Spoiler Warning: This story includes spoilers up to and including Lostbelt 5: Atlantis, mostly concerning the identities of several servants

Content Warning: Mild violence, medical situations and discussion, descriptions of caffeine overconsumption. This story is fictional and should not be taken as medical advice.

Author's Notes: This story was originally published in the zine Chaldea Monthly. When it was written the Nemo Series hadn't been translated into English. The zine version of this story used "Nurse Nemo" while the fic archive version uses "Nemo Nurse", as per recent translations. "Nobbu" is used instead of "Nobu"; they are strange creatures and perhaps all spellings of their names are correct.

Interprofessional Collaboration

Charles-Henri Sanson wasn't a pioneer, a reformer or a god of medicine.

At best, he had been a medical school dropout. He attempted his studies in earnest only to be pulled away at his grandmother's request. It wasn't the first time he left school abruptly due to family matters. It would, however, be the last.

At worst, he had been a practitioner in a back alley clinic. He managed to cobble together medical services for the destitute using his family's resources and his incomplete medical knowledge. His intimate familiarity with the justice system allowed him to operate in spaces that the law overlooked.

Those lived experiences were undeniable. Their circumstances were complicated. He tried to explain that once to Dr. Romani Archaman. All the exhausted doctor could offer was a shrug and a simple question Sanson couldn't confidently answer: "Do official titles matter at the end of the world?"

The Novum Chaldea medical team wasn't as grounded as Romani had been. Still, Sanson placed his faith in the idea his late friend presented - perhaps hope for a better tomorrow resulted in unexpected alliances.

That faith was what got him out of bed some mornings.

8:00

"Bonjour, Charles-Henri!"

The welcoming voice speaking his mother tongue caught Sanson off-guard. He stopped mid step through the medical clinic door, biting his lower lip as he considered how to respond.

He recognized the voice: Nemo Nurse, the servant assigned to yesterday's overnight shift. Wearing a black warm-up jacket over light blue scrubs that matched Sanson's own, the nurse projected a coziness Sanson didn't associate with doctor's offices, modern or otherwise. They sorted through a stack of paperwork at the front desk as they waited for Sanson's reply.

The Novum Chaldea clinic was nearly the splitting image of Chaldea's original one back in Antarctica. The aesthetics matched perfectly, with immaculate white plastic and tile giving the space a warm glow. More senior servants would recognize the subtle changes recently made to the layout. The front nursing station, for example, had been converted into the reception desk where Nemo Nurse currently sat.

"Good morning, Nemo Nurse." Sanson eventually decided on English for the return greeting.

It felt like the most professional choice. English was the medical clinic's standard language for correspondence. The staff came from a variety of backgrounds and spoke an even wider collection of languages. Florence Nightingale had suggested settling on one language to simplify communications. Such as it was, the medical clinic made it a point not to argue with a Berserker.

"I think I may have imposed too much." The smile on Nemo Nurse's face wasn't as repentant as their words suggested. "I could teach you a morning greeting in Bundeli. Maybe also one in Ionic Greek, just for good measure."

"There was nothing rude about your greeting." Sanson shook his head as he joined Nemo Nurse behind the desk. "If anything, I was the impolite one."

His first task of the day was arguably the most important one: starting the clinic's first pot of coffee. Sanson loaded fresh water and ground coffee into the well-loved coffee maker. The pot would only last until noon based on his best estimates.

"Anything to pass on?" Sanson asked as he tapped the Brew button. The question unofficially signified the end of Nemo Nurse's shift.

"Last night was uneventful, overall." Nemo Nurse held up a thin stack of paperwork as if to prove their point. "Some noise complaints. I'd expect to see related ailments this morning. I never figured out who was up so late. Originally I suspected the Marines but they were sound asleep."

"Lively, but no sounds of battle?"

Nemo Nurse hummed softly to themself. "It made me feel nostalgic for rowdy evenings on the open sea. I'd be concerned about the resulting hangovers, not wounds."

Their conversation was cut off as the clinic doors slid open. Florence Nightingale marched through, her sharp crimson eyes scanning the clinic. Sanson didn't have to wait long for her to announce her observations.

"Sanson. There's a full moon tonight." Nightingale's blunt comment was accentuated by her crisp heel clicks. She dropped her pack on the front desk, pulling out a set of immaculately folded scrubs. "I recommend preparing yourself."

