The Accelerated Aging Diet Ends in Failure

The accelerated aging diet ended in failure. On many fronts, it was a total defeat for me.

First of all, the tasting panel trio obviously couldn't endure this tremendous diet for very long. They enjoyed themselves through the second day, but on the third, their eating pace began to slow. And on day four, they were caught red-handed sneaking pickles in their sleeves.

"Oh ho... someone's brought something quite interesting."

Siu scrambled to make excuses. "I-I'm sorry. We're the ones who said we wanted to eat it, but we got tired of it so quickly..."

At Siu's confession, Lily suddenly burst out. "I never want to see garlic chicken again! I want to eat fruit that isn't coated in sugar! I'm sick of spicy, salty broth too!"

I offered my advice with a grave, resolute voice. "Then would you like to switch from garlic chicken to fried chicken?"

"Doctor...?!"

"I'm kidding. You should have just said something instead of suffering through it. I would have told you to stop ages ago."

Only then did relief spread across all three of their faces. I smiled and cleared the chicken off the table. "Once we've done your blood work and measured your weight and waistlines today, I'll switch you back to regular meals."

True, they were unintended civilian participants. And true, the whole thing fizzled out after just four days. But their participation had clearly meant something.

Over the three days, the tasting panel showed exactly the changes I had predicted: diarrhea, skin breakouts, weight gain, expanding waistlines, post-meal drowsiness — plus irritability and restlessness thrown in for good measure. Their blood work even showed a slight rise in cholesterol levels.

Which meant the accelerated-aging food was, without question, affecting them.

And as for our immortal male lead... "Haah..."

I stared across the table at the Duke, who was carving his chicken with a knife and fork. Two whole weeks had passed. He'd been eating this accelerated — no, light-speed — aging diet every single day, and yet no change whatsoever had taken place in his body.

His frame remained flawless as a statue, his weight unchanged, and even his hair was as thick as ever. Maybe it was my imagination, but somehow his face even seemed to have gotten more handsome.

So the power of immortality can reset even a light-speed aging diet. He's not an opponent to be taken lightly.

How on earth was I supposed to express this crushing defeat I felt every single time I put him on the scale? Unable to hide my bitterness, I gulped down glass after glass of cold water.

While I sat there drowning in despair, the Duke finished his meal in silence and then dutifully polished off the pudding that arrived for dessert. I watched him for a long moment before calling out to him.

"Your Grace."

"Yes?"

"Are you busy after this, by any chance?"

"There is always work, but if you need me for something, Doctor, I'll make it a priority."

The answer of an ideal patient warmed my heart. I made my proposal, staking my last hope on it. "Then please come to my examination room for a moment."

My perfectly appointed examination room, naturally, included a bed. I gestured the Duke toward it. "Lie down here."

"You're going to examine me?"

"No, I'd just like you to take a nap."

With that, I drew all the curtains in the room. In the dimly lit space, the Duke asked, "...Sleep?"

"Yes. You're nicely warmed up from the food, your stomach is full, and there's a comfortable bed right here. It's the perfect environment for a nap."

What I wanted to test now was the postprandial glucose spike. A proper doctor would, of course, advise taking a walk after a meal, or doing some light squats, to keep blood sugar from rising. But right now I wanted to do something bad to his body by any means necessary, so my plan was to have him sleep in order to sustain that post-meal blood sugar surge.

Then, for the first time, my eternally obedient patient raised an objection. "I haven't slept recently."

"I'm sorry — why not?"

"I don't get sleepy. And I don't die if I don't sleep."

He didn't die without eating, and he didn't die without sleeping. In a way, that really is the ultimate body.

But all the more reason to try harder. I pressed my case with even greater force. "That's exactly why we should test it. Whether eating accelerated-aging food and lying down immediately makes you sleepy or not."

"Is this another one of your experiments, Doctor?"

"It is. All you have to do is lie down, close your eyes, and try to drift off. Not exactly difficult, is it?"

