WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Haruto

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ The Dark Fantasy Doctor Was Mistaken for a Saint ◈

Chapter 2: Is This Possession or Reincarnation? (1)

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My godfather had collapsed.

Right after receiving healing magic, he would improve for a short while, only for his condition to worsen again after three days. The cycle kept repeating.

‘Classic malaria.’

Was that supposed to be a relief?

At least I had medicine capable of treating malaria in my hands.

I immediately gave my godfather quinine.

“Julian... that medicine...”

“It is a treatment for Southern fever. Its effectiveness has been verified on other soldiers, so please rest easy.”

“So that is what... you have been making all this time.”

With that, my godfather closed his eyes.

He had not died. He simply fell asleep because he lacked the strength to speak.

I immediately began quinine treatment while he slept.

After giving him the medicine, I spent the night in a corner of his sickroom.

The healer periodically cast healing magic.

The servants took turns wiping the sweat from his brow.

Meanwhile, I counted my godfather’s respirations, checked his pulse, and recorded the course of his fever.

Three days passed like that.

Normally, his fever would rise again around then.

But this time, it did not.

Not after another three days, either. Nor after the next three.

The symptoms of malaria no longer appeared.

‘It worked.’

On the morning of the ninth day, my godfather sat up by himself and asked for water.

The head butler hurriedly offered him a glass, and the healer rushed over.

I heard someone crying in the hallway.

Amid the commotion, I quietly took a step back.

My godfather made a full recovery and rose from his bed.

Then, as I turned away, he spoke to my back.

“Julian. Thank you. Is there a reward you would like?”

“I know you are still recovering, but may I ask one thing of you?”

“Speak.”

“I would like to use your name to supply this medicine to a trading company.”

“...Is that all?”

“That is more than enough.”

Thanks to that, I neatly resolved the issue of distributing quinine.

‘As expected of a misunderstanding story. Everything is going smoothly.’

* * *

After quinine brought him back from the brink of death, my godfather made a contract with a trading company under his own name, as promised.

The company immediately began selling quinine, and within just a few months, the medicine started spreading throughout the South.

The military responsible for the Southern Front also began taking notice of quinine.

They had originally needed to contend with both malaria and magical beasts.

But with quinine, they could now focus entirely on the magical beasts.

As a result, word reached the trading company that the military intended to sign a large-scale contract for quinine.

A few days later.

‘Today was the day the results came in.’

That day had arrived.

Early in the morning, I stood before the mirror as soon as I woke up to tidy myself.

In it stood a gloomy boy who looked as though he had already seen everything life had to offer.

Unnaturally black hair with a bluish sheen, like raven feathers.

Cold gray-blue eyes beneath it.

Drooping eyes, half-lidded.

As I smoothed the rumpled hair of the boy in the mirror, I tried to guess what sort of character I had been in the original work.

‘Judging by my appearance alone, I feel like I would have been a quiet, gentlemanly character in the original.’

Perhaps I had been a refined, dignified genius who seemed to carry a story of his own.

Or perhaps not.

Either way, I decided that was Julian’s character.

Calm, gentle, always speaking softly. A mild-mannered church-boy type.

‘...Good. This should do.’

I had been doing it since I was four, so it had practically become second nature.

I put on an expression that was somewhat gloomy without losing its kindness, then turned away from the mirror.

I had just finished my mirror routine and was changing clothes.

Knock, knock.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Young Master, did you sleep well?”

It was the head butler’s voice.

“Yes, I’m up.”

“The lord is waiting for you in his study. He asks that you stop by briefly before breakfast.”

The study this early in the morning.

I could guess what this was about.

It had been several months since I began selling quinine with my godfather’s help.

It was about time for the results to come in.

“Understood. I’ll be right there.”

* * *

My godfather treated me like his real son.

Of course, he sent me to a detached residence with only one butler and left me there almost unattended.

Still, because I was his dead friend’s son, he bought me the books I asked for and made sure I had plenty of spending money.

A young master who had received all the education he needed in the capital and got a steady allowance?

At that point, it was practically the same as treating me like a real son.

Or maybe not.

Anyway.

My godfather had summoned me to the study in the main residence.

When I opened the study door, I saw my godfather seated at his desk, with the head butler standing beside him.

He still looked gaunt, as though the aftereffects of malaria lingered.

Then again, I had once seen my godmother muttering outside his room that having only one child was still worrying, so perhaps it had something to do with that.

“Julian. About the medicine you made.”

“Yes, do you mean quinine?”

“Yes. You asked us to supply quinine to the military at a low price. I have something to say about that.”

“Yes. What is it?”

“The military’s order is far larger than expected.”

