The Birth of a Masterpiece
The beginning of a legend: Arthur Pendragon. First, I used the cheat key "Write it for me." However, my standards were incredibly high. So high, in fact, that it was almost a problem. Naturally, it was impossible for Jiri to meet my demands in a short amount of time. My hand, which had been casually scrolling down, paused. "...Hmm." A low groan escaped my lips before I could stop it. It wasn't bad. To be precise, it was actually fun. If it weren't for one tiny, insignificant problem, that is.
Though she tried to hide it, I could sense the anticipation in her tone, secretly hoping for a glowing review. Perhaps because I'm only human, I still felt it was lacking. It was that feeling of wanting just a little bit more, thinking, Just a tiny bit more and it'll be perfect. "Tsk. It's still a bit lacking." At my words, Jiri went back to writing. It didn't take long for her to finish the next draft.
This was fun too. "Tsk. This one is also a bit..." ...
The tip of my finger scrolling down paused for a fraction of a second. It was an unconscious reaction. It meant that while reading, my emotions had caught on a thread of the narrative. But I quickly snipped that thread with imaginary scissors and moved on. "Tsk, this one too." ...
My eyebrow twitched ever so slightly. It was a tiny facial movement I would normally never have noticed. I almost reacted instinctively without realizing it. "Tsk?"
This time, the writing took some time. A whopping two days. Jiri, who used to click her fingers and finish in thirty minutes, had gone completely silent. And then, on this long-awaited morning, a response finally arrived from her.
It was exactly as Jiri said. The moment I read it, my eyes widened, my eyebrows twitched, and a smirk crept onto my face. By the time I snapped out of it, I was already reading the very end of the draft. However, summoning every ounce of my willpower, I forced my mouth to move. "Hmm. Is it really that good?"
The "tiny problem" I mentioned earlier. To put it simply: if this was completed too quickly, it meant my return to the office would be moved up as well. If I openly slacked off when the work was already finished, my conscience would prick me. But if it was still "in progress"? Well... that meant I could roll around and relax a bit longer with peace of mind. It was entirely a matter of psychological justification. And so, within that subtly stretched pocket of time, a masterpiece of the era, Arthur Pendragon—a novel that would leave an indelible mark on the literary world—was finally completed.
In the end, my vacation was forcibly terminated. Forcibly. Miserably and tragically. A cold, emotionless AI possessed not a single shred of consideration for humanity. Time to get to work.
A slight change of plans had occurred. Since this was an era without the internet, I had initially made the casual decision to publish it as a book, thinking, Well, can't we just print it? But of course, the world wasn't that simple. My judgment quickly shifted.
"A book?" Yerin, who was cradling a cup of hot cocoa with both hands, carefully met my eyes. "Is... is the content inside perhaps some kind of academic knowledge?"
"No. It's literature. Just something to kill time."
"...Ah... In that case..."
"You can speak freely, Yerin. Would you like some more cocoa?"
"No, thank you! Um... I haven't read what you call 'genre literature' before, but I don't think publishing it as a book is a good idea."
As she took a bite of a cookie, her cheeks puffed up cutely, and a few crumbs tumbled down. She sure has a healthy appetite. "Have another one."
"Ah, thank you!"
I smiled as she eagerly accepted the cookie. Young as she was, Yerin was a prodigy. There had to be a reason behind her judgment. "Do you mind telling me why?"
Yerin took a moment to catch her breath, then spoke clearly. "There is one problem. Most people here think of textbooks when they hear the word 'book.' Or something heavy and boring, like religion, politics, or economics."
"...Do people here not read books for entertainment?"
"They do exist. I heard the Empire has a fairly large market for them. But..." She lowered her gaze. "I've read some of the books published in the Empire before, and—honestly, I know I shouldn't say this—they're really boring."
"They're bloated with settings, covered in flowery language, and the sentences are unnecessarily complicated. It's hard for a first-time reader to even understand what's going on. You literally have to study other books just to understand the book you're reading."
I immediately caught Yerin's drift. In other words, to the people of this era, books were stereotyped as a boring medium. Even if I had written the most entertaining novel in the entire world, it would mean nothing if nobody read it. It would just be a waste of expensive paper.
If I had plenty of time, I could have leisurely published it as a book and waited for word of mouth to spread. If something is genuinely fun, popularity builds slowly as people recommend it one by one, and the moment word of mouth hits critical mass—boom! It explodes. But did I have time? Absolutely not.
For now, I put the book publication on hold. The accessibility and efficiency were simply too low. An unfamiliar pen name, a genre of literature completely foreign to the people of this era, and the psychological barrier of a "book." This combination was too unfamiliar and heavy for the general public to approach. It was highly likely to be discarded before it could even be understood.
As I fell silent, lost in thought, Yerin watched my expression and spoke up hesitantly. "Um... Prophet. Does it absolutely have to be published as a book?"
"No, not at all. Anything works as long as it has good accessibility."
"Then... how about the newspaper?"
"The newspaper?"
"Yes! The reason people don't buy books is partly because they aren't fun, but also... there's a pressure to read it all the way to the end once you buy it. Because you want to get your money's worth." Yerin continued her explanation. "But newspapers are different. They have a fixed readership, they're cheap, and there's no pressure. And from the newspaper companies' perspective, they don't have to do any special printing; they just need to put the text on the page."
