The Genius Doctor Who Lives Twice - Chapter 14

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 14
Edward felt naked under that gaze.
He fought the urge to squeeze his eyes shut.
“Yes, Secretary.”
“Much improved, I’m grateful.”
A faint smile crossed Mackintosh’s weathered lips.
Edward wanted to cheer on the spot, but he barely managed to preserve his composure as he replied.
“I’m glad it’s working. The splint hasn’t been too uncomfortable, has it?”
“The first nights were dreadful, I’ll admit, but now I barely feel it at all. My left hand’s grown quite accustomed to the arrangement, and with the pain in my right arm easing… well, I feel like I might actually live again. It’s all thanks to you, Doctor.”
“You deserve the credit for your patience and for following the regimen so faithfully.”
Edward bowed respectfully.
Allen, watching from the side, let out a quiet laugh.
Edward’s social graces had improved considerably in the meantime.
Mackintosh made a small gesture, and a servant stepped forward bearing a wooden box.
“This is a token of my appreciation.”
Inside lay three gold coins, gleaming brilliantly.
Edward’s eyes widened.
“But I’ve already received the consultation fee…”
“This is my personal gratitude. And it’s also my joy at discovering that Dunford has a renowned physician in its midst.”
After a brief, formal exchange, Edward accepted the coins.
His hands trembled as he took them, but this time it was from sheer delight.
The two of them left the manor on foot, choosing not to take a carriage this time either.
As they descended the path, Edward began to bounce with each step.
He looked exactly like an excited child.
“We did it! We did it, Doctor!”
He called out to Allen with unbridled enthusiasm.
Allen smiled gently.
“What about maintaining a renowned physician’s dignity?”
“Who’s watching? Besides, nobody in this town knows who I am anyway!”
After giggling for a while, he finally caught his breath and let out a deep sigh.
Then his face brightened as though the very air had become sweet.
“Our clinic has nowhere to go now but up.”
It was true.
The fact that he’d healed the Chief Secretary who oversaw all of Dunford’s administration would soon spread throughout the entire region.
In other words, the people of Green Hills could now become his prospective patients as well.
“But envy and jealousy will grow proportionately.”
Allen spoke quietly.
He had already experienced it in the Capital.
The envy toward young talent, the jealousy, and all manner of slander besides.
This place would be no different.
“We’ll worry about that when the time comes. For now, let’s enjoy this moment! How about we celebrate properly and get thoroughly drunk today?”
Edward reached out to grab Allen’s shoulder, but the height difference meant he ended up patting his back instead.
“Do you drink much?”
“What kind of surgeon would turn down a drink? And you, Doctor—do you have a preference?”
“I prefer wine. Burgundy from the Southern Kingdom Octo’s chalky soils, especially. I’m particularly fond of a vintage picked in a year with especially warm sunshine and aged to perfection.”
“Ha! Look at this fellow—making jokes like a true gentleman!”
It was no joke.
For Allen to rise into the upper classes, an understanding of refined palates was essential.
He too had gone to great trouble learning about wine regions, flavor profiles, and the like.
‘But wine is something to be enjoyed… yet I approached it only as a means to advancement, and so I’ve never truly tasted it.’
A bitter smile played at Allen’s lips.
He’d been so anxious about when his “lowborn origins” and “lack of pedigree” might be exposed that he’d never truly savored a drinking session in earnest.
The two of them entered a tavern called the Rusty Anchor.
An anchor-shaped sign creaked in the wind—the busiest tavern in Dunford.
Edward had given it a strong recommendation.
“The proprietor’s ale here is absolutely exquisite.”
Edward dropped into an empty seat and ordered two ales and a plate of braised pork feet.
Soon two tin cups arrived, foam sloshing cheerfully at the rim, and Edward eagerly proposed a toast.
“A toast! The words shall be…”
“To the Clinic.”
“Yes, to the Clinic! And to more patients!”
The mugs collided in mid-air, and a few drops of foam scattered across the table.
Allen found the taste of the ale surprisingly excellent.
The tart finish and rich barley flavor were perfectly balanced.
“How is it? Good taste, yes?”
“Indeed. Quite pleasant, actually.”
“Ha! I’m delighted to hear you say so! Tonight, my treat. Drink as much as you like!”
Edward spoke with characteristic warmth and generosity.
Allen savored the aroma and taste of the ale in quiet contentment.
Somehow, the feeling of having come home felt more real to him now.
Despite not knowing these people, despite having shared nothing with them before.
“Now, let me show you something amusing.”
Edward raised his hand and ordered gin and ale.
Then he poured the gin into a small glass and dumped it entirely into the ale.
“This is what we call a Bomb Drink! Learned it in the army.”
It was a desperate expedient, really—a way to make cheap gin with its acrid stench actually drinkable.
If you asked why one would mix them at all, a drinker’s logic was simple: because the alcohol was there.
As the alcohol began to take hold, Edward’s face flushed deep red, and his words came faster and more freely.
In the stream of his military reminiscences, he had already become a legendary hero who had met with the division commander in private audience and pierced through artillery fire to save a comrade.
“Even as I am, I once glimpsed the Crown Prince from afar, and I was honored to receive a handkerchief that his own hand had touched. During a parade, when a soldier collapsed, I was treating him when His Highness happened to pass by—”
Allen, who regularly treated that very Crown Prince, listened in silence.
He knew better than anyone that His Highness was not the sort to give away handkerchiefs carelessly, but he had no wish to dampen Edward’s spirits.