Nemo Nurse tapped the side of their face and smiled, as if they suddenly realized a universal truth. Sanson's attention shifted back and forth between his two colleagues, unsure of what Nightingale's statement meant and what Nemo Nurse took away from it. He furrowed his brow as he reflected on that more. There had been a mutual understanding of some sort, but it had gone completely over his head.

"I'm sure you'll all be fine," Nemo Nurse reassured him, gently patting his back.

9:00

"Miss Willaims, describe the dreams you had last night. Sanson, take notes."

Asclepius stood beside the examination table where Abigail Willaims sat. Eye level was the only place where the dynamic between doctor and patient was equal. Even dressed in a lab coat instead of his usual attire, the God of Medicine had an imposing presence.

Sanson tapped on his tablet, loading up Abigail's file. The young woman had been the first patient to arrive that morning, complaining of broken sleep and unusual dreams. The biggest indicator the situation was more complicated than a simple nightmare was the circumstances of her arrival. She was dragged to the clinic by the youngest Jeanne, who interrupted Sanson's first cup of coffee and repeatedly insisted that her friend needed to see a doctor right away.

"Insisted" may have been too weak of a word. "Demanded" was more fitting. In either case, Sanson was surprised that Asclepius volunteered to see her.

"I remember a chorus of voices." Abigail's bright blue eyes stared thoughtfully at the ceiling as she recalled the dream. "So many voices. I couldn't count them all. I think they were chanting."

Gripping the side of the tablet tightly, Sanson jolted down everything. The details were concerning, especially given Abigail's mystical connection to the unknowable. If Asclepius felt the same way, he physically didn't show it.

"What was the chanting like?" He probed deeper, his demeanor unflinching. "What words were they chanting? Tell me everything you remember"

Abigail fiddled with a stray strand of golden hair, considering the question. "I don't remember any words, only sounds. The voices seemed really happy and excited. I imagined them as a parade of bunny rabbits hopping down the hallway. I don't think they were doing anything naughty."

"Those were exemplary details. More patients should listen to instructions like you do," Asclepius bestowed his young patient with rare praise. He glanced back at Sanson, presumably to make sure he was still following their conversation. "My recommendation is that you go to bed early tonight. Dark room. No technology after lights-out. Come back here tomorrow morning and we will discuss what you dreamed about."

Abigail nodded as she climbed down from the table, then turned to Asclepius one last time before exiting the exam room. "Mister doctor, am I a bad girl for having strange dreams?"

"You assume illness and morality are linked. There is no connection." Asclepius's declaration was firm, leaving no space for debate.

His patient offered a small smile, then skipped off towards the waiting room.

"Usually the morning arrivals are more mundane," Asclepius mumbled once the girl was out of earshot.

10:00

Tamamo Cat slammed her paws against the reception desk, her thick claws nearly slicing through stray notes and paperwork. Sanson's reflexes were the only reason everything wasn't shredded into confetti; he scrambled back, protecting the sheets and his tablet against his chest.

A violent patient wasn't the red flag it had been during his original lifetime. Madness Enhancement made it challenging for certain servants to express their symptoms and pain with words. No one came to the medical clinic looking for a fight. At least, not intentionally. He focused his thoughts on triaging the situation.

"What brings you to the clinic, Mademoiselle Cat?" He shuffled his tablet on top of the paperwork and fumbled to pull out the stylus.

"The lights in the sky shine like the blazing summer sun!" Cat howled. Her claws carved spirals of wooden shavings out of the desktop. "All I hear is the rattling of cutlery. Clean? No, dirty!"

Cat was clearly in distress. Even a first year medical student would understand that. Sanson placed the tablet and papers back down on the desk, grabbed a wheeled office chair and rushed to get it under his patient. She looked down at the chair, then frantically back, as if not sure what should happen next.

"Please take a seat," Sanson gently requested. "I'll find you help."

"So many dirty dishes." Cat perched herself on the chair, tucking her fluffy paws under her body. Her tail swished back and forth, shuddering with frustration. "So many orders. Finished the morning rush and left the Red Archy with the brunch rush."

"I couldn't help but overhear our new arrival." Paracelsus rounded the corner that separated reception from the rest of the clinic. "Cat, could you tell me what happened?"

Sanson wasn't sure where the man had been eavesdropping from. Perhaps it was better that he didn't know. With Paracelsus taking control of the encounter, reached for his tablet and loaded up Cat's file.

"The moon kept me company all night long." Cat's ears flattened against the back of her head. "I didn't want a roommate, but it wouldn't leave. The moon was a quiet friend, though. Not like that marching band that kept playing outside. I can still hear them now!"

