A Night as Magical as Juliet's
In the entire empire, only four binderies were recognized as the pinnacle of their craft.
Two were in the capital, one in the provinces, and the last in the rural barony of Vallancien.
And Jang, the owner of Vallancien's bindery, had lately been enduring the worst experiences of his life, one after another.
It started when he failed to properly safeguard the manuscript entrusted to him by the territory's lord, allowing it to spread across the empire in no time flat.
It was such a monumental blunder that he deserved to have his title as a master bookbinder stripped away—and it wouldn't have been surprising if the acting baroness had come storming in to kick his shins raw.
But the acting baroness had been surprisingly lenient. She'd warned him never to let it happen again and simply left.
Of course, her words might have been gentle, but the men who'd accompanied her had hounded Jang mercilessly.
Next time something like this happened, his entire family would be eating dirt by the mouthful; they'd make him wish for death with every breath...
If Jang hadn't been such a skilled artisan, he'd have been measuring up coffins by now.
He hadn't died, but the ordeal turned what few strands of hair he had left completely white.
From that day on, Jang threw himself into his work with fanatic zeal.
No longer content with just slipping name tags between manuscript pages on scrap paper for sorting—he now wrapped each one individually in cloth sacks and stored them with reverent care.
His one and only daughter told him not to overdo it, but what choice did he have?
Overdoing it was nothing compared to the alternative: not overdoing it might make mere survival impossible.
In any case, his newfound diligence seemed to be paying off.
A full month had passed since that unfortunate incident, and Jang hadn't made a single mistake.
...Or so he thought.
Until the territory's young lord showed up.
"Y-Y-Young master...."
Adrian de Vallancien of Vallancien.
In the capital, surrounded by high nobility, his status might seem modest, but here in his own lands, he was no less than a king.
Especially with his rather willful streak.
"How's the work going?"
"Ah.... Y-Yes. I'm devoting my life to it."
"No need to go that far."
"......"
It was hard to take talk of his life as a joke.
Last time, the acting baroness had come with a warning, but who knew if that had truly been her decision alone?
For all he knew, this man might have put his own sister, the acting baroness, up to it.
"Get back to what you were doing. No point staring at me."
"......Yes, sir."
Jang scurried back to his workstation at Adrian's words.
He tried to focus on sorting the manuscripts, but how could he?
This was a man who could take his life with a single word.
And with the previous blunder, he might already be on thin ice.
Jang's heart felt ready to burst. It was as if he needed to prepare for ritual suicide before the man even spoke.
But staying silent out of fear might just get him cut down on the spot.
Everyone knew this man had publicly rejected the knight order captain's recruitment offer years ago.
He could probably strike him down in the blink of an eye.
Hell, maybe he already had.
"...Y-Young master."
"Yeah?"
It took tremendous courage just to open his mouth.
"Is there... anything you need?"
"What else would I come to a bindery for? Binding, obviously."
The courage deflated instantly, replaced by the sinking realization that he'd wasted it.
'You idiot! What's the point of talking to someone who's already made up his mind to kill you!'
In his head, Jang was already convinced Adrian had come to beat him to death.
But Adrian's actions were anything but.
Thud.
A thick stack of manuscript pages landed on the desk.
The startled Jang turned to look at Adrian.
"...What's this?"
"Told you. I'm here for binding."
His mind went blank.
Showing up out of nowhere to drop off a manuscript for binding?
Sure, no customer ever called ahead anyway.
But why would someone who'd already massively disappointed him do this?
Jang's brain spun faster than it had in his youth, when his hair was still thick.
'This is a chance.'
A chance to save his skin!
"I-I'll stake my life on completing the job perfectly! It won't leak to anyone... ever...!"
Adrian, who'd been staring at him silently, let out a hollow chuckle.
"What're you talking about?"
"...Pardon?"
"I'm having this one spread around."
"......Pardon???"
Was this man messing with him?
Telling the guy who'd nearly died for leaking a manuscript to spread this one?
"...For real?"
"I don't lie much."
Step.
Adrian stepped closer and clapped a hand on Jang's shoulder.
"You spread the last one, so you know how it's done, right?"
"...Yes."
"Nobles picked it up more than I expected. Pretty good reviews, too."
His gleaming eyes bored into Jang relentlessly.
It felt like they were drilling holes right through his temples.
Jang swallowed hard, tense as a bowstring.
"And my name didn't get dragged into it."
"......"
It felt like he was saying, If it had, you'd be the first to go. Jang's face drained of color.
Adrian patted his shoulder again.
"Kidding. Kidding. You're really taking this to heart."
"......Hahaha!"
"Not that funny."
"Ha... ha...."
Jang felt his spirit being toyed with, lifted and dropped at whim by Adrian's tone.
"Anyway, this time I'm putting my name on it."
"...You're serious?"
"Gotta be a name I don't mind exposing. It's right there on the manuscript, isn't it?"
His gaze flicked to the manuscript Adrian had brought.
- Sade Zahermazoh
"......?"
Jang tilted his head.
It was a name, sure. "Sade" was fairly common.
The problem was "Zahermazoh." It didn't follow imperial naming conventions at all.
Sounded like something from that long-lost knightly nation far away....
"...What is this?"
"Told you. It's a pen name."
"It's too blatant...."
"Blatantly fake, yeah."
He knew that much. But why use this name...?
"That's how you make people curious about the author's identity. Even if it's just one or two books."
"......?"
"Who'd openly brag about writing stuff like this?"
"...No, that's not it."
"Hm?"
"If you suddenly slap a name on it, how are we supposed to know what this author even does for a living?"
"...So what? Does it matter? It's not like there's anyone else writing—"
"Dad!! New order came in!!"
