The Little Prince - 1
What I requested from President Dolling for my new work was simple.
"I'm planning to hire an illustrator."
An illustrator. I needed an artist whose drawings would breathe life into the fairy tale.
"Yes! I'll invite the empire's top painter!"
"Ah, but I already have someone in mind."
"Pardon?"
"Could you bring me the list of participants from that 'contest' last time?"
The secondary creation contest for Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. The format was open—epic poems, novels, plays, any kind of creative work was allowed. And among them were illustrations.
The one I wanted to hire was an illustrator who'd entered that contest.
"Are you thinking of asking one of the winners?"
"No, not a winner. Actually, one who got eliminated right away…"
"Pardon…?"
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde was a rough, chilling story. Naturally, the winning entries matched that atmosphere in style.
I flipped through the list, found the name I'd marked before, and showed it to her.
"Please hire this person."
"This artist… Ah! Yes, they'd definitely suit fairy tale illustrations. I'll contact them as soon as possible!"
The participant who'd submitted a simplified, deformed depiction of Hyde. With this artist, I could perfectly recreate the fairy tale from my past life.
"By the way, writer, how should I explain the new fairy tale to the illustrator?"
"Just say it's a fairy tale about a prince from a tiny star in the night sky."
"Got it!"
The Little Prince. That was the title of the work I was plagiarizing this time.
"I am responsible for my rose…"
The little prince repeated to himself.
The Little Prince was a fairy tale classified as children's literature. It held the title of being translated into the most languages in the world. There were even editions in Jeju dialect and Gyeongsang dialect.
It was a fairy tale steadily loved by so many people.
"A fairy tale book written by Young Master… I look forward to it."
Sion received the manuscript with a reverent air and began reading The Little Prince.
In the quiet room, only the rustle of turning pages echoed.
It didn't take long for Sion to finish the fairy tale.
He wiped his moist eyes with the back of his hand, flinching as if afraid to wet the pages, and returned the manuscript to me.
Even after wiping away tears, Sion couldn't hide his choked emotion. In a slightly hoarse voice, he spoke.
"…I've forgotten too much lately. This is the first time my heart has felt this heavy… I don't know how to put it…"
Sion's gaze wavered. The manuscript in my hand, the sunlight leaking through the window—his eyes couldn't focus on any of it.
But he was clearly looking at something. Probably what one might call his inner self.
"Sometimes I question myself. What do I want to do? Ah, of course, serving Young Master brings me joy… but occasionally, I feel empty. So, um, yes. Truth be told, I've not been satisfied with myself."
I don't know much about the magic or mysteries of this world, but there's one mystery that existed in my past life that I do know.
"…But this fairy tale scolded me."
Books change people.
"My heart feels heavy… yet my mind is suddenly clear. Like discovering a single rose among the stars…"
The Little Prince had burrowed deep into Sion's heart, stirring his soul.
"Young Master."
"Yes, Sion."
"I have something I want to do."
"Go ahead."
"I want to swear my loyalty to you."
"…Pardon?"
Sion dropped to one knee and bowed his head. Like a knight pledging fealty to his lord.
"The novels you've written… the books you've shown me… the works you'll write in the future… My soul has been tamed by your literature."
"Uh, yeah."
"I'm not clever enough to grasp your vision of 'literature's advancement'… but I want to follow your path. I'll remove any obstacles, shield you from storms, even become the ground beneath your feet if needed. I want to see your dream come true."
"Uh-huh."
"So, I want to swear my loyalty to you."
It was a bit bewildering. So sudden.
"Will you accept my loyalty?"
"…Alright, Sion."
I nodded in permission, and Sion made his oath.
"Sion, third son of Baron Orhen, swears in the name of the holy God to serve Young Master Ed as lord of body and soul."
"…Ed, second son of the Frieden Count, vows in the name of God to uphold honor and faith as your lord, so long as you serve loyally as my vassal."
In this world where God exists, an oath in His name is absolute. Not to be taken lightly… but it would be fine.
If what Sion desired was the realization of my dream—'literature's advancement'—then it would surely come true.
No. It already had, to some extent.
At Dolling Kindersley's publishing house, I visited the president with a manuscript outlining simple ideas for the illustrations.
Dolling nodded repeatedly in admiration as she read it, even voicing some of the Little Prince's lines aloud now and then.
If Sion had reflected on himself while reading the story, Dolling was simply enjoying it as literature.
"Whoa. This one's great too! But who's this Léon Werth in the dedication?"
"It's a secret."
The Little Prince was dedicated by its author, Saint-Exupéry, to his friend Léon Werth. I'd carried over the original dedication when transcribing the manuscript.
Not just out of respect for the original creator.
The dedication to Léon Werth was already part of the fairy tale itself.
All grown-ups were once children. (But only a few remember this.)
So I dedicate this to Léon Werth when he was a little boy.
This dedication completes The Little Prince as a 'fairy tale for grown-ups.'
Of course, I couldn't explain that, so I just brushed it off as a secret.
Dolling nodded, seemingly satisfied.
"I love this book. It feels like the thrill of first love? Great… but won't it be too hard for kids? There's a lot of satire…"
The Little Prince weaves in satire of complex, irrational society. It was a difficult book, if you considered it as such.
"President. Who's the audience for fairy tales?"
"Huh? Well… children?"
"No."
"Pardon?"
"Fairy tales sell to adults with kids."
"…Ah, I see."
Fairy tales are books adults read to children. And The Little Prince evoked very different feelings depending on whether you read it as a child or an adult.
"Kids are often wiser than we think."
"True, sometimes kids seem far better than adults."
Grown-ups can't view the world with a child's pure eyes. When children listen to the fairy tale and empathize with the Little Prince's voice, adults read his words and feel shame.
Few adults can stand tall before a child's gaze. Only the shamelessly brazen ones.
"I feel like I was smarter as a kid! Lately, my brain just doesn't turn as fast. Hehe."
People like Dolling, who stubbornly guarded her rundown publishing house by being brutally honest with herself.
"You're plenty wise now."
"Hehe, thank you. You always recharge my energy, writer! Overtime today!"
"Take care of your health while you work…"
It took less than a single month for The Little Prince to become the empire's most beloved book.
The name value of a new work by Homerus was enough to draw everyone to at least peek inside.
And anyone who read The Little Prince fell in love with its wise, endearing tale.
The weary and exhausted found solace in The Little Prince. Those blindly chasing success paused to reflect.
Like the fox taming the Little Prince.
Like the Little Prince taming the fox.
The Little Prince tamed people's souls, making them ponder what was truly important.
Don Quixote made Homerus a great writer, and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde made Homerus an alluring one.
But The Little Prince achieved what those two could not.
It made Homerus a beloved writer.
Anyone who read The Little Prince couldn't help but admire its creator.
The Little Prince gifted peace to its readers.
But not everyone found only peace in this fairy tale.
Among the suspiciously wealthy, a peculiar taste began to spread.