Isekai Yakkyoku Vol 05

Chapter 5, Episode 1: Pharma and the Reproductive Function Test

When Farma returned from the Holy Spring, it was already May of the year 1147.

He had almost forgotten, but half a year had passed since the very first bathhouse opened. Now, one of the five bathhouses in the imperial capital was finally complete. The Empress herself had ordered its construction as a reward for Farma’s service in preventing the Black Death.

The one he was invited to this time was an open-air hot spring, built atop a small hill at the edge of the capital.

Stretching out before him was a dazzling landscape: brilliant white limestone terraces, layered over countless years by mineral deposits.

Hot springs welled up in abundance, the water reflecting the sunlight with a pure azure glow, creating a view both graceful and majestic. To prepare for rainy days, a massive dome had been installed to cover part of the terraces, and indoor baths had been added as well. The result was a resort spa fit for any weather.

(This really feels like… Hierapolis. Or Pamukkale…)

The elegant spectacle left Farma breathless.

“How is it, Farma? A splendid retreat, is it not?”

Beside him, bathing without a stitch of clothing, the Empress of the San Fleuve Empire proudly displayed her flawless figure as she began to boast of her newest thermae.

(Ugh… more like a retreat for my *eyes…!)*

“Yes… it is indeed another thermae brimming with natural beauty, Your Majesty.”

All around them stood the Empress’s ladies-in-waiting, watching attentively. Farma, the lone man in this place, had never felt more out of place.

(Why do I have to bathe with Her Majesty of all people…!? And why does it always have to be mixed bathing!? Don’t tell me the other three bathhouses are going to be like this too…!)

He swallowed hard, unable to find a safe place to rest his eyes, his movements growing stiffer by the moment.

And today, the Empress had gone even further. Deciding that a repeat of their last encounter would be boring, she had prepared an even bolder surprise.

“Oh! The vivid contrast between the azure water and the white terraces—what a breathtaking sight, Your Majesty!”

A familiar voice reached his ears.

(Wait—oh no… you’ve got to be kidding me…)

That’s right. Farma wasn’t the only guest. Ellen had been invited too. Last time, his reactions to the thermae had been too subdued, so the Empress had decided to bring Ellen along as a guaranteed flatterer to satisfy her need for admiration.

(Why bring *her into this!? This has to be harassment!)*

“Ahhh! My glasses keep fogging up immediately!”

(Of course they do! At this point, she’s probably fogging them on purpose…)

Ellen fussed endlessly with her cloudy lenses.

“You are quite amusing, Eleonore,” the Empress said with a smile.

“Oh, I’m honored, Your Majesty! To be praised by you is more than I deserve…”

(…Was that really praise?)

Farma tilted his head slightly. Ellen, on the other hand, seemed not the least concerned with his presence. She was enjoying the thermae to the fullest.

“And yet, Eleonore, it seems your chest knows no such thing as modesty.”

“Wha—Your Majesty! Where are you looking!?”

“Are they truly as full as they appear? How do they feel, I wonder…? Come, let me try.”

The Empress compared Ellen’s goddess-blessed bosom with her own shapely bust, a flicker of rivalry glinting in her eyes.

Her hands moved unmistakably toward Ellen’s chest.

“Kyaaa! Your Majesty, please! That’s outrageous!”

“It’s not as though it will diminish anything. What harm could it do?”

“It won’t diminish anything, but that’s not the point!”

Alarmed, Ellen leapt to her feet. Farma quickly averted his eyes—only to meet the gaze of another girl in the bath.

He was bathing with Lotte as well.

(Ahhh—her too!?)

Raised to believe that exposing her skin in front of others was utterly unthinkable, Lotte sat frozen in the corner. Overcome with embarrassment, and intimidated at the thought of bathing alongside the Empress, she curled into herself, trying to hide her still-developing figure from view.

And yet, with her hair lifted up to reveal the nape of her neck, she gave off a fleeting, unexpected allure.

“Lotte, why are you sitting way over there? Come join us,” Ellen called.

“Yes, come closer. Farma will be pleased,” the Empress added, amused.

“I–I can’t possibly!”

Lotte’s bashful refusal was so endearing that it would have been impossible for anyone—least of all Farma—to keep a steady heart.

“And how fares Charlotte’s development in that regard? Hm? Shall we confirm it?”

“Y-your Majesty! Please forgive me, I must take my leave!”

Panicked, Lotte bolted from the bath in a flurry.

(Good grief! What *is going on with these people? This is poison—to my eyes and to my ears!)*

Farma was on the verge of losing his mind, unable to look anywhere safely.

“Farma, why do you avert your eyes and flush so red?” the Empress teased, clearly delighted.

“It’s just that… well, this is most troubling,” Farma said with heartfelt exasperation.

“Ah, I see. So you are shy in matters of the heart.”

“It’s simply that I’m not accustomed to mixed bathing, Your Majesty.”

“…Speaking of hot springs… yes. What kind of spring was the Holy Spring?”

The Empress lowered her voice as if recalling something and asked Farma.

The story of Farma discovering the legendary Holy Spring had been shared only with the Empress, Salomon, and Ellen—though she had not been told the exact location. Farma had assumed that even if the place was physically accessible, humans would find it nearly impossible to reach.

“Were you able to go to the other side of the Holy Spring?”

“Yes… I suppose, in a manner of speaking,” Farma replied, his words hesitant.

“Could I see the celestial realm as well?”

“I must apologize, Your Majesty, but I do not believe you would be able to enter that side.”

“Mu… do not speak so coldly,” she pouted, clearly displeased at being denied.

“I was able to enter myself, but I was returned to this world immediately,” Farma added, carefully choosing his words, anticipating her disappointment.

“…I cannot explain the details, but it was… like a room,” he said, knowing that describing it as his former workplace would mean nothing to her.

“You could have taken a photograph. Use the wonders of civilization,” the Empress suggested lightly.

“W-well, if there is an opportunity next time…”

He doubted that a photo would capture the otherworldly laboratory, but the thought lingered.

(Ah, speaking of which… I should have brought a PC or smartphone. Even if they sank into the Holy Spring immediately, I could have put them in a waterproof bag and returned them.)

Incidentally, the reagents Farma had brought from the otherworldly laboratory seemed to have become “treasures” the moment they entered this world. Farma stored them securely in Medisis family’s refrigerated vault and, during his rare free moments, gradually conducted tests to confirm their properties, using them only once he was certain they were safe.

“Farma,” the Empress said, her expression now serious, meeting his eyes.

“Yes?”

“You do not intend to cross completely to the other side, do you?”

“…That is…”

Farma had no place in that otherworldly realm. Had he not helped Kanji Kusuriya—his past self who had died from overwork—the self now inhabiting Farma’s body would never have been reborn. That much he could surmise.

(Then… what happens to me? Could I return to the future beyond that time? Or, if I save my past self, Kanji Kusuriya… would the past branch off, and I would end up living in a completely different world?)

He could not see how it would affect himself, this world, or the world he had come from.

The Empress watched him with a trace of disappointment as he hesitated to answer.

“Well, I do not think I can stop you if you have made your decision. But if you must go, then stay here and take your time before departing.”

“I understand, Your Majesty,” Farma said, lowering his gaze, unable to argue.

Since meeting her, he had often been asked for such favors and promises.

“Enough of these gloomy talks. On a more personal note… what of your marriage prospects? I have heard no reports at all.”

“W-what do you mean, Your Majesty?”

Farma’s face tightened; it was a delicate subject he wished not to discuss.

“Has Bruno not chosen a match for you yet? He is so slow… I hear many marriage proposals have been brought for you.”

*(Many proposals… what does that even mean? Whose idea is this?)

Farma’s ears twitched. He had thought he had not attracted any romantic attention—apparently he was wrong.

“My focus has been on my work as a physician, Your Majesty. Marriage… I have felt it might be too soon…”

In this age, matters of inheritance dictated noble marriages, and love matches were unheard of. Bruno likely deemed Farma too young for a wife and shut down such plans, but the Empress still admonished him.

“You are of proper age to marry, you know.”

*(Proper age… really?! Isn’t this too early?)

Among nobles, the marriageable age was said to start at thirteen. For boys, there was no strict upper limit, but the Empress seemed eager to see him wed.

“My older brother is still unmarried, and I cannot leap ahead of him…”

“Your brother is your brother, you are you. If no suitable match presents herself, I shall select one for you. You should be grateful. A rare beauty, gifted in both talent and form! How does that sound?”

*(Eek! That would be a disaster!)

“Haha… perhaps, with Your Majesty’s assistance someday,” Farma said, forcing a smile to deflect the pressure.

“This is no laughing matter. Take a wife quickly, and bear children. Your children will surely possess extraordinary divine power. They will be treasures of the Empire.”

(I see… this is troublesome. And at twelve, I am supposed to have a spouse? I cannot possibly be responsible for anyone at this age.)

Farma’s current situation left no room for marriage. Unfinished problems piled up endlessly, and he did not know how long he could continue inhabiting the young Farma’s body.

In a world with such a short average lifespan, children marrying children might be normal—but for a former Japanese man like Farma, it was unimaginable. He wanted to stabilize things before making any life choices.

Yet, he had to face the Empress’s wishes.

“In the Empire, one wife is the rule, but you may, as a special exception, take two or even three as your lawful wives. I permit it and will guarantee their welfare. At the very least, you must take one.”

This time, it was not a suggestion—it was an imperial edict.

The Empress made it clear: should Farma vanish unexpectedly while traveling to the Holy Spring, he must leave as many descendants with the blood of the Medicine God as possible.

(She is shrewd, as one would expect of an emperor. And she wants me to marry just to leave descendants…)

Farma felt a heavy gloom settle over him. Sensing his mood, the Empress continued:

“Ensuring the continuation of one’s lineage is not a matter of personal choice for an imperial noble. It is a duty.”

“I understand your command, Your Majesty. However… biologically speaking, I may not even be fully human. I might not be able to produce offspring. Even if a future wife were to bear my child, her life could be in danger.”

Farma believed that leaving descendants without considering the risks would be irresponsible—harming both the woman and the child. One should only wish for a family out of genuine affection and respect for one’s partner.

“There have been cases in the past of those possessed by guardian gods leaving descendants. Though now, all those bloodlines have died out.”

(I see… so children *can happen…)*

“Does divine power pass down genetically?”

“It has a high probability of inheritance. That is why I say it.”

Children born of parents both skilled in divine arts tend to be exceptional themselves.

“Still, I cannot force anyone to fall in love if they are unwilling. How about Eleonore?”

The Empress studied Farma’s face intently, standing close enough that he could feel her gaze.

Ellen’s divine power was strong, her lineage respectable, and she was a capable practitioner of the divine arts. The Empress favored her.

“Miss Bonnefoy is sought after by many. Someone younger like me… would hardly be a suitable match,” Farma mumbled, his voice small, flustered at mentioning the name of the person standing just behind him.

(Did Ellen hear that? Why now of all times…)

“I see. I hear you also have a close relationship with Charlotte, who is around your age.”

The Empress, taking his reaction favorably, pressed further, probing his relationship with Lotte as well. She seemed well-informed.

“Your Majesty!”

“Hmm… very well. I look forward to it. You shall take a wife next year, or at the latest, the year after. Now, I shall leave first—I am thirsty.”

With a bright smile, the Empress rose from the bath. Before departing, she added that if Farma took a wife and remained in the Empire, he would face no restrictions on entering the Holy Spring.

“Farma-kun,”

Ellen, who had been keeping her distance to avoid hearing the Empress, swam over to him through the water. Her face, once flushed, was now pale.

The recent conversation about marriage had made Farma acutely aware of her presence.

“What’s the matter, Ellen? You look unwell, even in the bath. If you’re feeling faint, you should get out.”

“No! It’s not that! Look… your body—it’s more transparent than before. I’m not imagining it… is it because you went to the Holy Spring?”

Ellen’s concern was genuine, almost panicked.

“How transparent is it? Is it to the point that it’s dangerous as a human?”

“Y-yeah… sorry, yes,” Farma admitted.

“You don’t need to worry about my feelings. Just be honest.”

“Inside a room, it’s fine, but outside… I think people will notice.”

(Even objectively… people would notice? This is bad.)

Under the sun, his semi-transparency was pronounced. Farma worried that a few more trips to the otherworld might cause him to vanish entirely. Even before that, he might not be able to live in the capital safely.

It was a serious problem for him.

“Your divine power is too strong, and that’s why this happens. But even if you tried to suppress it… your power is practically limitless. It won’t decrease easily.”

There seemed to be no way to restrict the divine flow that would work for Farma.

(And just like that… another urgent problem to deal with…)

After thoroughly enjoying the thermae, Farma returned to the pharmacy, weighed down by thoughts of his own increasing transparency and the Empress’s words.

The order to take a wife by next year—or at the latest, the year after—pressed heavily on his mind. As he fretted over it,

“What are you worrying about?”

Innocently, Lotte asked, unaware of the situation.

“Nothing! Really, it’s nothing,” Farma replied.

(First of all… can I even get someone pregnant in this state? Is it safe to pass on the genes of a non-human me? It’s way too risky.)

Even thinking about children, he worried about potential harm to the mother.

Though he inhabited the body of young Farma, his original nature had long been altered. He wondered if this would count as interspecies reproduction… that level of uncertainty.

“I should at least check whether my male fertility is still functional,” he decided.

Even if he had no plans to marry, he wanted to understand his own body. In his previous life, he had performed his own reproductive function tests. Though the pharmacy lab lacked sophisticated equipment, he could at least perform the minimum required checks.

(Wait… to test this, I have to collect the sample myself?)

The thought of inserting a needle into his own testes was unpleasant, but fortunately he had just recently reached sexual maturity, so natural collection was possible. Asking Ellen or Lotte to help would have been faster—but the looks he’d get from them would be… terrible.

*(No, no… what am I thinking? There’s no way I can say that aloud. That’s perverted!) *

He decided to wait two days and then proceed using the standard method.

That evening, after closing the pharmacy, Farma collected the sample in the fourth-floor laboratory. Doing it after hours meant that Ellen, Lotte, and the part-time assistants downstairs would not see him, allowing him some privacy.

“Ugh… what am I even doing?”

Afterward, drained and feeling vaguely sage-like, he began processing the sample.

He started with what could be done under a microscope. The semen was suspended in saline, manually centrifuged, then washed.

“Let’s start with the semen analysis,” he muttered, checking volume, sperm concentration, total sperm count, forward motility, and total motility. His hands moved with practiced efficiency.

“Total sperm count seems reasonable.”

As a boy, his semen volume was naturally lower than that of an adult.

“Sperm viability…”

He stained the sample with eosin, which only marked dead sperm, allowing him to calculate survival rate. He proceeded with the other tests carefully, to avoid wasting time.

“Motility and survival seem fine. Next… I should check sperm DNA. I’ve even been to space; cosmic radiation could have caused damage.”

Ideally, he would perform a detailed genomic analysis of the sperm DNA. Without such advanced equipment, however, he had to rely on simpler testing methods.

“No electricity here, so I can’t run a Comet Assay or gel electrophoresis. What can I do?”

He opted for the Halosperm Test. Staining the sperm revealed a blue-purple halo around healthy sperm heads. Damaged DNA prevented halo formation. After several staining steps, he checked the results.

“Almost all of them are stained. No DNA fragmentation. Everything looks normal.”

While he couldn’t see the exact base-level structure, the chromatin of the DNA appeared intact. Farma had expected some abnormalities in his body, but at least within the limits of his testing, everything was fine—and he felt relief.

“The next step… would be to create a human-animal hybrid embryo to check fertility more directly.”

Using mammalian eggs, he could attempt ICSI with human sperm and see if the embryos developed to a certain stage. (Such experiments do not produce half-human animals; development typically halts partway.)

In Japan, implanting these embryos was forbidden, but using them for sperm function testing, with proper notification, was legal.

“Well… that can wait. No mice here anyway. I’ll go home for today.”

Not wanting to repeat collection, he sealed the remaining sperm suspension in a glass tube, melted the end with a flame, and carefully froze it in liquid nitrogen—enough for several future experiments.

Farma finished his work, opened the lab door with a clack, and—

(Ah, I need to take off this lab coat before leaving…)

He unbuttoned the long white coat and threw it off. Disaster struck.

Right in front of him, Lotte screamed.

“Kyah! Farma-sama, put some clothes on!”

“Wha—Lotte!? My clothes!?”

He had forgotten to put on underwear after collecting the sample, so when he stripped the coat, his lower half was fully exposed.

“What on earth were you doing in that state!?”

The two collided on the stairs: Farma, half-naked, and Lotte, returning to retrieve a forgotten item. The situation could not have been worse.

“No, no, this is a misunderstanding! I was just… handling my sample…”

He had become so absorbed in the testing that he had completely forgotten his clothes. The coat had hidden his lower half, so he hadn’t realized.

(“Handling my sample”!? There’s no way to explain that without sounding perverted… this is an unmitigated disaster…)

He looked like a pervert exposing himself, an image that could have easily landed him in front of the military police.

“Kyah! I didn’t see anything!”

Lotte didn’t look back, sprinting all the way back to the mansion.

From that day on, Farma felt extremely awkward and could not face Lotte for quite some time.

Chapter 5, Episode 2: Kamagaya and the Seven Days of Sacred Fire

June, 1147.

Out of mere curiosity, Farma had undergone a test of his reproductive function. But within a month, the crush of daily obligations had swallowed him whole, and the “homework” the Empress had set—marry a wife—had completely slipped from his mind.

As Farma, a twelve-year-old boy physically, yet inhabited by the spirit of a former Japanese pharmacologist, the notion of marriage felt absurd, like a child trying to have children of his own.

Incidentally, Farma had once embarrassed himself in front of Lotte with a public display so blatant that any passing soldier could have reported him—and for a brief moment, he’d been tempted to end it all. But Lotte, with her breezy, unresentful nature, had long forgotten it within a week. He had been quietly rescued by her temperament alone.

One particularly pleasant day off, Farma and Lotte decided to forgo the carriage and stroll leisurely along the riverside. The banks of the Saint-Flouve River were alive with people lounging on the grass, enjoying the walk, or resting at the water’s edge.

On either side, wildflowers and grass grew in lush, vivid green—a perfect springtime scene.

(It’s nice not having a rainy season in Saint-Flouve. Feels almost like Europe… warm and dry.)

The empire was generally low in humidity, warm yet crisp year-round, which suited Farma just fine. He had never been fond of sticky air.

“Wow, these flowers are beautiful! I’m going to pick some,” Lotte said, deftly arranging a small bouquet and turning to smile at Farma.

“Let’s put them on display at the pharmacy. And they’ll make an excellent subject for your painting,” Farma suggested.

“Good idea! Your artwork really brightens the pharmacy, Farma. I’m glad.”

Several of Lotte’s paintings already adorned the pharmacy, vibrant and soothing, offering comfort to visiting patients.

“Today, we’ll keep walking to the royal workshop. I want to fetch some paints,” Lotte said.

Her work as a court painter and designer was progressing smoothly. She and Melody were even planning a joint exhibition. While her primary studio was in the Medisis family residence, after pharmacy hours Farma headed to the university, and Lotte went to the royal workshop.

“Oh, I’ll come with you to the palace,” Farma said.

“Really?! Then let’s go together,” Lotte replied, moving closer. Their bodies brushed slightly.

(Hm… we’re closer than before.)

Previously, Lotte had always kept a few steps behind him, but Farma now felt the space between them shrinking.

Farma had gone to the palace with Lotte to meet Salomon.

Salomon, as a divine arts advisor, had just finished teaching a high-level lecture in the council chamber.

“Wait—you want it… not to show through under sunlight? Haha, you must be joking. There’s no way it could…,” Salomon began, only to be cut off.

“It’s true. And it’s urgent,” Farma said seriously.

Until now, Farma had relied on a talisman from Salomon to suppress his divine aura, keeping his body from casting a shadow. But that was no longer enough—he could not prevent the transparent effect from occurring.

“The talisman I received before doesn’t seem to be enough anymore,” Farma admitted.

“That is troubling. Going further would mean invoking a divine-sealing spell, but… there’s no way I could use that on you, Farma…”

“What’s a divine seal?”

Salomon hesitated. “It’s a forbidden technique to seal a guardian deity. Against you, it might… well, it would be terrifyingly effective. But I couldn’t…!”

“That’s perfect. Could you do it, then?”

Salomon blinked. “You… want me to seal your divine power? Me?”

“Yes. Is it difficult?” Farma’s tone left no doubt—he was serious.

“No, no, impossible. It goes against faith! I seal only malevolent spirits… sealing a guardian deity like you, Farma, is unthinkable!”

“I don’t mind. It’s better than people seeing me transparent and panicking at the pharmacy or in town. That’s why I need it.”

“Uh… very well. But it will be painful.”

Reluctantly, Salomon prepared a forbidden talisman for Farma.

“Apply this directly to the Medicine God mark on your arm. It will suppress most of your divine power. But if it becomes unbearable, remove it immediately. It’s a cursed talisman, a Breaking Talisman, designed to weaken and inflict pain on a guardian deity. I cannot believe I must give this to you, Farma.”

“Thanks!” Farma said cheerfully, rolling up his sleeves and sticking the talisman onto both arms, wrapping them with bandages without a care.

“Ah!? All at once!”

Salomon stifled a scream, leaping back.

“Ah… it’s tingling. Not exactly painful… kind of… pleasant?”

He ignored Farma’s ecstatic expression.

“Supposed to be excruciating…” Salomon muttered.

“Not compared to Sophie’s electric shocks,” Farma replied. He had trained himself in all sorts of… extremes.

“Ah… very well then,” Salomon conceded.

Farma’s divine power weakened, and his transparency disappeared—but, to Salomon’s eyes, his… perverted tendencies had somehow intensified.

“Perhaps even the secret divine-sealing techniques of the Grand Temple wouldn’t affect you much,” Salomon thought quietly.

“Thanks, Salomon. You always help me out,” Farma said.

“Y-You’re welcome. Make sure to test whether your divine arts still function,” Salomon warned.

“I will,” Farma promised, thinking, (Does this talisman also block my ability to create or erase matter? That would be a problem.)

Later, Farma went to fetch Lotte from the royal workshop. She was bent over her painting, sniffling softly.

“Lotte, can you go home, or should I leave first?”

“I’ll go with you. I’m feeling a little unwell…” Her upper lip was reddened from blowing her nose too much.

“My nose won’t stop running. Feels like a cold,” she admitted, turning to blow it again.

“Let’s go home and rest early today,” Farma said gently. It didn’t seem serious—rest was enough.

“Thank you. Oh, the Emperor also has a cold,” she added.

“Huh,” Farma replied.

At home, Farma tested his powers per Salomon’s advice. Matter creation and erasure worked perfectly—his divine arts were intact. (Good… no issues.)

“A cold… hmm? Rebecca?”

The next day, Lotte came to work still unwell—and even Rebecca had red under her nose.

“Rebecca too? Is it going around? Take the day off,” Farma said kindly.

“I’m fine, really! Thank you, boss!” Rebecca said, embarrassed.

“It’s strange… both of them have colds, even though they’re near you,” Ellen whispered to Farma. Only Ellen and Cedric knew the secret of his sanctuary ability.

“Yeah… odd,” Farma muttered.

Ellen, Cedric, Selst, and Roger were all unaffected. Farma’s sanctuary was a passive skill, protecting those within a few kilometers from disease. Yet… (Both of them sick?)

Could the divine-sealing talisman be interfering with his sanctuary? But it was only applied yesterday…

Worrying, Farma used his diagnostic gaze on both of them to check their illnesses.

“Bacterial infection.”

“Viral infection.”

At that exact moment, Lotte sneezed delicately. Sneezing was a common symptom of a cold—but also characteristic of a particular disease.

(Ah… I understand.)

Farma was nearly certain.

“Seasonal allergic rhinitis.”

The blue diagnostic glow turned white. Seasonal allergic rhinitis—commonly known as hay fever. With that clue, Farma could immediately narrow down the source of the allergen.

“At this time of year… what plants grow in the imperial capital?”

On Earth, the big three pollen culprits were cedar, rice, and ragweed. Looking at the imperial city, Farma noted that while there were some ornamental cedars, the city itself had almost none.

“Birch, oak, hazel…”

He listed plants almost at random, watching for reactions. Several triggered a strong response—but one in particular made the diagnostic light flare.

“Kamagaya… hmm, Kamagaya.”

(Ah, of course. There was so much of it along the riverbank the other day. No wonder…)

Farma recalled seeing it recently, in abundance.

“Both of you have a runny nose?”

“Yes.”

“And sneezing?”

“Yes.”

“Any nasal congestion?”

“Yes!”

The girls answered in rapid succession, almost competitively.

“My eyes are itchy too,” Lotte added—her symptoms clearly worse than Rebecca’s.

“Hmm… I want to ask one thing: Did these symptoms start today?”

“N-No, not today. Actually… every year in spring…”

Rebecca raised her hand shyly.

(So it’s not about my sanctuary after all… it doesn’t affect allergies.)

Farma let out a small sigh of relief. If suppressing his sanctuary to hide his transparency had increased the risk of illness, that would have been counterproductive.

“Looks like hay fever, then.”

“Hay… what?” Lotte asked, having never heard the term before.

“Well, roughly speaking, your body mistakes pollen for a harmful pathogen and produces antibodies to expel it.”

“Expel?”

“Yes. You sneeze to eject it, wash it away with tears and mucus, and your nasal blood vessels swell to block further intrusion. Makes sense, right?”

“If you read Farma’s textbook on allergies, it’s all in there. Rebecca, you haven’t read much, have you?” Ellen added with a wry smile from behind Lotte.

“Uh… right! Sorry, I haven’t gotten far in the textbook,” Rebecca admitted, wincing.

“How do you treat it? My nose is sore from blowing it so much—it’s really stinging,” Lotte asked, covering her reddened upper lip with both hands.

“Sorry, but once it starts, it doesn’t just go away. Hay fever comes every year,” Farma said bluntly.

“Every year?! That’s impossible!” Lotte cried.

“It depends on pollen levels. If you moved somewhere without Kamagaya, it would stop—but that’s not realistic. I can prescribe some medicine,” Farma said, pulling out their medical charts and writing prescriptions with practiced ease. It had been a while since he dispensed medicine to anyone other than Cedric.

“Wow! I’m looking forward to Farma-sama’s medicine!” Lotte exclaimed, almost giddy.

“Lotte, medicine isn’t supposed to be exciting,” Ellen teased.

“I’ll give you an antihistamine to suppress histamine. We’ll go with fexofenadine.”

“You’re not giving oral steroids? To avoid infection risk or adrenal suppression?” Ellen asked. For severe adult cases, the textbooks recommended steroids.

“Lotte is under fifteen, so she’s considered a child. Unless it’s severe, no oral steroids.”

“Topical eye or nasal treatments are okay?”

Farma prescribed fexofenadine: 30 mg twice daily for Lotte, 60 mg for Rebecca, plus mometasone nasal spray.

“Everyone reacts differently to pollen meds. If these don’t work, we’ll adjust,” Farma explained.

“Do you need to weigh us for the dosage?” the girls hesitated.

“Nope. Your body types are obvious, so it’s fine this time.”

“Eh!? How heavy do you think we are?!”

“Exactly!”

“Just kidding. There’s a standard pediatric dosage calculation. You’re fine. Also, during Kamagaya season, avoid eating too much wheat, melon, watermelon, or kiwi,” Farma advised from the dispensary. Certain foods can trigger allergy-like reactions in those with grass pollen sensitivity.

“Kiwi… what’s that?” Ellen asked.

“Oh, I forgot—you don’t have kiwi here. It’s a hybrid species.”

“Farma-sama! Even if it’s other fruits, not eating too much wheat? That’s deadly! Wheat is our staple!” Lotte lamented. She loved bread and baked goods made from wheat.

“Not too much. Hay fever can trigger food allergies in some cases, which is dangerous.”

“What happens if we eat anyway?”

“Worst case… anaphylactic shock. Not kidding.”

“Eek!?”

“Right. You’d need an adrenaline injection to counter it,” Ellen recalled.

“Correct. Best to have that ready,” Farma nodded seriously.

“Ugh… I wish Kamagaya just didn’t exist,” Lotte sighed, leaning over the counter. Farma placed the bag of medicine gently on her head.

“Cheer up. Your hay fever isn’t that bad. Same for Rebecca.”

“Thank you… Farma-sama,” Lotte murmured, touching both the bag and Farma’s hand at once, then quickly withdrawing, flustered.

“Can’t be helped. Kamagaya isn’t going anywhere. You’ll just have to manage it,” Ellen added, offering words of comfort that weren’t really comforting.

“So, what do we do? Stay inside all season?!” Lotte groaned.

“Poor things… can you imagine living with a lifelong hay fever?” Ellen sighed.

“Don’t act like it won’t happen to you, Ellen. Anyone could get hay fever—even me,” Farma warned.

“You won’t, Farma-kun,” Ellen said confidently.

“It’s possible. Isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes, that’s right. Mask, Lotte. For protection: mask and glasses!” Ellen demonstrated, per Farma’s textbook.

“Ah, wait a second. Could it be… the Emperor has hay fever too? Lotte, didn’t you say yesterday that His Majesty had a cold? If that’s the case, I’ll need to prescribe medicine for him as well.”

Farma suddenly realized it. What had seemed like a common cold might actually have been pollen allergy. The next day, concerned, he set off for the palace to examine the Emperor—and his hunch was correct.

A few days later, Kamagaya grass had vanished from the imperial capital.

By imperial decree, all wild Kamagaya fields—except for pasturelands—had been incinerated by fire-using divine arts. It was the iron-fisted authority of the muscle-minded Empress in full force.

“My symptoms feel so much better! It’s thanks to Farma-sama’s medicine!”

Benefiting from Farma’s prescriptions, Lotte and Rebecca were overjoyed at the dramatic relief in their hay fever.

“That’s great to hear. But… what happened to the Kamagaya? It’s… gone,” Lotte murmured.

Farma, who knew the full truth, shivered at the sheer decisiveness of the Empress.

(The medicine helps, sure… but you hardly see Kamagaya anywhere in the capital now. They’re systematically eradicating it. The day Kamagaya gets added to the imperial Red Data Book can’t be far off.)

For seven days, divine flames had risen across the city to incinerate the grass. The citizens of the capital would come to call this spectacle The Seven Days of Sacred Fire.


Chapter 5, Episode 3: The Milk-Selling Boy and the Young Apothecary

One afternoon in July, 1147.

Farma was about to leave the apothecary to head to the university when he collided head-on with a boy pushing a handcart across the street in front of the shop.

The boy went down hard, scraping himself, and the cart wobbled, spilling part of its load.

“Ouch! Hey, where are you looking, you little brat—…ugh!”

Farma had shouted without checking who he’d bumped into—and only after did he realize the boy was the proprietor of the otherworldly pharmacy.

“Watch your words, insolent fool!”

A knight stationed at the apothecary’s gate stepped forward threateningly, but Farma held him back.

“No, it’s my fault. I was careless, truly. I’m sorry. Are you hurt?”

“What about my cargo?”

The boy’s words drew Farma to peer into the upended cart. The neatly arranged bottles of milk had tipped over in the collision, spilling their contents.

“Ah… I’ll have to make this right.”

Farma and the boy were, in a sense, acquaintances of sorts. Every day, the boy sold milk on the streets of the imperial city from dawn, and around the apothecary’s lunchtime, he would pass by, looking worn and weary. Farma had noticed him several times before.

“You bet this calls for compensation!”

The boy sprang to his feet and inspected the spilled goods, barking orders.

He was Farma’s age, a commoner in a situation that could only be described as impoverished.

(He’s suddenly gotten thinner… Is he not eating properly?)

Farma observed the boy squarely as he rose, a knot of worry forming in his chest.

“I wasn’t teasing you. I’ll buy everything to apologize for bumping into you.”

Farma opened his wallet and offered to pay for the damages.

“You’re just gonna toss it anyway, aren’t you?”

“No, I’ll drink it.”

The boy, leaning low so the gatekeeper wouldn’t hear, sneered.

“…A court apothecary noble drinking milk?”

“I will. You should, too,” Farma said calmly, thinking he could mix it with cereal.

“It’s sour, you know.”

“How honest of you. Fine, I’ll make it yogurt then.”

Without a second thought, Farma bought every last bottle of milk from the boy’s cart—handing over the contents of his wallet in exchange. Inside, there was an amount equal to several years of the boy’s earnings.

“Keep the change.”

“What!? Are you picking a fight? I can’t take this, you lousy apothecary!”

The boy was already bristling. Farma searched for a plausible pretext and noticed the boy’s pants had ripped when he fell.

“In that case, buy yourself some new clothes. And paying attention to hygiene might even boost your sales. Maybe it’s none of my business, but—”

“None of your business!”

“What’s all the noise? Farma, what are you fighting about?”

Elene had stepped outside, drawn by the commotion.

“I just bought his milk,” Farma said. He was about to add, it’s hardly a child’s quarrel, before realizing he was the child in question. In the end, the boy took from Farma’s wallet just enough to cover the milk and tossed it back toward the apothecary before storming off.

For the next several days, Farma kept an eye out for the boy passing by the pharmacy and stopped him each time to buy milk. But today, he didn’t appear.

“He’s late today,” Farma noted.

“That milk boy, right? I’ll watch the street,” Lotte offered her help.

Finally, Lotte spotted the boy from inside the apothecary and called Farma over.

“Master Farma! He’s here! Wait—buying milk!”

As Farma approached to purchase the milk, he noticed the boy looked distinctly unwell.

“…It’s you again.”

The boy had grown even gaunter than a few days before. Farma’s concern deepened.

“You’re late. Maybe you should take a few days off; you don’t look well,” Farma said while paying, a note of worry in his voice.

“Ah… I’m just thirsty and feel sick. I can’t touch my merchandise,” the boy admitted.

“Alright. Here, drink some water. Lend me one of those empty bottles.”

Farma cleaned the previously milk-filled bottle with divine water and filled it with cold, fresh water, handing it to the boy, who drank deeply, gulp after gulp.

“Still thirsty?”

The boy kept downing one bottle after another. Farma watched carefully.

“I’ve been thirsty all day,” the boy admitted.

“That’s strange… It’s not even hot today.”

(If it were dehydration… his breathing is unusual…)

His inhalations were unnaturally long compared to his exhalations. A cold shiver ran down Farma’s spine.

(Inhalation longer than exhalation… Is this Kussmaul breathing?)

This was far from normal. Farma employed his diagnostic gaze.

The boy’s body fluids glowed a vivid blue.

(What in the world…?)

Farma’s breath caught at the sight of this grave symptom.

There was dehydration, yes, but it alone didn’t explain everything. There was a distinct fruity smell to the boy’s breath, paired with the abnormal breathing.

“Diabetic ketoacidosis.”

A reaction flashed in Farma’s mind.

Diabetic ketoacidosis (DKA) occurs when insulin—the only hormone capable of lowering blood sugar by transporting it into tissues—is absent. Without insulin, blood sugar rises uncontrollably, organs starve for energy, and the body breaks down muscles and fats to compensate. This produces ketone bodies in the blood, causing arterial pH to drop and the blood to become acidic.

