MPSN Ch 4

Chapter 4

Whether he cared to or not, Nikiel, upon realizing the dire state of this “body,” quickly outlined his priorities by order of severity.

 

1. Frequent hemoptysis caused by overflowing divine power.

 

   “Your Highness! If you don’t spit out the blood, it could choke you and become truly dangerous!”

   “Damn. If I have to spit blood one more time, I swear—this is a nightmare.”

   “…I see you’ve recovered your old foul-mouthed ways—your memory must be coming back?”

 

2. Chronic gastritis and eroded stomach lining from refusing to eat as a form of defiance.

 

   “I think this is a Helicobacter pylori problem. But there’s no Yakult Lady* making rounds here…”

   “What? Yakult Lady? Is that some kind of ghoul? A corpse monster? Where did you see that, Your Highness—hurry, hide behind me!”

   “…Truly, Paul. You say ‘hide behind me,’ then you’re the first to run for it.”

 

*note: In Korea, Yakult Ladies are women who deliver yogurt (probiotic drinks) door-to-door—a ubiquitous figure associated with digestive health.

 

3. Chronic fatigue and extremely low muscular strength from an imbalanced and insufficient diet.

 

   “Why is it so hard—even just lifting a flower vase, huff, I can barely manage?”

   “Your Highness has never lifted anything heavier than a bouquet. To be clear, I’m saying you’ve never even held a book.”

   “What? Was I really that much of an airhead?!”

 

But the most severe issue was the constant, creeping depression and lassitude.

 

   “Ugh, this is so frustrating. Just how miserable a life must you have lived to end up with depression this bad?”

 

When Nikiel first noticed the depression, he assumed it was due to the anguish of suddenly abandoning all the career and life he’d built on Earth after landing in another world. Yet even for someone as quick to forget unpleasantness as himself, the gloom lingered suspiciously long.

 

Once he realized this, Nikiel wondered if he also suffered from clinical apathy. The answer was “yes.” It was simply one of the many ailments this body had accumulated. Unfazed, Nikiel—as always—set about finding a solution.

 

   “They say you’d never bathe in sunlight for fear of getting freckles, except when worshipping the sun god. But to start the morning off like this…”

   “Paul, do you know that a healthy body is home to a healthy mind?”

   “A healthy what?”

 

Determined to take a morning walk, Nikiel gave Paul a bright thumbs-up. Paul, scandalized, rushed to hide Nikiel’s thumb.

 

   “Your Highness! Have you forgotten even basic etiquette?! That’s a terrible insult, meaning, ‘I’ll make your father my slave and put him to work scrubbing chamber pots before anyone else!’”

   “Wait, that much meaning in a single thumb? Anyway—from today, I’m turning over a new leaf, Paul.”

 

Apparently, cultural norms differed greatly here. In Nikiel’s world, a thumbs-up meant “good job”; here, it was a savage curse. Something to the effect of making someone else’s father your servant—unnecessarily specific, too.

 

In light attire, Nikiel started to walk. He ignored Paul’s fussing behind him: “Oh dear, His Highness is going out again dressed like a common servant…” This walk was crucial—at 7:30 to 8 a.m., the sunlight was just right to stimulate serotonin, essential for battling depression. Paul, who had served the “real” Nikiel for years, was speechless.

 

   “You’re really going to stroll? Not riding in a carriage…? Not even making a knight carry you…?”

   “Come now. With two good feet, why make a scene?”

   “I don’t know about this. When your memories return, you’ll regret it—once an age spot appears, it’s like the chamberlain’s disappearing hair, impossible to recover, you once said!”

 

Paul’s metaphors comparing baldness and freckles almost impressed Nikiel, but he ignored it. Serotonin came first.

 

From then on, Nikiel ate balanced meals at set times, woke and walked at the same hour daily, and exercised, taking naps after. He increased muscle mass through hydration and a personal fitness routine. Lab life on Earth had taught him to squeeze in fitness even during sleepless nights, and the discipline paid off: within a month, this fragile body improved from “weakest alive” to simply “weak.”

 

   “Your Highness, today you must have a formal wash.”

   “Why? You know I don’t wash before exercising—why shower twice? That’s bad for the skin.”

   “Not for that reason—an attendant from the palace is here. His Majesty wishes to have breakfast with you.”

   “What?!”

