Debut
"January already."
"Time certainly flies. 1910, would you look at that..."
"Tell me about it."
"In any case, your work runs in this month's January issue, so let's sit back and see how the world reacts."
January 1st, 1910.
An age without anything like cell phones, where people bought magazines purely for entertainment. Naturally, quite a few readers were buying the magazine put out by Kingsley Books.
No writing that gripped the heart the way the old classics had was being published anymore, but there were still plenty of reasonably entertaining pieces on offer. In a word, people read the magazine published by Kingsley Books because it printed stories that sold decently well — no more, no less.
And it was in exactly that climate that a new work, proudly claiming the front page, arrived from Kingsley Books.
Ian — a young genius painter, respected throughout the artist community — tilted his head at the title.
What in the world is 'NTL'?
Unfortunately, this world possessed neither the concept of NTL nor even the word itself, so Ian had no way of knowing what those three letters in the title were meant to signify.
But it was a new work being pushed hard by Kingsley Publishing — once the finest house in the land — and so Ian decided to read it first and judge for himself.
Very well. Let's see what this is.
"That's a stereotype."
"What do you mean, a stereotype?"
"The fact that the phonograph left in the Count's estate contains a recording of the conversation between the culprit and his victim, Count Osman."
"Wh-what on earth are you saying?"
"I've been thinking. Why would the culprit leave the phonograph behind — without taking any precautions whatsoever?"
"It was certainly strange, but if not a mistake, how else does one explain it?"
Holmes shook his head at the words of his friend, Ed.
"Across all seventeen murders committed to date, the culprit has never left behind a single shred of evidence — apart from the initials he deliberately scrawled. And you believe that on his seventeenth kill, of all kills, he made a mistake this fatal?"
"W-well... no, I suppose not."
"If it was no mistake, then the answer is obvious. Care to try guessing, my friend Ed?"
"Then... he left the phonograph behind... deliberately?"
"That would be the sound conclusion."
"Oho. So the protagonist, this Ed fellow, has a fair head for deduction himself."
Ian nodded along, thinking. He had assumed Ed incapable of reasoning, yet here he was, deducing alongside his sidekick Holmes.
"Well. Still not a match for Holmes, of course."
Before he knew it, Ian was eagerly anticipating what deduction Holmes would unfurl next, and began racing through the following passage.
"Then we are close upon the truth. For the culprit did not leave the phonograph behind by accident — he left it there of his own will."
At Holmes's words, Ed understood.
What trick had been lurking within this case all along.
"The phonograph was swapped!"
Before Holmes could even answer, Ed drew the phonograph from his coat, where it had been held as evidence, and began examining it closely.
"Not a single scratch on it. It might as well have been bought yesterday."
"Do you see the answer now?"
"Yes — the riddle is solved! The culprit murdered Count Osman not at ten in the evening, but before it!"
"Correct."
"But even with the fact that the phonograph was swapped for one the culprit brought, and the knowledge that Count Osman was killed before ten o'clock — that alone doesn't reveal who the culprit is, does it?"
"If one thinks ordinarily, perhaps not."
"And if one thinks extraordinarily?"
At his friend's retort, Holmes let out a soft chuckle and lit his pipe before speaking.
"Phonographs have not been in this world long, and so they are expensive. The new models, above all."
At Holmes's line, Ian understood.
"That's it! He said there wasn't a single scratch — so if they investigate everyone who recently purchased a new phonograph—"
The culprit's trail was bound to surface. Most people felt no need for the newly released phonographs; in the present day, only the wealthy with money to burn, or those buying for amusement, owned one at all.
Hoping Holmes had arrived at the same conclusion as he had, Ian read on — and shuddered.
"We need only trace everyone who purchased a phonograph within the past week. Only the finest craftsman on Baker Street could have built this one."
"Old Man Ron's shop!"
"Precisely."
And so Holmes and Ed made their way to the shop run by Old Man Ron.
"Old Man Ron. Has anyone purchased a new phonograph within the past week?"
"One man has."
"Who was it?"
Old Man Ron opened his mouth slowly — and at his answer, Ed and Holmes could only stare in horror.
"Hm?"
Something was wrong.
There was no more text, that was why.
Surely the story couldn't possibly have ended here. Then the final line caught his eye.
"To be continued."
Translated: continued in the next installment.
"You cut it HERE?"
The moment Ian grasped the truth, he was aghast.
He concluded the author had to be a pervert who savored the suffering of his readers.
About a week had passed since the first three parts of The Police Detective NTLS Sherlock Holmes's Women were released all at once.
"Heh heh. The reaction is excellent."
"Glad it's landing well."
"Hm. And that rather unflustered response of yours? You talk as though you knew all along it would succeed."
"Well. I did."
