The Diagnosis She Knew Too Well

Four o'clock at dawn.

Only shallow breathing echoed through the aide's room. Blasion sat in a chair beside the bed, staring down at his own hands.

"Shut up and hold his hand, if you've got nothing else to do!"

He knew she'd only meant for him to hold the aide's hand. And yet he had deliberately pretended not to hear.

Those elegant hands gripping a scalpel so fearlessly—it had fascinated him. He'd wanted to dissect her anatomy just to find out where that lungs-shaking war cry could possibly come from.

So he had held that small hand of hers. Just to see if she, too, might be something special—like him.

But.

...It was just a small hand.

Knock, knock.

A rap at the door cut the thought short. Moments later, a young man in uniform stepped inside—black hair, blue eyes, a thoroughly composed impression.

"My apologies, Your Grace. I could not stop the suicide again. As always, they used monkshood extract."

Blasion recalled the sixteenth and twenty-third physicians, who had each taken that same poison to end their lives.

Twice could be coincidence. Three times was inevitability.

Which meant, sure enough, there was a ringleader somewhere issuing the orders. Blasion came to that conclusion and gave a small nod.

"It is not your fault. Dispose of the body where no one will see."

"Understood."

The young man bowed silently, then turned his gaze to the bed. Feeling eyes upon him, Kaylen cracked his own open into a squint.

"...Everlein. I died and came back."

"So it seems. By the way—what is that tube stuck in your chest?"

When he'd heard the whole story, Everlein's eyes went wide with astonishment.

"I've never heard of such a treatment. And isn't that a distillation tube? It isn't even a medical instrument—she drove it into your lung to draw out the air... Is the practitioner some veteran physician?"

"No. A young woman barely twenty years of age."

"A noblewoman that young performed such a barbaric procedure?"

The taciturn bodyguard eyed the tube jutting from his comrade's chest, and the water bottle connected below it, and let out a low whistle. Kaylen, still half-reclined, spoke up carefully.

"...Your Grace. Has she discovered your secret as well?"

"..."

Silence was as good as a yes. Kaylen spoke again.

"Will you kill her?"

The Duke made no reply. Everlein straightened himself and stood before him.

"Your Grace, she may be unlike any of the quacks who have come before her. Would you not consider it?"

"Consider what?"

"Formally hiring her as your personal physician."

The Duke's eyebrow twitched. Kaylen, who had been listening, added his own opinion.

"I think so as well. Of course, I know you distrust physicians—but she might be the one to finally grant your long-cherished wish."

The Duke looked down at his hands once more. The brat's scandalously insolent voice was still ringing in his ears.

"Why is your ass so heavy?! Move it, move, move!!"

Blasion caught himself chuckling. His two subordinates exchanged a furtive glance at the unexpected reaction.

Did you see that?

I saw it.

Living that long, he's finally lost his m—

"...Everlein. What has become of William and Ailie?"

Everlein's face darkened, visibly so.

"They have worsened since you last saw them."

"Good."

Blasion rose from his chair. What he intended to do next was easy enough for Kaylen and Everlein to guess.

By the time Lionel opened her eyes, the sun was already high in the sky. When she stepped out of her room, a maid ushered her to the drawing room, where the Duke sat on the sofa. In front of him were strips of dried meat and a glass of orange juice.

"...Is there nothing on the menu in this mansion besides jerky?"

The Duke answered flatly.

"Food is sufficient if it fills the belly."

"Ah. Right..."

So that was why a benefits package this cushy had no dining clause—the employer had lost his sense of taste along with everything else.

Lionel found herself missing the credit card her professor would occasionally toss her with an order to go buy a meal. She also remembered the food delivery app, the single bright spot of her three-day-shift rotations.

Eating is such a joy, and so important. Is that what happens when you live too long?

As she gnawed sullenly on the dried meat, the Duke suddenly said,

"I will give you one more chance, Doctor."

Gulp. Lionel swallowed the jerky in a hurry. Unbothered by her scrambling, he continued.

"There is a patient for you to see. He served as this mansion's coachman for ten years, and every physician he has been taken to has failed to cure him."

"What is the coachman's name?"

"William."

"Ah..."