"I see." Paracelsus tilted his head as he processed Cat's explanations. "You couldn't sleep all last night because of the noise outside of your room. You now have a migraine after working in the kitchen this morning with no sleep."

Cat eagerly nodded her head in agreement. Sanson raised his eyebrows as the truth dawned on him. Paracelsus reached the right conclusion in one guess. The same thing happened between Asclepius and Abigail. The process had been effortless for both men. Just imagining being able to jump immediately to a diagnosis felt incomprehensible to Sanson. He frowned to himself, pushing that self doubt aside for the moment and focusing on his notes.

"There isn't a simple panacea for an ailment like this." Paracelsus's words uncomfortably grated against Sanson's insecurities, despite being unrelated. "You should avoid drinks like tea or coffee until you're finished labouring for the day. Stimulants will make you feel worse. Take this spagyric tincture as soon as work ends."

Paracelsus reached into his robe, pulling out a small purple vial. Cat's golden eyes followed it with growing interest, her tail slowly wagging back and forth.

"The tincture is extracted from catmint." Paracelsus rolled the vial between his fingers as he described the contents. "It'll help you relax and sleep without fail. Don't take it before the morning rush is over."

"When the rush is over is when the rush begins." Cat flashed a fanged grin.

Her attempt at a joke didn't land. Paracelsus stood there, still holding out the vial expectedly.

"I'll take it as soon as I'm done!" Cat dropped any attempts at humor, snatching the vial from his hands with both furry paws.

Sanson finished off his summary of the encounter and closed Cat's file. He reached for his still-full coffee mug, only to lower it as his mind came to a sudden realization. Wait. There were both parades and marching bands last night?

11:00

Suzuka Gozen sat on a stool in one of the examining rooms, flanked on either side by Nightingale and Sanson.

"Headache. Suspected cause: blunt force trauma." Nightingale narrowed her eyes and peered over at Sanson. "We should just amputate the head."

Sanson stared back in horror. "Absolutely not."

"Has anyone told you two how weird you are?" Suzuka rolled her eyes, acting like a woman a fraction of her age. "'Cause you're both being super weird. Whatever. It's like I said: some dork whacked the back of my head last night and swiped my Quantum Plus card. I cancelled the card 'cause, like, duh but they can't issue me a new card until Monday or something like that."

"I do not heal credit scores." Nightingale glared down at her patient. "Did you come with any requests appropriate for a medical expert or are you wasting my time?"

Suzuka smirked and lifted the back of her hair. "Spot me for any lumps? I need to know if I need to do my hair differently while recovering."

Sighing to himself, Sanson considered exactly how to document this encounter with an ounce of professionalism. He was starting to reach his limit. Maybe once Nightingale dismissed Suzuka, he could finally get a break and a sip of coffee.

12:00

The first thing that Sanson noticed in the clinic break room was the smell. There was a fresh sweetness that blended naturally with the cooling coffee in his mug.

"We were blessed with snacks from the cafeteria." Paracelsus was already seated at the break room table. He pointed to an overflowing basket of pastries in front of him. "Boudica and Emiya wanted to thank us for calming down Cat this morning. She's snoozing on the kitchen floor as we speak. All's right with their world. Not my intended outcome, but it resulted in more good than not, so I'll take it."

The skills of the kitchen staff were second to none; each of the pastries would be right at home in the window of a Parisian patisserie. While Paracelsus was nonchalant about the basket, it was an unexpected gesture for Sanson. He never received gifts from his patients during his mortal lifetime. They were too poor to seek medical treatment elsewhere and could offer nothing in return.

"You seemed surprised by their kindness." Paracelsus pushed the basket towards Sanson.

"Oh." Sanson wondered what expression he let slip. He swallowed and changed the topic entirely. "No, I was just thinking about the high volume of patients this morning."

"Ah, yes." Paracelsus crossed his arms, tapping his fingers against his shoulders. "I've been speculating if there's a pattern myself. Tell me your hypothesis."

"Hypothesis?" Sanson scratched the back of his neck, feeling an invisible pressure pushing down on his shoulders. While he had been thinking about how the events of the morning might have been related, he wasn't prepared to deliver anything that dramatic on the spot. "I don't really have one yet. Do you know where the paperwork from the overnight shift went?"