Edward, still boasting, drained his fourth mug and exhaled a breath heavy with alcohol.
He leaned his elbows on the table, resting his chin in his hands, and gazed at Allen intently.
His eyes held a tangle of complex emotions.
“I truly owe you thanks, Allen.”
“Come now, not more gratitude. Let’s put an end to it.”
Allen waved his hand dismissively.
But Edward continued.
“It’s almost unbelievable that someone as talented as you would come to work with me.”
“I came to learn Surgical Treatment. Didn’t we agree on a fair exchange?”
“That’s what troubles me. I want to teach you everything I know, but truthfully, I’ve taught you nothing of substance so far.”
In two months, patients requiring Surgical Treatment had not been frequent.
Not a single Amputation case—the crown jewel of surgery—had come through the door.
This fact weighed constantly on Edward’s mind.
A fear that this small clinic in a small city might somehow hinder Allen’s progress.
A fear of receiving without truly giving in equal measure.
“If you were a surgeon in a major city—Kelden, for instance—I could teach you far more.”
“Very well. Let’s say I went to Kelden instead.”
Allen interlaced his fingers.
“Would those surgeons there take on an apprentice as old as I am? Let’s say I introduced myself as a physician. Would they listen to me the way you do?”

“Would they attend my evening lectures every night, strain to learn something more, and choose my methods when my approach conflicts with their established ways?”
They would not.
Surgeons in great cities had pride to match their skill.
They would sooner cast him out as a madman.
“…Though I suppose forbidding Bloodletting entirely was rather harsh of me.”
“Perhaps. But I truly believe that practice causes harm. Especially draining blood until a patient turns pale—that crosses the line from ignorance into murder.”
Allen felt keenly how dangerous a practice that was—something he himself had performed without hesitation mere weeks ago.
“Few would accept my methods, much less a surgical mentor willing to teach them. Edward, you are a good colleague. Don’t think of yourself as merely receiving. I gain something from this too.”
Edward stared at Allen for a moment, silently.
His eyes wavered with conflicted feeling.
“…I’m grateful to hear you say that.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Then why won’t you call me a good teacher?”
“Because you’ve taught me nothing.”
“You cheeky bastard!”
Edward laughed heartily.
He drained the last of his drink in one go, then exhaled toward the sky with a satisfied sigh.
“I’m truly curious now. Who in heaven was your teacher?”
“Would you like me to tell you where my knowledge comes from?”
Allen looked directly into Edward’s eyes as he spoke.
Edward held his gaze for a moment, then let out a low chuckle and shook his head.
“What does it matter? You’re my teacher. What would I do with knowing my teacher’s teacher?”
He raised his hand and ordered another beer.
Then he lifted his glass.
“Come, let’s toast again. To my teacher, Allen!”
“Then should I toast to my teacher, Edward?”
“…To Edward, who will become my teacher!”
The two glasses collided with a dull clink in the air.
They laughed and drained their cups, continuing their conversation.
Trivial talk, mostly.
Yet for Allen, it was the first time in ages he’d felt the kind of easy conversation only a friend could offer.
As the night deepened, the tavern grew warmer and louder.
Men of all kinds were washing away the day’s exhaustion with Ale, drowning their worries.
With so many crowded together, a brawl seemed likely at any moment, but the proprietor’s massive frame and strict hand kept the peace intact.
Yet calamity, as always, finds the moment least expected.
“Gack! Hack, heave!”
A man at a table near the entrance suddenly gagged and lurched forward across the table.
His hands flailed at the air before desperately clutching at his throat.
“Friend, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”
While his companions cried out in confusion, the man convulsed with a grotesque sound.
His bloodshot eyes bulged as if about to burst from their sockets, and the muscles around his neck spasmed, gasping for air.
“Something’s stuck in his throat! Hit his back! Hurry!”
His friends rushed over and pounded his back with their fists, but it was no use.
The man collapsed to the ground with a contorted face.
The terror of suffocation drained all color from his skin, leaving it an ashen blue.
The murmur of concern twisted into sharp screams.
The peaceful tavern was swallowed by panic in an instant.
The commotion that began by the entrance rolled through the room like a wave, reaching even the far corners.
“What’s all that noise about?”
Edward asked, his tongue slightly thick with drink.
A weathered partition wall stood between the entrance and their table, blocking a clear view of what was happening.
“…Something stuck in his throat!”
“Hit his back! Make him breathe, damn it!”
“Water! Bring water!”
Fragments of words pierced Allen’s ears from beyond the wall.
The scrape of chairs on the floor, urgent footsteps—all signs of chaos.
Allen’s mind snapped into sharp focus.
“I need to go take a look.”
Without waiting for Edward’s response, Allen pushed back his chair and stood.
Rounding the partition, he found a living nightmare before him.
The table near the entrance was already a disaster.
The man’s thrashing had overturned the table, scattering ale and food across the floor in a mess.
The collapsed man’s pallor had already transcended pale, shifting into an eerie, sickly blue.
“Breathe, damn you, breathe!”
The burly proprietor, who had appeared without warning, struck the man’s back repeatedly with his massive hands, flat as pot lids.
Yet the man could not even manage a strangled cry, only thrashing at the air.
Complete suffocation—not even a cough.
Allen, arriving in that critical moment, grasped the situation instantly.
‘Acute Upper Airway Obstruction.’
The anatomy flashed through his mind like lightning.
He shouted urgently as he stepped forward.
“Stop striking his back! It will only lodge it deeper!”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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