No wonder the name felt familiar—it belonged to a character from the original novel.

William Lexter. In the story, he had been a father figure to the heroine, treating her with genuine warmth and taking good care of her when she first arrived at this mansion. Thanks to him, the heroine settled in quickly and found it easy to close the distance with the male lead.

Judging by everything so far, the original story hasn't even started yet. Which means if I treat this William properly, the heroine won't have a hard time when she shows up later, right?

Having reasoned it out, Lionel made the proposal herself.

"Understood. Let me see the patient first. I'll examine him."

"Doctor Frencia. Do you understand how serious the situation is?"

The Duke narrowed his eyes and studied her. Cold air seemed to radiate off his sculpted face.

"Did you fail to grasp what I meant by 'one more chance'?"

"Of course I understood. You meant that if I fail to cure William, you'll kill me. Was that not it?"

It was Blasion who pressed his lips shut at the matter-of-fact reply. Lionel gave a single shrug and pressed on.

"Well, I'd rather not die either. And I'm certain I can cure him. So let me meet the patient first."

Her confidence was not empty bluster.

There's no way a major supporting character dies before the original story even begins. Some genius physician is bound to show up out of nowhere, cure him, and send him off to meet the heroine recovered and healthy.

That was it. Lionel wasn't believing in herself—she was believing in the gravitational pull of the original plot.

And so William, whose role was to be the matchmaker between heroine and male lead, could not possibly die.

Maybe that genius physician would turn out to be her. Was that, in fact, the role of Lionel Frencia in the original novel?

"So make me a promise too, Your Grace. Once I've cured William safely, you'll hire me as your official personal physician. My salary will be triple the going market rate, of course."

A short sound—ha—escaped the Duke's mouth. Whether it was a laugh or a sigh, she couldn't tell, but one thing was certain: he was not about to kill her on the spot.

"Follow me."

Lionel did as she was told and trailed after him.

Past a long, ornate corridor and out of the building entirely, Blasion headed toward a detached wing beside the garden.

They were halfway across the garden when a door suddenly burst open and a red-haired girl came bounding out.

"Hello, Your Grace! But that... who is that lady?"

The Duke gave the girl a brief glance, then explained to Lionel.

"William's daughter. Her name is Ailie. She is nine."

He had a daughter? The original novel never mentioned that.

While Lionel was still puzzling over it, Ailie spotted her bag and cried out,

"Are you a doctor, Miss?"

"Ah, yes. Hello, Ailie. I'm Lionel. Would you take me to your papa?"

Ailie promptly threw her arms around Lionel's leg. The child's rosy cheeks and curly red hair were unbearably endearing.

"Miss Doctor... can men get pregnant too?"

"Huh?"

"Papa's tummy keeps getting bigger and bigger. I thought a baby was going to come out, but they said there's no baby. And his face is turning black."

Blackened skin. A belly swollen like a balloon.

An ominous chill crept down Lionel's spine as the innocent little girl described her father's symptoms.

Oh... this does not feel good...

With that, Lionel stepped into the room.

"Papa!! A new doctor is here! She's a lady! And really, really pretty!"

At Ailie's voice, William—lying in the bed—slowly turned his head.

The blackened face and yellowed eyes entered her vision first. And the moment she saw the belly, swollen tight as a balloon, Lionel froze dead on the spot.

Ah...

Scenes she had seen until she was sick of them in the gastroenterology ward flashed through her mind.

Patients with ash-gray faces and bellies like expectant mothers, shambling around like zombies, gasping for every breath.

William's condition now matched those patients exactly, feature for feature.

Lionel felt her face go hot.

Genius physician, she'd called herself, barely five minutes ago—and the memory was so mortifying she could hardly bear it.

"...Ailie. Could you go inside first? The Duke and I have a quick word before I come in."

"Okay, Miss Doctor! I'll be waiting!"

Thankfully, Ailie didn't press and went inside. After quietly closing the door, Lionel stood facing the Duke.

Drawing a short breath, she lifted her head.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace."

What on earth was I so confident about? From the moment I—a woman with memories of a past life—became the Duke's physician, the original story had already started twisting off course.

Ruefully mocking herself, Lionel forced her voice to stay level.

"I... cannot save William."