It was already late at night when they left the Spring Goddess's temple. The group gradually dispersed, each heading home. Knight Nolan went out of his way to walk Gret to a crossroads not far from his house before they parted.
Gret walked alone down the narrow street. He looked around, but the houses on both sides were pitch-black, without a single light. Their owners had probably gone to bed already. Now and then, a dog barked—a few times, then silence—sounding half asleep.
In the darkness, Gret compared what he saw with his memories, trying to pick out his house. Unfortunately, it was so dark that all the houses looked more or less the same: low and cramped, with eaves he could reach out and touch. He kept looking around, but after a long while he still hadn't found a house that looked like his. He couldn't help growing anxious.
How reliable were his predecessor's memories, anyway?
To make matters worse, his stomach gave a loud GRRROOWL at that very moment.
Gret: "..."
It wasn't that he hadn't eaten dinner, but by now, all that food had obviously been used up. Where was he supposed to find something to eat in the middle of the night?
Had his predecessor put aside any rations before going on patrol?
Even if he had, would the black bread still be edible after two or three days?
Maybe he should spend the night at the barracks? Was it too late to go back and knock on the door?
All sorts of thoughts drifted through Gret's mind as he rounded a corner. Suddenly, the street ahead brightened. Twenty or thirty paces away, a warm light spilled from a window. It wasn't very bright, but in the pitch-black night, it stood out.
Gret instinctively walked toward the house. After a few steps, the door creaked open, and a slender woman carefully stepped outside, shielding an oil lamp. She looked up, saw Gret standing not far away, and her face lit up. She waved at him with all her might.
"Little Grete! You're back! Have you eaten dinner?—Karen! Edward! Little Grete's home!"
With a clatter, a whole group of people poured out of the house, led by Uncle Karen.
Gret stood rooted to the spot. For some reason, his heart ached, and his eyes had already reddened.
His parents had divorced when he was very young in his previous life. His mother sold hot dry noodles in the morning and rice porridge in the evening, working hard to raise him. Medical school, then work as a doctor—every exam period had felt like the college entrance exams, and after he started working, the overtime seemed endless. He'd never had enough time with his mother. At last, he'd been promoted to associate chief physician and could finally take things a little easier, but by then, he'd wanted to care for her and it had been too late.
From then on, among all the lights glowing in the homes around him, there had never again been one left burning for him.
Until today.
"Auntie Irene..."
He murmured the words. The woman had already hurried over and grabbed him, looking him up and down.
"Little Grete, you're back! Are you all right? I knew that whatever-their-name-was was no good! We have you to thank this time. Uncle Karen told me all about it. It's a good thing you saved him..."
As she spoke, she tugged him into the house. Gret went along willingly as she dragged him inside and sat him down at the table. With a thud, a full bowl of meat soup landed in front of him. Bones stuck halfway out of the bowl, and the aroma made his mouth water.
"Auntie Irene, I already ate dinner!"
Gret tried to refuse. Before he'd even finished speaking, his stomach GRRROOLED again. His face turned bright red with embarrassment. Auntie Irene laughed and vigorously ruffled his hair.
"Why be polite with your aunt? You've eaten at my table countless times since you were little, and you never used to be shy about it.—Besides, your Uncle Karen owes you his life. If you're going to be polite, should I pay you for treating him?"
As she spoke, she bustled around the room. She sliced a few pieces of bread, took down a strip of cured meat hanging from the ceiling, and cut off a couple of slices. She made a sandwich and placed it neatly to Gret's right.
"You're a growing boy. Having a good appetite is a blessing. Eat!"
Gret gave an awkward smile. He stopped refusing, took bread in one hand and the bowl of soup in the other, and dug in. Auntie Irene watched him eat with a smile, then turned and shooed her sons away like a hen chasing her chicks.
"Go on, go on! What are you staring at? Go to bed! Kids won't grow if they don't sleep!"
Uncle Karen's two sons were both younger than Gret: Edward was thirteen, and David was ten. The two boys gazed longingly at Gret, hoping for a bite, but they couldn't stand up to their mother. She grabbed one in each hand and tossed them into the bedroom.
Gret felt a little embarrassed too. He was just about to say something when he felt someone tug at his hem.
"Brother Gret..."
Gret turned around.
A little girl of five or six stood beside him, thin and frail, dressed in light clothes. She looked up at him under the lamplight, timidly, her face somewhat pale. She reached up and held something to his mouth.
"Brother, eat..."
Gret searched his predecessor's memories and recalled that this was Uncle Karen's youngest daughter, Avril, who was six and a half. He lifted her tenderly and sat her on the stool beside him.
"Little Avril, why did you come downstairs? It's cold at night..."
As he spoke, he took hold of her raised arm and gently tried to lower it. The little girl wriggled and refused.
"Brother, eat!"
"Your brother doesn't want it. You eat it—"
"Brother saved Dad! Brother, eat!"
Avril kept her arm raised. Gret tried to dodge, but he always lost out to the little girl's determination. He remembered that she'd always been frail, and even a little too much exercise made her pale. He didn't dare let her tire herself out. Turning to Auntie Irene, he complained helplessly.
"Auntie, you shouldn't have told Avril about something like that."
"Of course I had to tell her." Auntie Irene watched with a smile, her hands folded. She even nodded to show Gret there was no need to refuse. He had no choice but to open his mouth and let Avril put the morsel inside.
The moment it touched his tongue, a faint sweetness spread through his mouth. It was a piece of malt candy. In his previous life, it would have been nothing special, but in this world, it was one of the few treats children could get. They often treasured a single piece for a month or two.
"Thank you..."
Gret gently stroked Avril's hair. The little girl smiled back, then suddenly burst into a fit of coughing. She clutched her chest, her little face turning bright red. Gret hesitated, then reached out to pat her back. As he did, his gaze dropped—and his heart suddenly skipped a beat.
It was early summer, and the weather had started to warm. The little girl had run out wearing slippers. Her tiny toes poked out, and the toenails that should have been pale pink looked dark under the lamplight.
Cyanosis?!
Alarm bells went off in Gret's mind. He rubbed his eyes, unable to believe what he was seeing, afraid he might have made a mistake. He moved the oil lamp beside the table so the light shone directly on the girl's feet and looked closely—
There was no mistake. Avril's toenails really were purplish. Cyanosis! It was definitely cyanosis!
Auntie Irene had hurried over too. She held her daughter and gently patted her back. As she did, she answered Gret's question.
"She's fine. Avril just doesn't like moving around and has always been frail. She tends to cough whenever the seasons change."
Gret stiffened. Fragments of memory surfaced, one by one. Avril had been sickly since childhood, tired easily, and prone to coughing whenever the seasons changed. She was smaller than other children her age...
It took a while for Avril's coughing to stop, and the flush gradually faded from her face. Gret took the chance to examine her closely. Her lips were a soft pink, a little pale, but showed no sign of cyanosis. He then took her little hand and looked: her fingernails were faintly pink as well.
Cyanosis affecting the lower body more than the upper body. Differential cyanosis.
Gret's heart sank. All the signs pointed to a condition he didn't want to suspect but couldn't help considering.
Don't panic, don't panic. It might not be that. Gret tried desperately to reassure himself, forcing a smile. "Auntie Irene, you know I recently became a healer. Little Avril's been coughing quite badly. Could you get me a tube so I can listen to her breathing?"
Before you continue