My godfather picked up a document from his desk.

The number written there was... one, two, three, four...

Goodness. How many digits was that?

I had expected to make a lot, but this was beyond imagination.

At this rate, couldn’t I live comfortably for the rest of my life just off the interest?

‘Isn’t it good that there are this many orders?’

Why was this a problem?

Were they trying to take away my patent rights?

As I worried about that, my godfather continued.

“If we accept all these orders, I think you will suffer a considerable loss from the share you were originally meant to receive. Would you reconsider?”

Ah. That was what this was about. My share.

“Must you really reduce your share?”

“...”

When I introduced this medicine, I made one contract with the trading company.

In exchange for giving up part of my share, quinine would be sold to soldiers at half price.

“Of course, in a place like the Demon Realm, mosquitoes kill nearly as many soldiers as magical beasts. I nearly died myself. But I wonder if you truly need to go this far.”

“Godfather, if the medicine is too expensive, the soldiers won’t be able to buy it. Not every soldier is a noble.”

“...”

“The trading company said it couldn’t lower the price any further, so I should be the one to give something up.”

Soldiers were underpaid in every country of every world, apparently.

I had heard quinine was quite a burden as well.

So, partly to build a favorable image among soldiers, I made that contract.

‘Money can be earned later. First, I need to build an image through quinine.’

My goal was not to become some rich upstart.

Since I had become the protagonist anyway, my goal was to become the Empire’s greatest doctor, one whose name would endure throughout history.

‘And soldiers never forget the people who treated them well.’

The fact that I kept buying the same razor after I got out of the Korean military was proof of that.

Honestly, it was probably just because I had gotten used to it.

‘And this is what a protagonist should do.’

Above all, in a misunderstanding story, the things that do not make money are what somehow earn you more money.

This choice, too, would eventually bring greater profit.

“It’s fine. Please proceed as planned.”

“Julian, you may not realize it because you are still young, but two percent is by no means a small share. You may regret it later.”

“It’s fine. Money can be earned later, but a person’s life cannot be replaced.”

“...”

My godfather fell silent for a moment.

The head butler, standing beside him, seemed to stop moving the hand holding his notebook as well.

‘That seems to have landed well.’

But the silence lasted longer than I expected.

Were they that deeply moved?

Wanting to give them enough time to savor their emotion, I waited quietly.

Eventually, my godfather took off his glasses, pressed his fingers against his eyelids, and let out a sigh.

“...Very well. We will proceed as planned.”

“Thank you.”

“You may go now. Study hard today as well.”

“Then please excuse me.”

I bowed to my godfather and walked toward the door.

“Ah, Julian.”

Just as I placed my hand on the doorknob, my godfather stopped me.

“Today is your birthday. Happy tenth birthday. Tell me if there is anything you want.”

When I turned around, my godfather was smiling faintly.

Those words sounded familiar.

As though I had heard them somewhere... even in a dream.

“...Thank you.”

I did not try to grasp the feeling that something was about to come to mind.

Instead, I bowed once more and left the room.

As I walked away, I suddenly remembered where I had heard those words.

‘Come to think of it... I feel like it had something to do with the nightmare I had this morning...’

But as if a thick fog had settled over it, I could not make out the contents of the dream at all.

I shook my head and hurried on.

I had a lot to do after creating quinine.

I was not idle enough to dwell on a dream I could not even remember.

=======================

▽▽▽ This is a forgotten story. Or perhaps, a story that had been prepared. ▽▽▽

There was a boy.

He wanted to become the sun, to be loved, and to save the world.

At one time, the boy had even been called a prodigy.

But shining first did not mean rising higher.

Even when the night deepened and the stars climbed to the very top of the sky, the boy could only circle through the grass.

The boy was not a star.

A lowly little insect that could only shine by borrowing the darkness of night.

He was a glowworm.

* * *

The world was cruel to the glowworm.

The parents who should have loved him died before he could even form memories.

The new parents who meant to love him died before they could show him that love.

And when the boy fell, no one reached out a hand to him.

All he had left was a revolver and a single cheap lead bullet.

The boy opened the cylinder and pushed in the bullet with dirt-stained hands.

Then, with trembling hands, he placed the barrel against his temple.

If someone who loved him still remained in this world...

What would that person have said to him?

After thinking it over and over, the boy muttered the words he wanted to hear.

“Happy... tenth birthday, Julian.”

Bang!

A single gunshot rang out, and the boy’s body fell onto a grave.

The city did not react to that gunshot.

And so, it seemed the boy’s story had come to an end.

“...Hah.”

The boy who had closed his eyes let out an exclamation with a cold breath.

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Footnotes:

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