(If it’s progressed to ketoacidosis…)

“Type 1 diabetes.”

Correct. Type 2 diabetes progresses gradually and rarely leads to DKA, but type 1—where insulin is abruptly absent—can. Unlike type 2, which is often linked to lifestyle, type 1 diabetes is autoimmune and strikes regardless of wealth. The patient bears no responsibility for its onset. Farma recalled how in Japan, diabetes was often misunderstood as a lifestyle disease, causing sufferers needless anguish.

(I can’t just erase the ketones…)

Ketone bodies are simple compounds. Farma could remove them with his ability—but doing so would deprive the boy of the energy his body relied on. Rapidly erasing them might induce coma.

Instead, as first aid, Farma eliminated only some of the unused ketones—the acetone—stabilizing the boy’s condition slightly.

“Type 1 diabetes?” Elene whispered, careful not to let the patient hear.

“Farma seems to sense it just by looking. How are we supposed to find out otherwise?”

“You could detect DKA via a test. A small finger prick, measure pH. If pH paper can detect it, that’s bad.”

Blood sugar tests existed but were not yet practical in this world.

“What are you rambling about—”

“Hospitalize him. Immediately. He’s in serious condition.”

Farma began persuading the boy.

“Huh? I can just go home and sleep—”

Before the boy could protest, Farma cut him off sharply.

“No! You’ll die! Ketoacidosis has set in—your blood is acidic!”

“Like milk turning into yogurt?”

“Exactly like that.”

“I don’t want to! You’re just going to charge me a fortune for medicine!”

The boy resisted with all his might.

“The treatment cost? Three bottles of milk. Nothing more. Signed contract!”

Farma swiftly scribbled a contract and showed it to the wary boy.

“I can’t read that!”

Cedric stepped forward to read the document aloud.

“Indeed. The patient pays the equivalent of three bottles of milk; all additional costs are covered by the pharmacy. The official seal is present. Your signature makes it valid.”

“I… I can’t believe this! You have no confidence in curing me, do you, lousy apothecary?”

“Whatever you think, this disease can’t be cured. But the symptoms can be managed. If untreated for a few more days… you’ll die. Do you want treatment or not? You don’t want to die, right?”

“…O-okay…”

“Then we’re going to the hospital! Standing like that now is already pushing it!”

Farma secured the boy’s consent and hurriedly led him to the treatment room upstairs.

“Farma snapped.”

Elene’s glasses slid slightly down her nose.

“I’ve never seen Master Farma raise his voice. It must really be an emergency.”

Cedric muttered, arranging the documents before him.

Upstairs in the treatment room, the boy had been measured for height and weight and was now lying on the bed, thrashing about.

Meanwhile, Farma used the results from his diagnostic gaze to calculate plasma osmolarity, estimate the degree of dehydration, and run all the necessary calculations to correct the boy’s fluid balance.

“Let me go! I didn’t agree to a needle! What are you trying to do?! I don’t trust apothecaries!”

“Roger, hold him down—he’s dangerous if he keeps thrashing,” Farma called for a strong pair of hands.

“Infusion, yes? Leave it to me!”

Roger, a young apprentice apothecary from the Netherlands, was the type to solve problems with sheer muscle when needed.

“Farma, which solution are we using for the IV?”

Elene prepared the fluids while Farma had already compounded several drip solutions and packaged them for use.

“0.9% saline first. Give it over about two hours, then switch to 0.45%. After that, we’ll supplement potassium as needed while monitoring his condition.”

“If I die, I’ll haunt you all as an evil spirit!”

The boy flailed his left hand wildly. Farma inferred it was his dominant hand.

“Left-handed, then. The IV goes in the right.”

Farma wrapped a tourniquet around the boy’s arm and inserted a peripheral IV needle into his right hand, connecting it to the extension tubing for the drip.

“Shouldn’t we increase the flow? We want to resolve the acidosis quickly,” Elene asked.

“Since he’s probably dehydrated, faster would help, but too fast risks cerebral edema. We have to manage the rate carefully.”

Farma recalled that sudden correction of acidosis or rapid blood sugar drops could trigger cerebral edema, especially in children. Therefore, bicarbonate should be avoided, and insulin administration must follow fluid correction.

“So the brain swells… that’s serious,” Elene muttered.

The three of them—Farma, Elene, and Roger—discussed the infusion plan.

By the time the IV was in place, the boy, firmly held by all three apothecaries, began to give in.

“Don’t pull out the needle. You’re hospitalized today, actually for about two weeks. If we need to notify anyone, we’ll send a messenger from the pharmacy—tell me who to contact.”

“My master only.”

“Understood.”

Farma jotted down the address and sent a messenger with the boy’s condition and the duration of his stay.

“Farma, for type 1 diabetes, the treatment drug is… insulin, right? Shouldn’t we administer it once the ketoacidosis starts improving?”

Elene asked, holding Farma’s textbook as she spoke.

“Yes… that’s correct,” Farma replied, nodding, but his voice lacked conviction.

“Wait… you don’t have insulin?”

Elene’s face went pale.

(…So this moment has come…)

Farma clenched his fists tightly.

“Well… in a way, I do, and in a way, I don’t.”

“Which is it?”

“I have enough for a few doses, but not enough overall. And I can’t make more immediately…”

Insulin could not simply be created by Farma’s material generation ability.

Historically, insulin was extracted and purified from pigs or cows. Early extraction and purification techniques were crude, causing severe allergic reactions and inconsistent yields. Farma’s laboratory, even with his otherworldly knowledge, resembled early modern labs, so he couldn’t rely on overconfident production.

Hunting down cows or pigs and slowly crushing them wouldn’t suffice. Insulin must be administered continuously, not just once. Genetic engineering to mass-produce it in bacteria was theoretically possible, but even with the sequence, it would take days. Without the sequence, it was impossible.

And yet, insulin was needed now.

“Insulin isn’t a simple compound.”

“It’s a protein, right?”

Elene opened Farma’s textbook and showed the amino acid section to the apprentice apothecaries, as a quick review. The two apprentices, having finished patient prescriptions, had also come upstairs to the treatment room.

“Yes. These are the amino acids used in the human body.”

Farma studied the lists with a grave expression, fully aware of the challenge before him.

“Proteins are made by linking these amino acids together in a specific order to form peptides. Simply put, if you connect the amino acids in the right sequence and fold them properly, you get a functional protein…”

Farma explained to the apprentice apothecaries, while Elene continued his thought. She had studied the textbook thoroughly on her own.

“The problem is the order, isn’t it? Do we know the sequence for insulin?”

Insulin’s amino acid chain consists of dozens of residues. Even Farma didn’t have the entire sequence memorized.

(I was careless… I should have reproduced Sanger’s DNP-based structural analysis to determine the sequence beforehand…)

But regrets came too late.

“I don’t remember it,” Farma admitted, pressing a hand to his forehead.

(If I could go back to the lab, I could look up the sequence…)

But traveling now to the otherworldly lab behind the Holy Spring would be a huge waste of time.

“Is there any way to figure out the sequence? You can’t see insulin under a normal microscope, can you?”

Elene’s words suddenly gave Farma an idea.

“Wait… I might be able to figure it out. Hang on a second.”

“Thanks for the hint, Elene!” Farma shouted and dashed off.

He raced to the fourth-floor lab. Thanks to Elene’s prompting, he remembered that when he had visited the otherworldly lab, he had brought back a single vial of insulin along with several reagents.

It was just one vial. A few doses, and it would be gone.

If he couldn’t synthesize insulin within a few days, the boy would die.

From the reagent storage on the fourth floor, Farma retrieved the insulin vial. Rolling up his sleeves, exposing his bandaged arm, he removed the sealing talisman that Salomon had given him. Without pushing his ability to the limit, he probably wouldn’t be able to see it.

“Show yourself!”

He activated his long-unused special ability. Forming a ring with his right hand, he employed “Enhanced Vision” to directly observe the amino acid sequence of insulin. It was a reckless move, but he reasoned that it was akin to using an atomic-force microscope or X-ray crystallography.

When he reached the maximum magnification, he inserted an optical microscope into the chain and tried again.

“I… can see it!”

Farma began recording the amino acids one by one in his notebook. It sounded simple, but many amino acids looked nearly identical to the naked eye. To resolve this, he labeled the first amino acid with dinitrophenyl (DNP) and combined it with his material-erasure ability, piecing together the sequence like a puzzle.

Finally, he erased the sequence he had reconstructed to confirm that the synthesis would be accurate.

An hour later, Farma emerged from the lab.

“It’s done… this is insulin.”

“So much! How did you synthesize it?”

“Principally, I used solid-phase peptide synthesis… fixing one amino acid in place and adding each subsequent residue in order.”

“But you used a different method, didn’t you?”

Elene noticed the faint glow of the pharmaceutical god’s mark under Farma’s lab coat—proof that he had used his divine ability. He had forgotten to conceal it afterward.

“It was urgent. I exhausted my concentration and nearly died in the process.”

“Your effort shows—your eyes are bloodshot, Farma,” Elene said with concern.

“Thank you,” Farma murmured. Lotte, who had quietly observed the tense exchange, handed him a warm compress. Farma gratefully pressed it to his eyes.

(I’ll have to use that method again…)

It had worked for dozens of amino acids, but if the sequence had been hundreds long, his concentration might not have sufficed. Mistakes would have been inevitable. There was a faster, simpler way—but it required biopharmaceutical techniques.

(Chemical synthesis alone won’t be enough… we need biopharmaceutical development.)

Biotechnology could make drugs possible that chemical synthesis alone could never achieve. Farma, a pharmacologist, knew every technique imaginable.

“Farma, won’t you administer the insulin?” Rebecca asked, bringing him back to the moment.

“Yes, of course,” he replied.

That day, the boy with type 1 diabetes received the otherworldly pharmacy’s first-ever peptide drug: insulin.

“For now, at least, we can breathe a little easier…”

The apothecaries rotated shifts, observing the boy’s condition, with Farma and Elene staying overnight as part of their duties.

By nightfall, the boy’s master arrived to check on him, promising to handle milk deliveries for a while and cheering the boy on before leaving.

“He’s a good man, that master,” Farma remarked.

“You yell a lot, though,” the boy muttered.

“I wanted to ask… you must have a huge grudge against apothecaries, right? Why?”

The boy explained that a third-rate apothecary had sold ineffective medicine, leading to his mother’s death.

(A common story…)

Not just for this boy—throughout the city, poor citizens were often at the mercy of ineffective or fraudulent remedies. Before Farma supplied modern medicines to the imperial city, the commoners’ access to healthcare was abysmal.

“You don’t trust apothecaries?”

The boy looked away, embarrassed.

“It’s fine if you don’t trust me. But if the medicine helps you, that’s the answer.”

“….”

The boy bit his lip, silent and frustrated.

“From now on, you’ll manage this medicine yourself. Every day. You’ll be your own primary apothecary.”

Farma taught him how to prepare the insulin, handle syringes and needles, and administer it safely. He also provided guidance on carbohydrate counting to determine insulin dosage.

“How’s that? Not too difficult, right? This syringe will be part of your life forever. You may reduce the dose, but you can’t stop completely.”

“A lifetime…”

The boy, who had once been cheeky, fell silent, considering the enormity of that statement.

“If I find another method, I’ll tell you first. I promise.”

“You… you’re a good guy,” the boy whispered, just loud enough for Farma to hear.

“Are you finally relieved?” Elene asked.

“Not entirely. We still need to make a simple blood-glucose monitor, and prepare rapid-acting and long-acting insulin analogs for the future.”

There was still much work to do.

Two weeks later, the boy was discharged in good health. He handed Farma three bottles of milk as payment.

“Yes, I’ve received the treatment fee—but the real treatment begins now,” Farma said.

The boy had begun to understand that his own health and life were his responsibility.

“Thanks for everything… Court Apothecary. I’ll make sure to take the insulin properly.”

“Court Apothecary, huh? That’s progress from calling me a lousy apothecary,” Farma teased.

“Shut up!”

“You’ll need to come for daily checkups. I’ll give you the insulin then.”

“Got it.”

The next day, three bottles of milk arrived at the pharmacy—and every day after that. Farma gave the boy glucose sticks for immediate use and prepared the day’s insulin doses.

“Daily checkups, and now daily milk deliveries too,” Farma said with a wry smile.

The staff drank some before work, and Lotte even used it in cooking.

Farma taught the boy how to manage milk safely for imperial citizens, including pasteurization and hygiene. The boy had his master make a uniform for selling milk, keeping clean and presentable under Farma’s guidance.

When Farma served the improved milk to the empress, she was delighted.

The boy’s milk became known as “Imperial Court-Approved Premium Milk,” and he grew busier than ever, energetically pushing his refurbished cart through the city.

Chapter 5, Episode 4: The Cog of the Bond

The High Priest’s office, attached to the Grand Temple of the Holy Nation.

Inside, High Priest Com, head of the Imperial Capital Diocese of Saint Flouve, was reporting Farma’s recent circumstances to Grand Priest Pius.

“Since that incident, the Emperor has taken the temple as his personal enemy, making it extremely difficult to approach the God of Medicine. I suspect he keeps someone close who is well-informed about the temple’s inner workings. Every move we make seems to be anticipated.”

The temple’s activities in the capital were now heavily restricted, and the espionage work carried out by its clerical agents was significantly hindered.

Because the temple’s movements were under imperial surveillance, tailing Farma was nearly impossible, and any espionage directed toward the De Medici household was crushed by the Empress’s personal guard.

Ironically, the only place where temple-affiliated clerics could actually meet Farma was his otherworldly pharmacy.

Thus, the clerics of the Imperial Capital Diocese, while still being watched warily by Farma, found themselves visiting the pharmacy almost daily to purchase medicines, gradually becoming indistinguishable from regular customers. Recently, perhaps feeling comfortable as such a familiar face, Farma had even begun addressing some of them directly. Clerics sent for reconnaissance returned overjoyed, exclaiming, “He spoke to me!”

“And?”

“There is a slight daily fluctuation in the God of Medicine’s divine power,” Com reported.

“Indeed? How so?”

Pius leaned forward, intrigued. Com explained that Farma’s divine power was suppressed during the daytime on weekdays. Measurements taken across the capital with high-sensitivity divine meters showed his power stronger at night and weaker by day.

Even the daytime suppression, however, was extraordinary by ordinary standards—almost superhuman. Around his usual haunts, Farma’s presence created a great sanctuary into which malevolent spirits could not enter.

“Well done. So, he is weaker during the day, then?”

“Of late, he frequently holds or worries at his arms,” Com continued. “It’s possible he has performed some technique on himself—perhaps something to seal his divine power.”

Com’s subordinates had reported that Farma had grown increasingly conscious of his arms over the past few weeks.

“Would the God of Medicine deliberately apply a sealing technique on himself, knowing of its existence?”

To know of such a technique meant Farma had completely read the temple’s strategy. Pius frowned bitterly, resting his chin in his hand.

“Perhaps he has so much divine power that he restrains it just to maintain his human form.”

“What a waste,” Pius murmured. “If even a fraction of that power could be gathered, it would yield tremendous results.”

He perused a list of treasures owned by the Grand Temple across various guardian temples.

“This is perfect.”

His finger, sliding down the list, stopped at a particular item.

A calm, sunny morning found Farma, Lotte, and Cedric arriving at the pharmacy as usual. On the bench outside sat a young woman, her hat pulled low over her face, looking utterly lost.

Her long black robe marked her as a traveling apothecary.

“Good morning. Sorry to keep you waiting, we’re opening now,” Farma greeted cheerfully, assuming she was a merchant attempting to sell some new herbs.

“Oh, good morning! No, that’s not it at all. I’m Juliana, a traveling second-class apothecary. I was robbed on the road and lost all my medicine and money. The townspeople told me I should come here to seek help…”

Tears welled in her eyes as she recalled the fear of having her medicines stolen.

“Come inside. Let’s hear the whole story there,” Farma said, opening the shop to usher her in.

She explained that she was a lower nobility apothecary, traveling to gain experience.

(A female apothecary traveling alone in such identifiable clothing… The empire is still relatively safe, but this is far too dangerous. Medicines are expensive; she’s a walking treasure.)

Farma quickly surmised that her defenselessness made the theft inevitable.

High-end pharmacies, even in other countries, required guards to prevent robberies. Even in the Otherworld Pharmacy, knights stood watch to prevent attacks—but incidents still occurred.

“That’s unfortunate. What medicines were stolen?”

“Medicine for stomach aches, headaches, and fever.”

“Salimana, Rubiness, Itomere, and evening primrose potions, perhaps? We have them here,” Farma said, unlocking the medicine cabinet while listening. Just then, Ellen arrived.

“Morning! Oh, Farma, opening early today, huh?”

“She’s not a customer. This is Juliana, a traveling apothecary who’s been robbed. I couldn’t possibly let this go!” Lotte explained as she went about tidying the shop and preparing for opening.

Juliana was shown to the reception area, shrinking into herself awkwardly.

“All the medicines are here. Is this sufficient?”

Farma presented a set of traditional medicines commonly handled by second-class apothecaries, leaving out only those restricted to first-class or court apothecaries.

Though the Otherworld Pharmacy mainly dispensed modern medicines, they kept traditional remedies in stock for patients who requested them or for those with vague ailments. Modern medicine was usually prescribed alongside traditional remedies.

“Oh, I couldn’t accept these. They’re all so valuable,” Juliana protested, shaking her head as Farma began packing the medicines into a practical bag, fully in gifting mode.

“When in trouble, we help each other. This should be enough to sell for travel money. Be careful not to get robbed again, and return safely home. Also, plain clothes would be better than your apothecary coat; it makes you a target. If that’s all you have, I can lend you something.”

“Oh… I couldn’t possibly accept such generosity without offering payment. I’ll pay with my body!”

Juliana had become completely formal and rigid.

“You probably don’t realize, being a traveler, but Farma is absurdly rich. This is nothing to him. Just take it,” Ellen interjected jokingly, ensuring Juliana didn’t feel embarrassed.

At this time, Farma, even without including Bruno’s assets or the combined revenues of his related pharmacies, ranked among the top five wealthiest individuals in the capital based solely on the Otherworld Pharmacy’s income and his court apothecary salary. He even appeared on the imperial tax rolls individually. Lately, he worried he might even surpass Bruno in total wealth.

Though Farma earned extravagantly, having created the plague’s cure and countless new medicines, his fame as an apothecary had reduced envy and resentment against him in recent years.

“Your… body?”

Even a top-tier capitalist like Farma froze at the impact of a young woman dropping the phrase “with my body.”

“Oh dear, he actually took it seriously. Farma, you can’t handle that kind of teasing,” Ellen laughed.

“Please let me work here. I’ll do cleaning, errands, anything!” Juliana pleaded, nearly prostrating herself.

“Don’t worry about repayment. Just take the medicines and go,” Farma replied.

With six staff members already working at the Otherworld Pharmacy, and Juliana’s unfamiliarity with modern medicine, she would be of no practical use in prescription work.

“Please let me work! I want to study! Please! Or… am I just in the way…?”

(Hmm… we have enough staff already.)

Farma, to be honest, wanted her to leave. Many apothecaries had applied to apprentice here before, but he always directed them to the Imperial School of Pharmacy, where they could formally study. Modern pharmacology isn’t learned overnight, and letting someone with partial knowledge handle medicines is dangerous. He also didn’t want outsiders seeing the pharmacy’s behind-the-scenes.

“If you insist, Farma, we might as well let her observe other countries’ apothecaries at work,” Ellen said sympathetically.

Farma, seeing Ellen’s insistence, reluctantly agreed.

“A few days is fine. But you cannot prescribe medicines.”

“Yes! I won’t prescribe! I’ll work as hard as I can!”

Juliana began assisting in the pharmacy. She was diligent and earnest. Starting with chores and cleaning, she never shirked any task. Gradually, she learned modern medicine preparation from part-time apothecaries and Ellen. Her measurements and calculations were perfect, her clerical work impeccable, she studied Farma’s textbooks with zeal, and she began socializing with the staff during meals and errands.

She learned everything quickly, never becoming a burden.

(For a mere second-class apothecary, she’s remarkably capable. Impressive.)

Farma recognized her potential, high regard evident in his thoughts.

Juliana had lost everything, yet she possessed a rare skill for an apothecary: divine therapeutic massage.

Through her staff, she channeled divine power into her patient while kneading their body, restoring the flow of fluids and energy. During breaks at the pharmacy, she offered massages to the staff as a gesture of care.

After one such session, Ellen was practically melting.

“Ah, that’s wonderful… my shoulders feel amazing! Juliana, you could make a living with this alone, without any medicine!”

“I am honored to receive your praise, Lady Eleonore,” Juliana replied.

Ellen had clearly taken a liking to her massage.

“Isn’t it amazing? Feels like my whole body wants to start dancing!” Lotte’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Ahaha, Lotte, your first time having divine power channeled into you, wasn’t it thrilling?”

(Lotte’s basically overcharged—she’s like someone on a strong stimulant.)

Applying divine power to a commoner born without it required careful moderation.

Farma, observing quietly, was soon encouraged by Ellen.

“Farma, why don’t you try it too?”

“Your body will feel amazing.”

With such enthusiastic insistence from both Ellen and Lotte, Farma decided to give it a try.

“Alright… I’ll give it a go.”

Lying face down on the private bed in the examination room, Farma felt Juliana begin her massage, using her staff like a roller and pressing with its tip across various points of his body.

Farma’s own divine power was so strong that he could feel none of hers, yet the massage’s physical effects were undeniable.

(Ah, this is nice… my whole body feels like dough being kneaded.)

“Juliana, does your divine massage have a formal method? I’d like to hear more about it.”

“Yes, I’ve completed the full training for divine therapeutic massage,” she replied.

“Huh… this might be useful for treating psychosomatic complaints,” Farma mused.

“What are those?”

“Symptoms that can’t be cured with medicine,” he explained.

Juliana confirmed that she applied her divine technique in such cases. Some patients visiting the pharmacy appeared perfectly healthy under examination, yet complained of headaches, stiff shoulders, back pain, abdominal pain, or general malaise. These are so-called psychosomatic or functional complaints—subjective pains without identifiable medical causes, often exacerbated by stress or anxiety, making third-party intervention challenging.

Modern medicine cannot ethically treat what falls outside its therapeutic scope, so patients often end up shuttled from department to department, subjected to ineffective rehabilitation, or trying unproven remedies—all too common even in contemporary Japan.

Farma had recently begun to suspect that divine techniques might be effective in certain cases, particularly for shoulder tension, back pain, and headaches. By channeling divine power into the affected area, Juliana achieved results beyond mere placebo. According to Ellen, other apothecaries and physicians in this world sometimes relieve pain similarly, and Bruno was renowned for it.

Previously, Farma might have dismissed this as “occult nonsense,” but he now considered investigating Juliana’s technique scientifically, potentially applying it at the Otherworld Pharmacy if effective.

“I should run a randomized controlled trial, eliminate bias, and see if it’s truly more effective than a placebo,” he thought.

“Placebo…?” Juliana asked.

He explained the concept: a treatment with no inherent effect can still improve a patient’s condition if the patient believes in it.

“Whether a new medicine or therapy, we must confirm its effectiveness statistically. Otherwise, we’re just seeing subjective bias. For the sake of our patients, data collection is essential,” he continued, giving her a simplified overview of statistical analysis.

“Farma-sama, despite appearing so young, you truly know so many things,” she said, admiration in her voice.

Farma, enjoying the sensation and the conversation, began to drift into drowsiness.

Then, a sudden, unsettling feeling prickled his senses.

“Hm?”

He shivered and glanced over his shoulder.

“What is it?”

“N-nothing!”

“Did I say something strange?”

Juliana flinched, her shoulders rising as if to shield herself. She had dropped her staff.

“Sorry… I lost focus. I’ll continue,” she whispered.

In the following days, Juliana occasionally wore a pensive expression. She continued her flawless work, but her countenance grew clouded, and her words became sparse.

(What’s wrong with her…?)

Then one day, she vanished from the pharmacy entirely.

“Where’s Juliana?”

The staff began searching, fearing she might be lost in the imperial capital. Despite checking likely locations and using Mama Apothecary Cels’t’s information network, or even asking newspaper vendors, they could find no trace of her.

“San-Flouve is vast… searching seems impossible,” Roger muttered, exhausted from riding across the city.

“I got lost! Sorry!” Rebecca had wandered in the opposite direction and been returned by the city guards. She seemed hopelessly directionally challenged.

(I should have looked for any physical traits… if she had any chronic condition, I could have tracked her with divine sight.)

Lotte lamented, “I wanted to hold a proper farewell… perhaps she’s already gone home.”

“She didn’t seem like the type to leave quietly. I hope she isn’t in trouble,” Ellen added, nervously wiping her glasses.

(She looked troubled earlier…)

Farma, aligning the pharmacy’s medical charts, gazed out over the city.

By the time the pharmacy closed, Juliana had not been found. Thick clouds blanketed the sky, and heavy rain began to fall.

“Let’s head home,” Farma said, preparing to return with Cedric and Lotte in the carriage.

“Wait,” Lotte stopped. “I want to look for Juliana. If she’s still lost somewhere in the capital, she could be soaked…”

“You’re right. Let’s search a little longer,” Farma agreed.

They questioned passersby and city guards, eventually learning that a young woman matching Juliana’s description had been searching for the tallest building in the city.

(No… she’s desperate?)

“Lotte, Cedric, stay here!” Farma commanded. He dashed ahead into the city’s alleys.

“Farma-sama!?” Lotte called, turning a corner—only to find he was gone.

Using the God of Medicine’s staff, Farma flew through the air, inspecting each bell tower. At the pinnacle of the tallest tower, he spotted a lone figure.

He landed silently behind her, blending with the rain. She was crouched, soaked, perilously close to the edge, with nothing but air below.

“Don’t move. You don’t have to speak,” Farma said softly.

Startled, she looked up and scrambled to her feet.

“…Farma-sama…”

“Stay right there.”

“Please… don’t come closer. I… I can’t face you. Everything I said was a lie.”

Still perched dangerously on the edge, she confessed, “I’m not a traveling apothecary… and I wasn’t robbed.”

“So what?”

Farma remained calm. “I don’t care about that. Whatever your reasons, there’s no justification for you to jump.”

He gripped the staff, prepared to catch her midair if necessary.

“If you intend to, it’s not too late to talk first.”

She collapsed, sobbing.

“I am a medical cardinal of the Grand Temple,” she admitted.

He drew her safely inside the railing of the tower, and she began her story:

“My mission was to approach you, ensnare you, and steal your divine power. But the more I came to know you… I couldn’t do it. Taking power from a guardian god contradicts my faith. I cannot. Yet refusing the temple betrays it… and so I felt I had no choice but to die.”

“Why does it have to come to that?”

“I wouldn’t survive otherwise… I’ve been cursed. The curse slowly erodes me until I lose my humanity… Before I hurt anyone else, I thought death was the only option.”

Farma learned more:

“Cardinals who know the Grand Temple’s secrets are cursed from the moment of their appointment. Without returning to the temple to take purifying medicine, they lose their minds and die.”

(That’s… brutal. The upper echelons of the temple are terrifying.)

“Where is the mark of the curse?”

She refused to say. Using divine sight, Farma detected a dark blue sigil spreading across her nape.

“This is despicable,” he muttered. The temple’s methods angered him, yet the scope of their organizational power was chilling.

“Hold still,” he said, suddenly grasping her nape through the rain.

“Hii… nngh!”

She cried out in surprise, eyes squeezed shut. Farma pressed divine power into the curse, and it vanished completely.

“It’s gone. You’re free now.”

“Eh…!?”

She stared, dumbfounded.

“There shouldn’t even be a method to remove this curse anywhere in the world…”

“I guess only I can do it,” Farma said.

“Farma-sama… You truly possess power surpassing all previous guardian gods… It’s as if the divine power of several guardian deities across centuries is within you,” she whispered.

Farma realized: the unmanifested power of past generations of guardian gods had effectively been carried over into him.

“I’m not anything so grand, so there’s no need to be on guard. Just think of me as human, like you—I’d like that.”

Even though the power of the God of Medicine resided within him, Farma regarded himself as human through and through.

“What is the Grand Temple planning to do with my divine power?”

“They are holding together a world on the brink of collapse with a… cog of bonds. To prevent the link between worlds from coming undone, they tighten it with a mechanism. To operate it, the guardian god’s divine power is required. Even if it means harming the guardian god or acting against faith, they have no choice but to use that power to halt the destruction of the encroaching world…”

“A world on the brink of collapse?”

The revelation came unexpectedly from someone within the Grand Temple’s cardinal division. Farma recalled Salomon’s words—that the Grand Temple had historically lured guardian gods and sealed them until their extinction—but apparently, there was a far more desperate reason behind it.

Farma, who had assumed the upper echelons of the temple were merely a fanatical clique, found himself unsettled.

(Could it really be true…?)

He used divine sight to gauge whether she was lying. There were no fluctuations in blood flow, pulse, or body temperature. While so-called lie detectors have no scientific basis, observing the activation of certain brain regions can reveal truthfulness.

Her neurophysiological state remained consistent even after several questions.

(It might actually be true… If so, the temple’s attempt to restrain me and drain my divine power has some unavoidable justification.)

“How did you intend to take my divine power back? Surely you didn’t think you could defeat me and drag me away?”

“There is a relic capable of absorbing divine power… but I cannot use it anymore.”

“The one inserted beside your staff—is that the relic?”

“Th-that is…”

“I’ll borrow it.”

Farma took the sword from Juliana and smoothly drew it from its sheath. From the hilt extended two slender parallel blades, resembling fruit knives.

“A plug-like shape. How does it absorb divine power?”

He traced the blades with his fingers—no blood, no change. Gripping the blades caused nothing.

“Please give it back! Absolutely not… I cannot harm Farma-sama; this is wrong!”

Juliana struggled desperately to reclaim the sword.

(Harm…? So she intends to stab it in.)

Farma pressed the blade into his thigh decisively. His form, not fully corporeal, drew no blood. He felt a mild sense of pressure and pain, but it was entirely bearable.

“Kyah!? Farma-sama!”

“Maybe this acts like some kind of battery?”

Farma visualized channeling divine power into the sword. It glowed, pulsing violently, until it could no longer store any more power.

“Full charge, done. Alright. Are there any more relic swords? Could probably load a few more.”

He sheathed the sword and handed it back to her. Only about twenty seconds had passed.

“Eh!? Wh-what? Nothing happened? This sword is said to inflict excruciating pain on the guardian god and drain all divine power.”

“Nothing at all, and my divine power isn’t diminished either. Now, you can complete your mission and return to the temple, right? If you ever need more divine power, come back—what you have now should keep that cog-of-bonds running for a while, yes?”

Farma thought the mechanism—whether cog or bond—was still a bit of a mystery.

“Y-yes… I… I can’t believe it,” she admitted. The energy should indeed last for a significant period.

“Is this cog-of-bonds located in the Holy Nation?”

“Yes, deep within the underground temple lies an entrance to another world. From there…”

“Then tell them I’ll come observe. If it’s a matter of the world’s survival, I’ll cooperate,” Farma said. “If you’d simply come to talk instead of springing surprises, I’d respond normally.”

“You never know until you talk, but once you do, you can understand,” he added with a smile.

The next day, Juliana returned to the Holy Nation.

She worried that if she delayed, the temple might send another agent after Farma in case of her failure. The pharmacy staff remained unaware of these stakes.

Before leaving, she performed heartfelt divine massages for all the staff. According to her, divine therapeutic massage was a technique mastered only by medical cardinals. At Lotte’s suggestion, they held a modest farewell gathering.

“It was brief, but I am grateful for all your help,” she said.

“You could stay a little longer…” Ellen tried to persuade her. The addictive pleasure of the massages was likely the cause.

“Well, this time you’re leaving—but do come visit again,” Farma said plainly, as if yesterday’s events had never occurred.

“Until now, the temple believed humans could not communicate with guardian gods. But… that was a grave mistake. Knowing that Farma-sama possesses a human heart and considers many others, I will convey this, along with the relic in my care, to the Grand Priest,” she confessed as she departed.

With that, Juliana returned to the Holy Nation, her mission and her heart both changed by what she had learned.

Chapter 5, Episode 5: A Certain Duke’s Family Problem

Juliana, the medical cardinal, rode the horse prepared by the imperial city temple and returned safely to the Holy Nation.

Just as she had feared, Farma had narrowly avoided the release of the next assassin. Her arrival prompted an immediate emergency assembly at the Grand Temple’s cardinalate. Juliana was met with praise as she stepped before the cardinals, but her expression remained somber, eyes cast downward.

“You managed to ingratiate yourself with the Medicine God and claim divine power. Well done.”

One after another, the senior cardinals offered their congratulations.

“Thank you,” she replied quietly.

“How did you manage to strike the treasured sword into the Medicine God? Did you face any retaliation?”

One cardinal spoke a perfectly reasonable question.

“N-no,” Juliana stammered.

Farma had warned her not to reveal any details. If she confessed everything, she would have to admit that she had attempted suicide and nearly betrayed the temple.

“Did you not face retaliation? Then… did you strike while the deity was asleep?”

“…Well… um…”

Juliana faltered. Another cardinal’s imagination ran wild.

“Good grief… even the Medicine God can be swayed by a woman’s charm, it seems.”

Juliana’s cheeks flared red.

“N-no… that’s not it!”

Facing Farma and the cardinals’ scornful gazes, Juliana sank into sorrow. She could endure being despised herself—but she would not tolerate Farma being looked down upon.

“Then, did you uncover any weaknesses or secrets of the divine power while ingratiating yourself with the Medicine God?”

Juliana winced at the callous question but spoke of Farma nonetheless.

“Lord Farma was so… human, and kind. Even though I deceived him, he freely gave me medicine and warm words.”

She recalled those days as happy ones.

“He treated me with care, despite my penniless state. Though brief, he taught me groundbreaking knowledge of pharmacology.”

The cardinals regarded her with suspicion, as if Juliana herself had been charmed by Farma.

“Guardian gods feel no emotion. If they seem to, it is but a survival tactic for the human world. They do not value humans even a fraction as much as we do. Never judge by appearances. How many times has the temple been deceived, and countless lives slaughtered?”

Pius reflected on the long history of conflict between the temple and the guardian gods. Forbidden tomes in the temple documented these fierce struggles. While lower-ranking priests revered the guardian gods, the cardinals tended to see them as enemies.

“Even if previous guardian gods were like that, I believe Lord Farma has a heart… truly.”

“Silence!! You fool!”

Pius barked, irritation clear in his voice.

“But Lord Farma has already saved countless lives… if you met him directly, Pius, I believe your heart would change.”

“Enough of this nonsense! Give me the treasured sword!”

The cardinal took the sword from Juliana and carefully placed it, wrapped in cloth, onto the disk-shaped precision divine-power meter prepared for sacred relics. The moment he let go, the meter began to shift color in an instant, finally turning completely transparent. The significance of this color change…

“Fully charged?!”

It indicated that the sword had absorbed the divine power to its absolute maximum.

“To have taken this much divine power… what happened to the Medicine God?! He could not possibly retain his human form.”

The cardinals murmured in alarm, fearing the deity had been obliterated. Juliana withheld her explanation of how she had absorbed the power, reporting only that Farma still retained some reserves.