A crash rang out from the front of the clinic before Paracelsus could answer. Sanson raced to the break room door; a new arrival meant that his break was over before it started. He recognized the tall man in a billowing cape immediately: Hijikata Toshizou, Vice-Commander of the Shinsengumi. Hijikata was a common enough face at the clinic; he appeared on their doorstep at least once a week, usually dragging in one of his injured associates.

His companion today wasn't one Sanson recognized. It was a small creature with long hair and a tiny red and black uniform. Looking almost like a miniature Nobunaga, it wiggled and bounced in Hijikata's arms with far more energy than the Archer usually displayed.

"A homunculus?" Paracelsus joined Sanson at the doorway. He squinted at their potential patient. "No, it couldn't be."

"I don't recall any of the Shinsengumi ever mentioning alchemy," Sanson said, affirming his colleague's observations.

The creature let out a bellowing cry that echoed through the clinic walls: "NOBBU NOBBU NOBBU!"

The sound must have meant something serious and urgent to Hijikata. His normally stoic demeanor shifted, his eyebrows raising as growing apprehension washed across his face.

"I require a medic!" he demanded. "Immediately!"

Asclepius reacted first, calmly stepping out of an exam room and up to reception. "That isn't Okita." Irritation dripped from his voice as he assessed the new patient from a distance. "Who do you take us for, Hijikata? Does my team look like veterinarians?"

Hijikata opened his mouth to reply, only for his words to be lost in a loud scream as the creature bit down on his hand. His grip released and the creature tumbled to the floor. It scurried frantically across the tiles, its limbs barely able to find traction.

Sanson's instincts kicked in, overriding the rest of his thoughts. Their patient was going to make a run for it. He needed to block the door. Not taking another second to think things through, he dashed across the clinic, taking the shortest route around the medical equipment he could find.

Another flash of intuition. Sanson pivoted his feet to the right, nearly missing an equally swift Nightingale. She likewise side-stepped, their shoes squeaking in unison as she spun around him, presumably heading toward the creature.

Sanson crashed into the clinic doorway, blocking the edges with his limbs and holding on as if his life depended on it. He looked over his shoulder, assessing where his colleagues had ended up.

A growing number of curious patients had gathered, drawn out from the exam rooms by the commotion. Several cheered on Nightingale as she tackled the creature shoulder-first, sending the two of them rolling across the clinic floor. Hijikata tightly compressed his injured hand, appearing to be otherwise intact. Paracelsus was already at his side with a fresh roll of bandages. Asclepius was the sole source of calm, slowly pulling up his lab coat sleeves as he walked toward the now-secured creature.

"I've never seen a creature like that before," Paracelsus reflected, examining Hijikata's hand. Sanson couldn't get a good view from the doorway, but it looked like Hijikata's glove had blocked the worst of the bite.

"It's sick, but it's still clearly a Nobbu." Hijikata was confused, as if he assumed the clinic team should have known what they were dealing with.

Nightingale continued to hold the Nobbu firmly against the floor. Asclepius carefully avoided the creature's sharp teeth as he held his bare fingers to its neck.

"Racing pulse. Irregular breathing," Asclepius assessed. "Even its neck muscles are spasming. When did you first notice the symptoms?"

The Caster pulled his hand back and nodded to Nightingale. The Berserker tightened her grip on the creature's arms, yanking it up and off the floor with ease.

"They were acting out of the ordinary yesterday afternoon," Hijikata flexed his hand as Paracelsus finished the examination. "I wasn't worried until I bumped into this one stumbling around this morning."

"They?" Sanson asked, picking up on Hijikata's choice of words. "Are there more of these?"

"Of course there's more." Hijikata pulled his glove back on. "There's a whole enclave of them in the basement. This one is just the most ill."

"Nobbu nobbu nob..." the Nobbu mumbled, then yawned, finally relaxing in Nightingale's arms.

Hijikata pointed towards the now sleeping creature. "It's more than reasonable to take anyone talking like that to the clinic."

"This ailment had a sudden onset across several patients," Asclepius concluded from Hijikata's explanation. He folded his arms. "A worthy challenge. Have any other basement residents manifested unusual symptoms over the last day?"

"No," Hijikata said, shaking his head. "Not any more unusual than normal, at least. Just the Nobbus."

"If I may make a bold suggestion," Paracelsus spoke up, placing the unused bandages on a medication cart. "I don't believe we're dealing with an illness. Hijikata, have these Nobbus eaten anything unusual?"

"Now that you mention it," Hijikata reflected, resting his hand against his chin. "A new vending machine was installed next to the boiler room a few days ago."

