Chapter 9
Chapter 9
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: The Caesar Phenomenon
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The mysterious playwright Phantom, hiding his true identity, penned his next work: [Julius Caesar].
Just like [Admiral Li], this single play had an enormous impact on the Holy Empire.
If [Admiral Li] had reformed the empire's military, then [Julius Caesar] reformed its politics.
After the play's premiere, the empire's politicians began repeating one phrase before making any decision.
"What would Caesar do?"
Caesar, the brilliant statesman who never hid his ambitions yet always strove to align them with the public good.
Inspired by his actions, the empire's politicians began to follow in Caesar's footsteps, one by one.
Influential politicians started seriously discussing the welfare of the imperial citizens.
Because that's what the hero Caesar would have done.
The imperial parliament finally began paying attention to improving the military’s treatment and benefits, which it had long ignored.
Because that's what the hero Caesar would have done.
Dukes and earls gradually began treating their subordinates with greater generosity and mercy.
Because that's what the hero Caesar would have done.
Politics like Caesar, judgment like Caesar, actions like Caesar.
Julius Caesar was no longer just a character from a play.
He had become the moral compass for all the privileged classes, a signpost pointing the right way.
...Not everyone resented Caesar's popularity, though.
"Your Majesty, capture the playwright Phantom and interrogate him!"
"He must have written the script with sinister intentions! Isn't it obvious from the plot alone?"
Some ministers voiced their unease about the play's development.
After all, the protagonist did overthrow the system through a coup and become supreme ruler.
Of course, Phantom had anticipated this and taken appropriate measures.
He had deliberately pinned all the play's vices on the Roman Republic.
Emphasizing republicanism over the coup, portraying the great dictator as toppling a vulgar senate to establish the empire.
Even so, it was still grating to ministers sensitive to political debates.
"Your Majesty, who can guarantee another Caesar won't emerge after people see this play?"
"Ban Julius Caesar! It's a dangerous play that plants filthy coup ambitions in people's hearts!"
"Exactly! Halt the performances immediately and arrest the disloyal Phantom!"
In truth, just a few weeks ago, such remonstrations might have worked.
The old emperor had been so paranoid he even hated the loyal Duke Wenford without reason.
But the emperor after experiencing [Admiral Li] and [Julius Caesar] was a completely different man.
No, what truly irked him now wasn't the play's depiction of the coup.
"The empire's founder also righteously toppled the corrupt republic with a just uprising and ushered in the imperial era."
The massive throne crafted from gleaming gold and black jewels.
Emperor Heinrich, seated there looking down at his ministers, furrowed his brow.
"Are you saying the First Emperor's uprising was wrong? That toppling the republic was disloyal rebellion? That it was merely dirty scheming and a coup?"
"Uh, that..."
"N-No, Your Majesty! How could we ever...!"
The reason Phantom had chosen Caesar as the protagonist for his next work lay here too.
The Holy Empire, ruled by Emperor Heinrich.
Long ago, in ancient times, it too had been a republic.
Then the imperial founder's coup seized power and opened the era of empire.
Thus, to the emperor, [Julius Caesar] didn't appear as seditious incitement.
It felt instead like a paean to the royal family, indirectly glorifying the family's trailblazing First Emperor.
"...Well, even so."
He gave a light nod.
"I can't entirely dismiss your warnings. The depictions of regime change are indeed quite explicit."
"Y-Yes! That's exactly our point..."
"In that case."
Cutting off the ministers' hasty excuses, the emperor rose from his throne.
Mimicking the dictator's gestures from [Julius Caesar], he made a bombshell declaration.
"From this day forward, if I myself become Caesar, there will be no problem at all. If I become the true paragon of a hero no one can rival."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "...What?"
"Ears clogged? His Majesty the Emperor is holding a new coronation! Dressed like Emperor Octavianus from the play's finale!"
"Uh, uh..."
"And from now on, he's declaring 'Caesar' a synonym for 'emperor'? What if we end up calling him Caesar Majesty instead?"
Morris delivered the shocking news with gleeful delight.
He grabbed my shoulders hard and cackled.
"You mad genius of a grand master! You made academy cadets weep with [Admiral Li], and now you've upended even the imperial rituals with [Julius Caesar]! Where does your potential end?"
"..."
"The palace will probably summon you soon anyway? Since they're using your creation as-is, they'll probably grant you a title to match? You might even get invited to an imperial banquet?"
No, wait.
Titles, banquet invitations—who needs such cumbersome nonsense?
Royalties settled as massive sponsorship funds, so please, just don't track me down.
No matter how much they enjoyed the play.
Redoing the coronation in Roman emperor garb? Laurel wreath on the head, purple toga on the body?
And what? 'Caesar' now means the throne itself?
