Chapter 72

72. Summer Vacation, and the Symposium (2)

****

This is the final check before the presentation.

“Amy, how many of those moldy bread pieces did we bring? Do we have a hundred glass jars?”

“Yes, we brought a hundred.”

“Good. Just distribute these to anyone who wants to study the blue mold. You know what to say, right?”

“Yes.”

At this symposium, the discovery of antibiotics will be formally announced for the first time—well, except for that one lecture I gave earlier.

Could this be the day that changes the course of history?

I’ll be giving the presentation and handling the questions. Amy just needs a basic understanding.

****

“Thank you for your patience. Next up is Professor Asterix with ‘On the Bacterial-Specific Toxins Produced by Blue Mold.’”

My turn.

Polite clapping echoed from the audience as Amy and I stepped onto the podium.

I paused briefly before starting.

“In the past few months, there have been significant advancements in scholarship. But today, I believe we can boldly state that our lab has found the Holy Grail of medicine.”

The Holy Grail. Similar words were used when white blood cells were first observed, but the discovery of antibiotics is far more impactful than even that.

The audience began murmuring, and those who had dozed off suddenly perked up, their eyes asking, “What’s all this about?”

“What if we could destroy the agents within the human body that cause disease? What if there was a substance capable of selectively killing pathogens?”

Normally, symposia reserve a specific time for questions, but someone couldn’t contain themselves and raised their hand. I glanced at the crowd.

In the academy, I know most people by sight, but here, with so many gathered, it was hard to recognize everyone. The questioner turned out to be an elderly healer.

“Ask away.”

“Isn’t the very idea that diseases are caused by microscopic organisms relatively new itself? Are you really saying you’ve already found a solution to that problem? Isn’t that jumping the gun a bit?”

I nodded.

“Let me continue. A few days ago, while cultivating bacteria, I accidentally noticed that no bacterial growth occurred around a strain of blue mold that had formed.”

I scanned the audience.

“So why? Bacteria reproduce through division, so under normal circumstances, they should multiply exponentially until nutrients run out. Why didn’t they grow here?”

Silence.

“There’s only one conclusion: the mold weaponized something to kill the bacteria, using it to secure resources on the culture dish. Specifically, a toxin that selectively kills bacteria without harming the mold.”

The audience buzzed again. Some voices muttered, “That logic holds,” while others asked, “Is there evidence?” or “It sounds plausible, but I need to see it with my own eyes.” And of course, “He’s a fraud!”

“You understand where I’m going with this, right?”

Whether there were truly more negative comments, it felt that way.

“That’s why this is the Holy Grail. A drug that doesn’t harm eukaryotic organisms but selectively destroys disease-causing bacteria. A pill that can eliminate infections simply by being ingested.”

Any healer familiar with this world would know the pain of losing patients to infections from wounds. It’s almost inevitable.

Necrotizing fasciitis and gangrene.

In medieval times, such conditions were so feared that soldiers often had entire limbs amputated after minor injuries.

Though hygiene has improved over time, changing survival rates somewhat, this world still has its own standards.

Still, the horrors of those diseases remain unchanged.

“If we could prevent necrotizing fasciitis or gangrene with just a simple pill, how many lives could we save? That’s what I hope to achieve with this discovery.”

The muttering escalated into outright chatter. I raised both hands.

“I see you’re processing this, so let’s try to quiet down for a moment. Most of what I know about this substance is documented in the paper I’ve prepared, including the methods for production that I’ve discovered so far.”

Suddenly, people weren’t just raising their hands—they were standing up. Someone shouted, “Let us speak!” Others yelled, “Calm down, crazy people!”

“Please, let me finish. I’ll explain the process of making this stuff based on what I know.”

The noise subsided somewhat.

“To mass-produce, we’ll need liquid cultures of the blue mold. My method is written down, but better techniques probably exist.”

From a tumbler-sized container of blue mold, you get a few milligrams of penicillin. With a bathtub-sized batch, you could make a handful of pills.

“One fortunate aspect is that since the mold naturally produces antibacterial substances, contamination by bacteria in the final product isn’t an issue.”

I surveyed the audience.

“That’s pretty much it. Now we need to figure out how to purify penicillin from the mold extract, which I haven’t accomplished yet.”

“Anyway, when we inoculated rats with cultured bacteria and then fed them the mold extract, we confirmed its effectiveness in preventing gangrene and necrotizing fasciitis.”

****

“So… questions?”

Dozens of hands shot up. I glanced at the moderator, but he just shrugged. Fair enough, I guess.

“How about you, sir in the front row?”

“Yes.”

The man stood.

“For the sake of medical progress, it would be helpful if you could disclose which mold you used in this research. The sterilizing kind.”

Such an obvious and shameless request. I expected it, though, since I planned to share the blue mold samples anyway.

“Sure.”

Should I push it further?

The real bombshell is still behind the podium.

“Originally, I intended to bring sterilizing strains of blue mold to distribute among you for further study…”

Chaos erupted in the hall.

****

The Berlin Wall fell because of one bureaucrat’s casual remark: “As far as I know, it starts now.” This symposium followed a similar pattern.

With my declaration to share the Holy Grail of medicine, the symposium descended into chaos. All plans for anticipated questions and answers went out the window.

People surged toward the stage, turning the venue into gridlock. It was utter pandemonium. People shouting, arguing, debating on the spot—it was loud.

Still… even if my message didn’t fully register, this symposium was a success.

My goal was to convince people of the clinical potential of antibiotics, and there’s no clearer way to achieve that than this.

Anyway…

Someone needs to restore order here.

“Shut up! We’ll try to distribute samples evenly across institutions. How many organizations are participating in this symposium?”

I looked at the moderator.

The moderator returned my gaze with a slightly reproachful look. Fair enough—I did disrupt the event.

Come to think of it, this has happened at other symposia too. Actually, every time I attend, things go sideways like this.

But it’s not bad. Everyone’s enthusiasm for learning is commendable. In fact, it’s quite positive. It shows the impact of my research.

“Eighteen. Universities, hospitals, and research institutions from all over the empire.”

I nodded.

Representatives from 18 institutions—hospitals, schools, and labs—are here. The priority now is ensuring each gets at least one sample.

“Alright. Let’s start distributing. Representatives from each institution, please step forward!”

After some commotion, professors and healers representing each organization emerged. Mostly older folks.

Finally, some order.

“Amy, distribute one to each.”

“Yes.”

Amy handed out glass jars containing the moldy bread. Dozens of jars still sat stacked beside the podium.

What to do with the leftovers?

“Everyone, please line up!”

The moderator massaged his temples beside me. A long queue formed in front of the stage. Samples had already been distributed to each institution.

Whoever takes them now doesn’t matter, does it?

“Just give them out.”

Amy began handing out the blue mold samples to people waiting in line.

Those farther back grumbled and returned to their seats.

Mission accomplished.

No hospital or educational institution in the empire will leave empty-handed today. It took about ten minutes to wrap up.

“Anyone who didn’t receive a sample?”

I looked around. No one seemed left out. They can always grow more or stack bread to cultivate the mold.

The method is shared, and the process isn’t impossible to replicate.

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