Chapter 11

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Translator: penny

Chapter: 11

Chapter Title: It Was My Story

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Well, what the hell is going on here?

When I opened the door, the first thing I saw was the mountain of documents piled up on Warrenberg's desk.

And... there were a few letters too. Those must be manuscripts from other authors.

It's a mess. But for an office, this isn't all that unusual.

Compared to my last visit, though, it looked insanely busy.

He hadn't even had time to clear away the clutter, right?

But Warrenberg himself didn't seem focused on work at all.

Despite pulling out stacks of documents, he wasn't even glancing at them. He was just pacing around anxiously.

Then the moment I walked in, the first thing he asked was about the next volume.

And he asked it with this intense urgency.

I was totally caught off guard, but I had to answer.

"I was just taking a break."

"Ah..."

Warrenberg let out a sigh.

It wasn't disappointment... more like a heavy, troubled exhale, like he had no idea what to do.

Why? Did I do something wrong?

I told him before. I'm new to writing, so I'd take it slow.

Even if I don't know much, doesn't it usually take months for the next volume?

Honestly, he'd be the unreasonable one here.

If anything, writing a whole novel in this short time would make me the weirdo.

First, I needed to figure out what was going on. Forget feeling bad—I was just confused.

"I'm not getting the situation here. Could you fill me in?"

"Ah... sorry. I'm a bit out of it right now."

Thanks to you, President.

"No worries."

"Ahem... hello. Good to see you again."

"Hi."

"Let's... sit down and talk."

Good idea. I sat in the chair.

Soon Chabi came in and set tea on the desk, just like last time.

"Where should I put the president's? No space on the desk."

"...Just clear some spot and set it down."

"I told you to let me tidy up, but you kept insisting you'd do it later."

"We'll talk about that later."

"What did you even do? Looked like you weren't working, just sighing all day."

"The author's here, Chabi."

"Hmph. You can't leave the room a wreck when a guest arrives."

"..."

"Okay. My turn's over. You two talk nicely."

With that, Chabi strode out proudly without looking back.

She really maximized her turn... she could be a pro gamer.

"Slurp."

Nice tea.

"Phew... sorry you had to see that mess. My apologies."

"Nah, it was fun."

"Pardon?"

"...I mean, seeing the president chat casually with his employee. It was nice."

"Yeah... something like that."

"Anyway, is my writing speed unusually slow or something?"

"Huh? Oh, because I asked about the next volume?"

"Not sure if I should ask this, but... how long does it usually take to finish a volume? Do people really come back with the next one already?"

"No way. That'd be a writing machine. Even the fastest writers burn out eventually."

"...Hmm."

Then why are you hounding me?

"Honestly, I'm just grateful you're here today."

"Uh... why?"

"Meeting you means you're planning to write more, right?"

"...? I'm not following the situation."

"What? Are you planning to drop the series?!"

Warrenberg jumped in shock.

"No way!"

"??"

Chabi and I were shocked too.

...What? What's going on?

Why did it suddenly veer into dropping the series?

And why did Chabi burst in yelling no?

Was she eavesdropping?

"Everyone calm down. I have no idea why I'm suddenly the guy who's about to drop it."

"Explain yourself!"

"Chabi, why are you even here?"

"President, stay out of this!"

"?"

"No need to explain—we have a contract. Of course you can't just run off."

"Stop!"

"So why are you saying it's a relief that I plan to write more?"

"Ahem!"

"It's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like telling a newbie employee, 'You came to work today!' That's why I asked."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"I'll take it from here. Chabi... just be quiet."

"Yes, sir!"

Warrenberg took back the baton.

"Well... obviously, authors who sign contracts don't usually drop series. But it happens sometimes."

"Hmm..."

"Some just ghost because they can't write anymore, no sense of responsibility. But those are easy—legal action handles it."

"Did I seem like that?"

"No, absolutely not. It's way too early to even finish volume 2. Responsibility? We'd have to observe."

Am I Schrödinger's cat or something...?

"Worse are the unavoidable cases. When health issues make continuing impossible, beyond a hiatus."

"Yeah... that's unfortunate."

"Or mental strain, even without physical problems. Too much pressure."

"Oh... that's beyond my level. How successful do you have to be to feel that...?"

"Pardon? This is about you."

"Huh?"

"Your work is doing amazingly well."

"It is?"

"...Why don't you know this?"

"I deliberately ignored it. Didn't want the stress."

"Smart move. Your book's selling like crazy right now."

"I see..."

"Didn't I send letters saying we'd print more?"

"Honestly, that didn't click. I thought, why not just print a ton at once instead of reprints...?"

"We increased the initial print run and kept reprinting."

"Pardon??"

So they printed a massive amount?

Wouldn't that lead to huge losses? Was demand really that high?

"Probably every genre reader has read it by now. Even pure literature fans are interested."

"Why...?"

"They love philosophical lessons or social issues."

"Right."

"So a story with a beastkin protagonist? 'Let's check it out.' If it's weird, oh well."

"Uh... yeah..."

"And since nothing bad happened, it's good, right? Sales keep climbing."

"Now I get the situation."

It was that big...

My novel did way better than I thought...

Considering my rock-bottom expectations, this is earth-shattering.

"That's the first reason I wanted to contact you. Worried you might feel overwhelmed."

"I wasn't before, but now I am."

"...Let's call it a sense of responsibility then."

"It's suffocating..."

"Second reason: letters demanding the next volume are pouring in."

"How many?"

"Here."

He pointed to one corner of the desk.

A huge stack of letters.

Those were all about me... damn...

I thought they were manuscripts and was like, Warrenberg should dodge them.

The knife was at my throat too?

"Today's batch."

"No way, please don't lie."

"I cleared yesterday's!"

"That's a day's worth...?"

"Yes. And they're getting more aggressive."

"How so?"

"Started polite: 'Loving the novel! When's the next?'"

"Then...?"

"Now it's 'Next volume or die.'"

"Uh, yeah..."

"That's why I asked so desperately. When's the next?"

"Now it makes sense."

"Thank you. So you have a lot left...?"

"I'll go write right now... I've rested enough..."

"Please do..."

"I'm rooting for you too! Pure fan here!"

"Thanks."

"So write fast!"

"..."

Time to work...

I got home.

Before picking up the pen again, I decided to check the bulletin board for once.

"..."

The entire board was covered in talk about my story.

The usual light posts. And unusually intellectual(?) ones.

Even people uninterested in the novel asking about it.

They were advertising in the comments too. And succeeding.

Huh, it's really blown up.

No wonder Ranyori said her image improved outside.

But Ranyori and I see it differently.

We're screwed.