“He remained entirely composed,” she said.

Another cardinal calculated the remaining power.

“With this much divine power, we could rewind the Kashiwagi gears by 175 years.”

“Ha… ha… hahahaha! This Medicine God is a monster… hahahaha!”

Pius laughed maniacally, unable to stop.

“Indeed. The divine power here is on an entirely different level than any previous guardian god. This is grave; if he resists, the sealing plan collapses.”

Other cardinals buried their heads in their hands.

“If we summon him to the Grand Temple for sealing and fail… if we provoke his anger…”

“With a being of this divine power, no prior containment would work.”

Why had such a powerful guardian god descended now? It was as if he had absorbed not only the power of past deities but even those of future generations, the cardinals whispered in awe and fear.

“We must devise a new sealing technique. And quickly!”

Pius decreed. Yet Juliana, still thinking of Farma’s wishes, spoke up.

“The seal is ineffective. Furthermore, as long as we act sincerely, Lord Farma said he would cooperate with the Grand Temple. I believe the temple is being far too hostile toward him.”

“The guardian god… approaches the temple willingly?”

Confusion rippled through the assembly. Then, a cardinal shouted.

“Wait, Juliana! The sacred curse mark, proof of your cardinalship, has vanished! Explain this!”

The mark on the nape of her neck had disappeared. The cardinals erupted in alarm. The sacred curse, engraved for life to pledge loyalty to the temple, had vanished entirely—no human hand could have done this.

“You were cleansed by the Medicine God!” they accused.

“The sacred curse can only be purified by the Medicine God! And he is unmatched in divine purification!”

“Or perhaps he… took you as his follower…”

“Absolutely not! Lord Farma is not that sort of person!”

Juliana desperately denied the claims. Yet, the more she explained, the deeper the cardinals’ suspicion grew.

“This is futile. You’ve been completely brainwashed. If you deny it, prove your loyalty to the temple!”

Pius snorted. Juliana was ordered to have the sacred curse re-engraved with a hot iron. A fire-arts priest prepared a rod to brand the mark and began the activation chant.

The tip of the rod glowed red-hot.

“Kneel and repent!”

Juliana was grabbed by her hair and kicked to her knees.

“Ugh…”

Tears streamed down her face as she clenched her eyes shut against the burning pain. Yet—

“What!? The sacred mark—”

No matter how many times it was attempted, Juliana’s skin remained unscathed. The burn left no mark; the curse could not penetrate her body.

“Protected by the Medicine God…”

Pius, witnessing the sheer potency of the Medicine God’s purification, felt both awe and a thrill of challenge, a defiant smile on his lips.

“It seems the Medicine God has taken quite a liking to you,” he muttered to his aides, seeing her potential use.

“Go… take his divine power again.”

From that day, Juliana was placed under twenty-four-hour surveillance by the temple.

She had conveyed Farma’s intentions to the high cardinals, but their minds were hardened by distrust, convinced that “guardian gods are humanity’s enemies,” and they refused to listen.

“Hey, Farma, I’m crashing in!”

It was the time of year when the pharmacy staff had switched to short sleeves and the air carried the first sweat of summer. Out of nowhere, Parle arrived at the pharmacy on horseback. Farma, just finishing explanations to a patient and preparing to close the shop for lunch, paused.

“Brother, what brings you here?”

“Oh! Isn’t that Parle? What are you doing here—come to duel or something? Well, I suppose today’s the day we settle this!”

Ellen tensed, hands brushing her staff. Perhaps because he called Farma “brother,” the patients in the store immediately turned their attention to the pair. Lotte, upon hearing “Parle,” was so startled that she knocked over a stack of papers. Since the time Parle had almost hung her upside down to stop her hiccups, Lotte had carried a vague unease around him.

“Oh my… the proprietor’s older brother? What a handsome man,”

“Quite different from the proprietor, indeed.”

Farma caught murmured impressions of Parle. Young female customers let out high-pitched sighs and giggles. Even here, it seemed Parle was charming everyone.

Ignoring all the attention, Parle drank from the pharmacy’s water dispenser, caught his breath, and finally addressed Farma, looking down from across the counter.

“You always seem so busy, Farma.”

“I’ve got a thriving business,” Ellen replied, striking a pose.

“I wasn’t asking you.”

“Oh, pardon me.”

“Here’s the thing—I’ve got a patient you can handle. I can’t manage this one myself.”

Farma raised an eyebrow. He’d heard patients were sometimes sent for medicine, but passing off an entire patient was unusual. Letting a patient go meant losing a source of income. Parle, still a fledgling first-class pharmacist, didn’t have many patients yet, so every single one mattered. Farma suspected Parle’s gesture came from a place of care, not indifference.

“If you tell me what the illness is, I can dispense the medicine. If your older brother is the attending pharmacist, it’s better he prescribes it. The patient would be reassured as well.”

Farma headed toward the preparation room. He trusted Parle’s diagnostic abilities; if it was only a matter of dispensing medicine, there was no need to hand over the patient.

“No, it’s not an illness. If it were, I could handle it myself.”

“Then… what is it?”

Ellen, growing impatient with Parle’s deliberate pacing, demanded an answer.

“Family matters. It’s gotten complicated, even verging on divorce.”

Parle sighed heavily.

“That’s… a little beyond me. I’m only twelve, you know? I can’t deal with divorce cases… huh?”

Farma sensed the movement of patrons shifting in the store and looked toward the entrance. A young noblewoman had arrived, accompanied by her maids.

“Oh… I know her! The Duchess! She’s very famous!”

Ellen recalled seeing her at a salon.

“Madam, welcome,”

Parle immediately stood, bowed respectfully, and guided her to the counter.

“Is this the patient?” Farma asked, and Parle nodded subtly.

“I heard you were coming here… I’m not sure what to do, so I followed you,” the Duchess admitted.

“I understand your concerns. This is my younger brother, an excellent court pharmacist. He will address your worries.”

Parle’s demeanor shifted; in front of the Duchess, he acted professionally as a pharmacist.

(Wait… what is he trying to do?)

Through a silent gesture, Parle signaled Farma to take the lead, and Farma reluctantly ushered the Duchess to the counseling area.

As Ellen had reported, the young mother, recently postpartum, suffered severe anemia. Parle was treating the anemia itself, but the real problem was the child. The Duchess explained that the baby did not resemble the father—different hair, different eyes, and, crucially, no divine power. As a noble child lacking divine power, this was intolerable for the family.

A maid brought the baby to Farma. Indeed, while the Duchess had blue hair and the Duke red, the child had black hair.

“What a lovely baby. But… I see your concern.”

Farma’s expression grew serious.

“I do think the child resembles the Duke’s features,” Ellen added.

“I agree, but my husband insists I leave immediately because the child has no divine power. He doubts the child’s legitimacy,” the Duchess said, tears welling.

“I swear on the Wind Guardian, this child is his. Even without divine power, even with differing hair and eye color. Isn’t there a way to prove this?”

“Understood,” Farma nodded. Her words were so earnest that he believed her.

“Resemblance alone does not define parentage,” he said firmly.

If labeled an illegitimate child without divine power, the baby might be cast out to an orphanage. Farma had to ensure the Duke recognized the child as his own.

“We will conduct a parentage test. This will establish the father objectively, and impartially.”

“Please, do so,” the Duchess said, clutching Farma’s hand, tears streaming.

Farma studied the infant carefully.

(Hmm…?)

“There seems to be a divine vein,” he murmured.

Like before, he traced the divine vein and saw it faintly within the baby—weak, but undeniably present.

“Really? Is that true?”

“I’ll need to examine the baby briefly. Let’s weigh and measure him,” Farma said. He carried the child to the treatment room, staff in tow, and gently inserted his staff near the infant’s heart. Without chanting, he invoked the divine technique “Holy Spring Emergence,” opening the baby’s divine vein. Power surged.

“Yes, the vein is faint,” he noted.

Though the divine power was minimal for a noble, it would suffice to establish the child’s status. There was no pain; the baby slept contentedly. Farma weighed him and returned.

“Ellen, bring the divine power gauge.”

“Understood.”

The gauge ticked slightly.

“There’s divine power… The temple claimed this child had none, that no divine vein existed.”

The Duchess finally smiled, the first time since entering the pharmacy.

“I used a minor divine technique to adjust the vein. Perhaps it was misperceived. Later, you should visit the temple for a proper elemental assessment.”

As long as there was divine power, regardless of strength, the child could be recognized as noble. The Duchess’s joy was palpable.

“Now, all that remains is the parentage test. Could you bring the Duke here? And a completely neutral witness?”

“I wonder if he’ll come… he says he doesn’t even want to see me.”

A parentage test requires the child, the parent, and a witness. Without all three, it’s invalid. Fakery is possible if tested otherwise—Farma knew how easily DNA results could be manipulated.

“If he doesn’t attend, the result cannot be trusted. It will be invalid,” Farma instructed.

“I understand. I will summon him,” the Duchess nodded and departed.

“Farma, can you analyze DNA? You’ve never done it on a patient before, right?”

Ellen’s voice carried concern. Farma had no prior experience with DNA tests, yet the fate of a family rested in his hands.

“I have no choice but to read it. The answer lies within it, after all.”

Chapter 5, Episode 6: Parentage Test

“Ah, you’re doing a parentage test? This ought to be educational. You’re looking at the genome information, right?”

Parle leaned forward eagerly.

Farma was at a stage where he was establishing drug development and testing using biotechnology, based on reagents he had brought back from otherworldly laboratories—but he had never actually handled a parentage test before. Parle’s curiosity about how the test would be conducted was no surprise.

“I can manage it with the equipment and reagents I have. Brother, that said…”

Farma turned to face Parle.

“I’m planning to prepare for a parentage test, but today the apprentice pharmacists are out on home visits and training, so it’s just Ellen and me. We’re short-staffed. Could you help out in the shop?”

“Then I’ll help,” Parle said, giving a firm thumbs-up toward himself. Farma, unperturbed, handed him a set of patient charts.

“What? I’m supposed to do this alone?”

Ellen recoiled.

“Ellen can’t handle it by herself, so Brother, please,” Farma said, instructing Cedric to hang a new sign in the pharmacy listing Parle de Médicis as today’s head pharmacist. He also handed Parle a name tag—at which point Ellen intervened.

“Wait! Can Parle even handle the new medicines in this shop? He should at least read the textbooks. No matter how skilled he is, we can’t risk him prescribing recklessly. Dosages matter—errors could be dangerous.”

“And who do you think wrote that textbook?”

Parle said, dripping with sarcasm.

“Co-authored by you and Brother. Don’t worry, Ellen. Even though he’s a new pharmacist, you can rely on him for both consultation and dispensing,” Farma added. Ellen, realizing that one of the authors of her pharmacology bible was indeed Parle, grudgingly stepped back.

“Oh, right. Ellen, could you fetch Sophie?”

“Sure—but why?”

“There’s something I need her to assist with,” Farma explained. He would have preferred not to involve her, but for certain parts of the experiment, only Sophie could handle them. Ellen sent a messenger to the Bonufort household, and Sophie arrived shortly after.

“Your consultations are slow, Eleonore. Switch with me on seeing patients and dispensing,” Farma called as he moved between the laboratory and the dispensary, preparing for the test. Ellen began seeing patients while Parle handled dispensing—but complaints soon flew from Parle in the dispensary. He was eager to finish quickly and watch Farma work.

“What did you say? If you’re so fast, go ahead and try it yourself!”

Ellen raised an eyebrow. Parle shrugged off his black coat and stepped from the dispensary to the patient area, dressed in casual clothing rather than a white coat.

“Speed isn’t important—just be thorough,” Farma called without pausing his work, offering a gentle rebuke.

“Of course! You should feel lucky to be treated by a first-class pharmacist, commoners,” Parle declared.

The patients, accustomed to Farma’s humble customer service, were bewildered by the brash new pharmacist.

“Really, Parle, what a terrible attitude… My apologies, everyone. He’s new and nervous,” Ellen quickly apologized.

“Oh? Complaining, Eleonore? Step outside, then!”

“Gladly!”

The two raised their staffs, ready to step outside, and Farma groaned.

“What are you two doing? If you leave the patients, I can’t prepare!”

Farma lamented having such a brawn-driven older brother.

“My apologies, our brother can be rude. But he’s skilled—graduated top of his class from Novalut Medical University, a bit overconfident, though,” Farma explained to the patients while offering a brief introduction.

“Ah, so he’s the shop owner’s brother. That’s reassuring,” one patient said.

Reset, Parle launched into a rapid but precise consultation: visual inspection, palpation, auscultation, mixing potions with patient saliva, and observing the color, sediment, turbidity, smell, and viscosity of the resulting potion to diagnose using divine differentiation techniques—combined with modern pharmaceutical prescriptions.

“That speed… it seems like a rush job… Farma, is that okay?”

“Ellen,” Farma handed a notepad to her in the dispensary. He asked her to check if Parle’s divine diagnoses matched his own preliminary assessments.

“Amazing… they match,” Ellen muttered. Parle’s diagnoses were flawless, and when he encountered something beyond his skill, he immediately deferred to Farma, fully aware of his limits and able to act objectively.

“It’s frustrating, but impressive—the bloodline shows. His diagnostic ability is exceptional,” Ellen said, begrudging admiration evident.

Indeed, as the son of a master, Parle’s guardian deity being the god of medicine enhanced his pharmacist abilities. When near Farma’s sanctum, his divine and analytical powers intensified, allowing lightning-fast, precise diagnoses.

“Ellen is meticulous and accurate, which helps me a lot. And her customer service is impeccable,” Parle noted.

“Despite his attitude, Parle is fast and flawless—even as a new pharmacist,” Ellen admitted, her confidence shaken.

“Bloodline is impressive,” she murmured.

(It’s not just the bloodline) Farma thought, knowing the years of effort Parle had poured into pharmacology and divine techniques. Since Farma cured his leukemia, Parle had recognized the value of modern medicine firsthand and redoubled his studies. Ellen, though a prodigy, was also hardworking and nearing mastery of the textbooks.

“What’s this summons about?”

A visibly displeased duke arrived at the pharmacy, followed by the duchess. Farma rose from the dispensary to greet him.

“Welcome, Your Grace. I am Farma, court pharmacist and proprietor of this establishment,” he said, bowing.

By the duchess’s request, Farma explained that they would conduct a parentage test among her, the child, and Farma, with witnesses present.

“You… you are the emperor’s personal pharmacist…” the duke said haltingly, recognizing Farma’s reputation from courtly accolades.

They were guided to a curtained consultation booth and seated.

“Physical resemblance between parent and child is subjective. To be certain, we examine the body’s blueprint,” Farma explained.

“Blueprint?”

“Please swab the inside of your cheeks with these cotton swabs. No force needed. For the baby, the witnesses may do it.”

Farma placed each swab sample on clearly labeled slides and set them under a microscope.

“I see… round, room-like structures.”

“Those are cells. Every animal is made of these units. They are the smallest functional units of life.”

“I see…”

“Within each cell is a nucleus, containing structures called chromosomes. They are made of DNA—deoxyribonucleic acid.”

Farma treated the cells to expose their nuclei. While the process took time, Lotte served tea and snacks, easing the tense atmosphere.

“What… these string-like things are inside my body?”

“Those are chromosomes,” Farma explained. The duke peered through the microscope at the purple-stained X-shaped chromosomes, visibly impressed. The duchess watched nervously with the infant.

“Chromosomes are arranged by size and numbered. Humans have twenty-two pairs of autosomes and two sex chromosomes,” Farma added.

“Forty-six in total…” the duke counted diligently.

“Correct. This blueprint—the genome—contains all inherited information. We can read it,” Farma continued, smiling theatrically.

“How do you read it?”

“Let us decode the genome together,” Farma said, producing his illustrated textbook by Lotte—perfect for demonstration.

“The genome is nearly identical between humans but contains small variations. We check whether the child inherits the repetitions from both father and mother.”

“What kind of variations?”

“Some DNA sequences repeat several to dozens of times. These are called repeat sequences. We count the repetitions.”

Farma then displayed the reagents he had prepared.

“This enzyme copies segments of the genome,” he said, holding a fingertip-sized tube frozen by divine magic. It was DNA polymerase, brought from anotherworldly labs—essential in modern biotechnology.

“It fits short DNA fragments at two points in the genome and replicates everything between them. We have several fragment types prepared.”

“These are primers, used with the genome to exponentially amplify DNA in a controlled reaction—a process called polymerase chain reaction, or PCR.”

“To see what?”

“Even tiny amounts become visible to the naked eye once amplified.”

“Visible… to the naked eye!” the duchess gasped.

“Now, we amplify the individual’s repeat sequences via PCR. Then we can count them. The process takes time—perhaps a short walk while we wait.”

Farma proceeded with a two-hour PCR reaction. The pharmacy’s gatekeeper, a skilled fire-element divine practitioner, carefully controlled the heating and cooling of the samples under Farma’s direction.

“Done. Here we have the sequences replicated from only the targeted regions by the PCR reaction.”

Farma held up the finished tubes. The duke and his family returned after a light meal, eager to see the results.

“How do you determine the repeat count?”

The family leaned forward, anticipation evident.

“We compare by length. Now, a simple analogy: imagine a giant and a small child navigating a crowded street. Who reaches the other side first?”

“The child,” the duchess said, nodding. “The giant would bump into people and be slowed down.”

“Exactly. Let’s recreate that situation.”

Farma placed prepared rectangular agar gels into a tray of solution, embedding the PCR-amplified DNA at one edge. Electrodes and wiring were set up along the tray.

“Sophie, give me a hand,” Farma called, handing her the electrodes and distracting her with a favorite toy. Soon, electricity flowed uniformly through the gel.

“This gel has a mesh-like structure, simulating an invisible crowd. DNA is negatively charged, so when voltage is applied, it’s pulled from the negative to the positive pole. Smaller DNA fragments move faster, larger ones slower. This process is called electrophoresis.”

“Uh… I see,” the duke murmured, slightly bewildered at the talk of electricity, but he gradually followed the explanation. Sophie applied the current, and the DNA began migrating in bands toward the ‘finish line’ in the gel.

“But I don’t see anything moving… and the DNA isn’t visible,” the duke protested. They had amplified it by PCR to see it with the naked eye.

“DNA is transparent until we stain it. Now, let’s make it visible and see the results,” Farma said.

After twenty-five minutes, Farma stained the DNA with a reagent visible under normal light, comparing the bands from the father, mother, and child. The bands had clearly migrated from the original embedding point.

“These DNA clumps form bands, pulled through the gel by the electric field according to size. This band belongs to the duke, and this one to the duchess.”

Farma compared the distances traveled by the child’s DNA bands.

“The child carries both bands, matching the parents. Each band represents DNA of a specific size, indicating identical repeat counts. Such a pattern appears in roughly one in ten people.”

“Hmm…”

The duke and duchess understood that matching migration distances indicated matching DNA sequences.

“One in ten could be coincidence,” Farma preempted.

“Therefore, we examined several loci. All of them match. Calculating cumulative probability, only one in thirty thousand people would share this pattern.”

The capital had fewer than thirty thousand nobles.

“In other words, within the entire capital, there is only one possible child—yours,” Farma said, looking at the duke. The duke stood slack-jawed.

“If you still doubt, we could examine more loci,” Farma offered, glancing briefly at the duchess.

“N… no, it’s fine… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said such cruel things,” the duke murmured, apologizing for doubting his wife. The duchess, relieved by Farma’s clear proof, wiped tears from her eyes.

“It’s your child. There’s no mistake—hold him,” she said, bringing the infant to the father, who had never held the baby.

“I agree. Statistically, this is almost certainly your child,” Farma added, carefully phrasing it to guide the duke without making an absolute statement.

“Let’s give him a name…”

The duke awkwardly, yet tenderly, lifted his child into his arms.

Farma watched as the trio left the pharmacy together. The duchess handed Farma a generous fee, which he accepted gratefully.

“Another debt incurred,” Parle muttered, having finished all consultations and dispensing. Some of the nobles had been impressed enough to contract him as their family pharmacist. Farma, juggling many patients, didn’t mind losing a few to Parle’s skill—but he chuckled at his brother’s cunning.

“Still, genes are honest,” Ellen said, relieved, speaking to Farma.

“Not omniscient, but they record life’s history since time immemorial,” Farma nodded.

“I hope that family does well,” Ellen said softly.

“They will, now that the truth is clear,” Farma replied.

Thanks to the genetic test, the bond of a family had been preserved.

Chapter 5, Episode 7: The Marseil Factory and the Divine Magic Wind Power System

August, 1147. Two spirited horses tore across the plains of the Marseil territory.

One carried Parle and Blanche; the other, Farma and Lotte. Farma and his companions had ridden out to Marseil both to scout land and to inspect the pharmaceutical factory. This journey to Marseil was undertaken solely by members of the Medisis family.

Ellen had agreed to oversee the clinic, so the other apprentice pharmacists would handle the store. The Interdimensional Pharmacy remained open.

“Anieuee—this horse is going too fast! Slow down! It’s dangerous!”

Blanche, bouncing and barely seated, had her scrunched-up face gripped firmly by Parle. Parle’s horse was a warhorse, built for speed, and Blanche clung desperately to the mane, terrified she might be thrown off.

“Farma-sama! Where are we now? Have we arrived yet!?”

Meanwhile, Lotte held tightly to Farma’s waist, eyes squeezed shut. Her inexperience—or perhaps complete lack of familiarity—with horseback riding made her tense every muscle.

“Open your eyes, Lotte. As long as you hold my waist, you won’t fall.”

She buried her face against his back, shaking her head, muttering, “Impossible… impossible~,” sometimes clinging closer, then backing off in embarrassment. Farma couldn’t help but smile at the thought that Lotte’s adolescence was creeping up on her.

“So, Farma. Are you sure this backwater is good enough?”

Parle called across as he urged his horse forward.

“Better if no one’s around. This valley looks perfect. See? We’re almost there.”

Farma checked the map. He had his eye on a wind-swept valley near the Marseil factory—a barren, uninhabited area scouted by the acting lord Adam. The plan: erect a prototype of a large windmill here and, as a first step, turn it into a wind power station to supply electricity to the Marseil pharmaceutical factory.

“So this is where Miss Sophie’s zaps will… happen? And where Farma-sama will feel good again~?”

Lotte’s crude understanding of electricity made Farma chuckle.

“Feeling good? That doesn’t sound very polite,” he said.

“Oh… really?”

“Places suited for generating electricity are either windy spots or areas with stable elevation changes and water flow. I don’t really understand why you say electricity is necessary… but the world turns just fine without it.”

Parle adjusted the reins with a weary sigh. Though he verbally dismissed Farma’s ideas as wild whims, he fully supported his younger brother’s ambitions.

“Having electricity lets us do a lot more.”

“Can’t divine magic suffice? Or crystals?”

Parle returned to basics.

“Divine magic might work, and maybe there’s room for development. But technology has to be usable by ordinary people, not just nobles. If only nobles can use it, it’s not really usable at all.”

Farma had felt the inconvenience of living without electricity firsthand during genetic testing. Certain procedures required Sophie’s cooperation or couldn’t be replicated without electricity, making them essentially useless.

And in countless situations since his reincarnation, electricity would have made life easier: X-rays, ECGs, biochemical analyses, pacemakers, ultrasound machines, cardiopulmonary bypass—the benefits to medicine were endless.

Farma had hesitated to introduce electricity to this world precisely because of the responsibility it entailed. But if he wanted to provide advanced medical care, electricity was indispensable.

“Farma-sama, you know so much beyond pharmacy,” Lotte admired.

“Chemistry and physics are the foundation of pharmacology.”

Farma’s extensive knowledge—including physics, chemistry, mathematics, information science, and even electrical engineering—stemmed from his undergraduate and graduate education in pharmacy.

He had a university lecture to deliver soon, so he needed to establish the power system quickly. Step one: secure the land.

“After the recent genetic tests, even PCR and electrophoresis will become doable by anyone. Not just magic users—Lotte, you too.”

“Me? Really? I want to try! What exactly do I do?” Lotte’s voice bubbled with excitement.

“I think it’s dangerous if anyone can use it without understanding,” Parle remarked, considering the risks of untrained people handling electricity.

“That’s why we’ll make a device safe for general use.”

“I see.”

“Electricity generation comes in many forms: thermal, hydro, wind, nuclear. The principle is largely the same. Insert a magnet into a coil of metal wire, or move the coil around the magnet. Rotate one or the other efficiently, and electricity flows. The force driving it can come from water, wind, or even steam.”

“Very simplified,” Parle noted, convinced it wasn’t too difficult. Lotte, however, looked helpless and said, “I don’t understand~.”

“Then bring that electricity to the factory and use it for production and research. If successful, I want a system in the imperial capital too.”

“Wind power… sure, a windmill generates rotation, but this valley doesn’t seem very windy,” Parle remarked.

“That’s why I brought you along, brother.”

“Huh? Me?” Parle’s voice cracked slightly, surprised he was expected to help.

“You can draw magic circles of all attributes, right? I need you to inscribe one here to summon wind.”

Farma had heard from Ellen about magic circles that could lower air pressure. Ellen could only inscribe water-based circles, but Parle could handle all attributes.

“I’m a water magic user. If I draw it, it won’t activate.”

Studying non-specialty circles was apparently part of a magic user’s education.

“Just do it, it’s fine.”

“Fine then.”

Parle dismounted, assembled a large black staff, plunged it into the ground, and began a long incantation. Gradually, a glowing magic circle of wind attributes formed, composed of circles and heptagrams. He anchored it to the earth. The circle was complete, but no wind blew—likely because the element was wrong.

“It’s done. But why make a circle that doesn’t move?”

“Thanks. I’ll make it work.”

Farma placed a large crystal, carried for the purpose, at the heart of the circle and compressed his divine power into it.

The magic circle glowed and sprang to life. Strong wind from the sea began to blow steadily through the valley.

And the wind speed remained constant.

Because Farma’s divine power was neutral, not bound to any element, Ellen had predicted it would activate any elemental circle—and indeed, it had.

“Farma! What did you do?! Why is a wind circle working!? Weren’t you water-element!?!”

Parle was frozen in shock.

“Maybe just a fluke.”

“The circle is fully charged… it could last months! What on earth did you do?”

Typically, magic circles lasted only a week.

(It might last decades until the crystal’s power is spent…) Farma thought but kept silent.

“Once activated, the circle keeps the wind constant, right?”

“Yes. Day or night, calm or storm—unchanging.”

(All we need is a voltage converter and a grid connection.)

“This will be our wind power station.”

Later, Parle and Bruno went to inspect the territory, while Farma and Lotte visited the pharmaceutical factory. The plant was operational, performing simple organic synthesis experiments and large-scale cultivation of actinomycetes sent by Professor Casper from the Imperial Medical University.

“How is factory operation? Product output?”

Upon arrival, Farma summoned Chiara. A former medical priest capable of advanced divine magic, she now served as chief administrator of the pharmaceutical plant.

“Production and shipping are coming together. Here are the reports…” Chiara removed her pristine protective suit as she spoke.

“Production is underway for antibiotics developed by Professor Casper and the university, oxygen cylinders, and some organic synthesis drugs.”

“And quality control is thorough?” Farma inquired.

“Yes. Through validation testing, we’ve confirmed the sterility of our products. For areas of the factory requiring pristine conditions, we employ wind-attribute magic users to maintain strict cleanliness with their magic. The environment is consistently kept at Class 100.”

Farma remembered teaching Chiara about cleanroom standards: air cleanliness is measured by the number of particles larger than 0.1 μm per cubic foot. Class 100 is so strict it rivals not just modern pharmaceutical factories but even the most demanding semiconductor facilities. Even Farma felt a spark of awe.

“That’s impressively clean! Truly the result of your effort and that of your staff, Chiara. Thank you.”

Seeing firsthand how magic could create such a sterile space, Farma gained a renewed respect for its potential. Still, the fact that magic users had to rotate shifts around the clock to maintain it made him resolve that stable electricity—and the consequent reduction of labor—was essential.

“Sorry for putting you to such work. We’ll secure electricity and automate the air systems to ease your burden.”

Chiara smiled. “We’d be grateful for that, Farma-sama, but the magic team is dedicated. They understand the importance of the medicines you and the other professors have developed and will not allow them to be contaminated.”

The administrative, technical, and production staff had been selected for skill, well-compensated, and highly motivated. Chiara’s pride in them shone through.

“And how about the non-magic staff?”

“They seem happy and fulfilled. Inspired by your guidance, Farma-sama, they’re even taking better care of their health.”

Those who had been revealed to have chronic conditions at hiring were steadily recovering under continued treatment.

Once factory operations had settled into a rhythm, Farma held a “recreational” party for the staff. He had personally hired a patissier from the Imperial Capital to prepare exquisite desserts, and the employees indulged in an outdoor sweets feast.

Canelés, macarons, fondant au chocolat, the new crème brûlée, platters of fresh fruit, chocolate fondue—these luxuries, unseen by common folk, were devoured with gleeful abandon.

“This is incredible! My cheeks might just fall off!”

Even grown men reached for the treats with the enthusiasm of children.

“Farma-sama, may I take some home for my family? I want the children to experience this at least once in their lives…”

A motherly employee pleaded.

“Of course, but make sure it’s eaten by tonight,” Farma replied.

That statement triggered a small-scale dessert scramble, which even escalated into a minor scuffle.

“Everyone, please—don’t rush. There’s plenty for everyone.”

“Ah… I’m happiest when I’m eating sweets. But also when I’m working at the pharmacy, painting, taking walks… even napping is nice,” Lotte murmured, having secured her own dessert. She was utterly enraptured, lost in bliss, her delight almost tangible.

“You seem to have so many joys, Lotte. You’ve got chocolate all over your mouth,” Farma teased.

“Kyaa—Farma-sama! Don’t look—!”

She scrambled to cover her mouth, clutching her dessert plate tightly as she retreated.

When the party wound down, all the employees lined up in the factory garden for a commemorative photo with Farma, the founder. The workforce had grown, and since the last photo, their expressions were far more relaxed, smiles appearing naturally.

“Let’s take a photo every year,” Farma said, making it a tradition.

Once developed, the photos were distributed to every employee.

“Thank you, Founder-sama.” “We’re so proud to work here.”

Even if Farma were to be gone, he hoped the Marseil pharmaceutical factory, the heart of his drug development efforts, would continue to thrive under many hands, producing medicines that would reach across the empire and the world to heal people.

Farma reflected on this quietly, feeling a deep sense of fulfillment.

Chapter 5, Episode 8: The Sailor, the Vitamins, and the Announcement of Results

“Lord Farma, a carrier pigeon has arrived from Marseil Port.”

Adam, the acting lord, called out to Farma, who had been chatting and laughing with the factory workers.

“I wonder who it’s from…”

Hearing it was from the sea, Farma felt a brief pang of unease. Surely this wasn’t a report of a ship caught in quarantine? Every year from August to September, the grand Saint-Flouve Market drew merchant ships from all over the world. This year, Farma had once again employed a first-class apothecary to inspect and quarantine the ships at the port.

“It’s Admiral Jean of the Saint-Flouve Royal, from the East Idon Company. He says it’s urgent and requests your presence immediately at Marseil Port, Dock No. 3.”

“Admiral Jean… I wonder what’s happened.”

“Lord Farma, is this urgent?”

“Ehh… are you really going, oniue?”

Lotte and Blanche looked at Farma, puzzled.

“I’m heading to Marseil Port now. Or do you two want to come along?”

“Yes, we’ll come with you,” Lotte said cheerfully.

Farma and the others rode swiftly to Marseil Port. There, they saw a grand warship entering the harbor, escorted by frigates, its massive sails gleaming in the sunlight.

“O-oh, Farma, you came too?”

Palle and Bruno had happened to come to the port for an inspection. Palle seemed interested in seeing the warship; Bruno, guided by executives of the East Idon Company, was attending to official matters.

“Hey there!”

As the ship drew closer, a man’s voice called from the deck. Farma waved back. The first-rate battleship of the East Idon Company flew its scarlet flag proudly against the bright sky. It was Admiral Jean’s vessel.

Jean, who had stocked up on sailor’s candies in massive quantities, disembarked with his crew. Spotting Bruno, the lord of Marseil, first, Jean approached him to offer greetings, and Bruno responded in kind.

“Thank you for enduring the long voyage, Admiral.”

“Borrowing your esteemed apprentice pharmacist for the journey was a great help.”

Apparently, Jean had taken Bruno’s disciple on this distant-sea voyage.

“My apprentice surely benefited from the training. And I am always grateful for your company’s contributions to Marseil Port and your cooperation in suppressing piracy.”

Bruno praised Jean warmly.

“Ah, well, it’s only natural—we do get to use the port after all,” Jean replied modestly. The East Idon Company seemed adept at keeping on good terms with Acting Lord Adam while using Marseil Port.

“Take care to rest well with your crew and recover from the long journey,” Bruno added.

“Thank you,” Jean said, saluting Bruno.

Having finished with formalities, Jean trotted over to Farma.

“Sorry to call you out, shopkeeper. I heard you were in Marseil.”

“Jean… I was wondering why I hadn’t seen you at the pharmacy lately,” Farma said, recalling him fondly. It had been two months since he last saw the admiral.

“Admiral looks so cool!”

Blanche’s eyes sparkled as she looked at Jean.

“It’s Jean! You’ve met him before, Blanche.”

“No, I don’t know him!”

Blanche hadn’t recognized the usual elderly Jean, now adorned in the admiral’s formal uniform: navy coat with gold lace on the cuffs and collar, gold epaulettes, and a crisp white inner shirt. She was dazzled.

(Ah, girls have a weakness for bicorne hats and uniforms…)

Farma couldn’t help but smile at her predictable reaction.

“I’ve just returned from a long voyage and finished quarantine. Ah… land is truly wonderful. Humans are meant to live on it,” Jean said with a sigh of relief.

“You’ve been away for some time. Are you in good health?” Farma asked, concerned for the elderly sailor after such a demanding journey.

“Not entirely well, but I cannot linger on that. This year, a major pestilence hit the pepper-producing regions, the harvest failed, and disputes broke out over existing colonies. By His Majesty’s command, I ventured to chart new territories.”

“New sea routes?”

Farma listened in awe to Jean’s indefatigable energy. Bruno watched silently, while Palle kept a cautious distance, aware of Jean’s fearsome reputation. Lotte, from afar, hadn’t recognized the elderly Jean and hid timidly.

“Thanks to you, I discovered a new continent. Don’t tell anyone in the Imperial City—it’s a secret, for now,” Jean said proudly, stroking his beard.

“A… a great discovery! A truly remarkable feat!”

Farma’s excitement surged. A continent, not merely an island—this was akin to discovering the Americas! Jean, however, just chuckled modestly, murmuring, “Well, yes…” Then he added:

“Really, it’s all thanks to you! We had to navigate cursed waters—‘the graveyard of ships’ haunted by evil spirits—and areas where no land could be seen. The voyage itself was tough, but the greatest challenge was securing food. This time, that issue was dramatically improved—no one died, so we boldly sailed farther than ever!”

The sailors behind him nodded vigorously in agreement.

