The Genius Doctor Who Lives Twice - Chapter 34

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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 34
The priest regarded him briefly.
His gaze was searching, as if taking the measure of who stood before him anew.
Then he opened his mouth slowly.
“Of late, I tire easily. The slightest exertion leaves me breathless. And sometimes, once I’ve finished the sermon, dizziness overtakes me.”
“When did this begin?”
“About half a year ago, I’d say. At first I attributed it to age. But it seems to worsen with each passing week.”
Allen examined the priest’s complexion without speaking.
It was drained of color—deathly pale.
Even his lips had turned a ghostly white.
When Allen gently drew down the priest’s eyelid to inspect the conjunctiva, it too was pale.
“Would you extend your hand?”
As the priest offered his hand, Allen checked the color of his nails.
The nail beds were bleached white.
Then he pressed his fingers to the priest’s wrist to feel the pulse.
It was weak and rapid.
“How are your meals?”
“Irregular. On busy days, I sometimes skip them altogether.”
“Do you eat meat?”
The priest’s eyebrows flickered ever so slightly.
“As a man of the cloth, I practice restraint.”
“To what degree?”
“I eat almost no red meat. Fish perhaps once a week.”
Allen paused, choosing his words carefully.
“Besides the dizziness, are there other symptoms? Heart palpitations, perhaps? Shortness of breath?”
“Climbing stairs leaves me gasping. It never used to.”
“Headaches?”
“From time to time.”
“Do you sleep well?”
“No matter how much I sleep, the fatigue never lifts.”
Allen nodded slowly.
He examined the priest’s hand again.
Pressing lightly on a fingertip, then releasing, he observed how quickly color returned.
The response was sluggish.
Throughout, the priest accepted it all without complaint, merely observant and still.
When Allen finally released his hand, he spoke.
“You have Anemia.”
“…Anemia?”
“Your blood is depleted. More precisely, the blood lacks certain essential components—but what matters now is finding the cause.”
Allen held the priest’s gaze as he continued.
“You’ve told me you skip meals and eat almost no meat. Your body has gone far too long without what it needs. You say the symptoms began half a year ago, but the truth is they developed gradually, long before that. Half a year ago, you simply began to notice them—not when they began.”
The priest listened in silence, attentive.
“At present, it is not life-threatening. But neglect will worsen it. Your heart will bear increasing strain, and eventually worse complications will follow.”
“…How is it treated?”
“First, you must eat regularly. And you must eat meat—red meat is best. You spoke of restraint as a virtue, but if you deny your body what it requires, you’ll ultimately be unable to fulfill the duties your calling demands.”
The corner of the priest’s mouth moved faintly.
He seemed caught between refutation and acceptance.
“Spinach and legumes also help. And there is this as well.”
Allen reached for a small bottle on the nearby table.
“…What is it?”
“Iron Powder.”
……
“Mix a small amount into your stew or tea when you drink. It will aid your recovery.”
Gabriel stared in blank astonishment.
Allen’s diagnosis and prescription were altogether different from every other physician Gabriel had encountered.
Entirely different in every respect.
The others had told him it was “Pallor Syndrome” or “Maiden’s Disease.”
They described blood turning to water, life force draining away—a wasting illness.
And they’d prescribed tonics to restore vigor, advised him to drink plenty of wine.
Some physicians had even recommended Bloodletting.
‘…Iron,’ he thought.
Absurd as it seemed, he knew from experience that it worked.
As a priest, he exchanged letters frequently with others in the order.
One monk had once suggested to him that he drink Iron-flavored Mineral Water, and remarkably, it had proven quite effective.
And the physician before him—or rather, the apprentice—already seemed to know this fact with perfect clarity.
‘Certainly, he is no ordinary apprentice.’
Some of Robinson’s reasons for lodging the complaint against him were clearly justified.
This was an extraordinary man.
His past would be complicated.
It occurred to him that the Edward Clinic might well be sustained entirely by this apprentice’s abilities.
Yet at the same time, another conviction took hold of him.
‘This man is no charlatan. He’s not some fraud who deceives people with honeyed words.’
He clearly knew exactly what he was observing.
He was nothing like the mediocre swindlers who sought to dupe people with flattery and deception.
“Thank you. I shall follow your recommendation.”
“Would you like me to write out a prescription?”
“Yes, I would appreciate that.”
Allen picked up his pen and began writing instructions on paper.
Gabriel, who had been watching him in silence, suddenly spoke.
“It was I who drafted the complaint against you.”
Allen’s pen stilled for a moment.
It was, in fact, an unexpected confession.
He had assumed the priest would probe into his identity or background.
But he soon resumed writing, answering with ease.
“Yes, I had heard.”
“Do you harbor ill feelings toward me?”
“Rather, I thought it was something you would do, given your position as a priest.”
Gabriel offered a bitter smile at those words.
Whether it meant that a man in the priest’s position would naturally act so, or whether Gabriel’s nature as a person made such actions inevitable, he could not say.
“Here is your prescription.”
Allen handed over the paper.
It was filled with a careful list of what must be observed and what must be avoided.
Gabriel took the paper and examined it for a moment, then twisted his lips bitterly.
“Now, I confess, my mind has changed somewhat. It shames me, but I must acknowledge it.”
