Surviving as a Plagiarist in Another World

< Chapter 5: Don Quixote >

Upon arriving at the publisher’s reception room, I was greeted by a man of extraordinary presence, waiting for me.

He rolled his eyes to gauge the atmosphere. Beside the man, two individuals clad in casual clothes but armed underneath stood guarding him, and behind them, a woman who appeared to be a maid bowed her head.

“Ah, so you are the author of Don Quixote, written by Homer. I came personally because you declined the invitation.”

Then, the word ‘invitation’ sprung from the man’s mouth.

Realizing the situation, I immediately knelt on one knee and paid my respects.

What kind of bolt from the blue is this?

Before I knew it, Ms. Dorling Kindersley, the president, had fled outside the reception room. Maybe I should hand over my next work to a competing publisher.

“…I am a subject of the Empire, meeting His Highness the Prince.”

“There’s nothing rude about it. You seem to consider it quite rude to decline an invitation, though. Or was there a special reason?”

Sweat ran down my back.

Really, does it make sense for a prince to come personally just because someone declined an invitation?

“It’s just that the invitation was too generous, and I dared not accept it.”

“That’s not for you to decide.”

“I apologize…”

“I thought when I read Don Quixote, I was dealing with a more substantial human, but you seem weaker than expected.”

Who wouldn’t be nervous when a wrong word could cost them their head?

“Haha…”

“Honestly, I was curious. I wondered how remarkable a person must be to decline a royal invitation.”

“I’m sorry if I didn’t meet your expectations.”

“No, this is interesting in its own way. For instance, you look as if you haven’t yet had your coming-of-age ceremony, is that right?”

“Yes…”

“That the author of Don Quixote is such a young child. The critics who praised Don Quixote would be shocked if they knew this.”

During the middle of this interrogation-like questioning by the prince.

The maid standing behind the prince carefully spoke up.

“Your Highness. Excuse me during your conversation, but there’s a lint on your clothes.”

“Hmm?”

“I’ll clean it up for a moment.”

“Ah, yes, do that.”

Thanks to the maid, I managed to catch my breath.

I wondered if removing lint was important enough to interrupt the prince’s conversation, but the sensitivities of the high-born can be different. Given the prince’s attire, it wouldn’t be odd to think he had OCD.

After tidying the lint on his clothes, the prince continued the conversation.

“At such a young age, to write such a great work, I look forward to your future. I’m actually impressed.”

“Thank you…”

…Huh?

It seemed the tone of his speech had shifted.

“Oh, my introductions have been too lengthy. The reason I sought you out… I want to sponsor you. There’s nothing more meaningful than supporting a promising artist.”

“…It’s an honor.”

A royal sponsoring an artist was not unusual. Since the Middle Ages, affluent individuals have supported artists to elevate their prestige and showcase their discernment.

“However, this is my first time sponsoring a writer, so I am a bit uncertain about the approach. Typically, when sponsoring a painter, one might commission a portrait as compensation… but it’s not feasible to ask a novelist to write a biography. What are the usual terms for sponsoring a writer?”

“…If it’s about sponsoring the work, I could include a note of thanks to His Highness in the foreword of my books.”

“If I were to sponsor you, could every novel you write bear the name of the sponsor?”

“That wouldn’t be a difficult request, but…”

Something felt off.

It seemed like he was deliberately avoiding the use of ‘certain words.’

Maybe it’s worth probing.

“…Your Highness, whose name would you wish to appear in my novels?”

“Hmm? It’s obvious, isn’t it? If not the name of the person sponsoring, whose name would appear?”

“I mean, who is the sponsor I am asking about?”

“…Such impudence for a mere writer.”

There, that confirmed it.

I felt like the protagonist of a detective novel. Was it the tension trickling down my spine that made me slightly exhilarated?

“If my question is impolite, I apologize. Might you actually be… not the prince, but his stand-in?”

“Such bold words—”

Just as the man began to raise his voice.

One of the guards by his side, cutting him off, spoke up.

“Enoch. Stop.”

“…I apologize.”

“That’s enough. Deceptions can’t always be sustained.”

Wow.

Had they anticipated such a scenario to set up a ‘stand-in’?

Being royal must be tough indeed.

A double role, I had never imagined. I, slightly admiring, spoke quietly to the ‘maid’ standing behind me.

“…Even in such a situation, you remain very calm, my lady.”

“What?”

“Could my saying this pose a problem?”

That would be the case─.

“Your Highness.”

For this maid was indeed the ‘real’ prince.

The atmosphere in the drawing room froze at my sudden remark. Is it correct? It must be. I haven’t made a mistake, have I?

“…How did you know?”

Good. I was right.

“Please lower your speech, Your Highness.”

“This is my normal way of speaking. Being royalty doesn’t necessitate an arrogant and condescending tone, does it?”

It would be nice if those spoken to by royalty would consider this.

Honestly, it’s quite burdensome.

“So, how did you know? Usually, people would just accept that Enoch was a fake and move on.”

“It’s because of the arm.”