(A graveyard of ships haunted by evil spirits… incredible. And knowing this world, it’s probably literal, not metaphorical…)

Farma felt astonished in another way.

“Your sailor’s candy, packed with vitamins, doesn’t spoil and takes up little space—a revolutionary invention. And when we added the ‘Kalk’ medicine you instructed into barrels of generated water, it stayed fresh. Following your advice with meats and fish in jars also kept everything from spoiling.”

Farma had guided Jean on long-voyage food and water preservation, including employing wind-element mages to stabilize and accelerate sails and water-element mages to ensure fresh water.

Jean had implemented all her advice to perfection, and the result was unprecedentedly good meals and swift travel.

“If crew members fell ill from malnutrition or disease, we’d have had to turn back. Before, spoilage of food and water made months-long voyages impossible.”

“This is my voyage talisman,” Jean said, beaming, popping his favorite candy into his mouth.

“Thanks to you, this journey felt almost as comfortable as being on land,” he said.

“You truly are an extraordinary pharmacist,” the crew echoed, expressing their gratitude. These were the same sailors who had helped clean up when the Interdimensional Pharmacy was attacked by Beron’s agents.

Farma realized anew that even small advice could transform a perilous long-sea voyage.

“I’m glad. If it made the voyage any safer, then it’s worth it.”

“However… despite no fatalities, a few crew members have fallen gravely ill with strange diseases during this long voyage. Maybe due to the cursed spirits, I don’t know. Could you take a look at them?”

“I understand. So this is why I was called.”

Three patients were brought on stretchers as unloading began.

They suffered relentless diarrhea, skin covered in rashes, fevered consciousness, and one was hallucinating. Hearing that all three had identical symptoms, Farma began examining them with Palle.

“Indeed… the skin is severely damaged, blisters are widespread, and pigmentation is dark red to black,” Farma observed, rolling up the sleeves of one patient.

Interestingly, areas covered by clothing were untouched.

“The inflammation only appears on sun-exposed skin,” Farma noted, jotting it down.

“Could it be photosensitivity? But that alone doesn’t explain the other symptoms,” Palle said, observing similarly.

“Brother, take a closer look,” Farma said, pointing to the affected areas.

“The redness appears symmetrically… then perhaps these symptoms are due to a deficiency.”

Checking the tongues, they were reddish-brown and inflamed.

“Yes… that’s it,” Farma nodded.

“Pellagra… in other words, a niacin deficiency.”

Farma relayed his diagnosis to the patients. Even upon examination, there was no doubt.

“What’s that now? Can it be cured?”

Hearing the unfamiliar term, the elderly Jean spoke from behind, his voice full of concern for his crew.

“Do these sailors drink alcohol often?”

Farma asked about the patients’ backgrounds.

“They’re all heavy drinkers,” Jean replied for the dazed sailors.

“In that case…”

Farma explained that this illness was particularly common among those who overconsume alcohol.

“Ugh… alcohol’s that bad for you?! I only enjoy a bit of rum!”

Jean clutched his chest and groaned, a faint shame in his voice. Clearly, he recognized himself in the warning.

“I’m not talking about you personally, Admiral,” Farma said.

“Oh… I see.”

“Anything taken in excess—or too little—is harmful. These patients are suffering from niacin deficiency. Chronic malnutrition over a long voyage, combined with sun exposure, brought this on.”

Bruno listened attentively, taking notes.

“Not one of those… vitamin-C things, huh?”

Jean tilted his head in disappointment.

“It’s in the same vitamin family,” Farma explained. Niacin had once been called Vitamin B3, though today that term was technically obsolete. Vitamins had initially been labeled A, B, C, etc., in order of discovery; now, with their chemical structures understood, B3 was no longer formally used.

Currently, thirteen vitamins were recognized: A (retinol), D (calciferol), E (tocopherol), K (phylloquinone), B1 (thiamine), B2 (riboflavin), B6 (pyridoxine), B12 (cyanocobalamin), pantothenic acid, biotin, folic acid, C (ascorbic acid), and niacin. Farma explained this clearly.

“I see… so it’s another missing vitamin. And there are thirteen of them! Getting enough vitamins is tough… and on a ship, avoiding sunlight is impossible. Is there a cure?”

“Simply taking the missing niacin will treat it. The other symptoms should gradually subside as well. Since all three have similar symptoms, I’ll prescribe tablets for each.”

Farma’s examination showed it was not too late. He prescribed a generous dose of nicotinamide, ensured the patients received the full B-complex orally, and advised restraint from alcohol due to possible liver damage.

“Oh, that’s a relief! Nutrition truly matters,” Admiral Jean said, straightening his back.

In the process of standing upright, he tweaked his back and had to be carried by his crew. Seeing this, Farma added a prescription for a pain-relief poultice.

“Ugh… that hurts… right after getting back!”

“We should develop candies or tablets containing essential vitamins for sailors and travelers. Admiral Jean will also need calcium.”

Farma had promised the East Idon Company a supplement combining vitamins and minerals.

“Bless you! After the Saint-Flouve Market, I’ll need to send an expedition to the new continent—make sure it’s ready by then!”

“I’ll ensure it’s completed in time.”

The company also acted as a naval force, ensuring merchant ships could navigate safely until the market concluded. Hearing this, Farma remembered an important question.

“Oh, by the way… was the new continent inhabited?”

“No, none discovered yet. There were unfamiliar plants, but landing immediately would be dangerous. We only set foot briefly and returned without touching anything—careful and cautious.”

Farma silently praised Jean’s judgment.

“And if you had encountered natives?”

“Treaties forbid invasion, so it would be trade.”

If no one lived there, the Empire would plant a flag and establish a settlement. Farma was relieved at the avoidance of immediate colonization but emphasized caution:

“Exercise extreme care with natives, animals, and plants. They may carry diseases unknown to your immune systems. ‘Unknown’ could be lethal.”

Historically, the discovery of the Americas had brought smallpox, measles, and mumps from Europe, devastating the indigenous population. Farma carefully used his diagnostic magic to screen the sailors, and none showed infection from potential foreign pathogens.

(A new continent… the possibilities are endless.)

Secretly, Farma hoped to find corn, pumpkins, or tomatoes.

Back in the capital, Farma balanced running the pharmacy with preparing for the October term, working with Ellen on administrative tasks, meetings, and committees at the Imperial School of Medicine and Pharmacy.

The new research building for the department he would lead—the Integrated Pharmaceutical Sciences Department—was completed. Farma procured equipment, tools, and hired a secretary and research assistant, selecting one from many applicants each.

His textbook was now on sale in the university bookstore, becoming required reading for the new semester. The Saint-Flouve Imperial School of Pharmacy had transformed into the Imperial School of Medicine and Pharmacy: the old Sarleno Medical School became the Medical Department; the traditional magic-and-herbal-based pharmacology department became the Pharmacy Department; Farma headed the Integrated Pharmaceutical Sciences Department; and a new Clinical Laboratory Department was established.

That day, as he prepared to leave campus, Farma walked with Ellen.

“…Has it really been a year? It feels like no time at all,” he said, reflecting. It had been a year since he eradicated the Black Death and was appointed professor.

“Yes. We’ve been preparing for so long, yet everything still gets chaotic at the last minute,” Ellen said, stuffing piles of documents into her bag.

“Can’t be helped—the research building was only completed last month. I’m looking forward to meeting the students when the semester starts next month.”

Farma had always enjoyed teaching, discussions, and mentoring since his pharmacy days. Meeting talented students inspired his research, and seeing his pupils thrive in the field brought him immense satisfaction. Ellen, however, seemed nervous.

“You’re the same as always, Farma-kun. I’m not sure I’ll manage the lectures, and the students might intimidate me,” she admitted.

“You’ll be fine. They’re not going to devour you,” Farma said.

As they walked, they noticed a crowd gathered around the main entrance.

“What’s happening?” Farma asked, approaching to see. Ellen grabbed his arm.

“I remember now. Today’s the announcement of new student admissions. Some of your students are among them.”

This year, the Imperial School of Medicine and Pharmacy had offered a tuition-free special quota, recruiting students across the Empire and abroad. The results were being posted.

“Wow… how many people came to see?”

The names were posted publicly; examinees checked for their own names, reacting with joy or tears.

“The acceptance ratio was around twenty to one, right?”

Farma guessed vaguely.

“Actually, 25.8 times. A record. Many students even transferred from Novaloot Medical University to enroll here,” Ellen said.

“Wow, this university is really popular.”

“It’s not the university—it’s your course, Farma-kun, that’s popular,” Ellen corrected.

Curious about the students, Farma watched from a distance. Some fainted when they couldn’t find their names; others danced with joy; some came with parents—the spectrum of emotions was vivid.

“Unbelievable! Are you mocking us?!”

A sudden shout broke through the crowd.

“I’m not coming to be taught pharmacy by a child!”

The young man had a foreign accent. Apparently, some international students didn’t know the professor was a child. The university traditionally displayed portraits of all professors near the entrance, so the student had just realized Farma’s age.

It seemed that many admitted students knew Farma only by name. His reputation as a pharmacist and medical scholar was global, but only those who visited the Interdimensional Pharmacy knew he was a child.

“These students look challenging… I might cry from happiness,” Ellen murmured.

“Your course is mandatory, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Any complaints, and failing to attend means losing credit,” she added.

“This semester might start with a bang,” Farma said, smiling wryly and letting out a small sigh.

Chapter 5, Episode 9: The Grand Market of Saint-Flouve and the Deworming Medicine

“This is far bigger than I imagined.”

Ellen’s voice carried a hint of awe as she walked from one end of the product to the other, surveying it carefully.

“I’m curious to see how it will turn,” she added, a touch of anticipation in her tone.

Holding the blueprints Farma had entrusted him with, His Excellency Melody Le Lou narrowed her eyes, studying the massive components that now filled the yard.

These were parts so large they couldn’t fit inside the workshop, commissioned by Farma and assembled outdoors by Melody’s apprentices. Farma had been meticulously inspecting them, confirming that they met the specifications. He touched and stroked the pieces, even tapping them with a hammer at Melody’s suggestion. Ellen had joined in, testing their strength with spells of ice magic. Yet, the work stood firm, immovable—proof of Melody’s unmatched skill.

“It’s remarkable. I wasn’t sure whether it was wise to commission Your Excellency, Melody, but… I see now that asking you was the right choice.”

Farma, visiting Melody’s estate with Ellen, offered a courteous apology for imposing on her busy schedule.

Melody’s reputation for crafting unbreakable items was well-earned. Glass she delivered never shattered, and her metalwork never bent. For this project, she had used reinforced glass fibers as the primary material.

“Yes… I must admit, it was a bit daunting at first. But if it’s a request from Farma-sama… it became quite an interesting challenge,” Melody said gently, spinning a palm-sized model of a windmill toward the breeze with a serene smile. Though experienced in medical glassware and metal laboratory instruments, this was her first commission for a metal product of such scale.

“All the propeller parts will be ready by next week. I’ve even borrowed apprentices from other workshops to help,” she added, showing that the work was progressing faster than initially planned.

“Thank you. I realize we’ve asked you to hurry,” Farma said, sincerely grateful for Melody’s consideration. Naturally, he intended to increase her compensation for the expedited schedule.

“I’ve also designed it so it can be disassembled and transported to Marseil. The base sections… other craftsmen are handling those?”

“Yes, they are being commissioned separately.”

Farma’s order was for large windmills for wind power generation.

First, a small prototype, then a full-scale model were being prepared. Large windmills can generate significant power even at low wind speeds, but multiple smaller units can collectively match a large one. The plan required testing a prototype to confirm efficiency. The design involved propellers, hubs, gear-driven speed increasers and reducers, generators, transmission systems to deliver electricity to the factory, and coil-based transformers to optimize transmission efficiency. Each component was carefully commissioned, and their performance tested incrementally.

“If you need even larger units, please let me know,” Melody offered.

“This size will be sufficient,” Farma replied.

(Indeed, on Earth, windmills tended to grow ever larger.)

Some wind turbines exceeded 100 meters in total height. Farma had secured a stretch of Saint-Flouve territory with wind consistently blowing in one direction using magical runes, ensuring a stable power supply.

“By the way… why place the windmills a little away from the factory?” Ellen asked. A perfectly reasonable question, Farma thought, considering transmission efficiency.

“The sound can be noisy, and I wouldn’t want a blade falling onto the workshop. There’s also the risk of short circuits if the electrical system malfunctions, and lightning strikes can happen too.”

“True enough. A broken blade is heavy… that could be dangerous,” Melody said, her eyes widening in understanding.

“No, it’s not that Melody’s creations would fail,” Ellen interjected, clarifying Farma’s intent.

“Yes. It’s purely a matter of safety,” Farma confirmed. On Earth, there had been incidents where turbine blades flew off, and he wanted to prevent any human casualties.

“Please continue with the work as planned,” he added.

“Understood,” Melody replied.

After leaving Melody’s estate, Farma and Ellen joined Lotte for a midday stroll through the bustling Saint-Flouve Grand Market.

“Extra! Extra! Weekly Capital! Extra!”

In the sweltering heat of Saint-Flouve’s imperial capital, newsboys’ cries rang across the streets. Citizens clutched free extras of the “Weekly Capital,” forming excited crowds. The Mitterand siblings, who ran the popular newspaper, had released their first complimentary edition.

The headline featured Admiral Jean in full regalia, a grand medal adorning his chest.

The article announced the discovery of a new continent, officially proclaimed to the Empire by Empress Elisabeth.

“A new continent?”

“How big is it? How is it different from an island?”

“Could there be rare minerals… gold or silver hidden there?”

The citizens’ imaginations soared.

“Hundreds, even thousands of years went by without anyone discovering it. Why now, suddenly?”

“The report says it was found via the western sea route.”

Reading the paper, citizens murmured in admiration.

“Westward, I thought the world just ended… and there were ship graveyards too… who would think of such a thing, terrifying!”

“Isn’t it Admiral Jean? As expected of the great admiral from the Saint-Flouve East India Company. Doing what no one else could, just like that.”

Among the capital’s citizens, Admiral Jean had become a figure of awe.

“Interesting, it made the news. Maybe it’s also a warning to other countries,” Ellen said, skimming the paper while walking beside Farma. The continent was named after its discoverer—Gabin Continent—and Admiral Jean was ennobled as an honorary baron, despite lacking magical power, joining the ranks of the aristocracy.

“So they’re making it clear that the first discoverer is an Imperial citizen, internationally?”

“Yes. But I hope no careless sailor takes off to sea and ends up in danger. It took perfect nutrition, Farma-kun’s advice, and Admiral Jean’s experience to succeed.”

Ellen emphasized Farma’s guidance as essential.

“Right… ordinary sailors with ordinary preparation would be in peril,” Farma admitted, though he had other concerns as well.

After Admiral Jean’s triumphant return, Farma had flown over the continent using his magical staff to verify whether anyone truly inhabited it. From above, the land stretched across both hemispheres, mountain ranges like spines along its length.

In the western lowlands, he happened upon signs of a small agrarian civilization. Jean, having arrived on the eastern coast, might have assumed it uninhabited. The locals’ appearance hinted at Asian-Mongoloid features, with clothing reflecting a mix of Chinese, Tibetan, and Native American styles.

Farma grew uneasy, imagining how Saint-Flouve and other nations might threaten the natives’ way of life. A continent so vast surely held abundant resources.

(The history of conquest might repeat…)

Even if international treaties forbid invasion, greed and piracy persist wherever land and resources exist. If a country secretly invades, it could happen beyond reach of messengers—unchecked, unverified.

“Perhaps announcing it wasn’t wise,” Farma thought.

“Oh? Why? Isn’t this a joyous occasion? Even as fellow citizens, discovering a new continent is something to be proud of,” Ellen said.

(If only there were no indigenous people…)

Farma’s tone darkened. He felt the weight of responsibility. He had inadvertently guided Admiral Jean to the western route, leading to this discovery.

Ideally, intercontinental exchanges would benefit all sides fairly—no exploitation, no plunder. Farma’s thoughts were already turning to action.

(If it seems disastrous, I may need to preemptively acquire the natives’ land and protect it, preventing both foreign and domestic interference. With current resources, it’s doable… and if necessary, I can fund it myself. I wonder if the Empress would cooperate. She seems like a pacifist, after all.)

Lotte watched him worriedly, fingers at her lips.

“You look troubled again, Farma-sama… what’s on your mind this time?”

Ellen adjusted her glasses with a knowing smile. “Same as always, I suppose.”

“Don’t make such a glum face—let’s enjoy the market! Shopping always lifts the spirits.”

The Saint-Flouve Grand Market was in full swing under the sweltering capital heat. Compared to last year, even more stallholders and itinerant merchants had registered, with brokers of medicinal herbs and high-ranking apothecaries forming particularly large crowds. The scent of spices floated on the air, reminding Farma that it was nearly time for the annual curry party.

“Where do you two want to start?”

“I’m heading to the herbal section. And also, frames and lenses for my glasses—they’re essential,” Ellen replied, matter-of-factly.

Farma had to clamp his mouth shut to keep from laughing.

“Y-yeah… glasses are something we definitely need to stock up on.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I suppose we should’ve asked Melody Excellency to craft unbreakable glasses for you,” Farma muttered.

“You’d just be adding to her workload,” Ellen said lightly, as if unbothered.

Ellen’s tendency to break or drop glasses showed no sign of waning, and Farma silently lamented the future trials ahead.

(The temples are too shallow, and the nose pads don’t grip… it’s no wonder they slip off…)

Farma had long since given up trying to “fix” Ellen’s glasses. She rejected anything unfashionable, so he had resigned himself to treating her spectacles—and their inevitable breakages—as part of her persona.

“And Lotte, you’re all about the sweets, right?”

“Yes! I heard a rumor about some rare treats! We should all try them later!”

Lotte already clutched a sizable shopping bag, clearly ready for a spree.

“You’re quite motivated. Alright then—time’s limited, so let’s split up and see what we want. After the break, we’ll all meet back at the apothecary.”

Farma separated from Ellen and Lotte and, consulting his pre-marked map of stalls, began hunting for high-quality paper to jot down notes. Fine filter paper, premium ink—these were only available at this market.

“Phew, that’s a good haul. I’ll get the curry ingredients tomorrow—the scent might linger on the paper.”

Last year, the spice aromas had stained the sheets, creating an unfortunate mess. Farma carried his bounty with a pleased expression when he bumped into Lotte.

“Oh, not in front of a sweet shop this time, I see,” he remarked.

Lotte had crouched before a different kind of stall than usual.

“Farma-sama, look! It’s an animal stall!”

Under a large tent were merchants selling pets: dogs, cats, parrots, and parakeets—a miniature pet shop.

“Animals weren’t here last year.”

The previous year, plague restrictions had banned pet sales, but this year they were allowed. Small wooden enclosures displayed dogs like poodles, terriers, Papillons, and Great Pyrenees. Cats ranged from Persians to mixed breeds and Bengals. Birds perched in colorful cages, chirping happily.

“These puppies are adorable!”

Farma realized for the first time that Lotte was a dog person.

“They’re so cute, I couldn’t stop watching them!”

The little poodles and Papillons were licking her hands, and Lotte was utterly captivated.

(Puppies really are irresistibly cute… though Lotte herself is just as adorable.)

Farma understood her fascination. Indeed, Lotte’s lively charm reminded him of a puppy.

“Ah! Their eyes! The puppies’ eyes! They’re saying ‘take me home!’ aren’t they?!”

“You’re imagining it. I’d love to let you have one, though,” Farma said.

The De Medicis estate already had horses for riding, cows and goats for milk, and ducks kept in outbuildings. Pets like dogs and cats were not allowed near the main house; Bruno ensured strict hygiene.

“That’s alright, Farma-sama… the De Medicis household is a family of apothecaries. I couldn’t ask for a pet, even if I wanted one,” Lotte said, shaking her head.

“But they’re so adorable! These animals are so soothing!”

“Alright, when you’re ready, head back to the apothecary,” Farma said, preparing to move on. But Lotte clutched the hem of his coat.

“Wait, Farma-sama. There’s a sick little one… I can’t stop worrying.”

Following her finger, Farma spotted a puppy lying listlessly in a small pen. The pet shop owner, noticing their concern, replied sheepishly:

“Oh, that one? I’ve already called the veterinarian, so there’s no need to worry.”

“That’s a relief!” Lotte said, nodding firmly.

“Oh, the vet’s here!”

The shopkeeper welcomed a young, petite, but strikingly sharp-looking female veterinarian. She wore a first-class veterinarian’s horseshoe-shaped badge. Farma’s eyes met hers, and her expression instantly changed.

“P-Professor! You’re Professor Farma de Medicis! Oh no, what do I do?!”

She flushed crimson, clearly startled to see him. Farma tilted his head, puzzled. Lotte mirrored his confusion.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Josephine Valier, a veterinarian. It’s an honor to meet you here, Professor!”

“Have we met somewhere?”

Many called him a “child shopkeeper,” but never “Professor.”

“Only from the university bulletin portrait. I’ve admired you from afar,” she admitted.

“Ah… you’ll be joining the Imperial College of Medicine next month,” Farma realized.

“And you want to become both a veterinarian and a human apothecary?”

Farma found her diligence and vitality impressive.

“Yes. I wanted to study pharmacy from the ground up, for both humans and animals. Above all, I wanted to attend your lectures, Professor de Medicis, which is why I applied!”

“Then it’s a pleasure, Josephine. Are you about to examine this dog? I’d like to observe.”

“Yes, I’m nervous in front of you, Professor,” she admitted.

“You seem excited to meet a new student, Farma-sama,” Lotte whispered, eyes sparkling.

Josephine prepared her instruments and expressed gratitude.

“Thanks to your invention of the microscope, Professor, veterinary examinations have advanced. And your numerous groundbreaking medicines… you are my ideal mentor.”

Farma chuckled awkwardly.

She picked up her diagnostic staff and began the examination.

“The puppy has diarrhea, a dull coat, and appears weakened. Excuse me… ah, this is a tapeworm infection.”

She pointed out tiny white grains around the puppy’s anus—segments of a tapeworm.

“It may have been a weak puppy from the start. The parasite isn’t too harmful, so observation is fine. I’ll prescribe a tonic for the pup—please administer it with care.”

“That’s a relief,” the shopkeeper said. Josephine refused any payment.

“My diagnosis and treatment plan is as follows. Professor, what do you suggest?”

She turned to Farma for guidance.

“You’ve diagnosed it correctly—tapeworm. Supplementing nutrition is wise, but it can infect humans, and heavy infestations cause severe debilitation. We should use an anthelmintic,” Farma advised.

Taenia, or tapeworms, attach to the intestine with suckers and hooks; segments containing eggs break off and pass through the anus. Cleaning or laxatives alone cannot remove them.

“An anthelmintic, then… would wormwood suffice?”

Josephine reached into her bag for a potion.

“Wormwood works for roundworms but not tapeworms,” Farma said, pretending to rummage through his bag. Using substance creation, he produced praziquantel inside a folded sheet of medicinal paper.

“This is praziquantel, which paralyzes tapeworms. Mix it into the food and give it once.”

He explained the administration carefully to the shopkeeper, while Josephine took diligent notes.

“Also, fleas must be treated, or reinfection occurs.”

“Flea-repelling herbs, then? I’ll apply mint and lavender essential oils to the coat, and cast a purification spell around the area.”

Farma watched Josephine with admiration as she worked efficiently.

“Localized purification,” he murmured.

She seemed adept with wind-based divine arts.

“Thank you for your guidance, Professor,” Josephine said, shaking his hand.

“I’ll see you at the university, then,” Farma said, realizing that not everything needed a modern pharmaceutical solution.

Later, Lotte stocked up on cakes, while Ellen bought enough glasses to sell herself.

A few days later, having confirmed the effectiveness of the deworming treatment, Farma and Lotte strolled casually into the palace, only for one of the Empress’s attendants to appear, calling for Lotte.

“The Empress requests your presence immediately,” the attendant announced.

“An order for an art piece, perhaps?” Farma asked, noting that the summons wasn’t exclusively for Lotte. He fell into step behind her, curious.

“Your Majesty, we apologize for the wait. Charlotte Sorel is here—”

The Empress, lounging on a bench in the palace garden, turned toward Lotte with an unmistakable air of anticipation.

“You’ve arrived. Now look—cats and dogs, Charlotte!”

Before them, the expansive garden was a wild menagerie: tigers, lions, wolves—all behaving as if domesticated. Even a few birds of prey perched gracefully on benches nearby. At that very moment, a wolf with a glossy coat fetched a ball as obediently as any dog.

“Enjoy yourself! I heard, through… unofficial channels, that you’ve been longing to interact with adorable cats and dogs,” the Empress said.

(Farma’s inner voice: Where exactly did “unofficial channels” come from, Your Majesty?! And why are there only beasts of prey?)

Lotte, forcing a polite smile, whispered to Farma:

“Farma-sama… where are the cute dogs and cats? These aren’t like any dogs and cats I know.”

“Lions and tigers are technically part of the cat family, and wolves are the ancestors of dogs. Whether they’re cute or not… I’ll leave that to your judgment,” Farma replied.

The Empress’s concept of pets was as wildly out of touch with common sense as it was extravagant.

The beasts seemed well aware of their place, behaving as obediently as borrowed pets. Farma guessed that the Empress herself must have trained them using her divine arts—it was frankly intimidating.

“Do not hold back. Consider this my generous gift. You may even have them leap through rings of fire,” the Empress added, as if this were a perfectly reasonable perk for Lotte.

“Y-yes… Your Majesty, it’s an honor,” Lotte replied, her color draining.

(The Empress is truly the King of Beasts…)

Farma, silently aghast, offered a single piece of practical advice to Lotte:

“Be careful your hands don’t get eaten while interacting with them, Lotte.”

“P-please, don’t say such things!”

“If you ever wish to spend time with animals again, just let me know,” Farma added, thinking it might be wise for Lotte’s safety to secure Bruno’s permission for her to keep a small, more manageable pet.

Chapter 5, Episode 10: Reunion with Juliana and the New Semester

Late September. Farma was hosting his annual outdoor “secret curry party,” lavishly spiced with the exotic ingredients he had procured in San Flouve City. Attendees included pharmacy staff, loyal clients, and various acquaintances.

Once again, the open-air gathering was held by the riverside. However, this year the number of guests had grown so large that calling it “secret” was now a stretch.

With such a crowd, Farma knew he couldn’t exactly hide from the Empress. Out of courtesy, he invited her—but she politely declined, citing her inability to handle spicy food. Farma inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. The presence of the Empress would have intimidated the guests, turning his party of gratitude into a stiff formality. Furthermore, the post-dinner ball he had planned, “Le Grand Bal,” would have suddenly become a high-society affair. Many would likely struggle with the formal steps, unable to enjoy themselves freely.

His relief was short-lived. On the day of the party, in place of the Empress, Prince Louis was sent. Having a royal whom commoners could scarcely hope to see attend the event, a few regulars tried to curry favor with the prince, hoping to earn some prestige. Even so, the prince’s personal guards kept the attendees at a distance.

“Welcome. I hope our dishes meet your satisfaction, Your Highness,” Farma greeted as the prince quietly shoveled curry into his mouth.

The regulars were astonished to see Farma chatting casually with the imperial heir. Yet, the shock soon turned into pride when they realized: even a prince of the great empire was Farma’s patient. “We’re under the care of such a remarkable physician ourselves!” they boasted, delighting in the simple logic of it.

“I like it. I shall take the Medici family’s chef home with me.”

(Oh, so he’s really fond of it… well, children do love curry.)

Farma smiled, relieved, but responded with a careful, neutral reply.

“That would be troublesome. How would we manage dinner at our house if the chef disappeared?”

“Ha ha, just joking,” the prince said, clearly pleased at having ruffled Farma’s composure and, in turn, satisfied his own pride.

After serving appetizers, the main curry, various hors d’oeuvres, and desserts, the orchestra began, and the ball commenced. Farma had wondered whether to invite Ellen, as he had last year, but she was in the midst of a loud, spectacular argument with Parre. Perhaps as a digestive exercise, they were dueling with divine magic right by the riverside.

“Today, we settle this properly once and for all!”

“That’s my line! Swing your staff, not your mouth! I’ll soak you through!”

(Seriously, you two… keep it under control! The prince is here!)

Farma erected an ice barrier between them and the guests to prevent anyone from getting drenched.

(Why must they always turn every disagreement into a duel? They’re so close, yet so… conflicted.)

As Farma shook his head and turned away, his gaze met Lotte’s. Her cheeks were puffed like a chipmunk’s from indulging in chocolate.

“Do you want some chocola—hih?”

Her words were almost unintelligible.

“I don’t need chocolate, but maybe I can invite Lotte this year?”

Farma had hesitated last year, not wanting to embarrass Lotte, who lacked experience with Baroque dance. But this year, when he extended the invitation, Lotte’s joy was palpable.

“Thank you! Really! My cheeks are so happy too!”

(She said she’s really happy, right?)

“Would you honor me with this dance, young lady?”

When Farma invited her according to proper etiquette, Lotte blushed, her hands rising to her face.

“Y-yes!”

(She did say “yes.”)

She tidied her mouth and joyfully accepted Farma’s escort.

“Ehe, it was worth learning from Eleonore-sama during lunch breaks at the pharmacy!”

This year, Lotte had trained with Ellen and mastered the Baroque dance.

The circular folk-dance-like gavotte concluded in the dance space, and the orchestra began a minuet, designed for multiple pairs. Strict formations meant one misstep could ruin the dance, yet Farma had chosen only well-known, accessible pieces.

“You’re good, Lotte,” Farma said, smiling as he held her hand through a series of light, whirling steps. Her skill betrayed none of the nervousness one would expect for a first-time formal dance. Her diligent practice showed.

“To think I get to dance with you, Farma-sama—it’s like a dream.”

“Is that so? Who else did you imagine dancing with?”

“…nobody,” Lotte stammered, so flustered she nearly tripped. Farma quickly steadied her at the waist before she fell.

“Thank you!”

By the time the song ended, Ellen and Parre’s duel had finished. Both were utterly exhausted and carried back to their respective estates on stretchers and carriages.

“Ouch… Parre, you never hold back!”

The next day, Ellen arrived at work stiff and sore from her duel with Parre.

“There’s no holding back with our brother,” Farma replied with knowing emphasis. Parre never spared anyone, not even women or children.

“Ah… if only Juliana’s divine massage were here to loosen this tension. When will she come visit next?”

“Juliana… I wonder if she can come back here,” Farma murmured. Despite sending multiple letters to Juliana in the Holy Nation, he had received no reply. It was about time to prod the imperial priests.

“Don’t make it sound so dire. She’s busy, you know,” Ellen said, readjusting her glasses.

“Farma-sama wants to see Juliana, right? I’d love to meet her too!” Lotte added, massaging Ellen’s shoulders in Juliana’s stead. The pharmacy staff, unaware of the full story, assumed Juliana had simply returned home.

(I hope nothing terrible has happened to her in the Holy Nation…)

Farma worried over Juliana’s well-being, fearing trouble at the temple or a dangerous journey home. Deciding action was necessary, he strolled to the imperial temple. His unexpected arrival caused a commotion; Chief Priest Coome maintained composure while dealing with him. Farma did not enter but called the priest outside.

“Hello. I’m trying to contact Juliana, who should be in the Holy Nation. I’ve sent multiple letters, but received no reply. Could you inquire on my behalf?”

“Well, well, the Apothecary God himself. What brings you to her?”

Coome’s sudden nervousness upon hearing Juliana’s name struck Farma as suspicious.

“I wanted to confirm whether she delivered what I entrusted to her to the Grand Temple properly.”

Farma wished to ensure that the divine energy-infused sword had reached the Grand Priest.

“The other matter is that I’d like her divine massage services,” he added firmly.

“We have skilled practitioners here in the capital… shall I summon one?”

“I want Juliana herself,” Farma insisted.

Despite Coome whispering among the priests about what “special massage” Farma might mean, Farma remained resolute.

“No, that’s not it!”

(His words somehow made it sound like I requested some… inappropriate service…)

The awkward implication aside, Farma could not leave without confirming Juliana’s safety. He approached the temple wall, placing his hand firmly against it.

“? What are you doing?”

“This wall… it’s made of the same material as the Grand Temple, right?”

“Yes.”

Farma focused his right hand.

(“Erase the calcium carbonate.”)

Using his ability, he vanished the calcium carbonate from the wall, causing the temple’s enclosure to evaporate in an instant.

“Wh-what have you done!?” Coome shrieked, terrified. Unaware of Farma’s powers of creation and erasure, he assumed a sacred technique had been used.

According to Salomon, the Grand Temple was constructed of a single material that absorbed divine energy. If it’s a single material… Farma realized, it could be erased.

“Rumor has it, the Grand Temple has dozens of underground floors?”

Farma feigned ignorance.

“What happens if all the floors collapse?”

All priests in the Holy Nation would plummet dozens of meters to the bottom floor, dying instantly without a fight. Coome nodded, snot dripping.

“I could reach the Holy Nation in an hour if I wanted.”

“I… I’ll negotiate with them…”

A few days later, escorted by two priests, a woman appeared outside the Otherworldly Pharmacy. Her face obscured by a veil, Farma immediately recognized her: Juliana. It seemed the Holy Nation had yielded to his subtle threat.

(Too easy, Holy Nation.)

Farma welcomed the reunion warmly.

“Juliana, how have you been? Come inside.”

“Ah! It’s Juliana-chan!”

Ellen greeted her enthusiastically, eager for a massage. Yet, to Farma, Juliana looked weary. The accompanying priests stationed themselves in the corner, ensuring she would not escape.

“She’ll be safely returned to the temple after our discussion,” Farma said, subtly suggesting the priests leave. They shook their heads, insisting on staying.

“Please, take your time and talk freely,” they said.

“Ah, very well.”

In the counseling room, seeing Juliana downcast, Farma spoke first.

“Did you manage to move the gears with your divine energy?”

Upon hearing this, tears welled in Juliana’s eyes. Farma led her to the second-floor isolation room, where the priests could not eavesdrop, ignoring their frustrated clicks of tongues.

“You’re safe here. No windows, soundproofed, nothing will carry your voice below. Tell me whatever you can.”

Farma opened a bottle of juice and offered it to her.

“Thanks to your divine power, Farma-sama, I successfully rewound the lock’s gears by 175 years.”

“That’s excellent,” Farma said, relieved that Juliana had achieved her objective.

“...But… I was ignorant of the world. I was foolish.”

Juliana spoke quietly, in fragments, confessing to Farma. She revealed that the High Priest had no intention of negotiating with him, that they planned to seal him in the temple’s underground vaults, and were hastily developing a more powerful divine-sealing technique. Farma’s danger was imminent, and she spoke with evident frustration.

“I see… thank you for telling me. But it’s alright. No matter what tricks they try, I don’t plan to get sealed that easily. I’m not that stupid,” Farma replied calmly.

“And again, I’m being forced to carry that same treasured sword…”

“Haha, so now you’re the assassin, are you? Though, honestly, an assassin who confesses like that… that’s a bit odd too,” Farma said, chuckling wryly.

As he shook his head, he noticed beneath her lowered veil the marks of a blow to her face. Bruises ran down her body as well. Farma immediately set about tending to her injuries.