"Excellent observation." Paracelsus snapped his fingers together. "I think our answer lies with this vending machine."

12:30

Soft rumbling and clicking sounds filled the elevator as it travelled down to Novum Chaldea's basement. The four members of the medical clinic day shift stood in opposing corners of the elevator in silence.

Hijikata offered to stay behind and operate the clinic's reception desk until their return. It wasn't an ideal situation and definitely not the staff's first choice. However, the Berserker insisted, citing how he assisted his family with their herbal medicine business in his youth.

Such as it was, the medical clinic made it a point not to argue with a Berserker.

"My best guess is poisoning," Paracelsus finally suggested.

It was the first time any of them had talked since boarding the elevator. Sanson looked up from his tablet, cautiously glancing at the Caster. Criminal activity was a disturbing claim, although Sanson felt intentional poisoning was highly unlikely. Security had taken preventive measures since the last incident.

"I must admit the cruelty of this speculation says more about myself than what I assume of our allies," Paracesus added, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm curious what the rest of you think."

"There's no enlightenment in guessing without evidence." Asclepius remained unimpressed, his attention focused more on the LED panel listing each passing floor.

"I refuse to gamble with the lives of patients," Nightingale stated, her eyes fixed on the elevator door. If she was feeling introspective about their current situation, her voice didn't hint at it.

"There's no wagers in place," Paracelsus explained with a sigh. "The pursuit of knowledge is fruitless without the exchange of ideas. My children of all people should realize that."

Sanson frowned and stared up at the ceiling. This whole expedition was proving more stressful than he imagined.

Before Paracelsus could ask Sanson directly for his opinions, the elevator doors slid open with a pleasant chime. A gust of hot wind rushed into the elevator; the wind was strong enough to ruffle through Sanson's hair and scrubs.

"I recant my earlier statement," Nightingale declared. She took in a deep breath of the basement air. "I'll place my bet on hyperthermia. Where is this vending machine?"

The basement hallways smelled of summer heat edged with dust. They weren't messy, not exactly. More disused. Even with Novum Chaldea's booming servant population, few opted to move into the basement. Many of the rooms remained unclaimed. Given how empty the floor was, it was no wonder to Sanson that an apparent enclave of Nobbus existed down here in secret, evading Novum Chaldea's staff and security.

The vending machine itself wasn't difficult to track down. This was partly by way of design. The surrounding hallway was bathed in a warm, inviting light that both attracted customers and showcased the colourfully packaged products within. The other factor was the screaming, bouncing Nobbu trapped inside the machine.

"If we're still taking bets, I'm going with idiocy being the root cause," Asclepius grumbled, tapping on the machine's window. The Nobbu pounded back with its tiny fists. "I'm surprised creatures this simple minded have survived so long."

Sanson crouched down to check the underside of the vending machine, hoping to find a swift way to release the Nobbu before it hurt itself. Instead of finding a latch or a trap door, he noticed a small pile of flat objects scattered underneath the machine. He pulled out one to examine it in proper light - a Quantum Plus card. And another one. And another. The floor under the machine was blanketed in credit cards.

Holding onto a handful of the cards, Sanson sat back and examined the vending machine again. Along the side was a row of buttons with designs that matched the displayed products. There was one button that seemed different from the rest, highlighted around the edge with a red glow.

"What's the fourth button say?" Sanson asked, pointing at it to guide Asclepius. "The one lit in a different color."

"It's for a caffeinated drink called Discerning Eye," Asclepius read out, then squinted as he leaned in closer. "There's no more inventory left in the machine."

Sanson handed a stack of the cards up to Asclepius. The Caster's eyes narrowed. Sanson forced a small smile. He was about to make a very strange request to the God of Medicine.

"Could you please use one of those on the machine?" Sanson asked awkwardly. "I think they're the last piece of this puzzle."

Asclepius held up a card to the machine. It beeped back in a fierce, loud tone.

"There's no funds on this card." Asclepius tried the next card from the stack. Then the next. Every attempt was followed by the same sound of failure. "There's no funds left on any of these."

Everything clicked into place for Sanson: Nemo Nurse's observations about the rowdy night; the patients who couldn't sleep or had strange dreams because of the noise; the reports of stolen cards; their strange Nobbu patient back in the clinic. It was all tied to these Discerning Eye drinks.

"I believe we aren't dealing with criminal activity after all," Sanson proposed, then gestured towards the stack of cards. "At least, not the crimes Paracelsus suggested. The Nobbu is over-caffeinated from the drinks and exhausted from staying up all night."

