Today’s main agenda is to make some final adjustments to the dress I will wear at the tea party in a few days.
If I have some time, I also want to stop by the library.
There might be clues there about magic, holy sword legacies, or other things that could be helpful!
The carriage, which is the main means of transportation here, carries four people including the coachman, and moves steadily with a rhythmic sound.
The townscape seen from the window reminds me of the good old Europe.
Nakia, who is sitting across from me, acts like a seasoned tour guide, telling me about famous buildings and reputed sweets.
As someone who couldn’t go to Europe in my previous life even though I wanted to, it feels like a mini trip and is visually enjoyable.
However, if I may point out some drawbacks, it would be that the cobblestone-paved roads are hard on my buttocks that have been jostled by the carriage for days, and that I still haven’t got any hint about which novel is this just by looking out of the window.
I have been trying to narrow it down using the process of elimination, but there are no people with unconventional hair colors in the mansion or in the town, and there seems to be no presence of beings that use magic or non-human beings.
Out of the roughly 50 reincarnation novels I have read, including ongoing and completed ones, when excluding works with different time periods and regions, the majority of them are Western-themed, making it difficult to narrow down the options.
Katakana names tend to have similar impressions to me.
As someone with questionable memory, even remembering the combination of which novel’s character had what name is challenging.
Firstly, am I the main character?
If I’m the villainess, I need to take countermeasures early on, but if I’m just a side character or a friend of the main character, I can enjoy my second life, right?
In this current life, I’m the third daughter of a prestigious Earl’s family, with a decent appearance even though I’m still young, and there’s already a successor in place. Judging from the marriage partners of my older sisters, it doesn’t seem like I’m in a position where a political marriage is absolutely necessary.
In my previous life, I was a plain girl through and through, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have a grand romance in this life.
So please, let me be a side character!
While I was hailing without knowing who to pray to, suddenly a loud bang and several screams reached my ears.
As I turned my gaze in that direction, a carriage raced by on the opposite lane at a high speed.
Peering out of the window as if to lean out, I could see a boy collapsed by the side of the road.
Though people had gathered around, the scene was chaotic and it didn’t seem like appropriate measures were being taken.
“Stop! Stop!” I pounded the roof of the carriage with the parasol I had set aside, signaling for it to stop, and checked the time on my pocket watch.
As soon as the carriage slowed down, I jumped off and dashed towards the crowd.
“Princess Liselotte?! It’s dangerous… Please wait!”
Every second counted, and I couldn’t afford to wait in a situation like this!
Using my small body to slip through the crowd, I quickly reached the two boys who seemed to be friends, lying limp with pale faces.
The adults around were still just standing there, doing nothing.
Why isn’t anyone doing anything?!
“They’re not responding!” I felt anger towards the adults who were just watching and boldly stepped forward.
“Slowly, lay them on their backs.”
As the boys paused at the sudden arrival, they followed my instructions.
“Did you call for a doctor? If you haven’t informed their parents yet, you should do it.”
I called out to the taller boy who was nearby, and after a brief glance at the other boy, he dashed off as if propelled.
Some of the adults also seemed to have rushed off to call for a doctor.
As I kept them in my peripheral vision, I knelt down beside the unconscious boy.
Judging from his physique, he appears to be around 14 or 15 years old. The only visible injury seems to be a 2 cm cut on his forehead.
I press a handkerchief against his forehead to apply pressure, and then tilt his chin up to open his airway.
I bring his cheek close to his mouth, checking for breath and chest movement, but there is none.
I slide my finger along his jawline to feel his carotid artery, but I can’t detect a pulse.
I glance at the clock on the floor and realize that it has been 5 minutes since I last checked.
…How many minutes has it been since his breathing stopped? Since his heart stopped?
Sweat trickles down my forehead, but I can’t afford to hesitate. I can’t stop now.
“You there, help me stabilize him in the same way,” I say to the other boy who still looks pale, as I entrust the boy’s head to him and immediately start performing chest compressions.
“If anyone knows the details of the accident, be prepared to explain it to the doctor when they arrive. Everyone else, watch carefully and remember the procedure! Take turns starting from the person on the right!”
I extend my arms and push down, sinking my body while giving instructions.
There’s no way there would be an AED here. Judging from the behavior of the adults, it’s unlikely that anyone in this group knows CPR.
But I can’t continue on my own until the doctor arrives.
I won’t just stand here and be a mere bystander!