“They’ve treated you far worse than I imagined. I said I’d help you—how did it end up like this?”

“The Grand Temple assumes from the start that no understanding can be reached between the Guardian God and humans, and that I cannot be trusted,” Juliana said bitterly.

(Sure, I threatened to tear the temple apart, but that’s a completely different matter…)

Farma’s head ached at the thought.

“By the way, how did you end up in the role of collecting divine energy from someone they thought was uncommunicative?”

Despite being a higher-ranking priest than Salomon, the cardinal inquisitor, Juliana’s divine power seemed unimpressive even compared to him. Farma found it curious that the temple entrusted such a precious sword to her and sent her into danger. Was the temple really that short-staffed?

“I was chosen as one who received the revelation of the lock’s gears… ever since then, I’ve been specially trained as one of the chosen,” she explained.

“What kind of revelation?”

“I’ve seen, several times, gears that shouldn’t exist appearing in the warped world. And my body would spasm, sometimes entering possession-like states. I think that’s why I was singled out.”

(Huh…)

Farma paused, intrigued by her answer. Against his better judgment, he asked carefully:

“After these revelations… did you ever get intense headaches? Sometimes lasting hours?”

Juliana’s eyes widened.

“Yes! Always! The priests said it was a divine revelation straight from the Guardian God…!”

Farma correctly identified her symptoms as if he had been observing them firsthand, and Juliana nodded excitedly, clearly relieved.

“Then, it’s probably scintillating scotoma. You may have had epilepsy too,” Farma said, nearly collapsing onto the desk from exhaustion.

Third parties likely exaggerated such symptoms into tales of divine possession or demonic affliction. Judging by his examination, her condition had since calmed.

“Scintillating scotoma is a prelude to migraine. Blood vessels in the brain constrict, then expand, affecting the visual cortex—causing flashes of gears, spirals, and warped space. It’s physiological, not mystical. But your migraines must have been severe.”

Juliana tilted her head, trying to understand.

“So… anyone could see them?”

“If that’s the case. You probably saw the gears often as a child, but now it happens less. And epilepsy isn’t related to possession—it’s just the brain overexciting itself, which you don’t have now, right?”

Scintillating scotoma and epilepsy can diminish with age. If she were still troubled, preventative medication could be prescribed.

“Is that so! I never imagined the Guardian God would teach me that I am not truly chosen…”

Her expression was complex—years of training and hardship as a ‘chosen one’ seemed nullified—but there was also relief.

“A weight has been lifted from my chest,” she admitted.

“That’s good. Are there others like you?”

Becoming a cardinal priest usually required exceptional divine skill, but a few had reached that rank under circumstances like Juliana’s. Yet returning her to the temple could spell unknown suffering—she knew too many of the cardinal division’s secrets.

“Do you intend to leave the Holy Nation and become a citizen of the Empire?”

“If only I could… but renouncing one’s nationality is not simple, and leaving the Holy Nation could mean death.”

“I see. Leave it to me.”

Farma descended to the first floor and strode directly toward the priests, who rose, thinking the discussion was over.

“We are placing Juliana under our protection. She wishes to remain in the Empire. Please withdraw to the Holy Nation,” Farma declared.

The priests were taken aback, their arguments faltering under Farma’s unwavering stance.

“This… cannot be allowed. She is a priest and subject of the Holy Nation!”

Farma did not flinch.

“Her body bears countless bruises and scars. She qualifies as someone persecuted and unable to reside in her homeland. That makes her a refugee. Cedric, under international law and the Refugee Protection Treaty, isn’t that correct?”

Cedric, unaware of the background, immediately responded according to the law, perfectly versed in both Imperial and international statutes—a living encyclopedia. Ellen, observing Juliana’s plight, interjected in support.

“Doesn’t the Holy Nation also adhere to international treaties?”

Unable to counter Farma’s resolute stance, the priests had no choice but to leave empty-handed.

Juliana renounced her Holy Nation citizenship and was recognized as a refugee. Though the Holy Nation protested, Farma had preemptively documented her injuries, summoned a neutral third-country physician, and produced a detailed report, refusing to hand her over.

Thanks to Farma’s negotiations with the Empress, Juliana received Imperial citizenship a week later and was afforded protection at the palace. When she finally saw Salomon there, her face looked as if she had encountered a ghost.

“But the Grand Temple is outrageous. Perhaps they should be expelled from the capital altogether.”

The Empress was incensed upon hearing of Juliana’s plight and the assault she had suffered at the hands of Farma.

“Because she controls divine techniques, that is not so simple, Your Majesty,” Salomon replied.

The reason no country outside the Holy Nation, including the Empire, could challenge the temple openly was that the Holy Nation monopolized the techniques to open and close the divine ley lines. Without their priests, no newborn across the Empire could manifest divine powers that year. Even expelling just the capital priests would leave the vast Empire vulnerable. History had proven it: any nation that defied the Holy Nation and renounced divine arts quickly weakened, was overrun by neighboring states, and eventually submitted again.

Yet now the Empire held two powerful advantages. First, the cardinal priests who once could not betray the temple due to binding seals had, through Farma’s counter-charms, switched allegiance. Second, the former inquisitor Salomon—master of the full divine arts—was now an ally. With these two trump cards, the Empress resolved that now was the moment to act.

“Salomon, Juliana. I entrust you both with a secret mission.”

The Empress’s covert order to the former priests was clear: honor the Guardian God, abolish hollow rituals, restore the temple’s original teachings into a practical orthodoxy, and train capable divine practitioners as priests.

“The Guardian God resides in our nation. The Holy Nation will no longer have its way.”

Such an act, if discovered, risked giving the Holy Nation justification to rally international support against the Empire.

Unaware of these developments, Farma had arrived at the new semester of San Flouve Imperial Medical and Pharmaceutical University. He donned the university’s ceremonial mortarboard, robe adorned with the faculty emblem and gold embroidery. Ellen squealed with delight, snapping photos.

“You’re just doing this for fun, aren’t you?”

“Not at all! You look great, Professor Farma. That small-sized academic gown must be custom-made,” Ellen gushed.

“Of course it’s custom. And this isn’t even my enrollment ceremony—how many photos are you taking?!” Farma muttered.

He wondered how many other child professors there might be—surely none.

“What’s an enrollment ceremony anyway? Graduation is always so grand.”

“Oh, right. You don’t really hold enrollment ceremonies here,” Ellen said with a laugh. Farma recalled that, unlike in Japan, European nations rarely celebrated matriculation formally, since enrollment times varied.

At the appointed hour, he and Ellen proceeded to the main auditorium. Students were already gathering. As a faculty member, Farma ascended the stage alongside other professors and took his designated seat.

On schedule, the university bell rang. The national anthem played, and Bruno stepped onto the stage to deliver the president’s address. The vice president then read the names of the incoming students, who stood in turn.

The first-year students were as follows:

Faculty of Medicine: 30
Faculty of Pharmacy: 20
Faculty of Integrated Medical Sciences: 30
Faculty of Clinical Laboratory Sciences: 20

“One hundred students comprise the first-year class of San Flouve Imperial Medical and Pharmaceutical University. You are hereby admitted. The representative, valedictorian: Emerich Bauer.”

The valedictorian, receiving the admission certificate from Bruno with a nervous demeanor, was a student Farma recognized.

(So that’s the top student of the medical-pharmaceutical faculty… a very Germanic name.)

To Farma, he was still that “kid”—the same one who had thrown a tantrum on results day, refusing to attend Farma’s lectures because he couldn’t believe a child could be his teacher.

(It’s a relief that such a talented student didn’t drop out in a fit of anger.)

Afterward, a traditional belt embossed with the faculty emblem was ceremonially presented. Those who had survived the grueling entrance exams held the belt in awe, clutching it tightly.

This year, at Farma’s insistence, a special selection was made for commoner students without divine powers. They received the university’s standard belt rather than the emblematic staff belt, but they were treated equally; divine ability or lineage made no difference.

“With the university’s reorganization this semester, all faculties have been refreshed. We will now hear greetings from each dean.”

It was Farma’s turn to address the assembly. He felt a surge of excitement rising within him.

Chapter 5, Episode 11: Private Lesson with Emerich Bauer

Following the greetings from Claude, the dean of the medical faculty and chief court physician, and Bruno, the dean of the pharmaceutical faculty and university president, Farma, the dean of the Faculty of Integrated Medical and Pharmaceutical Sciences, stepped onto the stage, immediately drawing the attention of the new students.

Though the podium’s height seemed slightly unsuitable for a child, Farma stretched up a little and showed no concern. From the corner of the lecture hall, Ellen watched anxiously, worried he might do something unexpected, and their eyes met. Farma offered a small, reassuring smile, and Ellen seemed to understand: he was composed.

“Good day. I am Farma de’Medici, court pharmacist and newly appointed dean of this faculty. I look forward to working with you all.”

“Now, the Saint-Fluve Imperial University of Medicine and Pharmacy is undergoing a major overhaul—curricula reformation, faculty mergers and reorganizations—all aimed at establishing a global standard in medical and pharmaceutical education and research.”

Farma noticed the young man who had topped the entrance exam glaring at him from the audience, but he ignored him and continued speaking. The student’s expression clearly said he wanted nothing more than to avoid hearing this speech.

“Each medicine you handle holds the potential to heal patients suffering from the same illnesses across the world. Medicine possesses the power to heal—a chain of biochemical reactions between drug and body. You must understand these reactions, and from there, comprehend the phenomena occurring within the living body. Pharmacists, with solid knowledge and advanced skills, must harness this power, collaborating closely with all healthcare professionals in the faculty. You must learn to wield it properly. I intend to teach this thoroughly. Specifically…”

As usual, Farma’s speech began to stretch long. Ellen gestured discreetly, signaling him to wrap it up. It was typical: when Farma’s passion for pharmacy flared, he tended to speak at length. The students, noticing Bruno’s gesture inviting them to sit, settled into their seats while still listening.

But Farma’s speech did not end. The students listened intently, and those outside the Integrated Medical and Pharmaceutical Sciences faculty were quietly moved, impressed by his erudition. Among the pharmacy students, several even considered transferring into Farma’s faculty. Naturally, a few were already growing weary of the length.

“This has been enlightening, but we’ll continue during lectures, Professor Farma.”

Finally, Bruno intervened, gently but firmly ending the speech. Farma, absorbed in his own words, scratched the back of his head in mild embarrassment.

“My apologies. I got carried away. Please make the most of your learning here. I will be teaching five courses, including First-Year General Curriculum: Introduction to Basic Medical Sciences, Medical and Pharmaceutical Biology, and other specialized second-year lectures. I look forward to our classes and practical work together.”

Farma’s lectures, held in the main auditorium, were part of the university-wide required curriculum.

First and second years pursued general education, while third and fourth years focused on specialized courses. Fifth-year students undertook practical training, and after five years, they were eligible for the first- and second-class pharmacist exams. Admission began at age fourteen. Tuition was covered by the Empire, free of charge, on the condition that graduates serve five years as imperial medical personnel.

“All my first-year courses are mandatory. Failure to earn credits will result in immediate repetition. Make sure to complete all requirements.”

The first general guidance session of the semester ended. The central clock tower rang sharply, the bells’ bright tones mingling with the murmur of the garden stream and the birdsong drifting through the open windows. In the stately dean’s office cum professor’s chamber assigned to Farma, he, Ellen, and the faculty secretary chatted quietly.

“You handled yourself surprisingly well in front of all those teachers and students,” Ellen said.

“I’m used to dealing with students. It seems you get nervous easily, even if you usually act confident.”

“Hey, leave me alone!”

Farma laughed softly. Having taught lectures for years in a past life, he felt natural in the role, though his response was modest at best.

“Have you ever been a professor elsewhere?”

Zoe de’Dunois, carrying a tea set, asked, clearly impressed. She had been recently hired as Farma’s secretary, chosen for her intelligence and poise, her long light-blue hair pinned elegantly with a corsage, wearing a high-collared bustle-style dress exuding refined elegance.

“I’ve never been a professor,” Farma said. He did not mention that he had served as an associate professor. Zoe tilted her head, curious.

“Oh, he’s just… different. Not quite like other humans,” Ellen said vaguely, shielding Farma’s uniqueness from unnecessary scrutiny.

As the three sipped tea and relaxed, a knock sounded at the door.

“Excuse the sudden intrusion. Emerich Bauer,” a voice announced.

“Come in.”

Emerich entered and took a seat on the sofa, exhaling sharply.

“Dean Farma de’Medici, I have come to request approval for my withdrawal from the university.”

“Withdrawal? Already?”

Ellen’s glasses slid down her nose as if to say, What on earth?

“That’s quite sudden. Couldn’t you have withdrawn before the exams or enrollment?”

Farma’s tone was gentle but firm, rejecting the request outright.

“I’ve thought about it long enough. I have no time to waste. My decision is final.”

“Even so, you’ll need to submit a statement to the faculty council explaining your reason. Approval isn’t guaranteed. If it’s simply a whim, it will be denied.”

“My reason is clear: I chose the wrong path. I should have examined who authored this textbook. I wish to study personally under my elder brother.”

Emerich assumed Farma couldn’t possibly have authored the textbook himself. Mistakenly attributing authorship to Palle, listed as a co-author, he blurted this out boldly. Farma, however, remained unoffended.

“So you assume I couldn’t have written it, is that correct?”

“No, not at all,” Emerich replied, maintaining politeness to protect his brother Palle’s reputation, though his green eyes betrayed firm determination. At twelve, Farma still seemed too young to appear academically accomplished.

“Unfortunately, your brother isn’t taking apprentices. He is a skilled pharmacist but only became first-class six months ago. If you accept that, I will approve your request.”

Farma dipped his pen in ink, signed the request, and offered advice.

“Wait a minute. You’re judging Farma based on… his appearance?”

Ellen, silently observing, spoke with exasperation.

“Ellen, it’s fine. This is his chosen path. As a teacher, I only support him. Whether the council approves or not, if he’s lost this much motivation, I’ll submit the request.”

Emerich was undoubtedly talented, but forcing someone unwilling to learn achieves nothing. Furthermore, according to the documents Zoe had shown him, Emerich was already a first-class pharmacist abroad, with plenty of opportunities awaiting him at home.

(Trying to enter university but claiming there’s no time… what does he mean by that?)

Farma pondered briefly.

“Fine, I won’t argue, but remember this: don’t judge others by their appearance.”

Emerich seemed struck that Ellen—a highly regarded student, Bruno’s top disciple—defended Farma so passionately. He turned to Farma, seeming resolute.

“If it’s acceptable, may I request your guidance… in a divine arts match?”

“Why measure your skill with divine arts?”

Farma asked, emphasizing the purpose of the Integrated Faculty. Learning did not require divine arts. Why insist on testing through combat?

Emerich shook his head adamantly.

“A good pharmacist is also a good divine arts practitioner. It is common knowledge. If you refuse, I will accept it, but…”

“Do you even realize what you’re saying?” Ellen scolded him. Refusing meant avoiding a serious duel—a grave dishonor for a noble of age. Emerich’s intention was clear: he sought to embarrass the child, assuming superiority. Traditionally, an excellent pharmacist was also an exceptional divine arts user.

“If you wish to withdraw, I won’t stop you… but fine.”

Farma removed his jacket and vest, standing.

“Zoe, please arrange for the arena to be reserved.”

“Now? For what purpose?”

“A private lesson.”

“Understood. Shall I request deployment of a divine barrier to protect the audience and a standby physician for emergencies?”

Farma blinked.

“Divine barrier? What’s that?”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like. A protective wall so the gallery isn’t hit. You should definitely have it,” Ellen advised. Emerich was skilled enough to cause damage to university property if unrestrained.

“Then please make the arrangements.”

“Handle him gently. The Empire’s youngest professor is remarkably composed,” Emerich said smugly, satisfied with the turn of events.

“There’s a saying: ‘One is no fool to be called teacher.’ Since you’re withdrawing, you needn’t flatter me,” Farma replied, countering his sarcasm with a wry nod to a familiar adage.

“But one thing I want you to remember before leaving,” Farma said, turning his back and walking out of the office.

“Divine Arts Match! The Divine Arts Match is starting!”

The announcement, charged with electric excitement, spread like wildfire through the university.

Students and faculty alike, wherever they were on campus, began converging toward the outdoor arena, drawn by the buzz of the news.

“What’s all this commotion?”

From the window of the president’s office, Bruno frowned as he looked down over the courtyard.

“Divine arts combat training right at the start of the new term… It seems the new students are bursting with energy this year.”

The vice president shuffled papers signed by Bruno and prepared the materials for the various committees.

“Shall we watch the match, President?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have the time. Make sure each department is notified properly so that no one dies this year.”

As was typical, a divine arts match often claimed one or two casualties.

Combat between nobles was never safe. Even without malicious intent, lives could be at risk.

Yet Bruno never imagined that it would be his own son in the arena.

…━━…━━…━━…

A transparent, cylindrical divine arts array rose to cover the arena stage, shimmering into existence.

Inside the blue column of light, Farma and Emerich faced each other.

“Thank you for agreeing to this match,” Farma said calmly.

Emerich wore a confident, almost smug smile. Farma, stretching his arms in preparation, showed no hint of nervousness.

Both drew their staffs. Emerich split his long staff into two, wielding them as dual weapons. Farma remained unfazed, gripping his own staff lightly.

“The rules: no time limit. The match ends when one surrenders by letting go of their staff, the referee intervenes, or one combatant is incapacitated,” a referee appointed to oversee the arena announced.

Without a referee, these matches could become deadly. By Bruno’s orders, a supervising official was always present during such duels.

“Understood,” Farma replied clearly, nodding. The rules mirrored those he had practiced with Ellen and Palle during prior divine arts training.

“Begin!”

At the referee’s signal, Emerich immediately chanted his activation spell.

“Ersticken des Bereichs!” — Suffocating Domain

“Heilige Tornado!” — Sacred Tornado

A simultaneous double-casting with two staffs, both wind-element spells, and spoken not in the Imperial tongue but in the language of the Kingdom of Prossen.

“Ah, simultaneous dual-staff casting. Unusual,”

“An impressive practitioner,” murmured the observing faculty.

The suffocation spell would render victims unconscious, while the tornado would launch them skyward and slam them down. But Farma was immune to the suffocation technique. The referee was blown away, thrown outside the arena. The tornado’s force was immense, yet Farma feigned being swept off his feet, kicking off the ground to soar higher, taking the advantageous aerial position.

Farma’s staff was a unique piece crafted by a master staff-maker in the imperial capital. Even without a Pharmacist’s Staff, the ID card in his breast pocket provided levitation.

Farma floated, body light with captured wind.

“How… how is he staying airborne so long…? Is it Emerich’s tornado?”

“No! The professor is using the wind to his advantage,” the crowd realized, voices rising in astonishment. Emerich’s spells were having no effect.

“Question.”

Farma’s voice rang clearly from above, echoing through the arena.

“What is my elemental attribute?”

Raising a single finger, he peered down at Emerich. Then, without pause:

“L’énorme marteau d’eau!” — Great Water Hammer

Farma traced a perfect circle in the air with his staff, summoning a high-pressure water column aimed directly at Emerich.

“Impossible! That has to be water-element!”

Emerich dodged with swift footwork, but Farma anticipated every move, letting the water column descend just enough to remain a threat. Emerich, like prey under a raptor’s gaze, had no choice but to evade. The arena was ravaged; small craters marked the impact of Farma’s attacks.

“What… what kind of water pressure is that? The stage array—shattered! Is that really the Water Hammer technique?”

“No, that’s impossible… and Farma’s incantation barely audible. There’s no way such power could come from that…”

Even a whispered activation spell can work, though normally weaker pronunciation diminishes the power. Yet the crowd could scarcely comprehend the magnitude of his magic.

Emerich, battered from aerial attacks, realized that Farma had not intended to hit him at all.

“You weren’t trying to hit me, were you, Professor!”

“Were I not?” Farma replied lightly.

He floated down gracefully, landing as though freed from gravity itself. Emerich’s expression showed rising unease; Farma noted it easily.

“In a mutually agreed divine arts match, if you plan to fight moderately to avoid harming me, I will find that unsatisfactory. Come intending to kill, if you will,” Farma stated.

Farma’s perspective as a teacher aligned with the Japanese sense that a faculty member should not retaliate if struck by a student; he listened with mild surprise to Emerich’s words.

“I see. Then I will not hold back.”

Farma’s narrowed gaze caused Emerich to falter for an instant.

A quiet murmur from Farma’s lips produced a single shard of ice at his fingertip.

It grew, then doubled, then quadrupled.

“Ice swords?”

A basic water-element technique, well known to Emerich: sixteen ice knives intended to strike the opponent. But Farma’s creation continued exponentially, forming countless weapons around him.

If he unleashed them all, escape was impossible. Emerich’s composure vanished; panic replaced it. Farma slowly pointed a finger, lightly flicking his fingertip toward Emerich.

“T-this… technique… it’s… not divine arts…”

The dense barrage left no room for evasion. Ice knives shot at Emerich with lethal precision.

“Cannot… escape…”

The wind barrier he tried to erect was destroyed before completion. Just inches from his body, the knives paused; any movement would have meant instant death.

“Capture de glace!”

Emerich screamed as he was immobilized, encased in a massive icy prison.

Farma raised his staff like a billiard cue, aiming at him.

“La tempête en colère!” — Raging Storm

“What!?”

Emerich’s face contorted with fear. The water-element mage he thought he faced had unleashed wind magic. The ice mountain vanished just before he could react, leaving no time to escape. The blast slammed into him, obscuring vision.

And then he heard another terrible incantation:

“Enfer de brûlure!” — Scorching Blaze

Farma encircled Emerich in a wall of flames. Emerich conjured strong winds to disperse the fire, but the attacks kept coming.

“La conviction du ciel!” — Heaven’s Judgement

Fire-wrapped debris rained down from above—earth-element supreme divine arts. Emerich was caught in a barrage, suffering excruciating pain. He attempted to blow it away with wind, but noticed his divine power dwindling rapidly.

His guardian deity was the God of Medicine.

Against Farma, it resonated, draining Emerich’s divine power.

“Haa… my divine power… why…?”

“What’s wrong?”

Farma’s words, as if seeing through him completely, confirmed Emerich’s dread: Farma knew exactly how his powers worked.

“You should have come better prepared,” Farma said.

As long as his guardian deity was the God of Medicine, Emerich had no chance. The more he used his magic, the more divine power Farma absorbed. Palle, with extraordinary reserves, could withstand an hour against a Pharmacist’s Staff. Emerich exhausted his energy almost immediately. Still, judging by entrance assessments, Emerich was among the top mages in the academy.

“Now, the same question: what is my elemental attribute?”

Farma asked, letting the exhausted Emerich rest. Having seen Farma execute all four elemental arts flawlessly, Emerich could not answer.

The audience slowly realized the impossibility of what they were witnessing: no mage could wield all four elements. Emerich was frozen, trembling with disbelief and exhaustion.

“When I first attacked with water, you said it was water-element,” Farma reminded him.

Emerich’s lips quivered, unable to speak in rebuttal.

“But… you tricked me.”

Farma’s attacks had all been illusions, mere manipulations of material creation and deletion, disguised as other elemental divine arts.

The fire spells? Simply the creation of explosive and flammable substances. The wind spells? Generated and then erased massive icebergs to create vacuums, lowering air pressure to summon storms. The earth spells? Material creation to rain down ore.

He had paired these with the incantations of existing divine arts to make them appear authentic.

Emerich, unaware of the ruse, gazed at him as one would a great sage.

“Professor Farma… could it be… that you can really use all the elements?”

“Of course not,” Farma said with a faint, enigmatic smile, leaving the truth deliberately ambiguous.

“That’s a lie… you really could use all the elements! Then… what is your true element?”

“You’ve lost track, haven’t you? That’s exactly the lesson I want you to take with you. No matter where life takes you after leaving this university, never view the world lightly based on what you thought you knew.”

Farma drew a straight line across the arena with his staff, standing before the cornered Emerich.

In an instant, the stage vanished beyond that line, and Emerich fell out of bounds.

“If you want to accomplish great deeds and help more people…”

Emerich, off the stage and having lost his grip on his staff, was judged to have forfeited the match.

“P-Professor Farma de’Medici… wins!”

The referee declared the victory, and Farma lowered his staff.

“Your withdrawal request will be accepted. I will submit it to the faculty council, but is that truly what you want?”

Farma held up a parchment with his signature, showing it to Emerich.

“May I… withdraw it?”

Emerich shook his head violently, voice hoarse as he pleaded.

“I want to learn from you. I was wrong… Professor Farma. Please forgive my insolence.”

Farma acknowledged Emerich’s resolve, then created a burst of flammable matter, and with a quiet satisfaction, burned the withdrawal request to ashes.

“The private lesson is over. The rest of the class will continue in the classroom.”

The divine arts array dissolved, scattering fragments of blue light into the air.

Emerich stood, bowing deeply until Farma had completely disappeared from view, humbled and awed by the ordeal he had just experienced.

Chapter 5, Episode 12: The Curse of the Alchemy God

“Professor, I have an important matter to discuss.”

On the second day of the new semester, Zoe appeared in Farma’s dean’s office, clutching a report from the administration. For some reason, her face was unusually pale.

“Please, stay calm and listen,” she said.

“Uh… okay… What’s wrong? You look serious…”

Farma had been diligently preparing lecture materials with Eren, discussing the teaching plans back and forth, trying to perfect every detail.

“Yesterday, we received the repair estimate for the stage that was destroyed during the divine arts match. The stage needs a complete replacement, with special divine-art modifications. The total comes to thirty-three million fluns.”

“Whaaaat!? That much!?”

Eren’s scream echoed through the professor’s office.

A flun is the currency of the San-Flouve Empire. One flun is roughly equivalent to twenty Japanese yen, meaning the repairs would cost around 660 million yen.

“Ah… right… we really did destroy the stage…”

Farma remembered the events of the previous day and slumped onto his desk, utterly defeated.

“What kind of divine arts caused the stage to need a full replacement? Was it… your divine art, Professor? Or the student’s? With the special modifications, it shouldn’t have been damaged so easily,”

Zoe kept asking, unable to believe what she was hearing. She had been buried in paperwork and hadn’t witnessed Farma and Emerich’s clash firsthand. Eren patted Zoe on the shoulder, acknowledging her shock.

“This is just how Farma-kun is. He seems calm and polite, right? Don’t be fooled, Zoe. He’s ridiculously reckless sometimes. Being his secretary must be a headache.”

Eren was indulging in a little escapism.

“And you think you can talk about me, Eren?”

Farma, seeing Eren’s record of dueling Palle to a standstill, knew better than to let her lecture him.

“Ah… I see… that’s quite something,”

Zoe muttered, half exasperated. She was a wind-element divine arts user, not particularly suited for combat, a gentle humanities type. She certainly wouldn’t have caused any damage to the university like Farma had, not on her first day.

“I probably should have suggested a different location… I tried yelling from outside ‘don’t break the stage!’ but the divine-art barrier must’ve blocked my voice. If it were a student or teacher match, that’d be one thing—but Farma-kun was the opponent. There was no way the stage wouldn’t end up ruined… You’d need the purchasing power to buy an entire island just to survive this. And I’m not exaggerating,”

Eren regretted failing to anticipate Farma and Emerich’s moves the day before.

“Farma-kun, you were so focused on not injuring the student that you lost control of your divine art?”

“I had no choice but to damage the stage. I wanted them to see its power and dodge. Taking it head-on would’ve been dangerous.”

“On purpose!? That makes it even worse!”

The training should have been done in a place that could safely handle destruction. When Eren trained with Farma, they always used deserted islands, confirming no ships were nearby.

“That was a poor decision. Sorry. I won’t do it again.”

Zoe pulled out her ledger and began making rough calculations.

“The research budget for your course is ten million fluns, the dean’s discretionary funds are eight million, and last year’s rollover is five hundred thousand. If you use the research funds, that’s a substantial expenditure. External donations total fifty-four million fluns—do you want to use that?”

“Wait. The external donations… haven’t they increased?”

It had previously been around ten million fluns.

“The Emperor’s donation is fifty million, transferred to the account recently,”

Farma felt he no longer needed royal donations, yet refusing was out of the question. Offending the Emperor could spark a scandal requiring Farma and Bruno to apologize at the palace.

“I’ll have to thank His Majesty… but I can’t spend research funds or donations on this. I want to leave even a single flun for the students. I’ll pay the repair costs myself. Other students who want to use the stage for divine arts matches will be out of luck for a while…”

“The martial arts and staff arts clubs will suffer the most,”

Eren pouted. As an alum of the Imperial Pharmaceutical School, she knew the situation well.

“Right, the clubs… I’ll tell the students they can use the riverside grounds if they want to practice or compete,”

Farma instructed Zoe.

“Understood. I’ll notify the office about the vacant lot at De’Medicis Manor, No. 4. I’ll also get the forms for personal payment. Lastly… the dean wants to see you,”

Zoe added reluctantly.

“Zoe, you should’ve said that first! I get it’s awkward, but still!”

Eren looked like all the life had been drained from her.

Farma told Eren and Zoe to wait in the room and went alone to the dean’s office.

“Fool!”

Bruno was already furious when Farma arrived.

“I apologize…”

Farma bowed deeply.

“What kind of world allows a new professor to incur thirty-three million fluns in damages on the first day, just by reacting to a student’s cheap provocation! From day one, utterly reckless… no, thoughtless!”

Bruno caught himself mid-lecture, realizing his son wasn’t exactly mature either.

“However, Dean, I’ve been told the student was partly at fault. So perhaps we can treat this as part of their education,”

Bruno’s secretary tried to calm him.

“No matter what the student said, was it necessary to humiliate them through a divine arts match?”

Bruno clearly understood that Farma’s divine power, uncontrolled in the outdoor arena, could have caused casualties. Luckily, the student was unharmed.

“I destroyed the stage myself and will cover the repair costs personally. Emerich sustained no damage,”

Although the rules stated repair costs should be split, charging Emerich would have disrupted his studies, no matter his family wealth. Farma resolved that next time, he should arrange a deserted location—desert, wasteland, or an island—to avoid similar incidents.

“Also, look at this,”

Bruno handed Farma a stack of parchment.

“Transfer requests. Over twenty students across the university want to transfer.”

Most requests came from Bruno’s traditional pharmacy department to Farma’s Comprehensive Medical Science Department.

“In just one day. Normally transfers aren’t allowed, but many students want to study under you. Conversely, some want to leave your department. Read their reasons.”

Farma was completely unprepared for this.

Comments from students wishing to transfer in included:

“I want to study under a professor who is a brilliant divine artist and a great sage.”
“I was inspired by the guidance lecture.”
“I want to learn revolutionary pharmaceutical methods from a professor using divine arts I’ve never seen before.”
Comments from those wishing to leave:

“I can’t keep up with Professor Farma’s divine arts class.”
“When Professor Farma defeated Emerich, I feared this was his teaching style.”
“I couldn’t focus on class, worried about angering him.”
“One student even wants to withdraw entirely. They said, ‘I feared that without divine arts, I wouldn’t be recognized as an alchemist. I lack confidence in graduating.’”

Farma was speechless.

“Was the match with Emerich corporal punishment or education? Even with restraint, your mastery over all elements is overwhelming. You don’t intend to rule through fear, do you?”

Bruno understood Farma’s intentions but lamented the misunderstanding among students.

“I cannot actually use all elements; it’s more like magic tricks,”

Farma explained. Bruno nodded, troubled.

“Even if you treat it as a trick, students who don’t know you will see it as using unknown arts to humiliate inexperienced students.”

Farma winced, realizing his grave mistake.

“All transfer and withdrawal requests are denied at my discretion. Transfers after enrollment are not allowed.”

Bruno had already signed each request “disapproved.”

“Meet with those students personally to restore trust and return them to their original state,”

Farma arranged for prospective transfer students to observe lectures, experiments, and practicals in their desired department, adjusting schedules to avoid conflicts.

“So, thoroughly chewed out?”

“Completely dried out,”

Farma’s exhausted expression earned a dry smile from Eren.

“Your master’s lectures really pierce you, don’t they? Did you dry up and lose your ability to use water-element divine arts?”

Eren’s teasing carried warmth and encouragement.

“I need to persuade the transfer students,”

Farma spent the day in individual meetings with students on campus, and visited the homes of those absent without leave. Eren accompanied him, smoothing over tensions so students and parents wouldn’t stiffen at Farma’s presence.

“Finally, the last one. Is this the right address?”

They reached the outskirts of the imperial capital, where a student’s lodging awaited. Darkness had fallen.

“Thanks, Eren. Sorry for making you come along; I know you had plans today,”

“You’re part of the same team. I arranged substitutes for house visits anyway. I can’t let you go alone,”

Farma appreciated the quiet care and thoughtfulness in her actions.

“G-go away!”

The last student, a commoner, was on the verge of a breakdown.

“Sorry for the late hour, I’d like to talk,”

“I said go away! I won’t return to the university. It has nothing to do with me,”

Her voice was hoarse, trembling with extreme tension.

“Please reconsider withdrawing. This department doesn’t require divine arts. You entered with excellent grades; you can keep up with classes,”

“I can’t believe it… The Imperial Medical School is for nobles, not commoners like me. I was arrogant to think it was fair… but I’ve woken up.”

The student’s voice trembled behind the door.

“Students without divine arts can substitute with physical skills. I will never use my staff against a non-divine arts student,”

“…Really?”

The door creaked open.

At last, all students were persuaded, and the transfer requests resolved.

“Thanks for today, Eren. I owe you one,”

“Don’t mention it. I got to meet all the students too. Go to bed early, Farma-kun. Good night,”

Eren smiled, mounted her white horse, and rode off.

(Fighting divine arts in education… it’s really difficult. I still have much to learn…)

Farma reflected deeply as he rode home that night.

He had underestimated the responsibility of being a university professor. In his past life, he had been confident in his pharmaceutical education, well-received every year.

But here, teaching students of equivalent intellect with modern expectations was different. Some could wield divine arts, some could not; skill in divine arts directly influenced one’s medical abilities.

Farma sought to treat all students equally despite an unequal starting line. Had he been wrong?

He returned to his darkened manor, quietly entering through the front door so as not to wake anyone. Lights glowed in the couple’s room.

“Welcome home, Farma. You look tired. Have you eaten?”

Beatrice peered out from inside.

“Shall we have a drink?”

Bruno offered. Tomorrow was a day off, and Beatrice was planning to join him for an evening tipple.

Bruno and Beatrice took wine, while Farma sipped grape juice, nibbling on some cheese. He felt like drowning his exhaustion in alcohol, just for a moment.

(But then again… I probably wouldn’t get drunk anyway…)

His body was nearly immune to both poison and medicine. He couldn’t be knocked unconscious by alcohol, nor could his memory be erased.

“Have the students’ misunderstandings been cleared up?”

“Yes. They’ve agreed to come to the university. Eleonore-sensei helped out, too.”

“No matter how many accomplishments you rack up, losing trust happens in an instant,”

Bruno said, taking a sip of wine. For anyone trying something new, suspicion and doubt from those around were constant companions. Beatrice listened quietly.

“Emerich Bauer… he challenged you?”