A bizarre sound approached the vending machine: a combination of growling, slow footsteps and something dragging behind. Nightingale had returned, accompanied by a third Nobbu that refused to let go of her right leg. It chewed on her boot, mumbling familiar non-words.

"I require an extraction team," she announced, shaking her leg to toss off the Nobbu. It refused to yield. "There's many more of them in the boiler room. They captured Paracelsus."

"These idiots did what?" Asclepius gasped in genuine surprise.

"He may have gone willingly. Regardless. Extraction team."

16:00

The medical clinic break room was full of lively conversation. None of it made any sense to Sanson. His company was a trio of Nobbus, each using a booster seat of medical reference books to reach the table.

The Nobbu closest to the pastry basket pulled out a long, fluffy cone filled with chocolate mousse. It took a bite, then passed it to the second Nobbu. That one also sampled a taste and then handed it to the third. That final Nobbu offered the tail end of the pastry to Sanson.

"Thank you, but I'm okay," Sanson declined, politely waving the pastry away.

The Nobbu looked back down at the treat and then swallowed what remained in one bite.

The crew of Nobbus had made a rapid improvement after Nightingale ordered them rounded up and taken to the clinic. The team found a dozen of them in the boiler room, their exhausted bodies scattered around countless empty Discerning Eye cans. Paracelsus's theory had been closest to the truth: while the Nobbus weren't intentionally poisoned, they had accidently given themselves a caffeine overdose.

"I see your charges are recovering well," Asclepius observed as he entered the break room. A single Nobbu clung to his lab coat's collar.

"You picked up a new friend." Sanson smirked at the stowaway Nobbu. There was a certain charm to it that reminded him of how cozy Nemo Nurse had looked that morning. "How are the other patients?"

"The outcomes vary."

As if on cue, Nightingale's voice echoed through the clinic. "All of you! Get out of this exam room! Hijikata! Contain your people before I disinfect them!"

"They aren't my people!" Hijikata shouted back.

Asclepius patted the head of his shoulder-Nobbu. "Comparably, this one's symptoms were more interesting and its company slightly less annoying. However, I am not here to discuss that. I came to ask you a question."

Sanson nodded, prompting Asclepius to continue. He wasn't sure what the God of Medicine would want to ask of him.

"How did you immediately discern the cause?" Asclepius asked. "I recognize it was a guess. Describe to me how you came to your conclusion."

"Personal experience." Sanson shifted his eyes to the side, avoiding Asclepius's gaze. "Cafes were very popular in my hometown. Acquaintances would routinely stay up late at them and drink too much coffee. They'd ask me for help the next day when they were tired and miserable from too much caffeine."

"I never expected the search for the Elixir of Life would end in such a ridiculous way," Asclepius snarked, wryly amused. "Humanity went from using stimulants as medicine to using them for socializing. Have you mentioned this to Paracelsus?"

"Mention what?" Paracelsus stepped into the break room next, followed by a regal woman with flowing, drifting clothing. "Our culprit has arrived to see you, Asclepius."

While searching for the access panel to rescue the trapped Nobbu, Sanson had stumbled into a small metal plate with a phone number. That number eventually led back to the vending machine's owner: The Queen of Sheba.

Sheba grasped her ears and hair, hanging her blushing face in shame. "In my defense, I didn't foresee the vending machine installation going this way. The cafeteria staff requested something to feed servants late at night without waking them up. Believe me, none of us expected this mess."

The Nobbu on Asclepius's shoulder mumbled some words towards the Queen. They were no different than any of the other words the Nobbus had said before.

"Based on my colleague's assessment, the vending machine itself isn't the problem," Asclepius stated, folding his arms as he glared at Sheba. "Our issue is with the caffeinated energy drinks. Do not restock them. I only have enough patience to deal with an incident like this once."

"One tiny problem with that," Sheba added with a grin, wagging a single finger back at Asclepius. "The vending machine couldn't hold all of the cans. There's still some remaining inventory in my stockroom. Wait! I could donate them to the clinic! Then I could writ-"

"Don't try any of your nonsense on me," Asclepius snapped back, interrupting Sheba before she could plot any further. "You'll get more mileage reselling them to janitorial services as toilet bowl cleaner. If you give my team any stimulants, I will personally dump them into the sea."

Considering Asclepius's words, Sanson stood up, grabbed the clinic's now ice-cold pot of coffee and poured the contents down the sink.

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading this story! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed this speculative look at Chaldea's medical team.