Sponsorship is one thing...
But first, don't we need to keep her alive?
With that thought, I stopped scrutinizing Emily's writing with a satisfied smile.
"Why are you so serious about something written by a kid like her?"
"Right? She only reads medical books anyway."
"I thought she was illiterate when she was little. She never read books."
"Really? And yet... look at how she twists her sentences so intricately. It's like she's a pretentious teenage girl, isn't it?"
Surrounded by such ignorant people, it was no wonder she turned out this way.
About ten years left, perhaps...?
Before our Miss Emily Brontë produces an immortal masterpiece?
'Ah... but I heard only two copies were sold...'
They said she was ahead of her time.
It wasn't until long after her death that her work was recognized as a masterpiece...
'These idiots wouldn't know true value even if it hit them in the face.'
Anyway, I decided to wake Emily up.
"Ugh, uhh..."
She was still a child.
No, she was bitten by a rabid dog and hospitalized...
And not in a regular room, but in a room surrounded by Lister knives of various versions.
Yet she slept so soundly.
"Are you awake?"
"Ah... yes."
"How's the pain?"
Even seeing her wounds, I couldn't help but think of her as a child.
Though only a few hours had passed, thanks to my meticulous care, she looked a bit better.
Just avoid infection, just avoid infection.
"Ah... it hurts."
Well, the pain wasn't going anywhere.
She was bitten, after all... what can you do?
The wound wasn't small either.
I briefly thought of the dog tied up somewhere in the hospital backyard.
'You're done for...'
Once Mr. Lister finishes cutting off its limbs, its head will be next.
At least it'll be a quick death.
Even though it's a rabid dog, seeing it dismembered right in front of me wasn't exactly pleasant.
"Right. Anyway... do you know about rabies?"
"Ah, yes..."
Rabies.
Not many people at this time would know the detailed symptoms.
But the name itself was infamous.
Why?
Because stray dogs were everywhere, and street hygiene was so poor that rabid dogs were common.
Add to that the severe lack of safety awareness among the citizens...
Dog bite incidents were overwhelmingly frequent, and with no cure, once infected, you were as good as dead.
"To treat it, you need to eat something."
"Eat...? Not cauterize it?"
"Cauterize...? Hey, tell me what happens if you do that."
I started carefully examining the tray of dog parts behind me, looking for something that might suit a twelve-year-old girl's taste.
To buy time, I poked Joseph in the side, and he started talking like a vending machine.
"Uh... it's no joke. That guy over there got bitten the other day? He cauterized it with a hot iron."
"Yes, so?"
"So? Now he's on the brink of death. Ugh... thinking about it, burning a dog bite wound on top of it all? No way that's going to help."
"Ah..."
"Anyway, want to try the medicine this... this doctor is offering?"
Of course, he couldn't keep it up for long.
Joseph quickly ran out of things to say and looked at me.
Fortunately, I managed to find a heart-shaped piece among the randomly cut chunks.
'What's the point of a heart shape now?'
I thought to myself, but at least it was comforting to know I was giving it with good intentions.
"Here, this is it."
"Ugh."
Naturally, her face turned sour.
Of course.
This...
Doesn't exactly look appetizing, does it?
'But why were you guys cheering?'
Joseph, Alfred.
These idiots would eat anything, even if it wasn't for curing a disease...
I thought it was just the prevalent trend of the 19th century.
Even the old man occasionally ate weird stuff.
Like bull testicles... or something.
Alfred's father seemed the same.
'Let's just chalk it up to them being weird.'
Without the internet, I couldn't find proper statistics.
I almost ended up with some bizarre common sense.
"It might look strange... but, well."
I'm a skilled doctor.
Not because of an inflated ego...
Do you know how harsh my training was in my past life?
You might say everyone does it, but even in the 21st century, in South Korea, a developed country with advanced medical standards, becoming a professor isn't easy.
Thanks to that, I'm good at handling patients.
Not just technically... I'm good at building rapport.
"Let's say bad guys are trying to invade our bodies."
"Are you talking about rape?"
"No, no! No! What the hell."
"Then what?"
"It's a metaphor... a metaphor. Like in corpses, or in a dog's teeth, there are bad guys."
"Ah."
Wuthering Heights... no wonder. Even at her young age, her choice of words was sharp.
A simpleton like me would be scared.