“Yes, in a way. But I understand his feelings. After all… I’m still a child,”

Farma said, half in self-mockery.

“He said he had no time. When you meet him next, I suggest you ask him in detail. That may be part of his motivation,”

Farma considered that Emerich might have been acting out of urgency.

“Even if you don’t ask, he’ll come to you for guidance. When that time comes, I want you to be ready with a better answer. That’s why I’m telling you now.”

Farma tilted his head, wondering what exactly his father knew.

“From my research, he is historically known as someone born under a divine curse,”

Bruno’s words hung in the air, and Farma echoed them, a beat late.

“A… curse?”

(…Of course, in this world, that’s possible.)

“Oh my! May the gods watch over him,”

Beatrice clasped her hands, making a prayerful gesture at the mention of a curse. In the old Farma’s world, he would have laughed off such superstition—but here, divine arts, curses, and malevolent spirits were real. Denying the existence of a curse was impossible.

“However, my examinations and tests showed no evidence of a curse. Emerich is already an alchemist, so he likely shares the same conclusion. If a priest were asked to lift the curse, an inquisition might be called…”

“You’ve already investigated, Father?”

Bruno, using potion-based diagnostics, could distinguish whether a condition was caused by malevolent spirits or disease. Differential diagnosis between spirits and sickness—he said that was the essential skill for any divine-art-using alchemist in this world.

“We must uncover the truth behind the curse affecting Emerich’s lineage.”

Bruno had already taken precautions. He required Emerich to submit a family tree going back four generations, under strict confidentiality, for enrollment purposes. If a curse truly existed, bringing it into the university would be an enormous risk. Investigating it was Bruno’s responsibility, having authorized Emerich’s enrollment. It was essential, even if it required questioning Emerich directly.

“Bauer—is that a false name?”

Farma frowned at the family tree. Emerich’s lineage did not originate in the Kingdom of Prossen, but among the high nobility of the Kingdom of Spain. His real family name was Solé, a common surname in Spain.

“Yes. I permitted him to use a pseudonym. Emerich hides his true name to escape the family curse… a desperate measure,”

Farma imagined the weight of Emerich’s burden. His family, notorious for the curse, had been forced to flee Spain for Prossen.

“What kind of curse is it?”

“I’ve heard it is dreadful. No exorcism can stop it; within a year, the victim slowly goes mad, day and night, body convulsing, mind unraveling, until death comes from exhaustion. But the truth remains shrouded. Emerich has already lost most of his father and relatives to this curse. The family has declined, yet he has siblings. Wanting to save them from the same fate is why he feels pressed for time—it is understandable.”

Next to the names on the family tree, the usual temple symbols marked the deceased. But some marks were unfamiliar. Farma’s eyes widened.

“This mark… is different from ordinary death?”

“Indeed. It indicates death caused by a malevolent spirit. Such deaths cannot be concealed, for the temple treats them as significant. Emerich likely wished to hide it, but he trusted me enough to reveal it.”

Farma read through the generations: a great-grandfather died of the curse, two of three great-grand aunts, the grandmother, most of her siblings, the father, and most of his brothers—all succumbing to the same malevolent fate. Emerich had five younger siblings; he was the eldest.

(No wonder Emerich feels time is short… Perhaps the curse manifests after forty.)

“Terrifying…”

Farma shuddered for the afflicted. All victims’ guardian deities had been the Medicine God, aligned with water or wind.

“All the cursed ones were under the protection of the Medicine God?”

“Yes. Ancient records call it the Medicine God’s curse. I feel sorrow, as one who shares the same attributes, knowing how unfairly his lineage was treated. Even four generations back, the pattern persisted—and records show it extends further.”

*(I feel the pain too… What did his family do to deserve this?) *

Farma, wielder of the Medicine God’s staff, user of divine and secret arts, and regarded by the temple as closely linked to—or perhaps an incarnation of—the Medicine God, felt the weight keenly.

(Yet it’s odd. I didn’t see a dark shadow on Emerich. Then he’s not cursed.)

If a malevolent spirit were present, it would manifest as a shadow overlapping Emerich before Farma, regardless of its power. Emerich saw no such shadow.

“Besides, he wielded potent divine arts. Cursed ones should be unable to use divine arts… I can only hope his fear was mistaken.”

Bruno nodded, sipping his wine, seemingly agreeing. Beatrice, already asleep on the sofa, didn’t make a sound.

“And I think he doesn’t even believe he’s cursed,”

Farma said with conviction. Emerich may have performed a diagnostic test like Bruno’s and found no sign of a curse—or realized the Medicine God’s protection through his own divine power.

If it were a real curse, Farma’s staff could intervene. He had some confidence in purifying such afflictions. Yet… looking at Emerich’s photograph, Farma shook his head.

“Otherwise, he wouldn’t have enrolled in the Comprehensive Medical Science Department. He’s a healer—he must see this as a disease.”

“I see. Even you, who met him directly, cannot make a diagnosis?”

“I couldn’t tell at a glance,”

Farma admitted. Perhaps he had overlooked something. When he confronted Emerich, he had examined him physically—found nothing. Emerich was in perfect health, aside from some mild back pain.

(My diagnostic vision may not detect pre-symptomatic illness…)

Unless the disease manifests, Farma cannot perceive it. His ability only activates when someone in need of treatment exists. Until now, he’d assumed he could detect illness even before symptoms—perhaps not.

He needed to meet Emerich again, investigate thoroughly, and preserve his remaining life by every means, free from prejudice.

“Farma… can you lift the Medicine God’s curse on his family?”

Bruno’s eyes narrowed with curiosity. It was not a mere test of magic; it was a message of trust.

“I will… absolutely. I am his mentor, after all,”

Farma said, forcing a confident tone.

“Moreover, regardless of the nature of the Medicine God who appeared in the past, or what his ancestors may have done, I do not believe the God would curse generations of humans. Descendants bear no guilt.”

“Yes… I hope it is nothing but an illusion,”

Bruno nodded, closing his eyes. Farma thanked him, returned the family tree, and went to his room.

He studied the tree, jotted notes, and formed a single terrifying hypothesis:

(Could this be… a lethal autosomal dominant hereditary disease…?)

Farma placed his pen down slowly, controlling his excitement. Even if his diagnostic vision could not currently perceive the genetic curse embedded in Emerich, there might be a way to detect it preemptively, stop the ticking time bomb, and seal it forever.

Somewhere—in the lab where the otherworldly and this world were connected—there might be a method.

Chapter 5, Episode 13: Treatment—None

The new semester had begun at the San-Fluve Imperial University of Pharmaceutical Sciences, and the first day of lectures had arrived.

Farma, newly appointed professor and owner of a pharmacy, couldn’t simply spend the entire day at the university. He handled the pharmacy in the mornings, reserving all his lectures for the afternoons.

“All right, I’ll leave the rest to you. I expect Ellen back this afternoon, so she can cover for me. I’ll change and head to the university.”

Having finished the morning consultations, Farma handed off instructions to his apprentice pharmacists.

The appointments for severely ill patients, whose conditions might take a sudden turn for the worse, had all been scheduled in the morning.

“Yes, Master. We’ll handle everything. Have a good day at the university,” Rebecca said, rising politely to see him off.

“Do your best with the lectures! And if any noisy students act up, don’t hesitate to knock some sense into them! Make sure no one underestimates you,” Celst added, clenching his fists with exaggerated vigor in his intimidating encouragement.

“Right, off I go,” Roger said with a yawn, waving casually. Farma mused that his apprentice pharmacists were both reliable and… not particularly reliable at the same time. Still, with Ellen scheduled to cover in the afternoon, he felt at least a measure of relief.

“If a critically ill patient comes in that even Ellen can’t handle, send them to the university immediately.”

“Understood! Any patient we can’t handle, we’ll send them right away!”

“Send them immediately.”

“Before it’s too late.”

(Farma couldn’t help but think: these three give up far too quickly…)

With a complex mix of concern and resignation, Farma began to prepare himself.

“Master Farma, how’s the university? Have you made about a hundred friends yet?”

On the second floor of the pharmacy, Lotte cheerfully addressed him as she folded his lab coat neatly while he hurriedly changed from white coat into regular clothes.

(A hundred friends? He’s not in elementary school… but that’s so like Lotte…)

“I intend to get along well with both students and staff. At first… well, things were a bit complicated,” Farma said, recalling Emerich and the students as he stuffed various papers and printouts into his bag.

“Have you been dozing off in class? If you feel sleepy, you could try pinching your cheeks. It’ll make you cry, but it’ll keep you awake!”

“Me? I don’t sleep in class.”

“Well, since you’re sleep-deprived, I wondered if you might nod off.”

“I’m usually the one waking up students who fall asleep.”

“I wonder what it’s like there—your university, Master Farma,” Lotte said, curious as ever.

Still, Farma couldn’t exactly bring Lotte into his workplace.

(Oh, but the cafeteria is open to the public. Maybe I could take her there…)

“Want to visit the university cafeteria during lunch? The bread’s delicious, and the desserts are wonderful. Outsiders are allowed, too.”

“Wow! Really? That’s okay? Then please take me! I’ll walk home afterward!”

“Let’s go.”

Farma mounted Lotte on his horse and rode through the imperial capital’s streets, heading toward the Imperial University of Pharmaceutical Sciences. To an observer, it might have looked like two students commuting—but it was still his work commute.

“Wow! What an incredible school! It’s so huge, getting around must be exhausting!”

Lotte bounced with excitement, thrilled to be at a proper school for the first time.

“The faculties were recently reorganized and some newly established, so the campus is quite new,” Farma said as he walked her through the grounds.

Lotte was especially captivated by the university’s botanical garden, where various herbs were cultivated around a large pond dotted with water lilies, forming a scenic, serene landscape.

“If I painted this, it would make a wonderful landscape for His Majesty!”

“Bring a canvas next time and do it,” Farma said, amused. Lotte’s recent paintings had begun to adopt Impressionist techniques, and Farma looked forward to seeing her capture the water lilies in her own style.

“Greetings, Professor Medicis.”

“I’m looking forward to today’s lecture,” students greeted him politely as he walked through the campus. Some still remembered the incident from the other day and grew nervous, sweating at the mere sight of him. Farma chose to leave those students alone, hoping that the lecture would reassure them he wasn’t a threat.

“They all seem to know about Master Farma. Even though your work just started, they clearly admire you,” Lotte said, unaware of the subtle tension beneath the surface.

“Ha… maybe,” Farma replied. (If anything, they’re probably just scared of me.)

“I find it strange seeing you interact with adult students as their teacher,” Lotte continued.

“It’s strange for me, too. How did it come to this? Anyway, let’s eat. There isn’t much time before the next lecture,” Farma said, guiding her toward the cafeteria at the center of the campus.

Until last year, the San-Fluve Imperial Pharmaceutical School had no cafeteria; students either brought their own lunches or ate off-campus. This year, Bruno had personally funded the construction of the cafeteria, bustling with life. The new facility allowed commoner students to eat well-nourished meals, ensuring they could focus on their studies without resorting to meager fare. Farma admired Bruno’s foresight.

The cafeteria operated as a buffet; a modest fee granted unlimited access. Lotte’s delight was boundless.

“Wow! So many dishes! These rolls are so white and fluffy! And this orange juice—is it fresh-squeezed? Oh, and the high-quality milk used at the palace!”

Her plate overflowed with bread and all the side dishes she could reach.

“Can you really eat all that? Need some help?”

“Hehe, I piled it on too much! But I’ll savor it and eat everything.”

She ate each bite with closed eyes, savoring every flavor.

“You always look so happy. Do you ever worry about anything?” Farma asked quietly.

Lotte’s eyes darted around comically.

“…Hmm, I thought about it, but I really don’t have any!”

“Ha, good to hear. We’ll come here again sometime.”

“Yes! I’ll finish all my food, and then we can walk back to the pharmacy! You focus on work, Master Farma. When you get back, I’ll have some delicious tea waiting!”

“You really are a comfort, Lotte,” Farma said, smiling.

As they ate, Emerich Bauer passed outside the cafeteria window, staring at Lotte’s face and tilting his head repeatedly before moving on.

“Do you know that student?” Farma asked.

“No? I wonder what that was about. He didn’t seem like a customer,” Lotte said, shrugging while continuing to eat.

“Good afternoon, everyone. Let’s begin Introduction to Basic Medical Sciences I.”

Farma’s lecture was attended by all first-year students across faculties and held in the grand auditorium. Some sessions were open to all licensed pharmacists across the empire, creating fierce competition for seats from early morning at the gates. Those who secured a seat wore triumphant expressions. Farma spotted guild members and even Guildmaster Pierre among them.

(This isn’t just full… this is overflowing…)

He gestured for students to squeeze together to make room and stow their belongings under the desks. Even so, some instructors brought their own chairs, spreading textbooks on the desks in front of them.

“You here are present or future doctors, pharmacists, technicians, or researchers. You will investigate the causes of diseases, diagnose and treat them, or work to prevent them socially. In all cases, you will confront the phenomenon of life itself.”

Emerich sat in the front, taking notes diligently. Josephine, the veterinarian, nodded attentively a few rows back. Farma drew a simple, featureless human figure on the blackboard.

“Yes, a human. But what is it really made of?” he asked, turning to the students and audience.

“The human body is entirely composed of chemical substances. Atoms combine into molecules, which form macromolecules such as proteins, carbohydrates, lipids, and nucleic acids. These macromolecules assemble into cells, the basic units of life. Within each cell, water—making up sixty percent of body weight—acts as a catalyst for constant, complex biochemical reactions.”

“We cannot fully grasp all chemical reactions occurring in the human body. But life obeys the laws of natural science. Understanding disease and establishing treatments require that we first consider these laws.”

Some students furiously transcribed Farma’s words at lightning speed—stenographers hired by Bruno, tasked with recording every lecture word-for-word and photographing all blackboard notes for the university archives. Bruno anticipated the possibility of Farma’s eventual absence, leaving nothing to chance.

(Thanks to Bruno, even if I disappear someday, the lectures will continue, and future instructors can take over. That alone justifies taking this professorship.)

“To design drugs that treat disease, you must first understand how these chemicals interact with biochemical processes in the body.”

Farma explained why basic sciences were essential before studying medicine and pharmacology: applied science cannot exist without understanding its fundamentals.

“Let’s begin with the structure of proteins.”

That day’s lecture focused on the understanding of biological substances. Students scribbled notes furiously. Some, who had hoped to quickly learn treatments for intractable diseases under Farma, were disheartened to realize the long path to mastering medicine and pharmacology. Voices of despair whispered through the auditorium: “I won’t be able to keep up… I might fail this course.”

Gradually, they began to comprehend, even if dimly, why Farma’s medicines actually worked.

“Questions after the lecture, please.”

As the bell rang, multiple students and pharmacists immediately sprang to their feet.

“Professor, a question!” “Professor Medicis! I didn’t understand the latter part!” “Professor! Please explain more about peptide bond formation!”

A crowd gathered around Farma’s lectern. Amid answering them individually, he noticed Emerich waiting quietly in a corner of the hall.

Farma waited until he had attended to every student before calling Emerich over.

“Bauer, do you need something?”

“Professor… I need to speak with you. Could you spare a moment?”

Once the students had dispersed, Emerich approached Farma with a weight pressing down on his expression.

“First, I must apologize. I heard that you covered the repair costs from the Divine Arts match I instigated the other day. I should have borne that burden myself… I don’t know how to properly make amends.”

Gone was the arrogant, defiant attitude Emerich had shown just days before; he now seemed subdued, almost like a different person.

“That’s alright. I broke it, so you shouldn’t have to pay. More importantly, were you injured?”

Emerich appeared unharmed. Farma had taken care to prevent any injury, so this was the greatest relief.

“And the matter you wished to discuss?”

“It concerns a topic further along in the curriculum, but may I consult with you about genetic diseases?”

Emerich had brought a textbook with him.

“Not a question, but a consultation? Very well.”

They sat together in the dimming lecture hall. The textbook Emerich had brought was already worn to tatters, evidently from intense study.

“I have read your textbook cover to cover. There is so much I cannot understand without attending your lectures, but the book itself is extraordinary. It has helped me with diagnoses, and I’ve attempted some of the treatments suggested within.”

“That’s good to hear… and quite impressive. It’s been less than six months since publication, and you’ve already studied it this thoroughly.”

Even Farma, the author, was astonished by Emerich’s diligence.

“Actually, I believe I come from a lineage afflicted with a genetic disease… Some in my family say it’s an inescapable curse placed upon us…”

“I don’t think it’s a curse. After all, you’re so adept at Divine Arts—if you were cursed, you wouldn’t be able to use them.”

Farma felt relieved to know Emerich himself did not consider it a curse and aligned himself with the young man.

“I want to know exactly which genetic disease this is, and I want to free my family from it.”

“I see. Could you tell me about your family history? Let’s start with those who are thought to have died from the illness.”

Farma cross-referenced the details Emerich provided with the family records he had already obtained from Bruno.

“Next, tell me the symptoms shared by those affected,” Farma instructed.

“Of course.”

According to Emerich, family members past middle age would feel an unrelenting heat throughout their bodies. Their pulses would race, pupils constrict, and before long their bodies would become uncooperative, unable to walk unaided. Day and night blurred together as sleep became impossible. Even with sedatives, they could not rest. Within a year, their bodies would be utterly exhausted, and death was inevitable.

From what he heard, Farma suspected a disease immediately.

His textbook described it as a rare autosomal dominant condition—a form of hereditary prion disease. In families predisposed to this illness, a mutation in the gene encoding normal prions leads to the production of abnormal prions. These accumulate in the thalamus, destroying neurons and disrupting the brain’s ability to command sleep, resulting in fatal insomnia.

“Based on these symptoms, what do you suspect, Professor?”

“From what you’ve told me, I would suspect Fatal Familial Insomnia.”

“You think so too, Professor…”

A chill ran through Emerich’s blood. His expression was as if he had received a death sentence.

“However, this isn’t a confirmed diagnosis. Also, if it truly is this disease, it’s autosomal dominant. Yet the incidence in your family seems unusually high.”

In autosomal dominant inheritance, a mutation in just one of the paired parental genes guarantees manifestation of the disease, with a 50% probability for any child, regardless of gender. Yet in Emerich’s family tree, nearly every member in each generation had been affected.

“Perhaps there are descendants not listed in this family tree,” Farma considered. Including them might bring the incidence closer to 50%.

Emerich’s eyes widened.

“Yes. I’ve heard that some children were exiled. Those whose divine channels did not open were sent to orphanages…”

In noble families, children failing to manifest divine abilities were often disowned to avoid shame, with records erased once discovered.

“Could we contact those descendants? I want to know whether those without divine channels developed the disease—probably not.”

If Emerich’s family indeed had Fatal Familial Insomnia, the lack of disease among those not disowned would suggest they had not developed it.

“Records exist of which orphanages they were sent to. If the records are intact…”

It was not impossible to trace the exiled descendants.

“You are not symptomatic yet, and we don’t even know if the mutation has been inherited. A definitive diagnosis is difficult. Anyone currently suffering?”

“No one in the family is affected at present. The last case was my father… he passed away three years ago…”

Emerich handed Farma his father’s final medical records, his voice breaking as he fought back tears.

Farma read through them. They chronicled a harrowing, almost one-sided battle—Emerich’s father deteriorated helplessly, consumed by despair.

“My father, a pharmacist, couldn’t sleep and was exhausted, but he fought to survive. I administered medications to him, regardless of side effects, based on all the knowledge I had.”

Emerich’s treatment logs read like desperate experiments—trial and error with potions, herbs, even heavy metals. It was less treatment than human experimentation.

Still, not even for a single day, or a few hours, could his father sleep.

“If only I had met you sooner…”

Farma had not yet existed in this world while Emerich’s family suffered.

“Professor… please tell me… now it’s my turn… and my siblings’…”

Emerich asked each word as if weighing it carefully.

“Is there… a medicine that can cure this disease?”

His eyes seemed to plead, almost praying.

Farma met his gaze directly, unflinching.

“No.”

He spoke the single word with absolute certainty, mercilessly and without hesitation.

“…It’s over…”

Emerich collapsed onto the floor, clutching his textbooks. He realized the fate awaiting him and his siblings, a dark abyss into which they were about to be drawn. The medical charts slipped from his hands, scattering across the lecture hall floor.

Even in that moment of despair, he left Farma a sort of final request:

“If I ever develop symptoms, I will end my life before the disease progresses. Please, Professor… perform an autopsy on me. Examine my body, and study this illness.”

Farma carefully gathered the scattered charts, one by one.

“I merely stated the truth: that currently, no treatment exists,” he said, organizing the papers and returning them to Emerich.

Perhaps Emerich, having studied the textbook so thoroughly, had already begun to glimpse ideas for drug development. Farma decided to test him:

“For this, currently incurable disease, what kind of drug do you think could work?”

“I… I don’t know… It’s overwhelming. But if this disease arises from accumulation of abnormal prions and neuronal damage… perhaps delaying onset first… and after onset, creating a drug to degrade prions, or inhibit their effect on neurons…”

Emerich’s thinking had begun to approach that of modern Earth pharmacologists. In fact, this was precisely the approach under investigation in current clinical studies.

“Yes, that’s a start. There are several approaches: delaying onset, destroying or neutralizing abnormal prions, or better yet, correcting the gene mutation before onset.”

“The gene… the blueprint of life… how could we…?”

With seventy trillion cells, altering every genetic abnormality was impossible. Even modern medicine could not do it. That was why, as of now, there was no treatment.

Farma had long studied prion diseases and drug development in life, yet it remained a formidable challenge. Unless the gene mutation itself was corrected, all treatment was merely symptomatic.

Encouraging the anxious Emerich, Farma said:

“No medicine exists—that is the starting point of drug discovery.”

Rather than resorting to suicide, he urged Emerich to face the disease, experiment, and strive to overcome it with his own hands. Farma’s words were comforting, but he intended them to be more than mere consolation.

“Let’s check whether your genes carry the mutation. Can we contact your sister and younger siblings?”

“Yes, they’ve moved nearby.”

“Bring them to the lab. I want to extract DNA from cells and analyze it. We need to confirm whether our hypothesis is correct—whether the mutation for Fatal Familial Insomnia is truly present.”

Using the interdimensional lab’s advanced equipment, they could investigate genetic mutations despite only a brief window of time. Traveling to the other world risked Farma’s existence in the current one, but this was a matter of urgent concern for his student.

“I’ll bring them immediately,” Emerich said, resolute in confronting the disease that might consume him. Time was slipping away.

Onset could come at any moment.

If it did, death would follow.

Yet it was far too early to give up.

“By the way… the girl you were eating with earlier—is she a friend of yours?”

Emerich asked, recalling his siblings, a memory tugging at him.

“Lotte? She’s a Medicis household servant and pharmacy staff member. Why?”

“Well… she looks remarkably like my sister… it’s uncanny.”

“Really? That’s unusual,” Farma said casually. But Emerich seemed unsettled.

“May I ask her full name?”

“Charlotte Sorel.”

“Sorel?”

Emerich froze, a troubled expression crossing his face.

“It’s the same family name as mine… technically different, but our family name is Solé, rendered ‘Sorel’ in the San-Fluve Empire. It’s rare here. I hope there is no blood relation between her and my family…”

“So that means…”

A shiver ran down Farma’s spine. He recalled the story Lotte had told him: her father, a commoner, had died shortly after her birth from an unknown, incurable disease…

Chapter 5, Episode 14: Strange Happenings in the Otherworldly Laboratory

After hearing Emmerich’s story, Farma returned to the De Médicis estate, suspecting that Lotte’s father might have belonged to a family afflicted with fatal familial insomnia. In the garden, he called out to Catherine, Lotte’s mother and the family’s maid, who was gathering the laundry.

“Catherine—sorry to bother you when you’re busy. If you have a moment, I’d like to talk.”

“Yes, Master Farma. Of course, I have time. Whatever you need. What a fine day it is, isn’t it?”

Catherine seemed unusually cheerful, perhaps because she had finished her chores early.

“I know this is sudden, but… could you tell me about your late husband?”

“Master… why… must you ask? Is it really necessary?”

Her face stiffened, as if recalling memories she would rather forget.

“I just… I’m curious about something. I’m sorry if it brings back painful memories.”

“If that is your wish, Master… I understand.”

Farma led Catherine to his room and locked the door. He couldn’t risk Lotte wandering in and overhearing; the shock could be too much for her. He took out his notebook and prepared to record Catherine’s account.

“What kind of illness did your husband have?”

“Hmm… I don’t believe I’ve ever spoken of it before…”

Catherine drew a deep breath and began, pausing now and then as she summoned memories long buried.

“My husband and I lived on the outskirts of Saint-Flouve, where he ran a tailor’s shop. We were happy together, and Charlotte was a blessing in our lives. Until 1138, he was perfectly healthy. But around the winter of 1138… something changed in him. He gradually became… unrecognizable. Day by day, he lost his sanity, could barely walk, sweated profusely… and he became a completely different person. I could tell that something unnatural was happening to him.”

Catherine looked down, swallowed by profound sorrow.

“He couldn’t work, and even lying down didn’t bring him rest. He grew exhausted, staring at a single point for hours… Charlotte was still very young, so she probably doesn’t remember him well. We consulted doctors, renowned apothecaries, even specialists—but none could diagnose him. In the end, he lost consciousness entirely and passed away in June 1139. He was forty-two.”

She wept as she spoke, recalling the agony of watching her husband decline.

(Forty-two… and judging by these symptoms, it sounds… right.)

Farma found himself at a loss for words, helpless against her grief.

“Thank you… for telling me.”

“After he died, we summoned a priest for the funeral, but he said my husband had been killed by an evil spirit. It was my fault—I should have called for an exorcism sooner…”

“I don’t think that. I believe your husband was simply ill. I can’t be certain since I didn’t see him, but I doubt it was anything supernatural.”

Farma tried to ease her guilt, but Catherine’s remorse ran deep.

“I’ve never told Charlotte about this… It would only hurt her.”

“Of course, I won’t tell her.”

Later, Catherine explained how debts had piled up from treatment and medicines, forcing her to sell their home and shop. Alone with young Lotte, she sought employment in noble households. Because the temple had declared her husband’s death the result of a curse, every potential employer refused her, unnerved.

Then, taking a chance, she approached the powerful De Médicis family.

Bruno, knowing the circumstances, didn’t hesitate to hire her. In fact, he reportedly said, “If there’s a curse, how intriguing. It’s perfect for my research into exorcisms.” Her skills in sewing also proved invaluable.

(Bruno’s audacity is remarkable…)

Catherine and Lotte entered the De Médicis household when Lotte was just four years old.

“And that’s how it happened,” Catherine concluded.

“I see… that’s unfortunate. Have you heard anything about your husband’s parents? Did they die young as well?”

Farma pressed for more of Lotte’s family history. Catherine sifted through her memories.

“Yes, I heard that his father passed away early.”

“Was he perhaps from an orphanage?”

“…I’m not certain. Why do you ask?”

Catherine tilted her head in puzzlement. Farma’s expression darkened as he connected the pieces of Lotte’s background. Seeing this, Catherine forced a smile, concerned for him.

“Master! Please don’t look so troubled. If not for your lordship taking us in, Charlotte and I would have been left to wander. I am grateful for the life we lead now… But…”

Catherine’s eyes hinted at suspicion over Farma probing into Lotte’s past.

“Did something happen to Charlotte?”

“No, nothing at all. I was just curious. I’ll tell you if there’s anything.”

Farma nodded firmly, silently promising Catherine that he would respect her boundaries.

Next, Farma visited the servant quarters shared by Lotte and Catherine.

“Lotte, are you busy? May I come in?”

“Hum-hum-hum-hum—oh! Master Farma! Of course!”

Lotte had been sketching a still life by the attic window, humming merrily to herself, but blushed at being caught.

“After you finish that, may I take a bit of your blood? I want to check your health.”

“Will it hurt?”

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t. It’ll be over in a moment.”

“Really? Then please! Thank you for caring about me. I just finished practicing my drawing. Like this?”

Beaming, she held out her arm. Farma felt a twinge of guilt, but efficiently prepared the blood draw kit he’d brought. Following his plan, he conjured ice on her arm to numb the spot before inserting the needle.

Lotte squeezed her eyes shut, stiffening her shoulders. After a moment…

“All done. Good job.”

Farma gently mixed her blood with anticoagulant and spoke to her.

“That didn’t hurt at all… but look at all this blood! It’s… my blood… eek!”

Clearly, Lotte was squeamish about blood.

“Thanks for helping. Does your arm feel tingly or light-headed?”

“No, nothing at all, Master Farma.”

She stepped closer, bending slightly, looking up at him from below.

“Wh-what is it?”

“You seem… different today. Not like usual.”

Farma’s hidden worry—that Lotte might carry the gene for fatal familial insomnia—seemed to have reached her, though she didn’t speak it aloud.

“No, not at all.”

“Alright. Then do your best with your work.”

Lotte carefully retied the ribbon on Farma’s collar, smoothing it with a practiced hand.

“Thank you, Lotte.”

Later, Farma gathered everyone Emmerich had called to the lab. Including Emmerich, six family members arrived. Secretary Zoe served tea and snacks, and Ellen had come to the lab as well.

“Professor, I’ve brought the family,” Emmerich said.

“Thank you, that helps. Bauer family, I appreciate you all coming. Your sisters… they really do resemble Lotte.”

Indeed, two of Emmerich’s younger sisters bore a striking resemblance to Lotte. Innocent, friendly faces, their voices also carried a hint of similarity. It was easy to believe they were related.

“See! They look alike, right? I knew the Professor would agree!”

Emmerich grinned at Farma’s confirmation.

“Yes, they do. I didn’t expect it to be so obvious—there must be some blood relation.”

Ellen nodded. Farma, however, felt a chill of apprehension.

(It might be coincidence… but with this resemblance, who knows…)

“How do we test for the disease again? PCR?”

“Yes, that should work.”

To confirm any familial link between Lotte and Emmerich’s relatives, Farma would use PCR, just as he had done for parentage tests before. Beyond that, he could apply it to check for the gene mutation responsible for fatal familial insomnia. While modern Japanese labs use high-speed DNA sequencers, even the lab here could detect the mutation with analog electrophoresis if necessary. Farma would later teach Ellen and Emmerich the procedure.

“Where should I start with explaining this to the family?”

“I’ve already given them the general idea.”

“Good. Then let’s draw blood to extract DNA.”

Farma prepared the blood draw for Emmerich and his siblings, just as he had for Lotte. Blood, not cheek cells, would yield enough DNA for analysis.

“First, tie the tourniquet, then select the vein carefully. Feel for it. A visible vein isn’t always the best.”

“Hmm, how about this one, Farma?”

Ellen found a suitable vein on her brother’s arm and checked with Farma.

“Perfect, Ellen.”

“Can I try drawing the blood? I’ve always wanted to.”

Farma smiled wryly—Ellen wanted to practice on a real arm.

“Then I want to try too,” Emmerich chimed in, leaning forward eagerly.

“Not so fast. It’s your first time, right? You can’t just practice on your siblings’ arms—they’d turn blue. We’ll start with a training arm.”

“Nonsense, a little pain is fine,” Emmerich said boldly. Lotte’s doppelgänger sisters ducked behind Farma in unison.

“We want Professor Médicis to draw our blood! Right?”

“Yes, we can’t have our arms covered in blood,” the other agreed.

“I’ll do it. Don’t worry.”

“That’s a relief,” they said.

Farma demonstrated the procedure while teaching the observing sisters.

“Needle bevel up, pierce the skin to reach the vein. You’ll feel it ‘pop’ slightly, then venous blood flows. Pull the syringe with your ring and pinky fingers. Keep your hand steady. Release the tourniquet before removing the needle, or the blood will spurt out.”

“Sounds harder than it looks,” Ellen muttered.

She gave up for now, while Emmerich watched Farma carefully and practiced in his mind.

(No wonder he’s top of the class—he’s diligent.)

Farma respected Emmerich’s dedication.

“Today, we won’t be drawing blood directly, but would you like to try extracting DNA from the samples?”

Farma addressed Ellen and Emmerich.

First, the cells were ruptured in small test tubes, then an enzyme that dissolves cell components was added and gently heated. After waiting for the enzyme reaction to complete and the cells to fully lyse, phenol and chloroform were mixed in and thoroughly agitated. Using a hand-powered centrifuge, the mixture was spun, and the supernatant carefully collected, to which alcohol was added.

Almost immediately, delicate, white translucent threads began drifting in the alcohol.

“Professor Médicis… is that—could it be?”

“Yes. That’s DNA. Yours.”

A mass of fine, white filaments floated in the alcohol, fragile as gossamer.

“It… looks like fragile cotton. It could tear so easily,” Ellen observed, unimpressed.

Emmerich, holding his own tube, trembled.

“Th-this… is the blueprint of the human body… and it actually exists…”

To Emmerich, it seemed a sacred, forbidden relic.

“Oh, you’re being so dramatic! DNA is in all our cells. It’s not some magical artifact!”

Ellen gave Emmerich a playful tap on the back. Startled, he fumbled, and the tube slipped from his hands, rolling across the floor.

“Ahh! Professor Bonfoy! What are you doing?!”

“Careful, both of you! Don’t knock over the samples—we’d have to start all over from hours ago!”

Farma wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. Losing those precious samples would be disastrous.

“Alright, let’s analyze these tomorrow. That’s enough for today—class will start soon. We’ll continue then.”

“Understood,” Ellen replied.

Farma, together with Emmerich, headed to their lecture.

(Now…)

After finishing class, Farma packed the DNA samples extracted from the family, along with Lotte’s pre-prepared sample, keeping them chilled with ice. He also prepared as many talismans as Salomon provided periodically to absorb divine energy.

The last time he returned from the Otherworld, his body had become alarmingly transparent.

Making another journey increased the risk of vanishing entirely.

(I don’t want to go, not knowing what will happen… but I have to. That place…)

Since then, he had avoided the Otherworld lab accessible from the Sacred Spring. Yet advanced analyses required the lab’s equipment—there was no other choice.

His purpose for entering the Otherworld lab was twofold:

To obtain accurate genetic information from patients using the analytical equipment.
To retrieve reagents, books, and tools necessary for research.
Primarily, he had to conduct detailed genetic diagnostics for his students and Lotte, striving to establish treatments for diseases considered incurable even by modern pharmacology.

“All right. Let’s go.”

Farma gripped the Alchemy Staff tightly, steeling himself.

“Where are you going, Farma? And… are those the samples?”

Ellen’s voice called from the neighboring lab. Farma had assumed she had left, but she had stayed behind, concerned about him.

“Ellen. You’re still here?”

“Yes… I was preparing for lectures. Where are you headed, with those DNA samples you said we’d analyze tomorrow? You’re not planning to go somewhere you might not return from, are you? That Otherworld you mentioned from the Sacred Spring?”

She had seen through him completely, knowing it involved Lotte.

“Yeah… there’s something I need to retrieve. It’s essential.”

Farma explained it was for Lotte and Emmerich’s family.

“You can’t guarantee your safety. It’s too dangerous,” Ellen said, her voice trembling.

“I know. But I can’t bear the thought of regretting not doing everything I could. If Lotte or someone close has a hereditary disease with no cure, I have to act immediately.”