"...So, what you're saying, Yerin, is that if people buy a newspaper, they won't feel any resistance, and they'll try to read everything anyway just to get their money's worth? Even if the content is unfamiliar?"
Yerin nodded her head vigorously. "Yes!"
She's a genius. I stuffed Yerin's pockets full of chocolate cookies as a reward. The way she waddled out of the room was incredibly cute.
And that was the reason why the representatives of the various newspaper companies were currently gathered before me. Since the stars attached to my name had now surpassed three and reached five, they had rushed over the instant I said, "Let's have a chat."
The meeting was mostly practical. When I laid out the points I had discussed with Yerin, bewilderment washed over the editors' faces.
"What do you think?"
Anxiety about whether this would actually work was written all over their faces. Even so, no one voiced any negative opinions. My position was what it was, and above all, it wasn't a massive loss for them. They just had to clear out a small column and insert the novel I wrote. It's worth experimenting with at least once—that was the complex mix of reactions on most of their faces.
Of course, some of them might have been skilled actors who hid their negative thoughts well, but no one openly expressed dissatisfaction. There is a saying that goes around in medieval times: people who can't control their anger aren't actually incapable of calming down. In a place like this, the system cleans up after itself, leaving only those who know when to hold their temper through natural selection.
The contracts were finalized swiftly, and the revenue split was settled transparently. I kept things honest and clean. After all, this wasn't going to be a one-time business deal. Since I was confident, I offered them a deal.
We would monitor the readers' reactions to the serialized novel for a week. If there were no positive signs or noticeable increases in circulation, I would nullify the contract and compensate them for their losses. Conversely, if the response was good, we would renegotiate the contract split. If they signed now, the split would be 40 to 60, with me taking 60%. But if it blew up, the ratio would shift to 20 to 80, with me taking 80%.
Naturally, most of them chose the former. Even if they had to absorb a minor, temporary loss, very few were willing to risk a massive payout when there was still a gamble involved. Whether in medieval times or the modern era, the rules of gambling remained the same.
The signing concluded smoothly. The moment everyone stood up from their seats, the temperature of the room subtly shifted. Though their expressions remained placid, their minds were clearly racing.
Will this really work?
Literature in a newspaper?
...But what if it actually takes off?
I could almost hear the numbers and possibilities dancing in their heads.
Even as everyone else filed out, there was one newspaper publisher who remained seated until the very end. He tapped his fingers on the table, deeply pondering something. Beside him stood a familiar face. She was one of the first to bow down and become a fanatical believer of mine. Was her name Anna?
When our eyes met, she bowed deeply. Her face was stiff, as if strictly separating business from personal devotion. The publisher spoke cautiously.
"...Um, Prophet. If I may ask, what pen name should we print under the work?"
Ah—I had almost forgotten an important detail. I let out a soft breath and spoke.
"The pen name is 'Jiri.' Please pass this along to the others as well."
"Jiri... Understood. I will make sure it is delivered. You do not have to worry." He nodded and stood up. The door closed quietly behind them.
At the offices of the Daily Elium.
Editor-in-Chief Lacus slowly flipped through the manuscript in his hand, tilting his head in confusion. His eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the author column.
"...Anna!"
At his shout, reporter Anna raised her head from the adjacent desk. With her hair tied back tightly, she quickly approached.
"Yes?"
"Isn't this pen name wrong? I'm sure I heard 'Jiri'?"
Anna glanced at the manuscript and let out a short, snorting laugh. "Editor-in-Chief, seriously? It's so obvious. It's 'Jinri'—as in 'The Truth.' You were so excited in front of the Prophet that day, you probably misheard it."
"He said Jiri..."
"I definitely heard Jinri. I'd stake my honor as a reporter on it," she said, shrugging her shoulders with absolute confidence.
She was so incredibly self-assured that Lacus found himself overwhelmed by her momentum. Wait, weren't you the one who was more nervous? You froze up the moment you saw the Prophet's face and couldn't even speak properly...
Lacus narrowed his eyes. He had his doubts, but it was hard to say. After all, Anna was the ace of this newspaper, an experienced reporter who had covered countless stories in the field. If she was that certain, the chances of her being wrong were low.
But at that moment, a thought flashed through his mind. Wait. He hadn't sent the pen name to the other newspaper companies yet. That was my responsibility... I almost forgot.
"...That was a close call," he muttered, nodding with a serious expression. "Right. Jinri. Let's go with that."
"Understood!"
Lacus quickly pulled out his communication orb. He had to relay this to the other newspapers. Thanks to that distraction, he didn't get to read a single line of the latest manuscript written by the 'Prophet.'
The sword that chooses the king. A narrative that was uncomplicated yet deeply profound. The true heart of a knight.
The public's initial lukewarm reaction upon first encountering it did not last long. After all, this was a novel Jiri had meticulously crafted to target the tastes of medieval people. The response exploded almost instantly.
Clamorous voices echoed through every street. Crowds of people, newspapers in hand, flocked to the plazas. Children were already brandishing tree branches with bundles of yarn tied to the ends like swords.
"Yes! This is the true weight of one who wields a sword!"
"Aaaagh! Cry out, Holy Sword of the Crusade! Excalibur!!"
"This is the weight of a king! The Thousand-Pound Drop!!"