The Fate of a Bestseller Author
“Th-that’s not what’s important, right?”
“No. It is important.”
Opheli was trying to rationalize her crude writing skills somehow.
But there was no way that would fly with anyone.
“Even if these… wind-and-moon novels prioritize vulgarity, don’t you still have to read them properly?”
“…Hard to read?”
“If someone picks this up expecting a proper wind-and-moon novel, they’ll curse you out.”
“Wh-what…?”
I wasn’t exaggerating. Even an elementary school kid’s diary was better written than this.
It was obviously describing anal sex, so why the hell bring up shit right there? Whether it’s doujinshi or straight erotica, when you’re talking about the back door, you either mention an enema or just gloss over it with creative license. That’s the unwritten rule.
But spelling out “shit” plain as day and going in and out? Who the fuck would get turned on by that?
Well, scat lovers might, sure.
But with sentences that didn’t even make sense, they’d run for the hills before any fetish kicked in.
“I’ll overlook the spelling. But why the hell use ‘going in and out’ like that?”
“J-just… doesn’t it sound similar…?”
“…Have you tried it?”
Opheli shook her head vigorously.
Fuck, if you haven’t even done it, why describe it so disgustingly instead of blissfully? If she’d experienced it herself, I might’ve had nothing to say.
“B-but the idea is pretty good, right…?”
“…Yes. You’re right.”
The ideas were the most original thing I’d seen since coming to this world. She could be called one of the few connoisseurs here.
Incest, anal sex.
How many vermin in this world couldn’t even imagine those two?
…The problem was she couldn’t come up with anything else.
“But you need a decent shell to package those ideas first.”
“…Hehe…”
No matter how sick I was of this world’s White Knight knockoffs, I had to admit their sentence craft was solid.
People went wild for the knockoffs because they were at least readable like normal literature. No big issues there—just no stimulation like my novels.
“You’ve never learned how to write properly, have you?”
“Just letters…”
“Then writing like a letter might work… sort of…”
I started to give feedback, then stopped.
What could I even expect from someone scribbling such random nonsense?
“You’re better off just drawing.”
“…Why?”
“Because your art fits this genre better than anyone else’s in the world.”
I’d rather she switch to being a doujin artist.
“So, comics…”
“No way.”
“…”
The problem was, she had to accept it herself.
“I-I want to write like White Knight…”
“I told you that’s not happening.”
“H-honestly, prose doesn’t even matter that much, right…?”
“It does.”
“It doesn’t?”
“…What’s your basis?”
“Hm, hmm…”
Opheli pondered for a moment before speaking.
“Do you know Fifty Shades?”
“Yes. I do.”
I’d seen it at the bookstore. Clearly written by a total normie, but it had the princess’s recommendation.
“I… don’t like that book much…”
“…Why?”
“It doesn’t turn me on.”
“…”
If she hadn’t shown me her weird writing, she would’ve been adorable.
No, her art was still adorable.
“You know too, Adrian…?”
Why was she so obsessed with writing?
“H-honestly, Fifty Shades has better prose than White Knight.”
“Yes. I’ll grant you that.”
“See? So let me try…?”
“…Sigh.”
At least I could guess one thing.
“Is this why you called me?”
Stuff anyone could learn from a book, but she dragged me here to say it.
“I thought real-time feedback on my writing would be nice…?”
If that was all, she could’ve called anyone.
But her writing aimed for a vulgarity no one else dared touch. She probably figured I’d at least understand what others couldn’t.
“…You just figured it out?”
Not just now—I’d guessed the second I saw her writing but didn’t want to admit it.
“I refuse.”
“Why?”
“I write what I want. I’m not here to give feedback to others.”
“You just did it fine…?”
“That was just my impression. Publish it and you’ll get tons more reviews anyway.”
“You just told me to quit…”
“I never said I’d read the published version.”
“I’ll make you read it…?”
“Refuse that too.”
“You think you have a choice…?”
“…”
Ah.
Refuse, and she’d crush me with her status?
I wasn’t falling for that.
I knew too well how hobbies turning into work made everything messy and shitty.
“I know I don’t have a choice.”
“Heh, hehe… Then—”
“So I’ll decide for myself.”
“…Huh?”
No time for her reaction.
I rolled up my uniform sleeve and channeled mana into my teeth.
To show I wouldn’t play along, no matter what.
“Wait—!”
Just as I bared my teeth at the exposed skin inside my sleeve.
Frozen.
My body locked up.
“…Y-your actions are too extreme…?”
Even rolling my eyes let me sense the mana rippling from her hand.
Her magic was the issue.
She’d block whatever I tried.
But.
“You don’t think biting your wrist counts as suicide.”
“Ugh…”
I bared mana-wrapped teeth and flicked my tongue.
“What if I bite my tongue right now?”
“I-I gave you a chance to talk…!”
“Last words, then.”
“Don’t!!”
“The territory’s in good hands with Sis anyway—”
“Stop!!!!!!”
With her scream, her magic released.
The binding vanished, and my arm dropped limply.
That’s why I shut my yapping mouth.
