WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: LilGuyBlastoise
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
◈ The Economics of an Alchemist ◈
Chapter 1
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“The tumor is too close to the brain stem. With current technology, surgery is impossible.”
The doctor’s voice was grave.
The MRI displayed on the monitor clearly showed a white, grotesque mass eating its way into the brain.
Glioblastoma, the most aggressive malignant tumor arising from the brain’s glial cells.
“Even with radiation and chemotherapy combined, it would be difficult to expect much effect.”
The doctor paused and looked down at the chart.
Name: Kim Jaeha.
Age: Twenty-eight.
Far too young for a life to end. Unable to accept Y University Hospital’s verdict that surgery was impossible, Jaeha must have come here seeking another answer.
“At most, six months... I think you should prepare yourself.”
The doctor carefully tried to deliver the devastating news. Then the doctor looked up from the chart at Jaeha and flinched.
There was no sign of agitation on his face.
The doctor had expected sobbing, denial, anger, or at least a pale, stricken expression. That had been the usual reaction of terminal patients he had seen over the past dozen-plus years.
‘Did he not hear me?’
No, Jaeha had heard every word.
It was simply that the doctor’s consideration and sympathy went to waste. His mind was busy with entirely different calculations.
‘Six months. About 180 days. Fifty million won for the cancer diagnosis, one hundred million won for the death benefit.’
Emotions like grief, despair, and resentment were luxuries to Jaeha. First, he needed to convert his remaining value into cash and map out the most efficient use of the time he had left.
“Please prescribe plenty of the strongest painkillers. I won’t be hospitalized or receive life-prolonging treatment.”
“Excuse me? Before long, you may suffer headaches and nerve paralysis far worse than anything you’re experiencing now. Normal life will become impossible.”
“I’ll handle it.”
Jaeha gave a small bow, rose, and left the examination room. His steps were no different from usual.
Just before closing the door, he glanced once more at the MRI. It looked like a photograph of a broken machine awaiting disposal.
After paying the bill and leaving the hospital, Jaeha looked up at the sky. Dark clouds filled it as though rain could fall at any moment.
Just like the day, more than ten years ago, when a drunk driver had slammed into his parents’ car as they waited at a red light.
Both the victims and the driver had died at the scene. It was an accident so empty that even the people he might have blamed had vanished.
There was no time to wander in grief. Before his parents’ ashes had even cooled, bills demanding loan principal and interest had been shoved into the mailbox.
Inheritance or renunciation of inheritance. He had needed to coldly weigh which would be more advantageous.
Jaeha chose the inheritance.
It meant taking on his parents’ debts, but even considering that, he judged that keeping the apartment was the better choice.
The cash was quickly exhausted after he settled the debts that needed immediate repayment.
As a result, all Jaeha had left was an old apartment with an outstanding loan and two young siblings.
If he did not pay the bank every month, the three siblings’ only shelter would go to auction, leaving them on the street.
For others, youth was a brilliant spring day. For Jaeha, it had been a struggle for survival, enduring every day by working himself to the bone to support his younger siblings.
Jaeha dropped out of high school, throwing boxes all night at logistics centers and breathing exhaust as a porter at night markets. Once he became an adult, he took construction jobs that paid the highest daily wage.
Everything he earned by working himself to the bone went toward feeding his younger siblings and paying for their education.
It was not sacrifice. It was the wisest investment.
Earlier that year, his younger sister, who had earned her accounting certification while attending university, joined a Big Four accounting firm. His youngest brother had been admitted top of his class to Korea University’s mechanical engineering department.
It had seemed that his brutal long-term investment was finally reaching a successful conclusion. Then, at that very moment, came the declaration of a terminal illness.
A cruel twist of fate? A curse from God?
Those sentimental words had been torn from Jaeha’s dictionary long ago. What happened had happened. What he needed to do was design one final gamble with his remaining life as collateral.
After returning home, Jaeha sat at his desk without even washing up and turned on his laptop.
Fifty million won for the cancer diagnosis and one hundred million won for the death benefit. Adding the cash he had scraped together, the total came to a little over two hundred million won.
With that money, he could pay off the remaining apartment loan and leave his two adult siblings with a roof over their heads, free of debt.
The perfect end to a ten-year investment.
All that remained was deciding what to do with himself, the broken machine. The doctors had declared him beyond repair.
He had said he would not receive life-prolonging treatment, but that did not mean he would lie still and patiently wait for death.