“The arm?”

“Women usually move their arms avoiding their chests naturally. But when that person named Enoch was removing lint from his clothes, the movement of his arm made me realize he was a man.”

It was knowledge from a detective novel, but I never thought I’d actually use it.

“And then?”

“What?”

“It’s possible that the prince, who has unusual tastes, made his servant cross-dress. That doesn’t seem like proof that you are the prince.”

“Ah, after the lint was removed, the tone of the person named Enoch suddenly became friendly. Perhaps it was some sort of signal… or a warning.”

“A warning…?”

“Yes.”

A prince who was a fan of Don Quixote and even visited the publishing house himself.

“A prince who loves Don Quixote would not simply stand by if someone mocked the work because the author was young.”

Anyone moved by fandom would sympathize.

If the beloved creator of their favorite work turned out to be a child, admiration would naturally come before dismissal.

“…So, you thought I was the prince just for that reason?”

“Hmm, if these reasons are insufficient…”

Honestly, it was partly a guess.

“Does an author need a grand reason to recognize an enthusiastic reader?”

“…Pfft, haha! You are really an amusing person, author.”

“Did I just say something rude?”

“You were extremely rude.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m kidding. I just wanted to see your face, author. I never expected that you’d discover I’m the ‘real’ prince.”

The prince chuckled merrily for a while.

Was it magic? To anyone looking, he appeared as a woman, with a woman’s voice, causing a slight cognitive dissonance.

This eased the tension somewhat.

“Living as royalty must be exhausting, having to cross-dress to hide your identity.”

“Oh, this is just my preference.”

“…What?”

What did I just hear?

The prince grinned, covering his mouth with his hand as if to confirm I hadn’t misheard, and whispered sweetly.

“Don Quixote mistook a village girl named Aldonsa for Princess Dulcinea, didn’t he?”

“Ah, yes…”

“If there’s someone who wants to believe they’re a knight, surely there’s someone who wants to be mistaken for ‘Princess Dulcinea.’”

It was a madman’s idea. The prince, covering his mouth and smiling with his eyes, was undoubtedly a madman.

Sadly, this madman was the empire’s third prince.

I had no choice but to nod, feigning agreement.

“Certainly, that’s true.”

“Of course! I knew the author of Don Quixote would understand.”

“Ah, yes…”

“Did you know? There are people born with appearances that don’t match their inner selves.”n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

“Yes… One’s inner senses and identity don’t necessarily match their physical form.”

I never expected to discuss such modern PC ideals in this world.

“Oh, you know so well! The bishops who preach about the soul’s congruity would never agree… but our god loves beauty. How could there be beauty in a world where only the obvious and visible things are valued?”

“Ah, yes.”

Why am I discussing this with the empire’s prince?

Is this a dream?

“What do you think, author?”

The conversation about gender identity continued for nearly 30 minutes.

It was the longest 30 minutes of my life.

* * *

“Will you spare him?”

“Oh, Enoch. Someone might think I kill people indiscriminately. How can I call myself royalty if I do not value the lives of my subjects?”

Inside the royal carriage returning to the palace, the prince leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smile.

Born with such a soul, he had lived his whole life as an ‘irreverent’ being.

He could only go out from behind the shadows of a body double, and even that required permission, spending most of his time inside the palace.

Naturally, he immersed himself in vulgar novels…

‘Don Quixote’ was a ray of light in such a dark world.

“I fear the rumors might spread. If sparing a life prevents an irreverent act, it seems right to do so.”

“Then taking my life would be the quickest way.”

“…I apologize. That was not my intention.”

“No, um, could you look outside? People seem so happy, don’t they?”

After the development of magi-engineering, the empire had changed drastically.

People’s living standards had improved, and there was an increase in those who desired education and entertainment, not just sustenance. Monster circuses and magic shows flourished, and as the royal influence waned, the parliament’s power grew.

The world was changing rapidly.

Everyone was proud of this change, unquestioningly believing the world was progressing, willfully ignoring the side effects.

Mana was contaminated, the great forests were destroyed, and new mutant monsters were appearing around the world. People said the world was progressing, but it was like a runaway magic locomotive, not even knowing where it was headed.

“Do you see those people dressed as wandering knights? The ones giggling and holding books?”

“…Honestly, they all seem like madmen.”

“Hehe, isn’t that a bit too honest? Well, it’s true, though.”

However, a single novel was changing the world.

People no longer denounced the past as barbaric. They did not dismiss justice as fantasy. They did not scoff at courage as recklessness.

Although excessive romanticism of the past should be cautioned, this world had been running too blindly forward.

“If the world is going mad, then having a sound mind is the madness.”

Even if one stumbles upon the past, jumping off a cliff must be prevented.

.

.

.

“How much did you say the donation was?”

He had thought that the royalties from Don Quixote had brought in a substantial amount of money.

It turned out not to be the case.

“…President.”

“Yes!”

“I’ll forgive you for leaving just me and the prince alone in the reception room.”

“Ha, haha… Th-thank you…”