Episode 4. Even Deadly Poison Can Be Medicine (1)
A terminal life is sorrowful.
The feeling of trudging step by step toward a predetermined death. A feeling you can neither reject nor postpone. It's something only those who have experienced it can truly understand.
Common dramas, movies.
Across countless media.
Terminal illness is portrayed over and over again, but Rakiel thought that only someone who had at least cared for and watched over a terminal patient could even vaguely understand what it felt like.
Because in Korea, he had once sent his father off that way. Because he had fought that hopeless, unwinnable battle as a family member.
'But this is….'
[Your expected lifespan has increased by (+) 1 day.]
[Expected lifespan: 92 days]
Gulp.
Without realizing it, Rakiel swallowed his dry saliva. Even while seeing it with his own eyes, he couldn't believe it. Something utterly impossible had plainly come true.
'Is this for real?'
He couldn't believe what he was seeing.
He—this body—was a terminal patient. According to the result of the pulse-diagnosis skill, that was exactly the case. He had only 91 days left to live. His remaining life was shorter than the expiration date on a bottle of pills.
That was certain.
'My life expectancy increased because of acupuncture?'
Was his acupuncture really that amazing?
Rakiel didn't think so.
'I just did acupuncture the way you normally do for patients at a Korean medicine clinic… just a bit more properly.'
Yet he could clearly feel that the acupuncture had an effect. For one thing, breathing was easier than before. The wheezing sound, like a broken flute, had noticeably diminished.
'Then let's try again!'
From deep in his chest, where his motivation had long lain dormant, enthusiasm surged up like striking oil in the Arabian desert.
"Are the needles all sterilized?"
"Yes, Your Highness. But… you're not seriously planning to stick yourself again, are you?"
"Of course I am. Over here. Hurry."
He urged Sir Gardin.
He was handed eleven new needles.
He lay down and settled himself again.
This time, he held the needles with his left hand. He inserted them into the Taiyin Lung Meridian of the right side of his body.
Tok! Todot! Tok!
The same order and depth as before.
Calmly and swiftly.
Starting with Zhongfu.
Yunmen, Tianfu, Xiabai.
Continuing to insert them.
Applying appropriate stimulation.
And finally, without missing a single point, he thoroughly needled all the way to Shaoshang.
Then a message appeared before his eyes.
Ding-dong!
[You have completed needling your right-side Taiyin Lung Meridian.]
[However, your body is currently struggling to endure excessive needling.]
[With your current stamina level, needling once every three days is recommended.]
[Your five viscera and six bowels express difficulty with excessive and strenuous acupuncture.]
[Your lung alveoli hunch their shoulders at the excessive stimulation.]
[Your lungs' mental stability is evaporating whoosh-whoosh.]
[Your large intestine's villi are performing a "Seven-Star Eel Ascension Dance."]
'…Cough.'
He had forgotten.
Acupuncture is not omnipotent. Stimulating nerves and meridians with needles clearly requires the patient's physical strength. There's a reason people talk about "post-acupuncture fatigue."
And this body right now?
It barely had any stamina to speak of.
Compared to the stamina residing in this body, there was probably more happiness left inside hastily poured sweet-and-sour pork sauce.
"…Hoo, huff."
A slight dizziness washed over him. Just as the message said, it seemed his body had been pushed too far.
Rakiel steadied his breathing and removed the needles.
At the same time, he started calculating in his head.
'Let's organize this. If the content of those messages is true, acupuncture does work. My expected lifespan increased by one day. But there's a downside. I can only use it once every three days.'
Once every three days.
If his life expectancy increased by one day each time?
Then it seemed he could delay the day of his death by roughly a month.
But that wasn't enough. Simply postponing death wasn't something he could be satisfied with. He needed a more certain method.
'Or I could build up my stamina so I can get acupuncture every day.'
Then he could increase his life expectancy daily—push death back relentlessly.
But to do that?
'Tonic medicine is the best!'
The conclusion came naturally.
Since time immemorial, when it came to nourishment and restoring vitality, nothing beat medicinal tonics.
'I'll eat proper meals, lots of them. Take tonics too. I'll consume everything that's good for the body, and steadily exercise as well.'
Then he could escape this pitiful, bottom-tier stamina.
Rakiel began a full-on run of contemplation.
What kind of decoction he would prepare.
How he would procure the medicinal ingredients.
Thinking it through, quietly organizing the early direction of his life—or perhaps this story—he spent the night immersed in exploration, trial, and worry.
♣
Dawn broke in a pale gray light.
The moment Rakiel opened his eyes, he raised his hand.
"..."
In the dim dawn light seeping through the window, he stared quietly at the back of his hand.
But it wasn't there.
The scar that had once been etched into the middle of his hand was gone.
'It was a scar I got while taking Jindori out for a walk.'
That big guy had been so excited, jumping around.
He'd gotten properly scratched by its claws. It had been a deeper wound than expected, a scar that had claimed the center of his hand for years without fading.
But now?
His hand was smooth.
There wasn't a scar to be found.
It was a delicate, beautiful hand—one that looked as if it had never known hardship.
'…I had a feeling, but it's really true.'
For a brief moment, upon waking, he'd hoped he might be back in his room in Korea.
But as expected, he wasn't.
'Tsk.'
Now it was certain.
This wasn't a misunderstanding, nor a dream. Life here had become reality. He was living the life of Crown Prince Rakiel Adria Magentano.
A terminal life with exactly ninety-one days left.
'Hoo… such is my fate.'
Clicking his tongue in annoyance, Rakiel reached out his hand. By the bedside, within arm's reach, was a small golden bell.
Tinkle, tinkle.
The moment he rang it, sounds of movement came from the other side of the bedchamber. Rustle, rustle—after a brief groan.
"…Your Highness? Did you call for me?"
Sir Gardin's voice came from the auxiliary room set up at one side of the bedchamber. He must have been fast asleep; his voice was still groggy.
Rakiel let out a small snort of laughter and spoke.
"Just woke up? For someone who doesn't look it, you're remarkably shameless."
"Pardon? Shameless…?"
Sir Gardin, emerging from the auxiliary room while rubbing sleep from his eyes, wore a dumbfounded expression.
A note of grumbling crept into Rakiel's voice.
"You're handsome. Tall, too. Quite impressive. Just looking at you, you seem like you'd be perfect in every way."
"Th-thank you."
"Don't thank me. I'm scolding you right now."
"…Yes?"
"You're my attending physician, aren't you? Protecting my health is your job, isn't it? And yet you oversleep later than your patient?"
"Ah, that is…"
Sir Gardin's expression faltered.
It was the face of a man who'd been hit squarely where it hurt.
Rakiel continued.
"Of course, I know. You must be tired. Exhausted from watching over me all day. But in an hour, the sun will rise. If you're a proper attending physician, and the patient you're caring for is critically ill, then at around this time, getting up to check on the patient's condition is basic practice, isn't it?"