Emmerich believed the disease would appear in the forties, but that wasn’t guaranteed—cases existed where it manifested in childhood. There was no “safe” age.

“Besides… I’m not like normal people. I can’t stay in this world forever; I might vanish tomorrow. Wherever I act, it’s the same. So I go—today.”

“Farma, why the rush? Can’t you wait a year or two?”

“Then it’ll be too late. Goodbye, Ellen.”

Without waiting for a reply, Farma opened the window and leapt out.

No pleading could sway him.

By completing his textbooks, he had left enough knowledge and concepts in this world. Even if he disappeared now, the regrets were fewer than before.

(Sorry, Ellen. I have to go.)

He infused the Alchemy Staff with divine energy and became the wind, racing across the Imperial Capital.

By the time Farma reached the Sacred Spring, perched atop the foggy cliff, night had fallen.

The spring was unchanged, its waters still pure. Without hesitation, he dived in.

He didn’t go deep, instead freezing the water beneath the surface with divine magic.

The entrance appeared: the doorway to the Otherworld lab.

Farma retrieved his ID card and swiped it across the electronic reader.

(Huh?)

The first two swipes were sluggish.

“—Beep.”

On the third try, the lock disengaged, and the door opened.

The motion felt slightly off, not as smooth as before.

*(…Rusty?)

Too subtle to recall if it had been like that previously.

(I’m just being paranoid. It’s nothing.)

Sliding inside, he entered the lab.

The familiar scents of ventilation and running equipment greeted him. All devices were operational.

The clock read 3:50 a.m.—unchanged from his last visit.

Upon entering, time seemed to flow.

It was as if the lab was replaying the final hour before Associate Professor Yakutani’s death.

(So I have about an hour before I’m forced out…)

Farma steeled himself, bracing to see what he had hoped to avoid: Yakutani, alive, wrapped in a sleeping bag on the sofa.

(I’m the same as before… I want to leave under my own power this time.)

He didn’t want to hear his own deathly cries twice. Last time, he was likely ejected the moment Yakutani’s heart stopped. But this time, if he left before the death, he could use the normal exit.

If Yakutani struggled, Farma would abandon him and leave—treatment was impossible on another’s body in that state.

…Frustrating, but inevitable.

He immediately approached the control PC next to the large analytical machine.

(The genome analysis data… it’s ready! I knew it!)

The data Farma had set up on his previous visit, his genome information, was fully analyzed despite the repeated hour.

(Time in this lab is… bizarre.)

Just an hour inside furthered his body’s transparency. Extended stays would be catastrophic. But the reward…

(Now I can finally confirm it. Are Otherworld beings human, or not?)

He began reviewing the data.

The species was identified: human.

Farma felt a rush of awe.

(…So Otherworlders are closely related to Earth Homo sapiens after all.)

Farma’s own genome matched Earth humans with over 99.9% certainty. Differences were minor—gender, race at most.

Excited, he scrutinized the data further.

His body retained its youthful traits, even without shadows or other anomalies, yet genetically he was human.

(Incredible… there must be genes controlling the divine veins. Which ones?)

Several unknown genes were detected, controlling traits even Farma didn’t recognize.

Five candidates likely included the genes governing divine energy.

He copied key data to his laptop. Once back in the Otherworld, further analysis could proceed. He also copied medical and pharmacological papers.

Farma packed the books, his laptop, and smartphone into waterproof bags, forming a backpack.

(No matter when I’m ejected, this is safe.)

He fulfilled his primary objective: setting up the DNA samples of Emmerich’s family and Lotte for genome analysis. Even a preliminary analysis would take time; he’d need to leave and return for results.

While surveying the lab, something felt off.

(Huh? The culture room door is open, and the lights are on…)

The adjacent cell culture room was ajar, with the lights on. Previously, it had been immovable.

(The Otherworld expanded?)

Some significant change had occurred in the Otherworld lab.

Chapter 5, Episode 15: Carrier Diagnosis and Its Results

The door to the cultivation room adjacent to the otherworldly laboratory was slightly ajar.

This was the room that had remained firmly shut the last time he checked.

Farma tensed at the subtle change. Even if someone were inside, he had neither divine power nor sacred arts at his disposal in this world. Here, the laws of physics still held sway.

(The accessible area of the otherworldly lab has expanded. It’s not the same as last time… And this door—it’s equipped with a closer, meant to shut automatically, so why is it open on its own?)

Careful not to let the door swing fully closed, Farma stepped into the cultivation room. Once inside, he confirmed it was empty and, out of habit, changed into slippers for the area where shoes were forbidden.

The interior of the cultivation room was lit by cold, bluish fluorescent lights and UV lamps over the clean benches, casting an impersonal glow. The whir of motors echoed through the space. Opening the door of a small, refrigerator-like incubator, Farma saw petri dishes neatly lined up inside, each containing various cells.

The dates on the dishes matched the day Yakutani had died.

Two years had passed, yet seeing them brought an almost nostalgic feeling.

(I’ll need the cultivation supplies too. Should I take them with me?)

Farma pocketed experimental tools for cultivation and rare reagents difficult to synthesize, stashing them in his bag. He also retrieved frozen stocks of cultured cells from the freezer.

To study fatal familial insomnia, he needed the proper environment for neural stem cell culture.

Separating these materials required significant time and effort, so he decided to take them along.

(If I can enter the cultivation room… does that mean I can access the hallway next to it?)

According to his memory, there was another door beyond the cultivation room that led to the research wing’s hallway.

He crossed the room and tried the door to the corridor.

But it wouldn’t budge—neither push nor pull. It wasn’t just misaligned; it was as if the space itself had been sealed.

Farma tilted his head, standing on tiptoe to peer through the window set into the door. The hallway that should have been there was swallowed by darkness.

For a moment, a fleeting hope stirred that he might return to the real world, but scrutinizing more closely, he saw the abyss swirling uniformly in one direction at a slow, deliberate pace.

It was as if the laboratory existed within some intricate mechanism, and he was peering into the heart of the device from inside.

(It’s rotating… the space itself? And the hallway is gone… so there’s no way out. What is this space beyond…?)

Concluding that the space had destabilized, Farma’s motivation to leave evaporated. He had no choice but to turn back to the lab. There was only one exit.

(If the entire space has changed, could it be that I’ve changed too?)

Farma suddenly felt compelled to examine his past self, Yakutani, who slept on the sofa. Could he detect any alterations?

As he scrutinized him, Yakutani’s eyelids twitched repeatedly. Farma stumbled back in surprise.

(His consciousness is so shallow! Even shallower than before!)

He tried to speak, but no sound emerged. His voice simply wouldn’t travel through the air.

Even touching Yakutani was impossible—his hand passed through him like a ghost.

(What the hell… I can touch the objects in this room, but not Yakutani himself. And my voice… it doesn’t work in this space.)

Yakutani had been a workaholic in life. Farma considered how to wake him.

(Then maybe this will do.)

With that thought, Farma swung open the door of an ultra-low-temperature freezer used for sample storage in the lab.

“Beep! Beep! Beep!”

The alarm sounded as the freezer temperature rose—and Yakutani Kanji awoke.

“Whaaa—!? The freezer’s broken!?”

He panicked. For a pharmacologist, the loss of stored samples could be catastrophic.

(Oh, he’s awake… haha, I really am still me.)

Yakutani rushed past Farma to the freezer, seemingly oblivious to Farma’s presence. Not ignored—he simply couldn’t sense him.

“I didn’t leave the freezer door open… who did this?”

Yakutani carefully inspected the freezer, found no malfunction, and noted that the clock indicated it wasn’t yet his scheduled wake-up. He attempted to crawl back into his sleeping bag on the sofa. Then,

“Oh… what’s this?”

He scratched his head, bewildered, slowly surveying the lab. Farma guessed he was noticing the changes—the critical tools Farma had “borrowed” were gone, along with his mobile device and all carefully prepared reagents.

*(Hey, can you see this? I took it!) *

Farma waved to Yakutani, but the older man’s gaze didn’t meet his. The stolen items in Farma’s hands were invisible to him.

(…What the hell? Not just me—my loot is invisible too?)

Before Farma could puzzle further, the stopwatch that had previously triggered his return to the real world sounded. The lab seemed to push him toward ejection. Gripping his bags, he braced himself.

(Damn it! Time’s up!)

The next moment, his eyes closed—and he was hurled into the Sacred Spring, landing atop the ice that had covered its surface before he’d entered the lab. His divine power, lost in the otherworld, slowly returned.

He checked his body. Last time, exiting the lab had made him partially transparent from the surge of divine power—but now, he was solid, as if some of it had decreased.

“Wait… this time he didn’t die, did he? Yakutani… I mean, me… so that’s why?”

Last time, Yakutani had died in agony, forcibly ejecting Farma’s consciousness from the otherworld. But this time, Farma had woken him via the freezer alarm, and the causal chain had shifted, preventing heart failure.

At least, he hadn’t died while Farma observed.

(Could it be that a survival branch of the timeline now exists for Yakutani? Did he go back to daily life without dying… back to endless research the next day…?)

Farma sagged with exhaustion but continued thinking.

(Every interference I make in the otherworld shifts events further from the original timeline. Keep doing it, and eventually one side will collapse…? That’s why my body sometimes becomes transparent—or not—after leaving the otherworld.)

“But… I still have to go back once more.”

He had to retrieve the results of the genetic analyses he’d left in the lab for Lotte, Emerich, and others. No hesitation was allowed.

Farma set the stolen goods on the bank of the Sacred Spring and dove in again, attempting a third entry into the otherworld that day.

The card-key system took time to unlock with his “treasured” staff ID. The door’s range of motion had narrowed, making it impossible to open fully. Despite the ominous feeling, he forced it open. Yakutani Kanji lay wrapped in his sleeping bag on the sofa, oblivious to Farma’s intrusion.

Farma glanced at the lab clock.

*(Huh!?)

3:50 a.m… no, 4:10.

(…! It’s advanced! By twenty minutes!)

The moment Farma entered, time began moving. He now had only forty minutes before being forcibly ejected. He couldn’t risk further altering the otherworld.

Yakutani remained asleep.

(Damn it—forty minutes isn’t enough to analyze gene expression! I’ll have to do it outside.)

The genetic analysis he’d just set up had already finished, despite being no more than ten minutes since his last exit. Normally, such an analysis would take a week of machine time. Only a distortion of time and space could explain it. He immediately began copying the data to a high-capacity drive.

(So slow! Well… the file’s huge.)

The progress bar crawled.

*(Forty minutes—can I even copy it all?!) *

Based on experience, over an hour was required. Full genome analysis produced enormous data—sometimes around a hundred gigabytes. Copying alone would normally take too long.

“Prioritize—copy the essentials first.”

He compressed the data as much as possible, successfully salvaging the critical parts. Just before the time limit forced ejection—just before Yakutani would have begun to suffer and die from heart failure—Farma escaped through the lab door under his own power and returned to the otherworld.

The entrance door now opened only halfway.

As he closed the portal to the otherworld, Farma’s divine power stabilized.

“Phew… I made it back.”

Finally, he could speak again.

“Wha… my divine power… oh no, no, stop—it’s too much! Way too much!”

The moment he returned to this world, divine energy surged into him like a broken dam.

“Ugh… so this is what happens…”

The power amplified violently. Nausea and dizziness swept over him, and his consciousness began to waver. The influx of divine energy showed no sign of slowing.

This was bad. Very bad.

Farma shivered.

The sensation of having more divine power crammed forcibly into him than his body could contain was beyond painful—it was almost a wish to die.

His skin began to turn translucent, and the process accelerated. Feeling the imminent threat of being obliterated by the overwhelming flow, Farma frantically rummaged through his bag.

(Just in case…)

He pulled out every Salomon talisman he had, pressing them across his body to seal off the power. He plunged the sacred sword Juliana into the floor, feeding energy into his staff and ID badge to absorb the overflow.

After distributing the divine power this way, he finally returned to his normal state. He still looked slightly translucent compared to usual, but it was tolerable.

“Ha… somehow… I’m back to being human, I guess…”

Farma realized anew that he was a monster, something not of this world.

Moments ago, he had nearly ceased to exist.

He now had a clear mental image of what it felt like to vanish from this world.

“I’ll need to collect the treasures too—not just for Yakushin-related things.”

These treasures could temporarily store divine power. It was only a tiny fraction of what he needed, a mere stopgap—but it helped.

“What the hell was that place? Every time I came back from there, my divine power surged. Is it some kind of divine energy hotspot?”

He recalled the abyss he had seen at the back of the cultivation room, a swirling darkness of unfathomable depth.

It gave him a glimpse of the world’s instability.

If the version of himself on the brink of death was trapped in the otherworld, endlessly repeating the same time and drifting through space-time, constantly altering causality… then how many attempts had contributed to this life he was now living?

The thought was depressing.

(The probability of me dying and not dying overlap… damn it, this isn’t Schrödinger’s cat.)

Muttering to himself, Farma returned to the shore of the Sacred Spring, retrieving the items he’d taken from the lab.

“Next time I enter the lab… if I start with more time already passed, I might eventually be unable to get in at all.”

He gazed at the sky of the unknown otherworld, troubled by the thought. Which universe did this planet’s sky even connect to?

Swallowing his unease, he swung his staff with a decisive motion, shaking off gravity, and set his sights on the sky above Saint-Flouve.

…━━…━━…━━…

Farma returned directly to his lab at the Imperial Medical University, bypassing the Medicis estate.

It was late at night, so he expected the lab to be empty. Yet the door was unlocked, and there were signs of someone inside.

Ellen was still there, slumped over a desk asleep.

Farma quietly draped his coat over her shoulders, keeping her warm.

(Ellen… you were waiting for me, even though you didn’t know if I’d return…)

He carefully unpacked the items he’d brought from the otherworld, storing reagents and instruments safely. He powered on his laptop.

With battery still available, he began analysis. Recharging it would be possible using the emergency power supply he’d modified, but that would cost too much time and effort. Estimated remaining time: ten hours. He had to get it all done in one stretch.

He mapped the two families’ genomes using the files of their genetic analyses.

By setting parameters and overlaying sequences on known genetic information, he could identify mutations in the patients’ DNA.

In other words, he could determine which members of Emerich’s family—and whether Lotte—carried the lethal familial insomnia gene, a progressive, fatal prion disease considered untreatable in modern times.

Farma worked methodically, analyzing the digitized genetic data, overcoming the gaps caused by his reincarnation. He ran commands, wrote code to fill in missing pieces.

The results emerged.

A mutation at codon 178 of the prion gene indicated a carrier of fatal familial insomnia.

Emerich, unfortunately, was indeed a carrier.

His second, third, and fourth sons, as well as his eldest and second daughters—carriers too.

“Everyone… inherited it…”

Moreover, combining this with gene expression analysis, Farma saw that the second son had already begun accumulating abnormal prion proteins. The likelihood of him dying within a few years was extremely high.

The situation was far graver than Farma had expected.

Normally, the chance of inheritance is fifty percent. Yet in Emerich’s generation, due perhaps to divine power, noble bloodlines, or close-kin marriages, every family member carried the mutation.

In short, all of them would eventually develop the disease.

“And Lotte…”

Farma calmed his rising heart and examined the final dataset.

There were some differences between her and Emerich’s family. Though they shared ancestors, one was noble, the other common.

Genetic analysis confirmed that Lotte was related to Emerich’s family.

Farma exhaled in relief.

Lotte, perhaps because of her maternal commoner blood, lacked several genes related to divine arts and thus was not a practitioner. She was, for all intents and purposes, a commoner.

And the fatal familial insomnia…

“Lotte didn’t inherit it.”

A moment of peace. Yet thinking of Emerich’s family, Farma had no time to rest. Even after confirming the diagnosis, he worked through the night, decoding the genetic data to search for a potential treatment. He wanted to extract as much information as possible before the power ran out.

Then he noticed something in the power options.

(Huh? The laptop battery isn’t decreasing… could it be…)

Items brought from the otherworld became treasures. This included his ID, reagents, and even the laptop. Its battery apparently had become inexhaustible.

“Ah… so it won’t drain. Then… time to sleep.”

Farma collapsed onto the sofa, letting exhaustion take him.

From the next day, he would need to begin searching for a treatment immediately. The disease had already imprinted an inescapable curse on their family.

Through his clouded consciousness, he heard birds singing.

Warm sunlight touched his skin.

Something soft pressed against his arm. Opening his eyes, he found Ellen next to him, sleeping entwined with him. As Farma stirred, Ellen awoke too.

“Good morning, Farma-kun,” she said with a gentle smile.

“Ellen… you can see me?”

“Yes, I can.”

Finally, Farma felt truly alive. Ellen hugged him tightly. Her chest pressed against his face, making it hard to breathe.

“Um… Ellen? It’s… hard to—”

He had survived even in the vacuum of space before, so technically he didn’t need to breathe—but the suddenness of the situation left him frozen. Ellen was not usually this forward.

“You went far away… I’m so glad you came back. If you were gone, I…”

She choked up, her voice quivering near his ear.

“And when you returned, I saw you glowing in the dark… you didn’t overdo it, did you? Are you alright?”

“I’m… okay. Sorry.”

Farma realized he had caused her worry and resigned himself to being scolded, leaning into her.

Then—

Click.

The professor’s office door opened at the worst possible moment.

“G-good morning… ah, sorry! I didn’t see anything!”

Zoe, the professor’s secretary, had dropped her bag.

“W-wait, Zoe…!?”

Caught off guard, Farma panicked. Though nothing improper had occurred, his fluster only deepened Zoe’s misgivings.

“Ah, good morning, Zoe-chan. You’re early today. We stayed over last night—it was a busy evening. I want to take a bath now,” Ellen said nonchalantly, unaware of the implications of her words.

“I-I’ll just… go!”

Zoe, perhaps sensing the awkwardness, vanished for thirty minutes and did not return.

Farma had to search for her across the campus, beginning the morning’s work under a tense atmosphere.

Chapter 5, Episode 16: Genome Editing Technology and an Assignment from the Apothecary God

Early in the morning, Farma finally watched the secretary Zoe’s misunderstanding of the night they’d spent in the professor’s office dissolve. Once Zoe had returned to the secretary’s room, Farma glanced at the clock and suddenly panicked.

“Not good… the pharmacy’s opening time is almost here. Ellen, do you have a lecture today?”

“Eh? I’ve got a divine arts practical class this morning, so I can’t make it to the pharmacy. What do we do… can the apprentice pharmacists handle opening the store by themselves?”

Ellen taught a weekly morning lecture in divine arts practicals, which she always looked forward to.

It was the equivalent of a traditional aristocratic physical education class. She’d mentioned in the first session that she’d sparred with every student, so Farma assumed it served as a little mental break for her, a chance to stretch her muscles after too many desk-bound hours. Commoners, who couldn’t wield divine arts, had a different set of exercises prepared for them.

“I’m tied up with an experiment myself… but my older brother said he’s free today. I’ll ask him to cover.”

Farma jotted a note and sent it to the Medicis family via the university’s carrier pigeon. When he was busy with lectures or research, Parre would sometimes help with the pharmacy’s patients or fill in for classes.

“Are you sure? Won’t Parre get annoyed if we ask him so casually?”

“He actually wants more cases. He asked me to send patients his way.”

As a first-class pharmacist, Parre usually visited royal and noble clients for house calls, but there was an advantage to seeing patients at the pharmacy. First-class pharmacists had an annual quota of cases they had to meet, and failing to meet it could result in a demotion to second-class due to lack of experience. Parre had been unable to see patients during his bout with leukemia, so he cherished the pharmacy’s bustling environment, where patients came in droves and allowed him to rack up cases quickly.

“Ah, the case count… I’ve never had a problem with that since starting at the pharmacy. Over a hundred patients a day—tons of practical experience.”

Ellen nodded, recalling her own gratitude for that steady workflow.

Soon, a reply came via the household’s pigeon: Parre would cover the day’s patients.

“By the way, Farma, how was the Holy Spring? Was it dangerous?”

As they settled into their respective tasks, Ellen asked about the previous night’s events. She didn’t know the specifics of what the Holy Spring was or what happened there, only that it was a sacred site tied to the secrets of the guardian deity.

“Dangerous, I suppose… but a lot of unexpected things happened, too.”

Farma skillfully glossed over the story of the otherworldly lab while conveying the genetic analysis results of the Emerich family. Ellen’s reaction was immediate and overwhelming.

“Wait… you read the entire genome of the Emerichs?”

“Yes. You could do it with PCR, but there’s a method to read genetic information on a larger scale.”

Farma touched the laptop he’d brought back from the other world and started analyzing the genes, the click of the keyboard a strangely comforting sensation. The screen strained his eyes, but compared to his prior analog life, it was beyond efficient. He was quietly grateful to have access to such tools.

Ellen crouched over her textbook, disbelief etched on her face.

“Wait… a human genome has three billion base pairs. You read all of that? How?”

Her glasses slipped to the floor. Thankfully, the carpeted office saved them from breaking.

“Watch your glasses.”

“Does the Holy Spring have a relic capable of that?”

“Something like that.”

Farma left the details about the large-scale gene analyzer in the lab deliberately vague. Hearing the word “relic,” Ellen’s shock softened into despair.

“I see… so all of Emerich’s family inherited it… It’s a relief Lotte didn’t, but knowing the future is painful. He was so desperate before symptoms appeared… How do I tell him the results?”

It was a relief to learn Lotte hadn’t inherited it, but Ellen still felt helpless watching her student suffer from a terminal illness.

“Yeah… the second son seems to have already developed it. Just without symptoms yet.”

Farma stared intently at the laptop’s monitor. Ellen noticed the faint light on the screen.

“What’s that faint glow you’re looking at?”

“You can see it?”

“I can. A semi-transparent square, glowing… Did it come from the Holy Spring?”

“Yes. The relic effect makes the monitor partially transparent, which is why it’s hard to see. Can you see it when I close it?”

Farma snapped the laptop shut.

“No… where did it go? Incredible!”

Outside the screen, it was invisible and untouchable to anyone else—a perfect anti-theft feature. Farma reopened it, reassured.

“This is what it actually looks like.”

He sketched a diagram of the laptop on paper. Ellen, seeing nothing in the air, was fascinated but accepted it as a relic without pressing for details. This was a relief to Farma.

“Floating letters I’ve never seen… Can you read them? What are you doing?”

“Calculating. Analyzing genetic information.”

“Farma… what kind of advanced knowledge do you have? You really know everything.”

Farma typed at the command line, explaining as he went, unconcerned about being observed by Ellen.

“I know more things I don’t know than I do. You’re overestimating me. Same with this disease.”

“Right… Farma, have you come up with a treatment for fatal familial insomnia? I’ve been thinking too… can you take a look?”

Ellen handed over her idea notebook, filled with dozens of pages of attempts, none of which were promising. Even on Earth, until Farma’s recent reincarnation, no cure had been found, so her frustration was reasonable.

“Anything usable here?” she asked innocently.

“Uh… thanks. It’s helpful for reference.”

Ellen, embarrassed by his lukewarm response, snatched back the notebook.

“Sorry… I couldn’t help.”

She hid her face in her hands like a student failing an exam. Farma tried to console her.

“There were some good ideas, though. They help!”

Ellen sighed and brightened.

“Then I suppose I should hear your answer, Professor Farma. You said we could fix the gene mutation before symptoms appear… How?”

Ellen grasped that genes were the blueprint of life, and a mutation was a corrupted copy. Proteins made according to the faulty blueprint would keep producing pathogenic prions. Fixing the original was crucial.

“Oh, that… It’s not in textbooks yet, but there’s a technique called CRISPR/Cas9. You can delete, replace, or insert specific sections of DNA.”

The reagents for this technique were already with Farma. The technology had emerged in the 2010s and rapidly spread, and he had been deeply involved in its research in his previous life.

“So, there’s a way to rewrite the mutations causing the disease in the Emerichs?”

“Yes. In short, a virus carrying the system infects all the patient’s cells. That’s the preparation stage.”

“Infecting the whole body with a virus… wouldn’t that be fatal?”

“Pathogenic viruses, yes. But adeno-associated viruses are mostly harmless. That’s what we use.”

Ellen seemed to recall that not all viruses were deadly.

Farma still planned a safety net: if the virus became dangerous, he could mark it and use a deletion ability to eliminate it entirely.

“Also, I can’t have anyone but me handling the virus. I can’t increase or manipulate them in the sanctuary anymore.”

“You mean me? No way, I’m not confident.”

Ellen shook her head firmly, aware she might accidentally spill and infect everyone. Farma couldn’t blame her.

“Alright… let’s set the virus aside. I’ll explain genome editing with this string.”

He doubled a piece of cord and marked the middle as the site of the mutation in the Emerich family’s genes.

“When the virus infects the body, RNA we designed binds to the mutation site, marking it for an enzyme to cut it out.”

Farma demonstrated with a knife, cutting around the marked section of string.

“Wait… leaving the string cut? Wouldn’t that destroy the gene?”

“If it were left alone, yes. But the body’s repair system fixes it automatically. If we supply the corrected sequence, it gets incorporated.”

He inserted a short ribbon between the cut ends, representing the normal gene sequence, repairing the gap.

“Where did that ribbon come from?”

“It’s carried by the virus too. Now the genome is repaired, the prion gene is normal, and the mutation is gone.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes. For those not yet symptomatic, it’s a cure.”

“So they’re no longer patients?”

“Yes. Both they and their descendants are freed from the curse.”

Ellen held the repaired string, confirming it.

“So… it’s fixed? You rewrote the gene? Farma, you knew the cure all along!”

“That’s the idea,” Farma said, resting his chin in his hand with a hint of teasing.

“Honestly… it probably won’t go that smoothly in practice.”

There were reasons Farma couldn’t be optimistic.

“Which part do you think won’t work? From my perspective, it sounds perfect.”

“The brain, spinal cord, and other organs all have defense mechanisms to eliminate viruses. No virus can reach one hundred percent of the body’s cells and tissues, and even if it does, the efficiency of gene editing isn’t perfect. Inevitably, some cells will escape modification.”

“So… the cells left untreated will keep producing abnormal prions from the uncorrected genes.”

There was also the risk of inadvertently rewriting sequences similar to the target gene, but Farma had engineered an improved enzyme that reduced errors by thousands of times compared to conventional versions. He decided not to mention that minor reassurance.

“So, in principle, we just need the editing enzymes to reach every cell, right? You don’t really need a virus for that?”

“Without a virus, getting it into every cell would be nearly impossible. Medicine diffuses and dilutes as it spreads.”

Delivering a therapeutic factor evenly throughout the body—that was the hardest part of gene therapy.

“There are other ways, though.”

Ellen moved closer to Farma’s desk and peered straight at him. The intensity of her gaze made him frown.

“What is it?”

With a deliberate air, Ellen took Farma’s hand and placed it on her collarbone.

“Eh? W-wait, what are you—?”

Farma flinched, startled by the warmth of her skin. She pressed his hand firmly against her body, blushing.

“Ah…”

His hand passed through her as if translucent, entering her body.

“See, like this.”

Ellen’s voice was teasingly sweet.

“If you hold the medicine in your hand and physically stir it through the patient’s body, it could reach every cell, right? Even if the editing efficiency is low, repeated treatments would cumulatively approach one hundred percent.”

Farma was astonished. She had overturned almost every assumption he had about gene therapy with this audacious, out-of-the-box idea.

“True… it’s not a conventional treatment, but it could work.”

Her suggestion was basically cheating on a colossal scale, but the potential impact was enormous. It might solve a bottleneck that modern medicine had struggled with for decades.

“I’m glad one idea was useful! Maybe a little unfair, but I’m happy.”

Ellen beamed with satisfaction.

“The second son has already started accumulating abnormal prions, so we’ll need to deal with the ones already produced.”

Abnormal prions convert normal prions into pathogenic forms, so all abnormal prions had to be removed. Ellen’s idea offered a solution: antibodies that specifically target the abnormal prions could be dispersed throughout the body by Farma’s hands. By tagging the antibodies with a unique marker not naturally found in humans, Farma could use his deletion ability to remove both the antibodies and the prions.

Normal prions would temporarily vanish too, but gene therapy would restore production of healthy prion proteins almost immediately. With this approach, the second son could finally receive effective treatment.

Though time-consuming, if all went well, the Emerich family could be fully cured. Healing the germline would free their children and grandchildren from the fear of inheriting the disease.

(I’m probably underestimating the risk… barely better than relying on divine intervention.)

There was no precedent for this method, and failure could have unpredictable consequences. Whole-body gene therapy was barely being attempted in animal models and had yet to succeed in humans.

Still, for the second son, there was no other choice. Even if the gene editing efficiency fell short, as long as Farma continued eliminating abnormal prion proteins, the disease’s progression could be slowed to near-normal levels.

Farma summarized the genetic analysis and proposed treatment plan, calling the Emerich family into the professor’s office. Ellen sat beside him.

Emerich was visibly shocked to learn the family’s hereditary disease affected everyone, but Farma’s plan gave him a glimmer of hope.

“Professor… you’re saying that by combining your divine arts with this gene-editing technology, a complete cure might be possible?!”

Overjoyed, Emerich leaped from his chair, expressing his relief with his entire body.

“‘Might,’ though,” Farma cautioned, keeping expectations realistic.

“Please, teach me your divine arts too!”

“That’s not possible. My divine arts can’t be used by other pharmacists.”

Emerich didn’t immediately grasp the meaning, but Farma explained that he was a divine-arts user with a unique attribute.

“So… your attribute is close to none, Professor Medisis? That explains why we couldn’t read your divine arts during our sparring session.”

Emerich nodded, impressed.

“But then… no one else can treat this disease.”

Perhaps Farma could save Emerich’s family—but that wouldn’t be enough. Farma hoped Emerich would realize, as a fellow pharmacist, that the method must be accessible to others.

“That’s right. This means that, in practice, the treatment isn’t yet established.”

Farma spoke candidly. A one-generation-only method could not help future patients. Treatments must be scientifically grounded, evaluated in clinical trials, and usable by other pharmacists. If the technique can’t be widely applied, it isn’t truly a treatment. Emerich seemed to understand Farma’s intent.

“I’ll test this approach myself. First with plants and small animals. If it works, I’ll treat the second son, and if he succeeds, we’ll extend it to the rest of the family, including you.”

Emerich listened quietly, then gazed absently at the ceiling.

“Emerich? Are you following?”

Ellen patted his shoulder gently. He hadn’t lost focus—he was processing everything.

“So… shall we proceed with this plan?” Farma confirmed. He intended to explain everything to each family member and obtain consent.

“Thank you. Please, Professor, save my siblings with your divine arts and this latest technology. I am deeply grateful.”

Emerich inhaled deeply, savoring Farma’s words.

(Wait… he said siblings… not me?)

Farma noted the subtle implication.

“Professor, I’ve made my decision.”

“What is it?”

“Do not cure my genes. I will confront this curse myself… I will find the cure on my own.”

Emerich declared that he would dedicate himself to studying treatments for prion diseases, including fatal familial insomnia.

“I’ve wondered for so long why my family became afflicted,” he admitted, his expression heavy with unresolved anguish.

“But now… I feel I understand. Meeting you and striving to complete a cure feels like a task assigned to me by my guardian deity, the Apothecary God.”

There was a hint of bravado in Emerich’s resolve, but it was genuine. Farma admired his strength, while Ellen nodded encouragingly.

“I believe the Apothecary God is watching over you. I can feel it,” she said, casting a subtle glance at Farma. He shrugged and coughed awkwardly, then offered words of encouragement to Emerich.

“Very well. You will handle your treatment yourself.”

“Thank you! I’ll devote myself completely!”

Farma silently respected Emerich’s courage.

“From today, you may use anything in this lab for your research. We even have adeno-associated viruses for modification experiments.”

“I am honored! I look forward to your guidance!”

(For me, it’s like a legacy from my past life. Let’s see who reaches the finish line first—Emerich or me.)

Farma thought about the resilience of those who throw themselves into research with purpose.

He resolved to support Emerich fully, so that this young man, willing to risk everything to find a cure, could achieve great success.

As a mentor, Farma would spare no effort in guiding the research. And for himself, he would continue pursuing a whole-body gene therapy method independent of the Apothecary God’s powers.

Note on Genome Editing: For the sake of clarity, the depiction of genome editing in this chapter has been significantly simplified.

As of July 2016, whole-body gene therapy involving genome editing had been tested in animal experiments—but has not yet been applied to humans.

Systems Capable of Genome Editing:

* CRISPR (Clustered Regularly Interspaced Short Palindromic Repeat)/Cas9 (CRISPR-associated protein 9): A combination of guide RNA and a DNA-cutting enzyme.
* CRISPR/Cpf1: Works similarly to CRISPR/Cas9, but with a slightly different cutting enzyme.
* TALEN (Transcription Activator-Like Effector Nuclease): A pair of artificial restriction enzymes that cut specific DNA sequences.
* ZFN (Zinc-Finger Nuclease): An artificial restriction enzyme that can cut arbitrary DNA sequences.

Chapter 5, Episode 17: Gene Therapy and a Summons from Elisabeth

Before beginning treatment on his second son, Farma wanted to verify whether the gene therapy system using CRISPR/Cas9 genome editing actually worked in living animals. He had been carefully working through step by step.

He had already succeeded in editing the genomes of cultured cells brought back from the laboratory in another world.

He had even experimented on whole plants, rewriting the genome of yellow roses to create blue ones.

With a bouquet of glowing blue roses in hand, Farma decided to gift them to Ellen, Lotte, and Zoe.

“W-what is this?! I’ve never seen roses like this before!”

“And I went a step further—I added a bioluminescent enzyme, so they glow in the dark,” Farma explained.

“!? What… do you mean the roses… glow?!”

The three girls were equally astonished and delighted by such an unimaginable gift.

“Farma-sama! Shall we fill the mansion’s garden with these roses?”

Lotte eagerly suggested, but Farma shook his head.

“The reason I’m giving you cut flowers instead of whole plants is because I don’t want them cultivated,” he said.

No matter how safe they seemed, Farma wasn’t ready to release genetically modified plants into the wild.

“They’re so beautiful, though… Is cherishing a fleeting flower your kind of aesthetic, Farma-kun?”

“It’s not aesthetics—it’s a safety measure to protect wild species,” Farma replied matter-of-factly.

Ellen sighed in disappointment, but Farma remained emotionally neutral.

“We succeeded with cells. We succeeded with plants. Now, it’s time for animal experiments,” he murmured to himself.

He was ready to move on to the next step: testing on living animals.

“How are animal experiments even done? I know it’s necessary before trying on humans, but… it feels a little cruel to the animals for our convenience,” Ellen said, revealing a surprisingly tender side.

Typically, animal testing required specialized facilities with uniform breeding conditions. But in this world, no such facilities existed, nor were there genetically uniform animals suitable for experimentation. Farma wanted to proceed not by creating disease in healthy animals, but by treating animals that already had hereditary illnesses.

“Right. This time, I’ll treat animals that already have hereditary diseases. I can’t supply the animals myself, so I’ll need Josephine’s help.”

“Oh, that veterinarian student! She’s definitely the right person to ask,” Ellen said.

Farma and Ellen recalled Josephine Barriere, his former student and a first-rate veterinarian.