Hearing my explanation, the Duke lay down as instructed. He was so tall that the bed, which left plenty of room when I lay on it, was filled to bursting. I tucked the finest cotton duvet around him and murmured, "Now, close your eyes. Would you like me to pat your back while you drift off?"

"...You're joking, surely."

"I am. It was a joke. Sweet dreams, then."

I would have happily done it if he'd asked, honestly. Too shy for his own good.

I sat down in a chair well across the room.

About ten minutes passed. In the stillness where no one disturbed anything, I held my breath and observed the Duke. At some point, his slow, rhythmic breathing stopped dead. Startled, I hurried to his side.

"Your Grace?"

"..."

"Your Grace? Are you really asleep?"

Seeing him lying there utterly corpse-like gave me a brief fright, but I soon relaxed. I remembered the scene in the original novel where the heroine panicked upon realizing his breathing had stopped. Even then, he'd slept soundly and woken up perfectly fine.

Did he actually fall asleep?

I waved a hand in front of the Duke's face. I gave his shoulder a light pat or two.

"Your Grace, there's something I need to confess."

"..."

"I've actually been sneaking into your study to sit in your chair behind your back. It's more comfortable than I expected."

"..."

"Also, when your aide badmouthed you, I totally agreed with him."

"..."

For him not to react after all that, he had to be genuinely asleep.

Good heavens... the glucose spike came? It actually came?

I clapped a hand over my mouth as a sob of joy threatened to escape. Still unable to believe it, I dragged my chair right up beside the bed and sat down.

A beautiful man looks beautiful doing anything, and even asleep he was magnificent. The long white lashes sweeping down his cheeks, the knife-sharp bridge of his nose paired with those red lips — everything was perfect.

I found myself muttering, "How trivial a thing inner beauty truly is..."

Carefully, I pulled back the duvet and pressed my ear to his chest. As always, his heart was perfectly quiet.

The blood sugar spike came, so is it all right to hold out a little hope?

Would I really manage to find a way for this infuriating man to die?

Gazing at that face — beautiful enough to make me think inner beauty hardly mattered — I murmured softly, "...I really hope the situation to find the heroine never comes. Truly."

If a little extra grease was all it took to make someone sleepy, insomnia wouldn't exist in the first place.

Blasion closed his eyes and regulated his breathing. With the centuries he'd lived, pretending to sleep was no great feat of acting. And just as expected, the young doctor was quickly taken in.

"Your Grace? Are you really asleep?"

The doctor checked on him several times. A sleeping person naturally gives no answer, so Blasion didn't respond.

The doctor crept closer. She waved her hand over his face more than once, gave him a few little pats, and ran her own thorough verification process.

Then, with a look of solemn resolve, she confessed. "The truth is... I've been sneaking into your study to sit in your chair behind your back. It's more comfortable than I expected."

That one he already knew. The chair had been inexplicably out of alignment, after all.

"Also, when your aide badmouthed you, I totally agreed with him."

Now that's news. I'll have to give the aide a good pat on the head sometime soon.

He kept up the pretense of sleep, and the doctor celebrated her successful operation to her heart's content. The sight of her pumping her fist into the air with one hand while covering her mouth with the other was quite refreshing.

And here I thought she had a calm disposition.

She then, without further ceremony, pressed her ear to his chest, looked at his face again, and murmured, "How trivial a thing inner beauty truly is..."

He'd never heard that particular backhanded compliment before. Blasion hauled the corner of his mouth back down as it tried, treacherously, to curl upward.

Entertaining woman, regardless. One of the top five he'd met in seven hundred and twenty years.

Perhaps because all his attention had been captured by this strange woman, Blasion failed to notice that his body was genuinely, steadily sinking into sleep. As his consciousness drifted further and further away, he caught the doctor's final words.

"...I really hope the situation to find the heroine never comes. Truly."

Heroine? Who's that supposed to be?

The question mark floating up from the depths never made it to his lips. Blasion's consciousness sank into darkness.