Overwhelming Strength
I was the only one inside the pojangmacha, the modest little street tent I'd ducked into for the night.
I drained another glass.
I'd honestly lost count of how many that made.
That was when someone took the seat beside me.
I had no idea when they'd approached, but I couldn't have cared less. It wasn't a reserved seat, and whoever sat down next to me was none of my business.
Still, curiosity got the better of me, and I turned my head just enough for a glance.
And then—
"……?"
Was I drunk?
The figure sitting next to me looked strange. At first it seemed like a man—no, wait, maybe a woman. I couldn't tell, no matter how hard I looked.
But that thought didn't last long either.
Whatever. Who was I to judge?
Maybe it simply didn't have a shape.
I brushed it off without a second thought.
Perhaps that indifference was what drew its attention.
"Would you happen to like novels, by any chance?"
Out of nowhere, the figure struck up a conversation. And with the most bizarre opening question imaginable.
Any other day, I'd have found it strange. But tonight? Eh.
"Sure, I do."
Truthfully, I was just glad to have someone to talk to.
The mysterious figure smiled. I couldn't tell whether it actually counted as a smile, but it certainly looked like one.
"How wonderful to hear."
"……?"
Why was that wonderful? I tipped my glass back as I wondered.
Gulp. The liquor slid down my throat, and the mysterious figure picked up where it had left off.
"The truth is, I am drafting a novel at the moment."
"…Oh, that's impressive."
"Haha, thank you."
Screech. The figure dragged its chair closer, narrowing the distance between us.
"I would like to tell you about the novel I have in mind. Will you listen?"
It wanted to read me a story?
Well, why not. No—actually, this worked out well. I'd been bored out of my mind anyway.
I nodded.
At my permission, the mysterious figure immediately launched into an outline of its novel.
I listened to its rambling synopsis like it was bar snacks, knocking back drink after drink as the night wore on.
How much time had passed? I couldn't say exactly, but I gathered it had been a good long while.
Then why was it still pitch black outside?
And where had the stall owner gone?
Just as those questions began to form—
"…Well then, what do you think? Could you see people wanting to read this?"
The mysterious figure had apparently finished its story and was now asking for my impressions.
I took another swallow, gulp, and nodded along.
"Phwah… not bad, actually."
Truth be told, I was half talking out of my ass. I hadn't listened closely enough to remember what it was even about, but you can't exactly say no idea to someone's face after they've spent an hour telling you.
"Oh, is that so? I'm glad to hear it."
Clunk. I set my glass down.
At the same moment, the mysterious figure posed a strange question.
"Then let me ask you one thing. If you were to be transmigrated into a novel—"
It paused for a beat.
"—what ability would you want to possess?"
It was the sort of thing a child might scribble in a notebook. A snort of laughter escaped me.
"Why are you suddenly asking that?"
"Haha, it is a necessary step."
A necessary step? What was that supposed to mean?
Well, whatever.
I answered without putting much thought into it.
"Overwhelming Strength. I'd go with that."
"Overwhelming Strength, you say?"
"Yeah."
"May I ask why?"
I thought for a moment. Then, setting my glass back down, I said,
"You look at all the novels I've read, right?"
"Go on."
"No matter how amazing the ability the protagonist has, in the end they always need strength, don't they?"
The figure listened in silence.
"And to get that strength, they go on adventures, they fight, they train, they grind."
I snorted.
"So why not just start out strong from the very beginning?"
"Oho."
"If you're overwhelmingly strong from page one, you can cut out all that tedious buildup."
The figure tilted its head.
"But if one begins that powerful, wouldn't it prove rather troublesome in a great many ways?"
I considered that for a moment. Then I laughed.
"It's a novel, isn't it? That's half the fun."
I lifted my glass again.
"Besides, I just said it—most novels spend their whole length writing about the process of gaining power."
Gulp. The liquor wet my parched throat.
I set the glass down.
"This time, we go the other way."
"The other way?"
"Yeah." I smiled. "Instead of gaining strength—"
A pause.
Glug glug. More liquor poured into my glass.
"—you write the process of suppressing it."
"……."
Silence settled over us for a moment.
I mulled it over on my own, then laughed.
"Huh. Now that I've said it out loud, it actually sounds pretty good."
"……."
The figure didn't answer.
It simply watched me, quiet and still.
After a moment—
"You're right. That would not be bad at all."
"See?"
I smiled, satisfied. Having someone genuinely listen to my rambling—what a nice change of pace.
Then something occurred to me.
"Oh, come to think of it."
Glass in hand, I looked at the mysterious figure.
"What's the novel called?"
The figure answered with a soft haha of laughter.
"I have not decided yet."
"Still? It sounds like you've pretty much finished the whole plot."
"Ahaha, it turns out naming a book is harder than writing one."
And then, the mysterious figure added:
"I have a favor to ask of you."
"Huh?"
"Please provide me with the idea that will let me craft a magnificent title."
My eyes went wide.
"What's that supposed to—"
"Mm."
Crash.
The cup shattered to pieces.
I stared down at the broken shards scattered across the floor.
Broken again.
I should've kept the settings talk brief. Why did I have to go and say "overwhelming strength" of all things?
Sigh.
I let out a long breath inside my head.
But what actually came out of my mouth was something else entirely.
"Mm."
A single, clipped syllable.
With a perfectly blank expression, I studied the shattered cup.
Kairen Valkart von Arden.
Second son of the Northern Ducal House of Arden.
A superhuman blessed—cursed—with overwhelming strength.
And so, doing my best to hold that power in check, I went on living.