"If such guys invade, what should we do? Fight, right? We don't know much yet... but there must be something. If there weren't, even the doctor here would be dead."
"Why bring others' lives into this..."
"When you were dissecting a corpse and got pricked, honestly, wouldn't you have died? If I weren't here?"
"Well... yeah. Probably. But wasn't that because you treated me?"
"No. Thinking back now, I don't think so. There must have been a fighting force inside you. I just helped it."
"That's a pretty new theory... but well, it's your patient, so it's your call."
Wow!
This bold attitude!
Your patient, your rules...
It's good for me, but thinking that this is why quacks thrive makes me want to choke.
"Yes, it's an interesting theory. So?"
Anyway, our clever Emily was looking at me with sparkling eyes.
I didn't like the term "interesting theory," but...
What can I do?
The concept of antigens and antibodies won't appear for another hundred years.
"If you eat this, your body's fighting power against the rabies-causing bad guys will get stronger."
"Oh... how do you know?"
"I came from a country called Joseon."
"Jo... what?"
"Uh, Joseon."
"Joseon."
"Yeah, that."
Is she doing it on purpose?
She couldn't possibly know Korean.
A literary genius like her wouldn't use such vulgar language, right?
I tried to think positively and continued.
"There were cases like this there."
"Hmm..."
"What do you think?"
"There's a bit of a logical leap... but did the people who ate this live healthy lives?"
"Yes."
"And similar cases led to the creation of anesthetics and painkillers."
"Uh... right. But who told you that?"
"A scary Viking-like man."
"Ah, Lister."
That man...
Yes, he really thinks highly of me.
So fortunate.
"Right, so doesn't that give credibility to what I'm saying?"
"Well... then give it to me."
"Okay."
On top of that, Emily, true to her reputation as a literary genius, was smart.
That old man had to have his nose and mouth covered, and his arms tied before he'd eat it...
Gulp.
In contrast, Emily ate it quietly.
"Water! Water!"
Ah, she's asking for water.
Well, it doesn't look like it tastes good.
Good heavens, distilled water...
Who'd want to drink that?
"Here, take this."
"Ugh... do I have to eat this every day?"
"No, just once. But we need to keep treating the wound."
"Okay... that's a relief."
Still, she seemed prepared to eat it daily if necessary.
It felt like seeing a glimmer of light in this barbaric era.
Yes...
Truly, a smart person shines regardless of the era.
"Uh..."
While I was thinking that, Emily finally noticed the changed state of her notebook.
She looked at it with a puzzled expression and then asked.
"Did... did someone read this?"
"Ah, I did."
"Why...! It's so crude...!"
Crude?
A kid like her wrote this?
Wrote such a novel?
Thinking her humility was excessive, I realized she was serious.
Why? Well, it wasn't a situation that required deep thought.
'Well... this is 19th-century England.'
If a poor kid spent time reading and scribbling instead of working...
Wouldn't anyone scold her?
Especially a girl...?
Even this hospital has nursing as a female-only profession.
Perhaps being born as a Korean in this era was a similar level of difficulty.
For me, it's my second life, and I'm from the future, so it's much easier, but even I can't walk the streets alone.
"Crude, you say."
"Huh?"
I don't know what impact my careless words might have on the future literary genius Emily Brontë.
But at this moment, Emily seemed like just a twelve-year-old girl to me.
Still, having lived decades ahead, I thought a few words of comfort wouldn't hurt.
"You write well. I especially liked this sentence."
"Ah... really... really?"
"Of course. I don't lie."
"Ugh..."
"And what's this name? I don't recognize it... are you thinking of writing a story?"
Talking about it made me ramble on a bit.
I hope you understand.
I'm a huge fan of Wuthering Heights!
I haven't read many books, but still...
Anyway, treating Emily Brontë is an honor, but daring to discuss books with her... is this what you call glory...?
"Heathcliff? Hmm... he exists... but it's still a mess."
"You should definitely write it."
"But I need to earn money. My sister too."
It might seem strange for a twelve-year-old to worry about money.
Sadly, in 19th-century England, children were nothing more than labor.
In fact, it's impressive her father hasn't put her to work yet.
But now, it'll be fine.
"I promise. I'll sponsor you before this year ends."
"Really...?"
"Uh...?"
"You're going to use my money..."
Of course, it was just my thought, but Emily, Joseph, and especially Alfred's eyes widened.