 

Nikiel, checking his newly toned muscles in a bronze mirror, spun to face Paul. Even when his memory was gone, his father never visited—no matter how ill he’d been. At best, a servant would come by with a bottle of his favorite alcohol. Giving liquor to the sick! Almost like trumpeting joy at his misfortune. Somewhat cold, even for a father.

 

Because of that, Nikiel had felt some relief; if the king became suddenly affectionate, it would be unbearably creepy. Pretending to be someone else’s son under the king’s gaze was an unsettling prospect.

 

‘But where did the real Nikiel go? Did the guy trim his nails at night and toss them anywhere? Could I be the mouse that ate Nikiel’s nail clippings?’

 

It was plausible—the real Nikiel must have been evicted for the crime of careless nail disposal. If that made me the “mouse,” well, honestly, graduate students have it worse than mice, so what’s the loss?

 

‘Honestly, the one who littered is at fault. Can you blame the mouse for eating what’s there?’

 

While mentally defending the mouse’s honor, resourceful Paul sat Nikiel down in the bath and began fussing over his appearance. He poured bottle after bottle of scented oil into the tub. The overwhelming sweetness made Nikiel frown uncertainly.

 

“…I smell amazing. What kind of flower is this?”

   “This is Anona Nilang, a flower said to enchant all who smell it—Your Highness’s favorite, in fact.”

 

Nikiel was speechless. Arousing perfume before meeting one’s father? Paul’s nonchalance made it clear this was just routine—Nikiel’s usual pre-visit ritual.

 

Who lathers himself in seductive scent before seeing his father? No wonder the king kept his distance. Even Confucian logic couldn’t explain this.

 

“I’m done. No more of this oil. Got anything else?”

   “There’s one other—you only used it once. It’s just… lotus blossom. You said it was too plain.”

   “At last, lotus is fine.”

   “But lotus isn’t at all seductive…”

   “Paul, are you crazy? I’m meeting my father—not seducing him.”

   “Oh, y-yes, as you say.”

 

Normally obedient to a fault, Paul had these odd lapses into irrationality—no doubt a reflection of Nikiel’s own previous eccentricities.

 

‘Should’ve known when you threw your nail clippings around.’

 

There was no proof the “real” Nikiel littered, but I felt sure of it.

 

Paul, ever efficient, hurried from the adjoining royal bath and returned with the lotus oil. The tub was already full of Anona Nilang, so instead he soaked a towel in lotus-scented water and gave it to Nikiel.

 

When Nikiel insisted on washing himself, Paul looked ready to faint; so, for now, Nikiel let him do it. Previous bathing had consisted of little more than a quick splash—this proper wash took ages.

 

Paul, seeming oddly dejected to have had so little to do lately, affectionately tended to Nikiel’s grooming, even putting on his high-powered reading glasses to trim his nails.

 

“Truly, to see Your Highness covered in dirt like a wild child…”

   “…Don’t exaggerate. And make sure to burn those nail clippings.”

   “Not exaggerating—nearly as bad as a stable boy, you’ve been.”

 

To Nikiel, it was just a matter of daily walks, quick brushing of teeth, eating, reading up on local history or common sense, and some circuit training.

 

But to Paul, these were shocking habits. Who ever heard of a prince who carried a water bottle around the garden, skipped, or did invisible chair squats? The “real” Nikiel wouldn’t even chew grapes—just sucked out the juice and spat out the skins, too petulant to bother with jaw movement.

 

Still, seeing his charge so healthy and not having objects thrown at him was a blessing. Paul, massaging Nikiel’s back with the hot lotus towel, remarked,

 

“His Majesty will be shocked when he sees you.”

   “We’ll see.”

 

The prince, wrapped in lotus-scented steam, was not just different in physique; his radiance was greater, so much so that the entire court would no doubt be startled.

 

Nikiel had always been beautiful, but formerly so frail and delicate that he seemed about to tumble over in a stiff breeze. Paul had long worried that if Nikiel did participate in the monster hunt, he wouldn’t survive the harsh conditions for a night.

 

But now, Nikiel was transformed. Not quite as sturdy as a full-fledged knight, but as healthy as any youthful squire or page. His skin hadn’t tanned, but now had a vitality absent before.

 

His inherent beauty, now tinged with health, seemed almost to glow. But what had changed most was his manner and expression.