Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - 1
Patronage for an artist is encouragement to keep up their "creative activities" steadily. It might just be tribute born of fandom, but it's closer to a threat demanding the next work pronto. "Struggling with life issues hindering your creativity? Here's money. Write." "Income unstable due to ups and downs? Here's money. Write." "Feel like your work isn't getting fair evaluation? Here's money. Write." It's an oversimplification, sure, but that's the basic gist.
Artists call what they produce "works of art," not "products," but those with real power truly consume art. So, having received patronage from the prince, I had to keep writing. Truth be told, even without the money, I'd planned to flood this world with "reincarnated" masterpieces for literature's advancement. In that sense, the prince and I shared the same goal.
"Time to publish a new work…!"
…
Thirty minutes sitting before a blank sheet of paper, fountain pen in hand. No inspiration in sight. It wasn't like I'd suddenly awakened a creative urge to produce something original.
"I have no idea what to write…."
"Whatever you write, young master, is bound to be a magnificent masterpiece!"
"Uh, thanks."
A masterpiece would emerge, alright. Since I'd plagiarize a past-life classic. But which one?
"Sion. If you were a reader, what kind of novel would you want to see?"
"Pardon? Well, something humorous yet touching, like Don Quixote."
"Yeah, that's the standard response."
"Pardon?"
"We have that."
Plenty came to mind. Anna Karenina, The Little Prince, Les Misérables… Dumping straight SF could be fun too. But simply plagiarizing past-life literature as-is wouldn't cut it. My goal was to increase the number of fun novels. For that, I needed "genre" novels to serve as references. Pure literature could bloom later.
"A mystery novel would be perfect…."
"A mystery? Like one with a detective protagonist? That might be a bit tricky."
"No, I mean genre-wise—mystery, thriller, something like that."
"Pardon?"
All (genre) novels draw from three core plots: mystery, fantasy, romance. Knight literature, for instance, blends the fantasy plot of a "hero's journey" with the romance of a "knight protecting a noble lady." These fundamental plots form every novel's skeleton. And the one this era lacked most? Obviously, mystery.
Foreshadowing and twists, suspense and enigma, questions and answers, pursuit and analysis. Mystery plots are steeped in modern rationalism.
"But writing that myself wouldn't be easy…."
The issue? This world had magic and the supernatural. Applying Sherlock Holmes or And Then There Were None meant rebuilding the story from the ground up.
"Feeling the pressure?"
"If it's pressure, yeah."
"Must be because of the patronage funds."
"That's part of it…."
Thinking of the prince made my head throb again. The empire's third prince, who viewed his own identity as "female." I'd pieced it together from subtle clues that he was male, but outwardly, he was unmistakably a woman—no Adam's apple, a delicate voice. And he held a rather advanced view of the "soul." Too advanced; the church would brand it heresy if they caught wind.
"Sion, what do you think the soul is?"
"The soul, sir? Hmm, an immortal spirit and essence of life… or so I've heard."
"And its relation to the body?"
"A spiritual entity with individuality that unites with the flesh to form a complete being… right?"
Sion's answer was religious. Probably how most in this world saw it. Except for the prince, born with an imperfect union of soul and body.
That didn't make him faithless or cynical. Quite the opposite—he'd reached his own religious answer from personal experience. A romantic one: the imperfection of soul-body union makes it more beautiful.
"From my standpoint, both views have merit…."
Mind and body influence each other across layers—hormones, inclinations, socialization. So they can clash severely at times. Someone "male" in one layer might self-define as "female" in another.
"What we lump as 'mind' or 'instinct' isn't just one thing… Huh?"
I'd definitely read a novel tackling this. That one, right?
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde….
In that instant, a strange certainty gripped me. This was it.
"…Sion."
"Yes, young master."
"Prepare research materials."
…
From the perspectives of ethics and intellect, I've come close to the conclusion that 'the human soul is not one, but two.'
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is a mystery novel. It follows Jekyll's friend Utterson tracking the bizarre figure "Hyde" entangled with Jekyll. Knowing the "solution," I wrote backward: from revelation to questions. First the ending where Jekyll and Hyde's identities merge, then layering in foreshadowing.
Hyde's unforgivable crimes, overt depictions of his eeriness, testimonies from those around him. Adding these "clues" and "mysteries" shaped it into a proper mystery novel.
"This is fun."
My faithful valet Sion got first read of the completed puzzle, as always. He took the manuscript bundle with eager anticipation.
"This one's quite short."
"No need for Don Quixote-style episodes."
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde leans hard-boiled if classified. Hyde's crimes are depicted dryly, harshly—contrasting bystanders' shudders to instill a weird dread in readers.
Sion plopped to the floor and devoured it. He could've sat, but excitement overrode propriety.
"…."
His eyes darting wildly left and right screamed immersion. Occasional shivers too. It was so entertaining, I ended up staring.
About an hour later.
"Ah…?"
A sigh escaped Sion— the kind from sudden shock, like hearing unexpected news. He glanced at me briefly, then dove back in to finish.
Not much left, so it didn't take long. Closing the manuscript, he sighed in a voice still raw with impact.
"Dr. Jekyll and Hyde were the same person…."
"Pretty shocking twist, right?"
"Truly, I never saw it coming. Though looking back, there were clues I could've guessed from. Why did I so firmly believe they were different? Like I'd been possessed by a demon…."
"That's the charm of a mystery novel."
"…Reading it felt like committing a sin the whole time."
Sion confessed in a dazed tone, like absolution in church.
"Unpleasant, frightening, a nagging unease in my chest… yet captivated by a strange mystique. Like reading a forbidden tome. That ominous secret hooked me—I had to turn the page."
"You've read forbidden books before?"
"N-No! I just mean it felt like that!"
He flailed in vehement denial—suspicious, but whatever.
"So, was it fun?"
"Yes! I'll probably dream of the ending all night."
"Don't go spoiling it anywhere."
"Of course! To the grave with it!"
Good. Now, publish.
…
News of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde spread across the empire fast. Homerus's name—Don Quixote's author—sold out the first print faster than volume one.
"Hey, read Homerus's new one, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?"
"Nah, no time yet. Another masterpiece, they say? Heard the final twist is killer."
And the inevitable issue with mystery novels gaining fame.
"Totally! At the end, it turns out Jekyll and Hyde are—"
"You bastard?!"
Spoilers.
"Duel!"