Don Quixote - 2: "Enough with the Dozens of Identical Rip-Offs Already"—The Game Changer Don Quixote Arrives
But now, the capital was overflowing with outright plagiarized versions of Don Quixote. I'd underestimated just how uncivilized this world truly was. There wasn't even proper copyright law to begin with—the patent office merely oversaw publishing rights.
"…Young master. Shall we pursue legal action?"
"We can't catch them."
"Pardon?"
"They're not printing my novel without permission—they're plagiarizing its content."
The patent office's protection for publishing rights covered only the act of "publishing" itself. If an unauthorized publisher printed Don Quixote, that would be a problem. But suing over a plagiarized plot? That was much harder. Such were the limitations of this world's legal system.
It was a disaster born from a complete lack of awareness about copyright.
"If this could lead to proper copyright legislation, that'd be ideal, but it's still too soon."
"How could that be…."
Sion, my valet who had read Don Quixote first and become my biggest fan, looked genuinely disappointed. His reaction pleased me a little, so I tossed out a joke.
"What? Upset about the royalties we'll miss out on?"
"…Isn't this the novel you labored over, even forgoing your allowance? It infuriates me that such a work can't receive its due reward."
In truth, it hadn't been that laborious to write. I was plagiarizing from the "original world," after all. Of course, I'd made adjustments to fit this world's history and culture, but knowing the core structure made it far from grueling.
Still, I could empathize with Sion's feelings, so I nodded.
"Don't forget that sentiment. Readers need to adopt that mindset first before copyright can truly take root."
An author advocating for copyright alone means nothing. In the end, you need the "masses" to raise their voices. And the best way to draw in the masses? Repay them with even better works.
"With that in mind—it's a bit early to reveal it, but I'll show you first, Sion."
"…Could it be?"
"Yeah."
I pulled a bundle of papers from the drawer and showed them to Sion.
Don Quixote, Part 2.
"WAAAAAAAAAAH—!!!!!"
Sion screamed as he snatched the papers from my hand. His shout was so thunderous that the head butler came rushing to check what was wrong. I brushed it off with some excuse and sent him away.
Trembling like someone in withdrawal, Sion collapsed to the floor and began devouring the text.
This is getting fun.
In the original world, Don Quixote Part 2 had emerged for much the same reason—floods of pirated editions. The preface and passages in the actual Part 2 lambasted those bootlegs with biting sarcasm. Out of respect for the original, and to sound the alarm against this world's rampant knockoffs, I'd included similar jabs.
I settled into my armchair and waited for Sion to finish reading. It was a hefty volume, so by the time he reached the end, dinner was nearly ready.
"…Ugh. Do… Don Quixote…."
"All done?"
"This… it'll sell for sure! No, it'll sell beyond belief—it'll change the history of this world itself!"
"That's overselling it… I just hope it shifts things on the copyright front a bit."
For protecting creators' rights and fostering a healthy creative environment, copyright law was essential. Only then could we enjoy a wider variety of fun works.
My ultimate goal remained unchanged: to read even more entertaining novels. And for that, we needed an environment where such novels could be born.
"Ha… Could I read it once more? I want to relive Don Quixote's journey."
"No problem, but… it's dinnertime now?"
"…Ah."
Only then did Sion realize he'd been glued to the pages for hours, letting out a sigh. As he tried to stand, his legs cramped, twisting his body and sending him tumbling back down.
"Ugh…. So-sorry."
"No rush—take it slow. Slowly."
By the time Sion could finally walk after groaning for a while, a servant arrived right on cue to announce that dinner was ready. I headed to the dining room with the sheepish Sion in tow.
I sat with Sion attending me, then he bowed his head and moved to the servants' table. The rest of the family was already seated.
My father, the family head, spotted me and clicked his tongue in reprimand.
"Why are you so late? Lost track of time with that Knight Literature nonsense again?"
"Yeah, pretty much…."
He sounded gruff, but Father was the one who looked out for me more than anyone—preemptively taking the heat so Mother wouldn't nag.
I gave him a grateful look and bowed my head.
"Tch tch, what could possibly be so fun about those frivolous novels…."
As he trailed off, Father muttered as if struck by a sudden thought.
"Oh, right—the capital's been buzzing about some Don Quixote novel. Have you read it? Never touched Knight Literature myself, so I can't keep up with their chatter. Those old fogeys in the capital really can't act their age…."
"…Don Quixote?"
"Yeah. They shut up when I said I hadn't read it, but it was annoying enough that maybe I should. If it's not too much trouble, Ed, could you summarize it for me?"
"Sure, no problem."
"No problem?"
"I wrote it."
"…What?"
Clang—somewhere, a spoon dropped.
All eyes turned to the culprit: my brother and the family's heir, Eric.
Stammering, Eric asked again.
"Y-you're saying you're the 'Homerus' who wrote Don Quixote?!"
"Ah, yeah."
Hearing my pen name spoken aloud felt a bit odd. Using the greatest epic poet's name was overkill, even by my standards. My face heated up—it was like a singer naming themselves "Freddie Mercury."
"No way…."
"But I thought you didn't read that stuff, bro? Figured Knight Literature was too childish for you."
"Among young nobles, Don Quixote is like a god!"
"Isn't that blasphemy…?"
Don Quixote was indeed a monumental work. A cornerstone of literary history, the first modern novel, beloved by authors, Spain's Bible, father of all modern novels…. Its influence was incomparable.
In literary history, that is. Outside academia, one might question its reach. Even today, to the average person, it was just "the lunatic charging at windmills."
…Well, in a world without much cultural industry, it makes sense.
There were spectacles like monster circuses or magic shows, but true "content"? Scarce. No wonder Eric reacted this way. Even if publishing wasn't advanced, its relative size gave it outsized influence compared to the dismal state of other cultural sectors.
"Well, thanks for enjoying it."
"My little brother is Homerus…."
While Eric was still reeling, Mother glanced around cautiously before speaking up.
"Is that Don Quixote really… that amazing?"
Eric immediately launched into a passionate rant.
"Of course! Among young nobles, admitting you haven't read Don Quixote gets you laughed at. Especially the trend-sensitive ones—"
Eric went on at length about the work's massive impact. In high society, ignorance of Don Quixote meant being branded outdated; some nobles were even playing dress-up as its characters.
Listening, I recalled the "Werther effect" from the original world. After The Sorrows of Young Werther boomed, youths mimicked the protagonist's style—and a wave of suicides followed.
The power of literature… it's beyond imagination.
The energy of literature. In my past life's Korea, mentioning such things earned mockery: "What era do you think it is? Still clinging to dusty books?"
But this era was different. Publishing was nascent, yet brimming with potential to become universal culture.
"…I'll have to be more careful with the next one."
I murmured unconsciously. Eric froze, then fixed his sparkling eyes on me.
"Next one?"
"Huh? Yeah."
"Don Quixote Part 2?"
"Pretty much."
Eric's reaction afterward… let's just say it was so over-the-top it was burdensome. Dinner turned into total chaos.