Don Quixote's Sad Ending
The ending of the novel Don Quixote is a sad one. Don Quixote—Alonso Quixano the Good, who firmly believed himself a "knight" in the grip of idealism and madness—awakens from his delusion only to contract the soul-sickness called "reality," wasting away in listless death.
Those who had labored to "cure" Don Quixote were now reduced to begging him to believe in dreams once more. Just like the typical fate of those who, exhausted by reality, abandon their dreams.
There are many interpretations of this ending. Some say it symbolizes the end of the Middle Ages and the dawn of modernity; others claim Cervantes, plagued by pirate editions, wrapped up the story in a second part to prevent any more trashy "fake sequels."
But interpretation wasn't the point. What mattered was...
That ending poured oil on the smoldering embers of obsessive immersion in the existing fandom...
...No other conclusion drives home the point of total immersion quite like the protagonist's death.
The clamor of marching crowds outside the window was deafening. People dressed as medieval wandering knights parading through the streets. They were all readers over-immersed in Don Quixote.
They were causing a ruckus in the streets, hoisting tombstones inscribed with Don Quixote's epitaph to "mourn" him. Even the guards meant to keep order were turning a blind eye—or joining in.
"At least they're not threatening the author like they did with Sherlock."
"Young master. Who's Sherlock?"
"A grumpy druggie detective."
"If you know of him, young master, he must be quite the skilled detective."
"His skills are solid, yeah."
I did want to plagiarize some detective novels from my old world later. With magic as an established mystery here, I'd need to put extra effort into research... Come to think of it, mystery novels might be tricky.
"Sion."
"Yes, young master."
"How's the copyright law proposal coming along?"
"The family head has personally written to the council. With so many councilors being fans of Don Quixote, legislation should proceed smoothly."
My head throbbed from the over-immersed readers, but publishing the second volume of Don Quixote had set the copyright law push on track. That solved my biggest headache.
Of course, pirate editions would still circulate in autonomous duchies and kingdoms beyond the imperial council's reach... but there was nothing I could do about that.
"Once copyright law takes root properly, we'll see even more interesting works."
"...Um, young master."
"Yeah?"
"But once copyright law is enacted, won't that mean no more fun knockoffs of Don Quixote? Doesn't that... sort of contradict your goals?"
Sion's question struck me as absurd at first, but I had to nod in agreement. That was probably the average mindset of people in this era.
I myself had read hundreds of knight literature novels—too precious even to call plagiarism—and written Don Quixote, the masterpiece of the genre. Plenty of readers must think, "If it's fun, who cares if it's plagiarism?"
"Well, mass-produced novels have their own simple pleasures. If you're familiar with the clichés, you can read them with minimal focus, and calling something 'genre-appropriate' is basically about embracing that sameness."
"So blocking plagiarism just means fewer novels to read, right?"
"Sion, ever heard 'there is nothing new under the sun'?"
"From the Bible... Ecclesiastes, right?"
"You don't half-ass your faith, huh. Just like it says, every 'work' is inevitably an imitation of others."
I picked up a book from the side table. The first edition of Don Quixote volume one, straight from the publisher. Back then, they were a small outfit, so the print run was limited. Its value had skyrocketed; I could probably get ten gold coins for it now.
"Take this Don Quixote. It mimics the structure of knight literature, but does that mean it's plagiarizing other knight novels?"
"No... I don't think so."
"Right?"
A healthy creative environment isn't some mystical thing. It's when creators' rights to their works are legally protected, and society respects that. Just that sparks endless seeds of inspiration with boundless vitality.
"Some will twist themselves to dodge plagiarism; others will burn with passion to create wholly new works. The results won't be perfectly original—maybe clumsy or half-baked."
"..."
"But I believe all those 'attempts' will become new inspirations for writers, blooming in literary history."
As Don Quixote himself said—
"—To grasp the impossible, you must first attempt it. If everyone just tries the same things, you'll only get the same results."
"...You seem like Don Quixote yourself, young master."
"That's a compliment, right?"
"Of course."
Like Don Quixote, huh. Truth is, I could never be an idealist like him. The future I dream of is one humanity from my past life already trod—a "possible" one. I can be this confident only because I know the outcome.
In that sense, I'm—
"—more a Sancho type, personally."
"Sancho... Right, you've always liked Sancho a lot."
Reality always trails after ideals. The future I envision won't be different.
I lack the creativity to invent something wholly new, but I have the zeal to pursue the ideals of my past life.
"Sancho's worldly, right? Human. Suits me, don't you think?"
"Honestly, if I had to name the least worldly person I know, it'd be you, young master. I've only ever seen you buried in books."
"Oh dear, you haven't seen my true colors yet, Sion?"
"Are there such things?"
Me, who lived in the cutting edge of 21st-century capitalism, brimming with secularism and cynicism. I can't just take that lying down.
"Grab my coat. We're going out."
"Where to?"
"I've made a killing in royalties. Time to spend some."
I declared my flex with majestic flair and headed out with Sion.
"Young master, shall I shelve the books here?"
"..."
We came home with just a few books and some bookmarks. I really have no hobbies...
I got an urgent message from Dolling Kindersley and rushed to the publishing house. And heard something bizarre.
"...Um, President. I must have misheard... Who sent the invitation?"
"His Imperial Highness, Third Prince Idris!"
"He sent me an invitation?"
"Yes!"
"Why?"
"Because he's a fan of Author Homerus, of course!"
As the title "Third Prince" suggests, Idris was imperial royalty. Dead last in the succession line or not, he was a dignified being with the right to grasp the entire empire.
And he was summoning me? A mere nameless writer whose one book happened to sell well?
"This is a huge opportunity! If you make a good impression, future books could get imperial endorsement!"
"Hmm, hold on. Let me think..."
"Ah, right! I got too excited. Hehe..."
Okay. Let's sort this out.
The empire's Third Prince has invited me. Because he's a fan of my Don Quixote.
It was sudden, sure, but not that weird on second thought. For someone that high up, inviting one writer isn't a big deal.
The real question: Should I accept?
"...If I decline, will it hurt Kindersley Publishing?"
"Pardon? You're thinking of refusing?"
"Well, honestly, it's a bit daunting. I don't like showing my face in public. I'd rather keep my pen name separate from daily life."
"Aha, in that case, we'll decline."
"...Pardon?"
She decided that easily?
"Your wishes come first. If it's even a little inconvenient for you, we cut it off decisively."
"B-but, what if the palace retaliates or something?"
"Hmm, honestly, no idea. Fifty-fifty? If Prince Idris is magnanimous, no issue; if he's petty, then trouble."
She's awfully casual about leaving it to the other side's mood. Her nonchalance is making me more confused.
"Don't worry about a thing, Author. Focus on writing. We'll handle the fallout."
"You sure that's okay?"
"Heh heh, worst case, we get clan extermination or something, right?"
That's not a "worst case" you brush off like that.
"Just trust me and leave it to us. I won't let it bother you."
"...Okay."
Crushed by Dolling Kindersley's fanatical zeal, I could only nod.
She said it that firmly, so it should be fine entrusting it to her.
...Right?
"So you're the author Homerus."
"Author, I'm so sorry..."
We'd refused the prince's invitation, and now he had come to the publishing house himself.
Uh, is this a dream?