“Come to think of it, I’ll see her in class today.”

Since Josephine always attended his lectures, Farma caught her at the end of class. She brightened visibly when he spoke to her. Normally surrounded by students, Farma was a popular professor, and a personal word from him was a delight.

When Farma asked if any of her patients had the particular traits he was looking for,

“Yes, Professor. We do have such an animal. Would you like to see it?”

Josephine answered, clearly knowing which one he meant.

“A court animal… if it belongs to His Majesty, this could get tricky.”

Farma hesitated at the unexpected twist. Their meeting point was the royal stables.

Ellen and Emerich couldn’t enter the palace, so only Lotte, who could enter and happened to have errands at the workshop, accompanied him. The royal stables were immaculately maintained, every stall more like a luxury hotel room than a horse barn. Farma thought wryly: even the horses are rich here.

“These horses live in splendid conditions. Honestly, I wouldn’t notice if someone said it was a human inn,” Lotte whispered, awed.

As Farma and Lotte walked through the stables, they spotted Josephine, engrossed in her examination of the horses. They greeted her and stayed to observe her work.

“So, Josephine-san, you also work in the royal court?”

“Yes. I’m not the official court veterinarian, but examining the imperial horses falls under my responsibilities,” she replied, wearing a veterinarian’s gown adorned with the imperial crest and a feathered cap, stroking the horses with evident affection. With over three hundred horses in the imperial stables, the official court vets couldn’t handle them all alone.

“Professor, this way, please,” Josephine led them to a particularly splendid stall. A golden horse peeked out.

“What a magnificent horse! The Medisis household has fine horses too, but this one’s coat is pure gold—it really looks… well-bred!” Lotte murmured dreamily, noticing the horse’s perfectly groomed fur.

“Yes. This is one of Emperor Elisabeth’s horses,” Josephine said.

Farma and Lotte instinctively pulled back their hands; any mishap here would be catastrophic. Josephine began explaining the horse’s lineage.

“Emperor Elisabeth’s horses are descended from the ancient Flura stock, crossed with the lost Polino breed. They have small, elegant heads, long ears, slim bodies, beautiful flowing manes, and are extremely agile yet sturdy. The only drawback is their pride—they bond with only one master, and even veterinarians have trouble examining them.”

Though Farma knew little about horses, the emperor’s horse was undeniably majestic. The mare eyed them suspiciously, apparently displeased at the presence of strangers.

“She’s so temperamental, I’m always on edge that she might kick me with her hind legs,” Josephine said, recalling a particularly harsh kick, her voice tightening. Farma silently admired the dedication her work required.

“Even veterinarians get injured by the animals?” he asked.

Josephine nodded emphatically. “Absolutely! Even with protective magic, accidents happen—mostly bites.”

Farma inspected her hands; they were scarred and rough.

“Wow… I really respect you, Josephine-sensei,” Lotte whispered, distressed.

“I can apply some healing ointment—it’ll fix it quickly,” Farma offered. She blushed slightly. “I can manage myself,” she replied with a modest smile.

“Anyway, Professor, this is the one I wanted to show you.”

Josephine led Farma to a pristine white foal in the same stall as the emperor’s horse.

“Wow… it’s pure white!” Lotte gasped, entranced by the foal’s beauty. This was exactly the animal Farma had been seeking.

(Indeed… an albino.)

Congenital albinism.

Using his diagnostic gaze, Farma confirmed it—this foal was an albino, with large red eyes that seemed partially blind.

“How is this horse’s vision? Can it run quickly without bumping into things?”

“It has very limited vision. As veterinarians, there’s nothing we can do for that,” Josephine admitted, already aware of the foal’s weakness.

“Also, it’s prone to skin cancer. I’d like to treat it at the university, but I suppose it can’t be moved out here,” Farma said.

“Royal horses cannot be taken outside,” Josephine confirmed.

“Understood. Then we’ll come to it.”

From the next day, Farma prepared the CRISPR/Cas9 system, measured the foal’s weight, calculated doses, and began full-body gene therapy at the royal stables. Watching carefully for side effects, he treated body parts incrementally—today the front legs, tomorrow the hind legs—while monitoring the foal. His method, using his hands’ ability to pass through living tissue to deliver genes directly into cells, caused no pain whatsoever.

One week later, Farma checked the foal’s condition. It was healthy and had grown fond of him from daily visits.

Unable to enter the palace, Ellen and Emerich received daily updates from Farma. Emerich, especially meticulous, took detailed notes. Josephine also diligently visited the stall every day, monitoring the treated foal alongside her university duties.

Soon, she noticed the redness in the foal’s eyes fading to a deep indigo and small patches of chestnut fur beginning to sprout.

“Professor, why have the color of the eyes and coat changed? And the foal’s vision—it’s improved as well.”

Josephine ran the horse, and it moved more confidently than before, navigating obstacles without hesitation.

Farma explained the mechanism.

“This foal was born without a functioning tyrosinase gene, which is necessary for synthesizing melanin. I restored its function, so pigment production is now occurring throughout the body, including the eyes. By the time it grows its winter coat, the white should be replaced by its natural color.”

Even at this stage, no serious side effects had appeared.

The greatest concern with this therapy was the potential for cancer, but Farma and Josephine’s follow-up would mitigate that risk.

“Professor Medisis, what exactly did you use on this foal? A drug capable of this…” Josephine trailed off, astonished.

“We’ll cover it in specialized courses when you reach your third year. And remember, this treatment is still experimental,” Farma said.

“I understand. So it’s not yet an established therapy,” Josephine nodded, scribbling notes with enthusiasm. It seemed she was treating this as an impromptu field exercise.

“Master Farma. You’ve arrived—Her Majesty requests your presence.”

That day, one of the empress’s attendants came running, breathless, summoning Farma. Apparently, the empress had been looking for him.

The place of the summons was the imperial arena at the far edge of the garden, normally used for divine arts training.

A grand stadium with magical wards designed to contain high-level energy. Farma knew of its existence but had never been allowed close. It was usually reserved for the empress’s personal training. The wards were far more formidable than any in the Imperial Medical University.

(Is Her Majesty training right now…?)

While he pondered, the empress appeared from the arena, lightly armored and holding her staff. Accustomed to seeing her in extravagant gowns, Farma found her tight, high-cut training attire strikingly fresh.

At the entrance, Farma bowed calmly.

“May Your Majesty be in good spirits,” he said.

“Hmm, Farma, long time no see. You’ve been sneaking around the palace lately, I hear. I’ve been waiting to catch you,” she said with a grin, her breath slightly labored and a sheen of sweat on her brow—a sign she’d done a light training session. Farma noted silently that her mood clearly improved with physical exertion.

“Your Majesty, I must also thank you for the research funding granted to our department,” he said.

“Yes, the letter of thanks arrived. That is settled. But there’s something I wish to discuss,” she replied.

“May I ask what it concerns?”

“Let’s move somewhere more private.”

Sensing a topic best discussed away from others, Farma followed obediently.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said, trailing a few steps behind as she entered the arena. The empress casually changed the subject.

“By the way, Farma, how goes your search for a bride?”

“I am currently occupied with numerous duties, so I humbly request more time,” Farma replied, feeling a sudden stiffness in his steps. This was the last topic he wanted to broach.

“When will you be less busy? Huh? Will you keep working like this until you die?”

Farma forced a wry smile at the pointed question.

“As I have said before, I am not an ordinary man. If I take a wife, it may have adverse consequences. I ask that the matter be deferred a while longer.”

While he delivered his excuses, the empress ascended the central stage of the vast stone arena, drawing her staff. The wards beneath her activated, producing intricate geometric patterns across the floor—likely a reinforcement spell cast by an earth-element mage to strengthen the stone stage.

“Sometimes a little challenge is warranted. Be my opponent,” she said.

Farma realized the attendants who had accompanied her had disappeared—he had been cleared of all onlookers.

“My opponent…?”

(No… you don’t mean—divine arts combat? With Her Majesty?)

“Draw your staff.”

Farma froze. The empire’s strongest divine arts practitioner stood before him. How this would unfold was beyond any imagination he had prepared for.

Chapter 5, Episode 18: A Certain Proposal from Elisabeth

The Empress drew forth her imperial staff, a wand reserved for the highest-ranking divine magic users, and waited for Farma atop the arena stage.

“I’ve long wished to spar with you,” she said, her voice calm yet edged with anticipation. “But you’ve always fled. Today, I won’t let you escape. Accept it, and come at me.”

“If you have something to discuss with me, I would prefer to hear it first,” Farma replied, trying desperately to steer the conversation away from combat.

The Empress, however, feigned nonchalance. “It’s not urgent,” she said, though her posture betrayed a different story.

She wanted action before words.

(But if Her Majesty gets hurt, won’t my head roll too?)

No one here could definitively prove that Farma hadn’t attempted to assassinate the Emperor, should anything go wrong. Farma had no such intent, of course, but accidents could happen—and the mere suspicion of imperial assassination was a risk he couldn’t afford.

“I don’t have my wand with me,” Farma said.

“The one at your waist—is that just for show?”

The Empress smiled teasingly, pointing to his Medic Wand, knowing full well it was a sacred relic.

“Yes. It’s not meant for combat. Very well. I understand. I’ll engage you then.”

Farma set the wand aside, carefully placing it at his feet along with its sash, and leapt into the air, flipping gracefully before landing lightly on the arena stage. His employee ID—the sacred relic—remained safely in his pocket, pressed close to his body. He confirmed the subtle buoyancy it lent him, a small but critical reassurance.

“Hmph. Bare-handed, are you? Very well, I shall indulge you,” the Empress said.

“Please go easy on me,” Farma replied.

And then, without another word, the divine magic duel began.

“Protection de Dieu de feu!”

A brilliant flame, a manifestation of divine power, erupted from the imperial staff, enveloping the Empress in a shimmering aura. Farma had never witnessed this spell in action but knew of its effect: it blocked sensation of heat and made breathing easier, he had heard Melody describe.

Powerful fire-wielders quickly consume the oxygen around them. Perhaps, Farma thought, the spell acted like a protective dome to sustain the user’s activity amidst a self-made oxygen vacuum.

The Empress swung her staff in a fluid, irregular pattern, chanting the first incantation sharply, then twirled its tip through the air. Farma’s enhanced vision caught the dangerous spark forming at the tip.

“Roussissement de l’enfer!”

With the second-phase chant, she altered the protective flame’s oxygen domain, releasing it downward. Instantly, the stone stage beneath Farma erupted into a sea of fire.

(She’s venting oxygen downward. She’s using a flashover technique in combination with her divine magic!)

The inferno expanded explosively, consuming the arena like molten lava. Farma, relying on the buoyancy from his ID, conjured an ice platform in midair and jumped higher, narrowly avoiding the blaze.

(Hot… She’s skilled. I can’t land below.)

The flames circled her alone, leaving a protective ring around the Empress. She seemed to know exactly how to initiate and sustain combustion. Farma raised his hand, preparing his next move.

(Liquid nitrogen generation.)

White smoke hissed over the inferno below, briefly suffocating the flames. Yet the Empress’s divine fire endured, a stubborn ember remaining.

Farma then activated his erasure skill.

(Erase the nitrogen in the target area.)

He had to remove it or risk suffocating the Empress. She looked up at him midair, floating far longer than naturally possible, a faintly sadistic glint in her eyes.

“So, that’s it. You can fly, can you?” she asked.

“This is not flight—it is a leap,” Farma corrected, landing silently on his ice platform while crushing the surrounding heat with his divine energy.

“How boldly you claim otherwise,” she murmured. She channeled power into her horizontally held staff, and hundreds of searing fireballs sprang into existence around her. They emerged from another dimension, igniting the air itself. The firestorm whipped her flushed cheeks and silver hair, lending her a chaotic, radiant beauty.

“Infini flamme!”

She raised her staff to the sky, aiming it directly at Farma. Each fireball obeyed her with precision, as if taught their coordinates individually.

Farma intercepted the projectiles with his ice barrier. They sputtered, veered off course, and vanished in steam. But the Empress did not relent. She launched wave after wave: flaming arrows, scorching tornadoes, pillars of fire descending from the sky. Farma was overwhelmed by the artistry of her sovereign-level divine magic, and yet her power showed almost no depletion. She was holding back, waiting for the perfect moment to unleash an even greater spell.

(She’s hiding something.)

Just then, after countless attacks, the Empress completed a long incantation.

“Venue du Phoenix!”

Fire coalesced into a massive, roaring shape—a phoenix descending from the heavens. Farma felt genuine fear at the spectacle.

(I’ve never seen fire magic like this…))

He extended both hands: one erecting an ice barrier, the other conjuring a vacuum.

“Show me your true form!”

The phoenix-shaped white flames surged toward him, refracting and sparking like lightning. Just before the sentient blaze could break through, Farma solidified his fists with divine energy and dove straight into its fiery core.

Divine energy clashed with divine energy, amplifying their power and shaking the arena.

The surge whipped the air into a violent storm, summoning torrential rain and black clouds like dragons heralding the apocalypse. Even witnessing such raw power, the Empress did not flinch—a true heroine.

“This… is the power of a god… magnificent,” she whispered in awe.

Her divine energy exhausted from maximum output, she had lost the contest of raw power against Farma. The phoenix dissipated, and the countershock from Farma’s strike slammed her into the stone stage. The arena’s magic mitigated some of the impact, but could not fully absorb his force.

“Ugh!”

“Your Majesty!”

Farma snapped back to reality, rushing to her side. He had been too forceful in confronting the phoenix. He unwrapped the bandages from his arms; the powerful talismans burned away in divine flame. Elisabeth let out a suppressed, amused laugh, watching him.

“Ha… so you were sealing your power with talismans…”

“Please remain still. It seems you’re bleeding internally in multiple organs.”

Farma pressed his hand over hers, channeling divine energy from the sacred mark on his arm. It seeped into her body, healing her swiftly. The energy he had accumulated traveling between realms had dramatically amplified his abilities. When he finished, she slumped in exhaustion.

“Does it still hurt anywhere?”

“Nowhere. That’s some healing magic. Sorry for making you go through that. Though… I’m thirsty.”

Subtly, she lifted Farma’s left hand to her lips.

“Your Majesty? Th-this is…”

“Don’t be obtuse. I said I’m thirsty.”

(You’re using my hand as a faucet?) Farma muttered wryly but offered her the cold water without complaint.

After quenching her thirst, she turned back to him.

“Now, Farma, let us get to the real matter. The San-Flouve Empire will declare independence from the rule of the Holy Nation.”

“Eh…”

Farma froze, stunned by the implication.

“The High Temple has grown intolerable, straying from its own teachings,” Elisabeth continued. “They even dared to capture and seal a guardian deity, planning to drain its power until it vanished. You’ve survived their attacks yourself… though by chance, perhaps.”

She included the incident with Juliana among these attacks, and Farma preferred to avoid escalating matters.

“I’m not concerned. And the attacks have settled, for now,” he said, keeping a calm front. Full-scale war between the Empire and the Holy Nation would claim countless lives—something Farma could not allow.

“Should we fight the High Temple, all divine magic users across the Empire would lose their abilities. That would greatly harm our nation,” he added.

“That is why,” Elisabeth said, her voice resolute, “I intend to establish a new religion capable of safeguarding that power. What say you?”

Farma frowned. Religion always triggered his caution.

(A schism from the old temple to form a new faith… Religious reform, huh. I’ve seen this before.)

She outlined the doctrines: respect and coexistence with guardian deities, divine rites managed by those truly fit—Salomon, Juliana, and others—rather than monopolized by the High Temple. This would sever the Temple’s unilateral control.

Farma recognized her determination and understood she had likely consulted extensively with Salomon and the others.

“But, Your Majesty… wouldn’t this endanger you?”

The High Temple had nurtured her as the Empire’s most potent divine magician. Betraying them could strip her of both authority and throne, destabilizing the Empire, possibly inciting coup and chaos. The once-peaceful imperial capital could be plunged into upheaval.

“Everything I’ve proposed comes after considering every possible outcome. So… what do you think?”

“Are you asking for my opinion?”

Farma smiled warmly.

“Of course. This plan exists only because of you. A new faith that reveres the guardian deities, bestows divine power as a blessing, and empowers those with purpose to wield divine magic to help others… I want your honest opinion.”

The Empress returned his smile, elegant and calm.

“I cannot agree. Firmly. I understand Your Majesty’s intentions, but…”

“My, my,” she said with a wry tone. “As Salomon predicted, you have no desire to become a guardian deity. But I never intended for you to perform publicly as one. You may remain unseen, your name unspoken, ruling quietly in the background. What matters is the new faith, one that protects and venerates a guardian deity. That is the greater cause.”

“Could I at least remain just a healer?”

Farma’s words carried the weight of frustration, of a life he could not fully control.

“As a human, I wish only to help as many people as I can within my reach. Beyond that… I cannot meet higher expectations. I am human. You may not see it that way, Your Majesty, but I truly am.”

Farma believed in his own humanity completely. He could not become an object of worship, nor could he bear the weight of such devotion. To be revered formally as a guardian deity—he felt—it was beyond his limits.

At the same time, he understood that the Empress was trying to safeguard him, the dignity of past and future guardians, and the freedom of those who would bear the same burden. She was wholly on his side. That alone he took to heart.

“Thank you for your consideration. I will seek a path to reconciliation with the Holy Nation in due course.”

Perhaps she sensed the complexity of his feelings. Elisabeth bowed her head in apology.

“I regret that I have imposed matters against your will,” she said, leaving the proposal unresolved.

Yet, there was one point she did not withdraw: in preparation for any eventual conflict with the High Temple, trustworthy clergy must be trained to control the divine ley lines.

Chapter 5, Episode 19: Full-Body Gene Therapy and a Step Toward the Separation of Medicine and Pharmacy

Farma and the Empress left the arena and returned to the palace, where, no doubt sweating from their exertions, they were invited to bathe.

Farma was guided to the bath designated for male guests and breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Yet, for some reason, all the attendants assigned to assist with bathing were young, stunningly beautiful girls. Farma realized, with some exasperation, the Empress’s schemes at play.

“Lord Farma, allow me to wash your body. It will surely ease your muscles.”

“No, I shall be the one to serve you instead. Ah—wait, is that pattern on your arm a sacred mark?”

“Ah, Lord Farma… what a magnificent being you are. Shall we… do something fun together?”

The young attendants, clad in outfits that left little to the imagination, vied for the chance to serve Farma. Sensing the desperate eagerness in their eyes, he quickly intervened.

“No, um… I’ll wash myself for now. Perhaps just my back—yes, there.”

Leaning forward to block any… inappropriate offerings of service, Farma silently prayed, Please, Your Majesty, don’t turn this into a matchmaking session…

“Wha—?! Ahahaha! Stop it… ha-hey—ha ha!”

Farma found himself giggling helplessly as his ribs were tickled, completely losing his composure.

Finally released from the grueling hour-long bath, mentally and physically exhausted, Farma found the Empress waiting, Juliana giving her a massage, and Salomon at her side.

“Was that your doing, Your Majesty? Those girls?”

Farma asked, indignation lacing his words. Forced matchmaking was the last thing he needed.

“Did they perform their duties properly? And you… did you do your scouting as well?”

The Empress had fully assumed the role of a marriage matchmaker—though Farma, careful with his words, thought it more polite to call her a “matchmaking lady” rather than an old woman.

“In a place so… unguarded? There’s no way that would ever lead to a romantic atmosphere,” Farma snapped, his irritation slipping through.

“Hmm… shall we have some tea, then?”

After Juliana finished her massage, the Empress invited Farma to the tea gathering.

“I told you, such things are troublesome…”

“Hmph! If a man does not react to that, he is no true man! Surely your growth as a male has been… insufficient! Let me confirm for myself—”

Farma was nearly cornered by the Empress’s reverse harassment when Salomon, sensing the danger, cleared his throat and provided a timely rescue.

“Your Majesty. By the way, Lord Farma, you were firmly opposed to both the founding of the new faith and the appointment of a guardian deity, correct?”

“Indeed. You are merciless.”

The Empress had no retort.

Observing the towering cumulonimbus clouds and the immense pools of divine energy surrounding the arena, Salomon had been able to anticipate the outcome. Farma clarified he had not opposed out of mere obstinacy.

“I appreciate Your Majesty’s sentiments, but I fear I cannot meet your expectations. The founding of the new faith would be tantamount to rebellion against the Holy Nation. Should the Holy Nation order punitive action against such a rebel, the peaceful San-Fleurve Empire would be destabilized. I believe we should seek a path toward reconciliation.”

“Lord Farma is precisely such a person, Your Majesty. He prioritizes the well-being of the people over his own peril.”

Salomon spoke on Farma’s behalf, and Juliana smiled faintly, as if relieved.

“When I faced Farma in combat, denying he is a guardian deity, I realized… his divine power is inhuman, bottomless. I felt fear in battle for the first time in ages. I would gladly spar with him every day, if I could.”

“I must refuse. Earlier, I unintentionally hurt Your Majesty. Fortunately, it could be healed with divine power… but next time, who knows?”

Returning from the Sacred Spring, Farma had gained the ability to repair damaged tissue with divine energy.

Yet he was acutely aware of the risks—losing control even briefly could unleash lethal attacks.

The thought of future chaos weighed heavily on him. Living everyday life with a ticking time bomb of uncontrollable power, Farma walked a precarious path.

“I might as well go to the Holy Nation and let the ‘Locking Gear’ absorb my excess divine energy…”

“Lord Farma… that seems… risky,” Salomon interjected, concern evident. The Empress shared his unease.

“What nonsense. That would play straight into the Holy Nation’s hands. Besides, does this ‘world-sustaining locking gear’ even exist? It may be merely a pretext to lure guardian deities and siphon their divine power.”

Juliana, overhearing, cautiously added, “As far as I know, the locking gear does exist. Thanks to Lord Farma previously providing divine energy, it should last two hundred years. It is not an immediate concern.”

Juliana, once a high-ranking priestess aware of Pius’s movements, knew her facts.

“Even Juliana and other high priests may have been deceived. They haven’t witnessed it firsthand, have they?”

The Empress, despite her usual daring, remained cautious—a side Farma had never seen before.

“Indeed, it seems it cannot be seen by human eyes,” Juliana admitted, lowering her voice.

Farma followed up carefully. “I know the Holy Nation intends to abduct me, but my divine energy has grown stronger, making even daily life difficult. Large-scale expenditure could calm it, but opportunities are rare, and unused energy just accumulates in my body.”

He longed, frankly, to let it out at least once.

“Thus, directing my divine energy straight into the locking gear in the Holy Nation’s underground would benefit both sides,” he reasoned.

Preventing the Holy Nation’s schemes while reducing his own surplus energy seemed the only viable option. Any other method would almost inevitably involve destruction.

Expending divine energy via repeated large-scale eradication sanctuaries might help, but such acts destroy microbial ecosystems unnecessarily.

(As a last resort, I could send divine energy into the void of space—but that would be wasteful…)

Thus, using the locking gear was the most practical solution.

“First, I want to confirm what exactly this locking gear is.”

“That is dangerous. If it isn’t meant to accept external divine energy but to crush guardian deities… you could meet your end there.”

The Empress shook her head. Farma had intended to inspect from a safe distance, avoiding unnecessary risks—but the Empress would not allow him to go alone.

“Then I shall accompany you. It will also be an opportunity to meet with Pius. I will arrange the schedule.”

(A meeting with the Empress and the high priest… trouble is inevitable, Farma mused.)

The Empress requested the meeting with the Holy Nation, and the schedule was set: Farma would travel there next month.

Before that journey, he had one pressing matter: the genetic treatment for the Emerich family.

Several successful trials on animal models with hereditary conditions had already been completed.

The timeline was advanced, and Farma prepared to begin human treatment.

Unlike Japan, the San-Fleurve Empire had no national review board for clinical trials. Farma would need to present his data to the Empress, the court physician, and the royal apothecaries to gain approval.

With Empress Elisabeth present, the first Ethics Review Audience was scheduled. Farma pondered how to explain a treatment method only he could perform—until Ellen had a sudden idea.

“Hey, what if we use a sacred artifact for administration? Not only your hands, Farma-kun, but the artifact can see through the human body, right?”

Farma had believed the treatment could only be performed by him—but Ellen suggested anyone could do it using the artifact.

“Humans may not hold artifacts directly, but if enclosed in an inorganic object, it can be held safely. This would allow the drug to penetrate the body evenly—anyone could administer it.”

It was an idea Farma had never considered, and he silently thanked her.

“I can’t invent medicines like you, Farma-kun, but I’m glad I can help in this way.”

With Ellen’s suggestion, the presentation to the court passed smoothly, facing no objections from the physicians or royal apothecaries. Half of them were likely already lost when Farma began explaining the CRISPR/Cas9 system—but those who understood, like Claude, Bruno, and medical students who attended Farma’s lectures, applauded enthusiastically.

At the end, Claude posed a question.

“May I use your drug in my patients? How should I prepare it?”

It was the first time a doctor had requested Farma’s treatment. Some attending physicians and apothecaries nodded in agreement.

Françoise de Savoie, a court apothecary, expressed caution.

“Even so, can we handle such a medicine? Highly effective drugs can be dangerous if prepared incorrectly.”

Given the advanced knowledge required, Farma had no intention of letting inexperienced individuals handle his cutting-edge pharmaceuticals—no matter their title.

“At the Imperial Medical Academy, specialists in handling these new drugs are being trained. It will take a few years for the first graduates. In the meantime…”

Farma explained a simple procedure for safely handling the new medicine.

A few days after approval from the Ethics Review Audience, Farma began the urgent genetic treatment for the second son, Eugen, in the pharmacy’s treatment room.

“Hello, thank you for coming today.”

His elder brother Emerich brought Eugen to Farma at the appointed time.

“We’re coming along too!”

Cheerful voices accompanied by younger sisters resembling Lotte arrived, adding a lively bustle.

Lotte, attending as usual, was reintroduced to the family by Farma, bewildered.

“Wait… you mean they’re all related to you, Lord Farma? I… I don’t understand…”

“In other words, we’re family,” Farma explained. The sisters shook hands with Lotte, delighted at the encounter.

“But I’m just a commoner! How am I related to nobles?”

“Oh, that… it’s complicated,” Farma replied carefully. Lotte learned that she was a descendant of former nobles who had lost divine power.

“What kind of divine arts do you all use? If we’re relatives… could I also use divine arts?”

Excited but mistaken, Lotte listened as her elder sister corrected her:

“Our siblings all wield either water or wind. Divine power is innate—without the proper divine line, it won’t happen for you.”

A brief disappointment passed, then Lotte bounced back to her usual cheer.

“Right… that makes sense. What a strange feeling. I’m Charlotte! May I know your names?”

Without siblings of her own, Lotte seemed thrilled to have suddenly gained brothers and sisters.

“Meeting our relatives by chance in a distant land… it’s wonderful!”

“Me too!”

(Ah, the women’s voices are all so similar…)

The pharmacy echoed with laughter and chatter. Three parts Lotte made the atmosphere even more vibrant. When their pitch rose an octave, Farma could no longer distinguish who was speaking.

As they animatedly discussed sweets, Farma intervened to focus on the task at hand.

“Please wait upstairs on the first floor while we proceed, Eugen. Let’s go.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Leaving Emerich and the sisters below, Farma and Ellen led Eugen to the treatment room upstairs.

“Now, Eugen, lie down on the table.”

“Please.”

Sweating nervously, Eugen lay on the bed, his fragile frame radiating the air of one already sick, though the fatal disease had not yet manifested.

The curse of the “Pharmaceutical God” weighed differently on family members—some ignored it in daily life, while others, like Eugen, were constantly tormented.

(I hope once Eugen is cured, he’ll be free from this burden and regain his vigor.)

“Relax. I’ll blindfold you so the divine light won’t hurt your eyes.”

Ellen carefully placed a mask over Eugen’s eyes, explaining its purpose.

“Your insomnia symptoms haven’t started yet, right?”

“Not yet. I sleep well. My body feels a bit warm… could this be an early symptom?”

“Perhaps. But even if not, starting treatment early is best—nerve damage will be minimal if the disease doesn’t progress.”

“Yes… I’m glad we’re doing this today.”

Eugen seemed resolute.

“The procedure should be painless, but tell me immediately if you feel discomfort—we’ll stop at once.”

“Understood.”

Farma began by using diagnostic divine light to examine Eugen’s body.

Already, the young man’s body glowed faintly red—a signal of the otherwise untreatable disease.

(Red… before I couldn’t see it, but it’s progressing quickly. We need to fix this fast.)

Left unchecked, Eugen’s death would be inevitable within about a year. Once nerve cells were destroyed further, regeneration would require an extraordinarily difficult process.

For now, his neurons were intact, and he had not yet developed insomnia.

The timing was perfect.

(Not a single day can be delayed. The medicine is ready. Before the disease manifests, it must be cured. Today—today it happens!)

Farma was about to attempt a move never before tried on Earth, defying impossibility itself.

By combining his cheat abilities with Earth’s pharmaceutical knowledge, full-body gene therapy had become achievable.

Shaking off hesitation, Farma began marking a grid over Eugen’s clothing, numbering each section.

This would allow him to precisely track where each dose was administered.

“This divine art of yours is… unusual. It tickles,” Eugen said, twisting slightly as the markings brushed his skin.

“Ah, please stay still. It’ll be over soon,” Farma replied.

Ellen held Eugen steady, and his heart rate climbed. He must not know the details of the “divine art” being used. Normally, a doctor would explain the treatment and obtain patient consent—but Farma’s method relied on his hand’s ability to pass through matter, a fact he could not disclose. He simply described it as a divine art.

Yet all side effects, risks, and potential sequelae were fully explained.

“Farma-kun, the medicine is prepared.”

“Thank you.”

Ellen handed him the mixture: the anti-prion antibody tagged with marker substances, CRISPR/Cas9, the corrective sequences, and all other components.

Using his “translucent administration” method—leveraging the fact that his hands could pass through flesh—Farma carefully delivered the labeled antibodies and gene therapy throughout Eugen’s body.

“All going smoothly. Section five is good. Next is six—dose is correct.”

With Ellen’s meticulous guidance, Farma continued the process methodically. Soon, the full-body administration was complete.

“All sections have been treated,” Ellen confirmed.

“Understood. On to the next step.”

(Erase the 5-carboxyfluorescein…)

Farma raised his right hand over Eugen silently, activating the erasure ability.

Targeting the fluorescent markers bound to prion proteins by the antibodies, he erased them, destroying both the markers and the binding sites on the proteins themselves, normal or abnormal.

The damaged proteins were promptly degraded.

“That should destroy all prion proteins. The gene therapy is probably already in progress.”

“The gene therapy system administered simultaneously is already active, right?” Ellen asked.

“Yes. Now comes the crucial part.”

CRISPR/Cas9 and the corrective sequences were rewriting Eugen’s genes in every somatic cell. From this point on, all prion proteins produced by his cells would be of the normal type.

Because germ cells were also rewritten, hereditary disease would no longer be passed to future generations.

Repeating the treatment on subsequent days would ensure no cells were missed.

Theoretically, it was possible—and so far, animal experiments had succeeded without serious side effects.

The only question remaining: would it work on a human patient? That was everything.

“Now… let’s see if it worked.”

Farma exhaled deeply, easing the tension from his stiff shoulders, and activated diagnostic divine light.

The red glow surrounding Eugen’s body was fading.

(For now… it seems successful.)

Overcoming the red light that had signified incurability, Farma felt a surge of emotion.

“How is it, Farma-kun?”

Ellen asked cautiously. Farma formed a circle with his fingers and smiled.

Ellen shared in the joy, and Farma gently roused Eugen.

“It’s done, Eugen.”

“Huh?! Already?!”

Eugen leapt from the bed, startled.

“I was dozing… felt so comfortable…”

“Take your time. You can stand now. Let’s go to your family.”

Farma led Eugen downstairs, where Emerich waited at the bottom of the spiral staircase.

“How do you feel? Any issues?”

“Nothing at all. I slept the whole time, it felt great… like a weight has been lifted.”

Eugen’s expression was transformed, bright and rejuvenated.

“Professor! How is my brother…?”

Emerich asked, tense. Farma lowered his sleeves to conceal the divine medicine marks on his arms and nodded.

“I think it was successful. For today, at least. We’ll monitor his progress.”

“Thank you! Truly, thank you! I’m indebted to you!”

Emerich’s joy mirrored his relief at Eugen’s recovery.

“Lord Farma! A patient has arrived. They brought this,” Lotte said, handing him a sealed envelope after seeing the family depart.

“Hmm… the day’s consultations are over, but alright. Even if it’s after hours, I’ll take a look.”

Farma opened the envelope and his voice brightened.

“So, this has arrived!”

“What is it?”

Ellen picked up the envelope. It was the first time Farma had received such a thing since founding the Otherworld Pharmacy. Inside were:

Patient name, age, address
Date issued, issuer
Noble or commoner status (and attribute and guardian deity if noble)
Prescription
“A prescription—from a doctor,” Farma explained.

The prescribing physician was Claude de Chauliac, professor at the Imperial Medical University and Chief Court Physician. He had written the prescription for the outpatient pharmacy, specifying doses and administration of modern medicine—Cefcapen Pivoxil Hydrochloride—to prevent post-surgical infection following trauma surgery.

When Claude expressed interest in using Farma’s medicine, Farma had replied, “Write a prescription, please.” The format, devised by Claude, bore some similarities to prescriptions in Japan.

Farma met the waiting count, confirming the prescription step by step.

“Why did you see Dr. Claude today?”

“Ah, I cut my finger deeply with a knife yesterday. He told me to bring the letter here myself instead of sending someone for the medicine, so I came.”

Using diagnostic divine light, Farma observed the wound was clean, no sign of infection. Claude’s accompanying note mentioned modifying his procedure based on Farma’s textbook and lectures.

“Oh? The Chief Court Physician specified the medicine? He could have just sent the patient, and Farma-kun could have treated him here, like Parre does.”

Ellen looked surprised.

“Sending the patient and sending the prescription have different implications, Ellen,” Farma said.

Diagnosis and prescribing are the physician’s work; auditing and dispensing belong to the pharmacist. From his past life’s perspective as a pharmacist, Farma preferred not to have pharmacists independently diagnosing and prescribing.

(The ideal pharmacy receives the doctor’s prescription externally. Separation of medicine and pharmacy is the principle.)

In Japan, pharmacists audit prescriptions, question the doctor if needed, dispense the medicine, and a second pharmacist verifies it—ensuring proper patient care. Farma hoped for the same system here.

“Claude’s prescription for Cefcapen Pivoxil Hydrochloride is fine, but in this case, Cefaclor might be absorbed more efficiently,” he mused, planning future optimization.

Claude’s prescription hinted at modern medicine gradually taking root in San-Fleurve’s capital.

“Slowly… things are changing. The people of this world too…”

Ellen glanced meaningfully at Farma, who handled beakers and medication papers with fresh energy. Lotte folded medicine pouches humming a tune, Cedric tallied sales and stored them in the safe, and part-time pharmacists chatted while cleaning and organizing.

Farma carefully filed the new prescription and began preparing the last patient’s medicine for the day, feeling renewed.

Perhaps he too had changed along the way.