
It's not a curse for not listening; it's a rational prediction.
If he still had male hormones, it might be different, but…
The fact that his diabetes has worsened now is probably because of the castration.
Therefore, the speed and severity of the disease's progression must be worse compared to other cases, you see.
"I say."
While I was thinking that, Sir Damian, who hadn't left yet, called me.
"Yes. Your Grace."
"You… are having unpleasant thoughts, aren't you?"
"Huh?"
"Liston said so. He said you always have unpleasant thoughts when you make that peculiar expression. You were watching where Jamie disappeared with that look, so I am deeply uneasy, you see."
"A misunderstanding… it's a misunderstanding."
"Then what were you thinking about?"
I was thinking that Jamie would live at most about a year and then die.
To be more precise, I was thinking that within that time, he would also have his legs amputated, go blind, develop kidney failure, suffer terribly, and then die.
'Unpleasant thoughts… that's correct.'
I can't claim injustice.
But I can't say this exactly as it is.
If I did, wouldn't they look at me with… certain eyes?
They already keep saying I'm vicious and whatnot.
"I was thinking if there might be another way."
"Is that so? Why?"
"Somehow… I don't think Sir Jamie will see a good outcome if he continues like this."
"Th-that won't do. Jamie is currently handling an important responsibility."
"An important responsibility?"
"The details are difficult to discuss, but it's a matter that could decide the next 100 years of the British Empire. You might not know well, having only seen that side of Jamie."
Right, the thought that Sir Jamie is competent…
Well, he's a Duke, so he must be involved in something, but seeing him become a eunuch on his own accord and still wear a fake beard makes that thought come and go, you know.
"He's a more remarkable man than you think. Hmm. So, do you think there might be a way?"
But Sir Damian clearly seems like a remarkable person.
Not just his authority, but the work he does seems proper, doesn't it?
Well…
It's the British Empire, so who knows what strange things he might be doing in the back alleys, but still.
If someone like him says Jamie is great, then he probably is.
"Well, you might not be a man moved by such things, but I will provide a generous reward."
And he's offering money.
Judging by how he readily provided the microscope before, Sir Damian's 'generosity' is probably on a different level from what others call generous.
Well, even so, if nothing comes to mind, there's nothing I can do.
Fortunately, my miscellaneous medical knowledge is rushing forth fiercely.
One of my three closest friends is an endocrinologist, you see.
"There might not be no method at all… but even in Joseon, it's not yet fully established."
"Hoho. Tell me."
"Yes, I'm also very interested in diabetes. Tell me."
At my words, not only Damian but also Liston, who has probably amputated more diabetic feet than anyone in the world, showed interest.
Blundell and the other students were the same.
Ah, Alfred, who almost had to drink urine, and Colin, who actually had to drink it, were showing interest of a slightly different nature.
I don't know about Senior Alfred, but this is the first time I've seen Colin like this.
'Well, it is my fault. But it couldn't be helped. Ants… how was I supposed to think of that immediately?'
I should apologize later or do something.
Or buy him drinks, or something.
Anyway.
Recalling what my endocrinologist friend told me, I opened my mouth.
- People in our country often show resistance when told they need insulin injections… but actually, insulin is the key. How it came to be made was…
Honestly, I don't remember everything.
Frankly, I'm not a physician, nor was I a diabetic patient, right?
It's an important disease, so I listened somewhat, but otherwise, it would have gone in one ear and out the other.
"My homeland, Joseon… isn't it said to be very good at fighting? Despite being a small country, there's a reason it has remained an independent nation without yielding to Qing or Japan until now."
"Hoho, that's true."
"But why are you—"
I lightly ignored Liston's comment and continued my fabrication.
All that talk of being a 'Bullshit Master' has finally become practice; it just flows out smoothly now.
"Anyway, because of that, there are still many battles in the border regions."
"Hoh…"
"I'd like to go see it myself."
Liston going to Joseon?
That would be no joke.
He might even reclaim the Manchurian plains.
Well, he won't go.
"So, many people get injured there. One of them was stabbed by a sword here."
"In the stomach? He must have died."
"But he survived. Somehow, by chance."
"Really? And?"
"He survived like that, but from that day on, he passed sweet urine."
"How did you know that?"
Ah, screw it.
"Ants swarmed to it."
"Then why did you make him drink it earlier?!"
"You bastard!"
"Professor! An explanation, please!"
"I forgot."
"Ah, that can happen."
"Y-you."
I don't know.
I'll apologize later…
For now, I need to spit out the urgent part.
"Anyway."
"Anyway?"
If I glare at you, what can you do?
With Sir Damian and Liston here, what can you possibly do?
"And then, upon performing an autopsy…"
"They perform autopsies in Joseon?"
"They sometimes do in the border regions, I hear."
"Hoho, I see. Truly a medically advanced nation."
"Yes, yes."
'My body, hair, and skin are received from my parents' (Confucian teaching)…
I don't know, dammit.
"…they found that the organ behind the stomach was damaged."
"Hmm?"
"The pancreas?"
"Yes, the pancreas. It makes me think that perhaps the pancreas is related to diabetes…"
"There's a place called the pancreas?"
"Yes, Your Grace. Behind here."
At my words, everyone nodded.
Doesn't it sound plausible?
Actually…
They experimented on dogs with this, right?
They just removed the pancreas from a dog.
And then it got diabetes and died, they said.
I just adapted that story to humans for easier understanding.
Of course…
Separate, direct experiments would be necessary.
"Then shall we get some dogs? Or do we need a person?"
Human experimentation is a bit… you know.
I shook my head at Sir Damian and continued.
"D-dogs. Let's use dogs."
Animal experiments are better.
Better than using people.