Honestly, it would have been stranger not to know.
This world had no such thing as the art of the cliffhanger, and its authors had no skill for cramming dopamine into their stories by the fistful. Every single work came with pages of tedious exposition as the default setting — need I say more?
Hm.
Back in 2026, even when I read web novels from 2020 or 2021 — hardly ancient history — I'd found them bland as watered-down soup. The newer the web novel, the more ruthlessly its author injected dopamine into every single chapter. To someone whose palate had been ruined by that stuff, the older novels might as well not have existed.
"That your work would succeed?"
"Yes. Wouldn't it be stranger at this point to claim otherwise?"
"Fair enough. I'd sound like a fool pretending not to know, wouldn't I. Your work is full of developments that wring out dopamine in ways the others around here barely manage."
"I suppose that's true."
Hearing my answer, Mr. Kingsley glanced around for a moment, then spoke in a hushed voice.
"I'll pay you the highest per-chapter rate in the industry. So keep signing with us going forward."
"Hmm. Let's leave that for renegotiation after the serial's finished."
There was no need to nail anything down now. Human nature, after all, is drawn less to the fish already caught than to the one still on the line.
"So our boy's off to the Academy at last..."
"I'll be back soon, Mother."
"Off you go. And don't forget — you'll keep writing to us."
Somewhere along the way, I'd turned twenty, and now I was bound for the Academy.
The school I was headed to was called Luminous Academy, renowned as the finest academy in the Valhalla Empire. Royalty from other kingdoms and famous personages like the Saintess gathered there as well.
Ed. How on earth did you pass the entrance exam for a place like this?
Only a moment did I spare for admiration at the real Ed, who had sat the exam and earned his place fair and square before I ever possessed him.
Then I greeted the adorable little princess who had come out to see me off, a cat cradled in her arms.
"Luna. Big brother's off, then."
"Okay..."
Seeing Luna's downcast face made my chest ache. She was my little sister now, after all.
Shall I show her something?
"Here, Luna — take a look at your brother's hand."
"...?"
Luna lifted her head and stared at my hand, and in that instant I cast my spell.
"A bunny doll!"
"That's right. Your favorite bunny doll, all conjured up just for you!"
I handed Luna the rabbit doll, and she clutched it to her chest.
"I'll come see you at least once a month. Promise."
"Really...?"
"Really. I promise."
I held out my pinky to Luna, and she raised her own tiny, slender pinky and hooked it around mine.
"It's a promise!"
And with that farewell behind me, I boarded a carriage and set off for Luminous Academy.
Having arrived at the Academy, I secured myself a room.
Hm. The entrance ceremony is still about a week out — perhaps I'll knock out the final scene of Part 4 while I wait.
And so I began to write.
Scritch, scritch.
With the case solved, the Countess showered Holmes with thanks.
"Thank you so very much... had the man who killed my husband never been found, I would have lived out the rest of my days in sorrow."
"Merely a detective's duty, my lady. If it would not trouble you overly, might you join me for a drink this evening? The culprit has been found, true — but I cannot, as a gentleman, pretend not to notice a lady writhing in loneliness with her husband gone."
The moment the case was resolved and his carnal appetite returned to working order, Holmes wanted to bed the Countess. He had, after all, spent enough time in her company to develop a flicker of affection for her.
"I'm afraid I must decline. Here is the payment we agreed upon."
Barely had Holmes registered the sudden chill in her tone before he accepted his reward and left the estate.
The instant Holmes stepped out of the manor, a shadow materialized behind the Countess.
"You came again today..."
"Indeed I have, my lady."
The lady and the mysterious man kissed, and as the air between them heated, they began to join their bodies.
"Mmgh... please, be gentler, just a little."
"Then say it. Count Osman and me — whose cock is the finer of the two!"
"Th-that's—!"
"Still hesitating, are we?"
The mysterious man hoisted both of the Countess's legs and began pounding into her, stroke after relentless stroke, until she could endure no more and cried out.
"Yours! Yours is the finer one!"
"Hah. Naturally."
The mysterious man was not Holmes.
It was Ed — friend of the great detective Holmes, and the police officer of Baker Street.
And so, while Ed whiled away the hours in sweet company with the Countess, Holmes was left nursing his disappointment.
"Surely she begged me to spend the night with her only last time? Why, then, does she send me away now?"
Blissfully unaware of the truth.
"Okay. Part 4 is done."
Having finished Part 4, I wore a smile of deep satisfaction.
The readers wanted to know what NTL meant, didn't they?
Once Part 4 went live, they would finally understand exactly what those three letters stood for.
And so, on February 1st, the day the February issue hit the shelves, Part 4 of The Police Detective NTLS Sherlock Holmes's Women was revealed to the world.