Adrian's face hardened as his words were cut off. Jang's expression turned to horror.
Never had he resented his beloved daughter—the apple of his eye—more than now.
"......Oh. You're back."
"...Yeah."
"They want more of the last one? But whoa—whoa—who's the young mas—why are you here...."
"Business talk? Keep going."
"Ah, no.... Um...."
"Doesn't matter."
Adrian took a step back.
Jang's daughter hurried over to her father and whispered.
"...They ordered more of Knight Duke's 18 Shadows...."
"......Knight what?"
Adrian's voice cut in sharply, despite having just said it didn't matter. The daughter bowed her head low.
"I-I'm sorry!"
"No, it's not about sorry. Didn't you mean White Knight's 49 Shadows?"
"...No. I beg your pardon, but my daughter is correct."
"What?"
Adrian wore the most baffled look of the day.
"...What book is that?"
"Well...."
"Plagiarism! It's plagiarism...."
The daughter's bold interjection trailed off into a mumble.
Jang pulled her behind him and bowed deeply.
"Plagiarism has a long and venerable history, hasn't it? Like heretics copying scripture to preach their own gods...."
"...."
"No doubt every bindery in the empire is doing the exact same...."
Crunch.
Seeing the vein bulging on Adrian's forehead, Jang abandoned his persuasion attempt.
Instead, he waited. And a more furious Adrian than ever before approached him.
"Jang."
"Y-Yes... sir."
"One more request."
"......Yes."
"Let's release a revised edition of White Knight's 49 Shadows. No changes to the text. Just fancier cover art and slap my pen name on it."
"...Like on this manuscript?"
"Quick on the uptake."
Hearing Adrian's orders, Jang finally breathed a sigh of relief.
At least the man's anger wasn't directed at him.
The imperial palace's reception room.
Across from a reporter with a camera slung around his neck sat a golden-haired woman, her expression one of profound boredom.
Princess Charlene Rogueist Breeze Monde.
She'd swept every anonymous art contest in her youth, and now—even setting aside her status—she was a figure of considerable authority.
It wasn't odd for a reporter to request an audience for an interview.
"Your Highness. One last question?"
"The empire's authors are rotten to the core. A true great won't emerge without a war to shake things up. What more is there to say?"
"...It's about that book making the rounds in high society."
"Ah."
The princess nodded.
"White Knight's 49 Shadows... right? Heard so much I read it myself."
"What did you think?"
"What did I think? You mean fun or boring?"
"Yes, of course."
"...Hah."
She scoffed in disbelief.
"White Knight is garbage."
"...Pardon?"
"You heard right. Write it down: White Knight's 49 Shadows is garbage."
"......"
The reporter's pen flew across his notepad.
"It was mildly fresh at first. But that freshness came from sheer vulgarity."
"Then...."
"And that's it. No literary merit. No entertainment value."
"......"
"Taming a maid? Not a bad concept. Fine for an untouchably powerful man like the White Knight. But the methods? Problematic. If you're punishing her, there's slapping or spanking like you'd do to a child. But outdoor exposure? Handcuffs? That's loaded with issues."
"...Issues meaning?"
"Exactly what I said. A woman you can torment barehanded, and you use tools? That's the problem."
"......"
The reporter desperately suppressed the urge to tilt his head.
"To properly convey vulgarity, skip the tools. Use words, actions to show the maid's lowly status—how no matter how she struggles, she can't escape the White Knight's grasp. The moment you resort to physical props, the author has lost faith in their ability to portray the characters. The White Knight wouldn't use handcuffs or shackles—he'd grab her slender wrists barehanded, pin her to the wall, and pound her lower belly with knees or fists...."
"P-Princess."
"Hm?"
The princess snapped out of her monologue at the reporter's words.
She didn't even seem to remember what she'd just said.
"Anyway.... White Knight is garbage. My opinion stands."
"...Yes. Understood."
The reporter scribbled down her words, then added two lines.
[Says she hates it but seems to love it immensely.]
[Denial? Or affection?]
The interview wrapped up.
As the reporter rose, so did the princess.
As he tucked his notepad into his bag, something caught his eye, jogging his memory.
"Ah. Your Highness."
"What."
"Aren't you curious who the White Knight author is?"
"...."
The princess's expression shifted noticeably. Curiosity led a parade of emotions that she quickly schooled back to a poker face.
"Not really. Probably some hack plagiarist or attention-seeker claiming authorship. Scribbling subpar drivel."
"The revised edition has a name."
"What???"
She clapped a hand over her mouth at her own outburst.
Ahem. After a clearing of the throat and a moment to compose herself, she spoke again.
"Hm. I am curious."
"Sade Zahermazoh."
"Sade... Zaher... mazoh...."
Obviously a pen name, but she repeated it obsessively to commit it to memory.
As it mechanically slotted into her mind, a sudden doubt flickered.
"How'd you find out?"
"...His new book dropped today."
"......How'd you know that?"
"It came out alongside the White Knight revised edition."
"......"
The princess froze.
She looked thrilled... and a bit disappointed.
One thing was certain: her face was redder than ever.
Feeling the heat, she whipped her head away.
"...Got it. You're dismissed."
"......Yes."
After the princess vanished from the reception room, the reporter had a sudden thought.
How to phrase her monologue on White Knight?
She said she hated it, but it sure sounded like the opposite.
'...'
But his instincts told him otherwise.
A scathing review from the princess would make waves.
And that meant better newspaper sales.
"No big deal."
Muttering to himself, the reporter circled "denial" in his notepad and pocketed it.
He had no inkling that his article would soon enrage a certain rural baron more than usual.