“Haa… haa…”
I watched Opheli clutch her face in agony, then lowered my sleeve.
Did I have to keep watching her mutter to herself?
Just staring, she soon looked up.
“…Fine. No feedback if that’s what you want, Adrian.”
“…”
“But read my writing.”
“No.”
I flexed my mana a bit, and she flinched like I was suiciding again.
No matter how she tried to steamroll with power, extreme moves would catch her off guard.
Even the Intelligence Chief’s daughter was far from her old man’s level.
Maybe time to reset the power dynamic.
“Why are you doing this…?”
“I said no, so why keep pushing?”
“Not that…! Why won’t you even look at my writing…!”
“…I told you, I hate crude writing.”
“Cr-crude…?”
“Yes. Crude. Lady Quiliar’s writing is.”
“Y-you…”
Trembling with what seemed like unbearable rage.
“Eeeek…!”
She looked ready to scream and lash out, gathering power.
“Ugh…”
She knew what I’d do if she really snapped, so words stuck in her throat.
“Uhuhuh…”
With her poor social skills and speech, persuasion was impossible anyway. Obvious end.
“Hwaaaang…”
All she could do was bawl her eyes out.
Not fun watching a grown woman sob like that.
Especially if I caused it.
I’m not without regrets either.
Her art skills were top-tier.
One of the only people in this world who could draw doujinshi-style.
If she illustrated my comics, I could unleash Hitomi on this romance-fantasy hellhole without crude text.
Too much merit to pass up.
“Lady Quiliar.”
“…Y-yes.”
She looked at me, sniffling.
Tears everywhere, but her face held up—no makeup, apparently.
“How about a deal?”
“Kkhun. A d-deal?”
“I’ll read your writing if you want.”
“…Really?”
“But.”
She hated comics.
So aim elsewhere.
“Be the illustrator for my writing.”
“…”
“Do we have a deal?”
Her lost expression shifted; she slowly bowed her head, hand to her mouth.
Seemed seriously pondering.
She sent a pussy print to lure me here—wouldn’t balk at this?
“…Okay.”
Deal struck?
“B-but I have one condition.”
“Name it.”
She fidgeted her fingers, cautiously speaking.
“There’s something I want to s-see too…?”
“Shoot.”
As long as it wasn’t feedback on mine or seeing my body.
The latter scared me. But she sent a pussy print, so maybe not.
“…Drafts.”
“Pardon?”
“I want to see all your writing… drafts included.”
This… might be tricky.
“…No?”
Not refusing, but.
“Fine.”
“Really…?”
“Yes. Really.”
No lie.
I said I’d show drafts—never that I had any.
My drafts leaked, forcing my debut. Where would they even be?
“Th-then…”
Opheli beamed, oblivious.
She rummaged through her notebook, humming creepily, ready to show me more writing right away.
I wanted a break. Wrap it up vaguely?
“H-how about this…?”
She handed over the notebook.
If it was like last time, just hit her with cold rejection.
If the relationship’s too normal, it’s no fun
Remove something? The guy or the girl
Remove the girl and I dunno. Just remove the guy?
“…?”
Why only married couples fucking?
Fuck without marriage, right?
Incest sounds good
Mom-son, dad-daughter
Dad-daughter’s too gross, so mom-son
This wasn’t really novel format…
Remove the married couple fucking
Wanna wreck it
What if another guy joins
“…”
More like an idea notepad?
“Wh-what do you think…?”
“…”
“…No good?”
“No, not that.”
Arguably good.
No—straight-up gold.
Ideas like this in a world without crude fiction? You’re a cock-raging genius.
“Lady Quiliar.”
“Yes?”
“What are you doing with this?”
“…Doing what?”
“Writing it, drawing it… something.”
“Eh. Uh, um…”
Caught off guard? She stared blankly upward, pondering.
Then spoke.
“…Never thought about it?”
“…”
“Sh-should I write it…?”
“No.”
“Hing…”
At least keep these ideas from dying in her hands.
Crude as her skills were, better in mine—
“Can I use this?”
If I wrote it myself.
“…Huh?”
“For my next work.”
“…Uh, um… uh…”
Her eyes swirled, but her lips crept up.
Into that grotesque grin again.
“Okay.”
Perfect.
Next-work material at an unexpected time.
“B-but… you like it that much…?”
“Yes. Great ideas. Makes sense why you sent that letter.”
“…I just drew what you wrote…”
“Not that. Something else.”
“…Something else?”
“The…”
Too blunt to say, so I gestured vaguely.
“…Pussy print.”
“…Pussy print?”
Why the blank stare like she’d never heard?
“Yes. You sent that with the letter and illustration, right?”
“…What are you talking about?”
“…Pardon?”
No, you sent it.
“I only sent two letters…?”
Right. Letters…
…Sent letters?
“One with the drawing to you… and one to the bindery—”
Thud—
Couldn’t listen anymore. Slammed my head on the table.
“Adrian…?”
Don’t fuck with me.
“A-are you okay…?”
If not you, then who the hell sent me a pussy print?