This world's overimmersion class had left me utterly speechless.
Of course, real-world emperors had taken names derived from Caesar too.
German Kaiser, Polish Cesarz, Russian Tsar—all rooted in Caesar.
But that was my original world.
Who'd have thought a single play would spark the same here.
"Well, doesn't that just mean it's wildly popular? Even more than with [Admiral Li]."
Morris smirked slyly and patted my shoulder.
"Get this: these days, the worst insult among cadets is 'Brutus.' Worse than cursing someone's parents—being called the backstabber who knifed Caesar."
"Heh."
In my original world, Brutus was synonymous with Judas Iscariot as the ultimate betrayer.
And now, thanks to my play, in this world too, Caesar symbolizes the emperor and Brutus the traitor—granting them immortal life. Go figure.
"Oh, right. Take this."
Then it happened.
Morris's face lit up as something occurred to him, and he reached into his pocket.
"What is it? A letter?"
"From the Killigrew Theater Company. Looks like fan mail addressed to you?"
Morris is the only one in the world who knows the real identity of playwright Phantom.
So he's also acting as my sort of assistant now.
One duty is receiving letters to Phantom through discreet channels that won't expose us.
As a marquis's son, he knows plenty of secret routes that keep identities safe.
It must be a hassle, but far from complaining, Morris is more eager than I am to play assistant.
'Thrilling to help a genius grand master focus on writing,' or something.
Reminds me of Engels aiding Marx's livelihood.
Intellectual, cool, and bold—much like the Engels from history.
"Who writes fan mail on paper this fancy? Smells all warm and fragrant even from the envelope."
Not just the scent—the texture is soft and plush, outrageously expensive paper.
Whoever sent it clearly wasn't from ordinary stock.
Lowball it: marquis family. Highball: maybe even duke.
"How should I know? I peeked to screen it, but no sender name."
"Really? Wait... not missing, it's deliberately anonymous."
Beautiful handwriting filled every inch from top to bottom.
Lots of chatter, but this fan, like me, hiding their identity, had one clear demand.
'Cut the excuses—give us happy endings from now on?'
Both plays end with the protagonist dying—uncomfortable.
Little brother, also a huge fan, was heartbroken by Caesar's death.
My response? Just one.
"Toss it in the drawer."
"So? Gonna promise happy endings for the next one?"
"Nah. Best to ignore if they get queasy later."
Not that I won't write happy endings.
I'm getting tired of all the grim stuff myself.
'But can't make it happen just because of this letter.'
No wonder real writers yell 'Fan interference!'
One slip, and you get manipulated. Even short of that, granting one fan's request snowballs endlessly.
What if everyone demands their ideas get in too? How to handle aftermath?
'You took her idea—why not mine?' What then?
Besides, this sender hides their identity even as a duke's child coming to meet.
I've even agreed with the Killigrew Theater Company to keep it secret.
So whoever wrote it, I have zero interest.
Unless it was from the imperial family, maybe.
Otherwise, just one fan's tantrum.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "Hmph, really? No reply at all, huh?"
"My apologies, Your Highness."
As her guard knight bowed, the woman lounging on a sofa in the ornate parlor gave a small sniff and elegantly propped her chin.
She'd at least expected a response.
To be ignored so one-sidedly?
Of course, as an anonymous fan, she hadn't expected deference to her authority.
Still, for someone unused to refusal her whole life, it felt oddly intriguing.
"Your Highness, if you wish, we'll uncover the playwright's identity by any means. Interrogate the Killigrew Theater Company with the Imperial Guard..."
"No. Can't burden the man destined to shape the empire's arts for a century. If he wants anonymity, respect that consistently."
She took a sip of Ceylon tea with its subtle aroma, lightly scolding.
Gazing at the roaring fireplace, she smiled.
"Fun, isn't it, playwright Phantom?"
The more so, the more she wanted to meet him in person.
Half curiosity, half piqued interest.
Such were the private mutterings of Diana von Klauzewitz.
Eldest daughter of Emperor Heinrich von Klauzewitz—and the woman who would one day rightfully inherit the throne.
"Then we'll halt all efforts to deduce the playwright's identity. You'll drop interest in Phantom's true self..."
"When did I say that? I said no public exposure."
"Pardon?"
Another sip of Ceylon tea.
A sly, cold smile curled her full lips.
"But if I figure it out alone and I know alone? That's fine. And if I find him myself, teasing him a bit afterward is my prerogative."
"Uh, Your Highness? Are you sulking because there's no reply...?"
"Quiet."
"Yes, ma'am."
She flashed a mischievous grin, silencing her retainer.
Diana von Klauzewitz, the empire's highest-born woman.
Surprisingly, she was more playful than she seemed.
...And a tad petty too.