There was one way to receive treatment by paying with his body instead of money: a clinical trial. Seeking information, Jaeha immediately logged into the country’s largest online community for brain tumor patients.
[They say it’s glioblastoma... Can I live?]
[My doctor says water brewed with chaga mushrooms is good.]
[Five foods cancer patients absolutely need to eat!]
The message board overflowed with emotional consolation and folk remedies. Jaeha calmly extracted nothing but information.
[My experience participating in an S University Hospital clinical trial.]
[Phase II trial for a new drug by B Pharmaceuticals, no effect at all...]
Where did terminal cancer patients abandoned by hospitals go as a last resort? Where did they get information about new drugs?
As he stared at the screen and searched, a new post appeared.
[Genovanta is recruiting for a Phase I trial of a new drug.]
He clicked at once.
※ Phase I clinical trial for a new targeted anticancer drug, G-77.
· Eligibility: Patients with recurrent or progressive glioblastoma for whom standard treatment is unavailable
· Duration: Four weeks, mandatory admission to a designated ward
· Support: Room, board, and all medical expenses fully covered
⋮
└Phase I means it’s the first time they’re putting it into people...
└Honestly, it’s scary.
└I think this may be my last hope. I’m considering applying.
└Phase I is no different from recruiting human guinea pigs. I’d advise against it if possible.
└It would be a different story if side effects that didn’t appear in animal testing happened in my body.
Comments filled with worry, hope, and concern appeared in real time.
Knock knock.
Jaeha’s shoulders twitched at the sound.
“Oppa! I bought chicken.”
It was the voice of his younger sister, Seo-yun. He had been so absorbed that he had not even noticed her coming in through the front door.
Jaeha shut his laptop and left his room. Seo-yun, who had just returned from work, was setting out dishes on the kitchen table.
“Why are you home so early?”
“Audit season is over. I texted you that I got off early and would bring chicken. Didn’t you see it? I wondered why you never replied.”
Jaeha took his phone from his pocket.
It was an old flip phone. Click. When he opened it, an icon showed that he had an unread message.
[Oppa, I got off early today! I’ll bring chicken on the way home ^^]
The message had been sent two hours ago.
“Sorry. I didn’t see it.”
Seo-yun looked at Jaeha’s phone, its corners worn completely bare, and frowned slightly. Then she picked up her own phone from the table.
It was A-ple’s ambitious new A-phone 3GS, its smooth black body marked by a clear A-shaped logo resembling an apple.
“Oppa, when I get my bonus this time, let’s go replace your phone together. I changed to this one recently through company support, remember? Smartphones are seriously a whole new world.”
Jaeha shook his head and snapped the phone shut.
“No. Why replace something that works? Those are for people like you who have to exchange emails even when they’re out on business.”
“Seriously. I said I’d buy you one.”
“If you really want to buy one, get one for Jaeseong.”
“I’ll get both of you one! I heard this bonus is going to be huge.”
Beep, beep, beep. The door lock sounded, and the front door opened with a clack.
“Noona! I heard everything from outside. No take-backs!”
Jaeseong came in with an excited expression, wearing a Korea University department jacket. He casually tossed down his bag and quickly sat beside Jaeha.
“A-phone, A-phone, chicken.”
Humming to himself, Jaeseong reached for a drumstick. Seo-yun glared at him and smacked his back Smack! Smack!
“Ow! Ah!”
“How many times have I told you to wash your hands before eating? Huh? Huh?”
“Okay! I got it! Stop hitting me!”
Jaeseong hurried into the bathroom.
“How did someone that scatterbrained get into Korea University?”
Seo-yun muttered in disbelief as she wiped chicken-pickle brine from the table with a tissue.
“Anyway, when I get my bonus, we’re going to replace your phone and Jaeseong’s, so remember that.”
Instead of answering, Jaeha filled his cup with cola. As the fizz of carbonation briefly settled the noisy table, he spoke.
“Starting next week, I’ll be away from home for a while.”
Seo-yun’s hand froze as she raised a can of beer to her mouth. Jaeseong, washing his hands in the bathroom, perked up his ears.
“Where are you going? Another job out of town?”
Seo-yun asked worriedly. Until then, whenever Jaeha said he would be away from home, it had meant leaving for a grueling construction site where he would have to work himself to the bone.
“No. I’m just going on a trip.”
“A trip? You?”
