Side: "The God of Mystery Novels and Prolific Writing."
Princess Is seemed intent on staying quite a while, as she brought up a new topic.
"Oh, I really enjoyed the novels by the writers you taught, sir. You must have a talent for teaching as well as writing. People are just so perfect sometimes. It's enough to make you jealous."
"That's not because of any great teaching on my part. The students learned it all on their own."
This was the truth. I wasn't a real writer, after all, and I had no real ability to guide or instruct anyone. At best, I provided a guideline in the form of a 'work.' So the students had all taught themselves.
"So humble, too. How can anyone be that perfect?"
"You're too kind."
The princess sounded like she was praising me, but the mischief dancing in her eyes said she was just teasing. Still, it didn't feel bad.
"Oh, but that doesn't mean I only read your works or your students'. Thanks to you, the literary world has leveled up—the fun books keep coming! It's just that I've been so busy lately, I haven't had much time to read…."
"That's a shame."
"Right? My study is piled high with books I want to read. Sir, have you read Valley of Jealousy by writer Rianne?"
"Of course. The delicate psychological descriptions contrasting with the intense, escalating events made for a truly enjoyable novel."
"Exactly! I can't understand why it's not more popular!"
Our tastes aligned pretty well, so we could chat endlessly about literature. It helped that she knew my true identity, making the conversation flow even better.
"That's why I was thinking of sponsoring her. But even though I'm no longer a prince, I'm still imperial blood! It feels a bit like poking around if I sponsor her casually, you know?"
"I see."
"What does Homerus the writer think?"
"I believe supporting talented literati is a good thing."
"No jealousy at all?"
"Pardon?"
"I'm your first patron, after all. If someone I confessed to confessed to another, I'd get jealous."
The princess smiled brightly, tilting her head forward slightly as she gazed at me. It struck me anew just how noble she looked. Even her tomboyish demeanor couldn't hide that inherent grace. Was it some kind of charisma? The sort you're born with?
"Patronage and love confessions are different matters, aren't they? The more patronage artists receive, the better."
"No possessiveness at all, huh, writer?"
"If I wanted to monopolize art, the market would be flooded with thousands of my works by now."
This was sincere. From the day I started plagiarizing Don Quixote up to now, I'd only released works meant to advance 'this era's' literature one step forward. If I'd just craved fame, I'd have dumped out far more. Most would have been crushed under the weight of 'Homerus's' output, leaving the literary paradigm in chaos as writers floundered, unsure what kind of novels to even write.
That was why I'd split the names 'Homerus' and 'Herodotus.' The directions they pursued had to be distinctly different.
"That's… exciting but a bit terrifying to imagine."
"Bookstores could have been filled entirely with Homerus's works."
"Heh, I thought you were all humility, but now I see you're arrogantly terrifying, writer."
"It's not about humility. It's just… a matter of possibility."
My study had a magic-engineering safe just like the ones at Kindersley Publishing. Inside were stacks of manuscripts plagiarizing every novel from my 'past life' that I could recall…. If I set aside my pride as a translator and skipped localization, it was entirely feasible. Not that I planned to.
Ruining the literary world wasn't my goal.
"Hmm? So, our great writer who could fill bookstores with a 'Homerus Special Section'—are you preparing your next work?"
"Yes. I do have a novel in the works."
"Really?! What kind?!"
The princess's eyes sparkled as she leaned forward, her face brimming with anticipation.
"I'm thinking of trying a mystery novel."
"A mystery novel? You're already writing one—oh, under the Homerus name?"
"Yes. This time, it'll be a mystery involving religion."
I'd decided to publish that novel after the 'So Why Did You Kill Holmes?' incident a few days back.
….
The simultaneous serialization of two masterpieces, 'Sherlock Holmes' and 'Arsène Lupin,' plus the 'Sherlock Holmes X Arsène Lupin Fan Fiction Contest,' had the empire buzzing with interest in mystery novels lately. The trend spanned magazine serials and published books alike.
For me, it was enjoyable but bittersweet. The two mysteries I'd brought were overly 'genre-defining.' In short, they lacked variety.
It was inevitable—I'd imported near-perfect paradigms ahead of their time. Still, solutions existed.
"If I borrow the power of a god, maybe… but that might be too much."
If the clichés were too formulaic, the simplest fix was to unleash even more. And the most straightforward way was to invoke the 'God of Mystery Novels' herself.
The author who'd sold over two billion copies and earned a Guinness record—the Queen of Crime, Agatha Christie.
But there was a catch.
"Problem is, I don't know her novels that well…."
Plagiarizing her was 'impossible.'
In my past life, I'd been a translator. But I'd never had occasion to translate Agatha Christie. Her works hadn't entered the public domain.
"Well, I've read some in original and translation, so I could imitate her style… but it's iffy."
I could plagiarize past-life novels because I'd read them repeatedly—and more importantly, because I'd translated them.
Ask me to rewrite something I'd once penned, and muscle memory would recreate it close enough. Translating meant researching sources, cultural contexts, papers, rewriting sentences endlessly until the work felt familiar in your hands. If it didn't, you weren't a translator.
Agatha Christie's novels? Untouchable for official translation. Thus, plagiarism was off the table. I'd tried a few times, but I couldn't get the 'feel.'
That 'feel'—the sharp sensation of story flowing from your fingertips—was the heart of translation work.
"I need a novel to expand the mystery genre—."
So I'd pondered long and hard. Titles flickered through my mind: short stories, vignettes, SF, crime, locked-room mysteries.
Then one title snagged.
It popped into my head and tumbled out of my mouth.
"Father Brown…."
….
"So, to write this new novel, I'd like to consult with Cardinal Garnier."
"I see. A mystery with a priest as the protagonist…."
Maybe it was his clerical nature, but even Cardinal Garnier's thoughtful expression looked like prayer. Hands clasped, a gentle smile—pious.
Soon, he nodded and responded to my proposal.
"Yes, I'll help. I'm not sure how useful I'll be, but assisting Homerus the lay apostle would surely please the Lord."
"Thank you, Cardinal."
"Besides, most mystery protagonists these days have some eccentricity. Drug addicts, thieves… Glorifying them as 'just' makes orphanage kids idolize and imitate them. It's been a worry. The Savior said forgiving sinners saves oneself, but these stories lean vengeful. Not ideal for children's education—I've had such concerns."
"Hate the sin, love the sinner?"
"Well said. Who said that?"
"…I think I read it in a letter."
"You know many good souls."
"Yeah, well…."
No such saying in this world. Had I written it in a novel? Hard to recall.
"In that spirit, I'll help however I can. If priest-led mysteries catch on, our children might take more interest in the clergy."
"Thank you. Then, first—."
I had many questions for the cardinal's input.
But the top priority was this.
"—could you tell me about your experiences hearing confessions?"
"Ah, forgive me. The seal of confession is absolute—I cannot divulge it, even if the Savior Himself asked. I must decline."
"No, I don't mean the contents. Seeing the manuscript first might make it clearer."
I pulled a bundle of manuscripts labeled Father Brown from my bag and handed it to Cardinal Garnier.
And so began the interview with the cardinal.