If Michael’s petition had shaken his heart, it was this man himself—this meeting with him—that drove the final wedge home.
He had been wrong.
Gabriel had no choice but to admit it.
“However, I cannot withdraw the complaint. It has already been submitted to the court. That is beyond my power.”
…….
“But I can give you this.”
Gabriel withdrew a sheet of paper from within his robe and offered it to Allen.
As Allen took it and unfolded it, his eyes trembled for a moment.
A Leniency Petition.
It contained careful details written by the priest regarding the person named Allen Light.
But on the half-filled paper, only the “testimony of those around him” had been recorded so far.
“Might you lend me your pen?”
Allen handed over his pen at Gabriel’s request.
The priest began to add his own observations below the testimony of those around him.
I myself received treatment directly from this individual today, and in the course of that treatment, I detected no intention whatsoever to deceive or exploit the patient.
(……)
While it is true that this person’s actions violated procedure, it is difficult to deny that his motivation lay not in self-interest but in the patient’s welfare.
Having finished writing, Gabriel set down the pen.
Then he handed the paper to Allen.
Allen took the Leniency Petition and scanned its contents.
His eyes trembled faintly.
“…Priest.”
“Consider it payment for the consultation.”
The priest said this and turned his gaze toward the window.
The crimson glow of sunset was seeping deeply into the streets.
Children were playing in the brightness with joy on their faces.
For a while he gazed out the window, then spoke without turning his head.
“It’s been how many months now that you’ve been volunteering at the Orphanage?”
“Three months, sir.”
“Then tell me—what’s your impression of the Orphanage as it stands?”
It was an abrupt question, yet somehow one that deserved answering.
Allen had become one of the most frequent outside visitors to the Orphanage of late.
“The children seem to be in good spirits, meals are provided regularly, and the overall sanitation is quite adequate.”
It was nearly praise.
Having seen so many orphanages in Kalden that were little better than garbage heaps, Allen found this place to be exceptionally well-run.
“I see.”
The priest murmured softly and fell silent for a moment.
Allen waited for what would come next.
“About twenty years ago, when I was the director, conditions were far worse.”
The priest began slowly to unearth the past.
“There were far too many children. Food was always scarce, and we were short-staffed. I didn’t have the luxury of caring for each one individually. I could only maintain order through discipline. Without it, there would have been chaos.”
……
“At the time, I believed that was best. That what these children needed wasn’t warmth but discipline. That without order, nothing else mattered. Of course, I paid no mind to any individual child. Their futures were already written—or so I thought.”
The priest’s voice was dry, yet Allen’s heart had begun to race.
This was the story of his own time as an orphan.
Those terrible memories suddenly returned, tightening like a fist around his chest.
“Then there was one child.”
The priest turned his head, and his gaze met Allen’s.
“Unusually remarkable. Most orphans are cowed, but this one was different. Sharp-minded, with a look in his eyes unlike the others. A child who thought for himself. Teach him once and he grasped it instantly, then digested it in his own way. He was less like a child and more like a small adult.”
Allen steadied his breathing and kept his face carefully blank.
“I introduced that child to the Chief Priest. The Chief Priest had connections among the nobility. I asked him to take a look at the boy.”
“The Chief Priest showed interest?”
“He did not. He showed little enthusiasm. So I pressed him. I told him that to neglect such a child would be to commit a sin before God.”
Gabriel’s expression grew distant, as if gazing into a far-off place.
“I don’t know why I did it now, looking back. Perhaps I wanted to do something good for once, or perhaps it was merely a whim. In any case, the Chief Priest relented. He said he would try his hand at nurturing the boy. And so the child left the Orphanage.”
The priest paused, then continued.
“And then I forgot about him. There were so many children. That one boy wasn’t special. Once his patronage was secured, I thought my work was done.”
The priest’s hand trembled faintly upon his knee.
“But years later, I heard news. That boy had been admitted to the Royal Medical Academy.”
……
“At first I thought it merely fortunate. I was glad. But then the thought wouldn’t leave my mind. What if I hadn’t noticed him? What would have become of him then?”
The priest turned his gaze toward the window and spoke quietly.
“Orphans who leave here typically become laborers, or if they’re lucky, apprentices to craftsmen. That’s the extent of it. That boy would have been the same. If I had simply passed him by.”
“So… you changed.”
Allen asked calmly.
He was careful to mask the tremor in his voice.
The priest kept silent for a moment.
“I resolved to change. I came to understand, then and there, that the course of these children’s lives could differ vastly depending on how I see them, on where I direct my gaze. After that, I began to truly look at the Orphanage again. At each child as an individual.”
The priest added quietly and rose from his seat.
“There is much lacking still. I was never a warm man by nature. But it is better than before. At least I am trying to be.”
He offered a light farewell and turned to go.
Allen watched the priest’s retreating figure for a moment.
Then he called out.
“Father.”
Gabriel turned and looked back at him.
“Do you… remember that child’s name?”
At Allen’s question, Gabriel fell silent.
Then he shook his head slowly.
“No. I don’t recall it.”
His face was expressionless.
Allen could read nothing from it.
Whether he was speaking truth or deliberately concealing it.
“Thank you for the treatment. I shall follow your instructions faithfully.”
Gabriel stepped toward the door.
Soon the heavy sound of the front door closing echoed through the space.

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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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