Jaeseong emerged from the bathroom, wiping his hands, his eyes wide. Since their parents died, his older brother Jaeha had never once allowed himself the luxury of a trip.
“Jaeseong, you’re an adult now. My investment in you two ends here. I’m going to live a little for myself, too. I’m thinking of visiting the mountains and remote places, so there may not be much signal. You don’t need to worry if you can’t reach me.”
Jaeha emptied his cup of cola in one go and stood.
“My stomach feels a little heavy, so I’m getting up first. Enjoy your food.”
Only a heavy silence remained around the table. Seo-yun and Jaeseong blankly looked at each other.
Jaeha was right in every possible way. He deserved rest more than anyone. Yet an inexplicable unease settled damply in a corner of both their hearts.
* * *
A few days later.
Using a trip as an excuse to his siblings, Jaeha left home at dawn and went to the clinical trial center at H University Hospital.
“G-77 has not yet been sufficiently tested in humans. Serious side effects may occur. The related treatment and compensation procedures will proceed as explained. Do you consent?”
Without hesitation, Jaeha signed the informed-consent form.
After three days of screening, he was found eligible and registered as a trial participant. His identification code was S-001. He was in Cohort 1, the first group testing the new drug at its lowest dose.
“Starting today, we’ll administer the new drug to one new patient each day. If you notice anything unusual, press the call button immediately.”
Jaeha was first.
The cold drug entered through his vein. A metallic taste filled his mouth, followed by a migraine that squeezed his brain.
It was not unbearable. But it was only a warning. Soon, horrific hunger and chills overwhelmed him. His blood glucose level visibly dropped.
Fortunately, it remained just barely within the range where the trial could continue. The medical staff continued treatment after adding a glucose infusion.
On the first night of treatment, Jaeha endured the drug’s side effects beneath his sheets, his body shaking.
The third day of treatment.
“Urgh, ugh! Nurse! Nurse! Save me!”
Less than half a day after receiving the drug, Patient S-003 began violently vomiting and withdrew from the trial.
A powerful neurotoxicity, which had not appeared in animal testing, had begun to mercilessly tear through human brains.
Participants dropped out every few days. Patient S-004 suffered severe fever, while Patient S-005 suffered an acute rise in liver enzyme levels.
“Who? Who poured molten metal into my head?”
“Ma’am, please calm down!”
“You wretch! You did this, didn’t you?”
“Aaaah!”
Patient S-002 left the ward after delirium caused self-harm and violence. The only one left was Jaeha, foolishly enduring with a glucose infusion.
But the side effects tormenting him soon crossed their own threshold.
Early morning in the second week of treatment.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
Jaeha’s blood glucose level plunged through the floor, bringing acute hypoglycemic shock. The once quiet hospital room became chaos.
“Patient unresponsive! BST has dropped below 30!”
“Push a 50 percent dextrose ampule directly! Hurry!”
“Blood pressure is 80 over 50. His vitals are fluctuating like crazy! His breathing is dropping too!”
“Put a mask on him and get him to the emergency room! Run a CT and MRI first! We need to see if there’s bleeding!”
An oxygen mask was placed over the unconscious Jaeha’s face. By protocol, this was a complete clinical failure and cause for permanent discontinuation.
But then.
As the attending professor reviewed the test results to check for brain damage, a stunned gasp escaped the attending professor.
“...This is impossible. The tumor has shrunk by nearly half?”
Jaeha was undoubtedly a super-responder, showing treatment effects far greater than those of ordinary patients.
“The patient collapsed from shock! We have to stop treatment immediately. Pushing on from here is a violation of medical ethics!”
“What are you talking about? The tumor is entering remission! Stopping the trial now would be no different from telling the patient to die!”
“That’s right. If we can control the blood glucose level, we may get the first data showing a complete cure. We have to maintain the treatment somehow!”
A fierce debate unfolded among the medical staff and pharmaceutical company executives, between ending the trial on principle and continuing it for miraculous data.
At that moment, Jaeha was dreaming.
It was an old-fashioned classroom from an era impossible to place. Among people dressed in unfamiliar attire, he received instruction from a white-haired professor whose eyes burned brightly.
“Remember this, all of you. Dismantling existing principles and reconstructing all things into a new order, that is the essence of alchemy.”
Footnotes:
A-ple and its A-phone are fictional names parodying Apple and the iPhone. “Human guinea pigs” renders maruta, a Korean term for unwilling or dangerous human experimentation, historically associated with Unit 731.
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