I occasionally exchange places with others, continuing CPR with a rhythm. After reaching over 50 compressions, I take a break and wipe off my sweat, regulating my breathing as I watch over their technique.
“Your tempo is really good. Try leaning forward a bit more and pressing down with both palms sinking in.”
Considering the boy’s physique, this level of strength should be appropriate.
Despite being their first time, everyone is surprisingly getting the hang of it.
The expressions of the adults surrounding us have changed, showing determination to help on their own.
I’m grateful for that.
The unconscious boy lying there still shows no signs of regaining consciousness. His lips are blue and dry, indicating that he is likely not getting enough oxygen.
In my recent training, it was mentioned that artificial respiration may not be necessary, as there are studies that show that just performing chest compressions without rescue breaths can yield higher survival rates. However, there are also studies that support the traditional method of combining chest compressions with rescue breaths, as long as there is someone who knows the proper technique and there is no risk of infection.
I remember reading about the conflicting data on which method is more effective, but I wish I had taken the time to verify it myself instead of neglecting it.
“Can you lend me a handkerchief, Nakia?” I ask the anxious-looking maid.
I receive a handkerchief from Nakia and spread it out, placing it gently on the boy’s face. I pinch his nose and lean over his face from the opposite side of where the other boy is stabilizing his head.
There are voices of confusion coming from the opposite side and the surrounding area, but I pay no mind.
I signal Kyle, who was in charge of chest compressions, to pause for a moment as I cover the boy’s entire mouth with my lips, ensuring a tight seal. I blow air into his mouth, exhaling forcefully, and then check to see if his chest rises with each breath.
I repeat the process, sending another breath into the boy’s mouth, keeping one eye on his chest to make sure it rises.
“Kyle, keep going right away. After 30 compressions, I’ll do another breath,” I instruct, urging Kyle who seems to have frozen in place. As I take a deep breath to prepare for the next round of rescue breaths, my eyes meet the boy’s gaze.
Despite the darkened brim of my cap making it hard to see, his eyes are a deep shade of reddish-brown, filled with a strong determination that seems to be hidden behind an air of incomprehension.
“Are you not cautious in public places around here?”
Sensing the reactions of those around us and the disapproving looks, kissing in public is likely frowned upon in this world, and it’s unlikely anyone here has any knowledge of CPR or recognizes what I’m doing as a medical procedure.
Well, I had a feeling about that.
“If saving someone requires lack of caution, then so be it,”
I added that I didn’t have any intention of changing this, with relaxation, I put my lips to the 30’s signal again.
After a few rounds of chest compressions and five cycles of artificial respiration, I feel resistance as I try to blow air into the boy’s mouth. Quickly removing the handkerchief, I notice that the boy’s own breathing has returned, evidenced by his faintly lifted eyelids and the relieved cheers and sighs from those around us.
His irises, a pale gold color, seem unfocused and not yet fully adjusted.
“I’m glad… Just stay still for now, and let a doctor take a look at you,” I say, relieved that he’s regained consciousness.
I check the time on my pocket watch and realize it’s been 20 minutes since the accident. I’m relieved that things have turned out alright.
Just as if it was timed perfectly, the doctor arrives on the scene and begins to assess the situation, taking charge of the medical treatment. There may be injuries that require treatment beyond what I can see from the outside, but I’ve done what I could here.
“I couldn’t have done it without all of you. Thank you for your assistance,” I say, bowing politely to those around me, before turning on my heel as if my job is done.
Amidst the thunderous applause and cheers, I struggle to keep my balance on my wobbly legs. Perhaps it’s due to the exhaustion from the adrenaline rush or the relief that everything turned out well. My hands and clothes are stained with blood, so I’ll need to clean up before moving on.
As I walk with Nakia, discussing our plans, I’m caught off guard by a voice calling out from behind.
“Wait! Are you a doctor?”
The words come from the young girl who I had helped earlier. I find myself momentarily taken aback. I want to retort that I’ve just helped a small child and what more could she possibly want, but I remember that medical knowledge in this world may not be as widespread as in my previous life. It’s possible that medicine itself hasn’t advanced much in this world.
In my previous life, I worked as a nurse and later pursued a doctorate in nursing, eventually becoming a professor.
While I may have more knowledge than the average person, I am not a medical doctor. Moreover, it’s been a while since I’ve been in a clinical setting, so my practical skills may be rusty. I offer a reassuring smile, emphasizing that I can’t do any more than what I’ve already done, and with a flick of my dirty skirt, I take my leave from the scene once again, making sure to convey that I’ve reached my limit.