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Chapter 80
“Is there a hospital that can treat sick children?”
“……There isn’t a children’s hospital. There is one general hospital, though.”
“If there’s no proper hospital, then at least medicine?”
“There is, but it’s expensive.”
In other words, too expensive for children from the orphanage.
How heartbreaking it must be to be sick, yet be yelled at to endure it without medicine. Truly miserable, humiliating.
When a child suffers, isn’t it natural for adults to want to do something—anything—to help?
“Does Betra provide any support for the children?”
“The Ducal House sends additional donations through the temple every year, but with what the orphanage and the temple spend and have left, it’s not enough to secure expensive medicine.”
“So there’s no emergency fund for sudden situations.”
And the duke sends his donations through the temple, doesn’t he?
“Olli. Connect me to the temple.”
I went to the temple and demanded the ledgers of donations made by the duke over the years. Chief Priest Giuseppe grumbled but handed them over obediently.
“Oh.”
Surprisingly, when it came to these amounts, the temple had managed them honestly.
Truly, with only donations, even the temple struggled to make ends meet, so there was no way to secure extra funds for medicine.
The temple hadn’t skimmed off money or indulged in luxuries.
“Olli, take a look too. Nothing suspicious in these ledgers, right?”
“None at all.”
Olli confirmed. Steward Alfredo also had his informants double-check.
I even contacted Apprentice Priest Matteo secretly to confirm again.
“It seems the temple is struggling too because of this unexpected outbreak of tuberculosis. At the end of last year, a Saint was born in the State Church, so donations to the Betra region temple have declined. These days, Priest Giuseppe curses under his breath constantly.”
Ah. So that’s why Giuseppe didn’t welcome the Saint.
Matteo, too, expressed concern over the reduced donations.
In the end, the priests weren’t pocketing the money. Annoying as they might be, they weren’t corrupt. These ambiguously decent fellows, really.
“The infection rate in the orphanage is so high that it’ll cost a lot to buy enough medicine to treat everyone.”
In the end, we were back at square one.
We returned to the familiar reception room in the mansion.
“This is giving me a headache.”
Michele dropped two marshmallows into a mug of hot chocolate and stirred with a small spoon.
I explained to Michele what was going on.
“In winter, tuberculosis cases increase so much that public health services need extra support. But most of the duchy’s medical budget is funneled into large hospitals for ordinary citizens. Small orphanages don’t get enough funding.”
By now, Michele had grown casual with me and asked comfortably,
“Why don’t we just support the orphanage ourselves this year, like always? The Ducal House has plenty of money.”
“That would work. At least this winter would be covered.”
“See? Problem solved. Then why do you still look so serious, Aunt?”
Michele was right: giving immediate support would solve the problem for now. But…
“Even if the Ducal House covers it this time, it’ll only be a one-time fix. These kinds of outbreaks will keep happening.”
“Oh. I see.”
“So just patching it up with our own money won’t solve the structural funding issue.”
“Right…… I get it.”
Michele’s eyes widened. Realizing something, the spoon stirring his cocoa stilled.
“Yes. We need to create a system so that every year there’s an emergency fund ready for unexpected situations. Something that ensures stable, ongoing revenue.”
“Raising taxes…… won’t work, right? The backlash would be huge.”
Michele quickly spotted the flaw in his idea and dismissed it. Arbitrarily raising taxes was no solution.
“Exactly. It has to be voluntary.”
Deep in thought, Michele grew quiet. His cocoa, once steaming hot, cooled.
“Anyway, let’s keep thinking.”
I discussed it immediately with Ezekiel as well. As the ruler of the territory, he understood the issue at once.
“It’s always been a concern.”
“I thought so.”
“I’ve tried various things, but donations have their limits. They’re generous, yes, but it’s unrealistic to rely solely on them.”
There was plenty of budget for public facilities for ordinary citizens. What we needed was extra support for vulnerable groups.
“Every year, you provide fishermen with food and water before the autumn storms, right?”
Orphanage children deserved that same level of support as a matter of social consensus.
But in this world, many people thought welfare and human rights spending was wasteful.
“The richer and higher-born they are, the deeper that belief runs. This world belongs to nobles.”
Such people donated for appearances, then grumbled behind closed doors about wasting money on useless commoners.
Currently, 98% of orphanage funds came from donations. The amount dictated the quality of care and welfare the children received.
“But changing public opinion won’t happen overnight, will it? So let’s figure out a way to extract money from them in our own way.”
We put our heads together, pooling collective wisdom.
I even gathered the servants, asking for ideas. They were used to my way of involving them and answered without hesitation.
“What if we encourage more donations?”
“Like, hold a ‘Donor of the Year’ contest to spark competition!”
Not a bad thought, but still—donations had their limits. We needed a breakthrough.
We deliberated for days. Ezekiel even visited the orphanage himself.
He handed the director emergency funds and covered treatment costs temporarily.
The director bought medicine, and soon the children began to recover.
Then, at last, inspiration struck me like lightning.
“Ezekiel!”
He entered, shadows under his eyes, and embraced me as I ran to him. He pressed his lips gently to my forehead.
“No fever. I was worried you’d collapsed again.”
“No, I’m fine. But listen to my plan.”
Michele, perched on a cushion with a startled face, rushed over too when he sensed a solution coming.
“What is it? What is it?”
I proudly presented my idea.
“Betra is a city of merchants. Sensitive to profit and wealth. What if we set the stage where money itself could generate more money?”
A plan where money would call to money.
“Money calling money? Isn’t that gambling?”
“It’s not just gambling.”
On the first page of my prepared report were two letters:
Lotto.
“‘Lotto’? That means fate, doesn’t it? Buying someone’s fate with money?”
“Lotto—or you can say ‘Lotto’ like in our tongue. Buying fate with money is exactly right.”
“How would we run this lotto system?”
“First, sell tickets with numbers on them. Collect the ticket money in a pool. Then, on a set day, hold a grand drawing and award that money to a few winners.”
Ezekiel snapped his fingers.
“State-run, legal gambling.”
“Yes. Unlike plain donations, buyers feel there’s a chance of winning a huge return compared to what they spent.”
Greedy people would gladly buy tickets—I was sure of it. Michele, half amazed and half horrified, exclaimed,
“Using people’s hopes as collateral. That’s so wicked… but brilliant. Aunt, what are you?”
Ezekiel also agreed at once.
“We must print tickets quickly. Make them gold-colored. The number-drawing must be dazzling, stirring desire……”
A set percentage of the pooled money would go to support vulnerable groups like the orphanage children.
As Lotto grew, the pool would grow, and so would the support funds.
“It’s not a useless, harmful form of gambling. Buying a ticket means you’re indirectly donating to the weak. That’s our safeguard.”
For the state, the Ducal House, and the citizens, it would appear as a virtuous cycle. The Emperor would have no grounds to attack something branded as charity.
A month later, strange machines and banners appeared in Betra city.
People gathered in groups, reading the words on the banners.
