Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - 3
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is a novel about the soul. But not the soul in a spiritual sense. It's closer to that concrete personality that weighs norms against impulses to guide our actions. The form of that soul is revealed outwardly through a "potion." Hyde's appearance is pure evil. Pure, yet evil subordinated to a man named Henry Jekyll. That's why, in the early days when Henry Jekyll recoiled from evil, it emerged in a small, cowering form.
[The evil side of my nature. The body of the villain, transformed by the power of the potion, was frailer and less developed than the body of the good personality just driven out.]
But as Henry Jekyll lost control over his evil side, Hyde's form grew larger and stronger—until, no matter how devoutly Jekyll prayed to God or served among people, Hyde finally thrust his head out from within Jekyll. Just as Hyde was subordinate to Jekyll, Jekyll was subordinate to Hyde.
"Ah! Delighted to meet you! I'm the alchemist Gallen Lannyon! For the renowned author Homerus to grace my humble workshop—what an honor! I'm worried my shabby lab might offend you, though."
And now, I had come to meet the creator of a certain "potion," inspired by Henry Jekyll's potion. The reason was simple.
"What is this potion?"
"Hahat! You've come out of curiosity, haven't you? As expected from the creator of the story."
I couldn't even guess what this potion really was.
"Which part of my potion piqued your interest, sir?"
. . .
Though the contest format was free-form, I hadn't anticipated something as bizarre as a "recipe for the potion from the story" being submitted. Nor could I casually open the vial and test it. It might just be a novel concept scribbled carelessly, and who knew how such an occult item would even work? If it devoured me like Jekyll getting eaten by Hyde, that'd be a problem in itself.
So I'd come in person. To the alchemist Gallen Lannyon.
"How on earth did you make this potion?"
"The works you've created shone upon me like stars, granting inspiration, and I merely followed that inspiration to brew it. If you ask how I made it, I'd counter by asking how you crafted such a novel! Haha!"
"...No, wait—what does this potion even do? Separate the evil from the soul and let it possess the body, like in the story?"
What even is a soul? People toss around phrases like "soul-stirring star" or "a work that touches the soul," but that's just rhetoric or emotion. Not because some literal soul actually exists.
"It's a potion that reveals the form of your soul completely on the outside. Hmm, better to show you directly! There's a spare dose inside, but... leaving it sitting too long would be rude, so shall I demonstrate? Here, let me have that one!"
With that, the alchemist snatched the potion from my hand, popped the lid, and—gulp—downed it in one go.
"Kyaha—. I made it, but damn, it's tasty. This stuff."
"......"
"Strawberry flavor."
The alchemist, who'd volunteered the unasked-for flavor info, soon grimaced and let out a groan.
"Urgh, ngh, aaah—."
His face twisted. Bloodshot veins burst in his eyes, and the muscles twitched wildly on their own. Watching it, a scene from Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde flashed in my mind. The moment Hyde drinks the potion before Lanyon.
["A miracle to confound even the devil and dazzle your eyes!"]
[He seemed to swell up. His complexion turned earthy in an instant, eyes and nose melting and shifting like wax.]
[The man trembling pale before my eyes was none other than—Henry Jekyll himself!]
The description matched the alchemist's transformation perfectly, as if written for this exact moment.
"Ugh, this actually hurts a bit. Feels like getting beat up by thugs! Hahat. But don't I look pretty good?"
His face had drained bloodless like white paper, his pupils shimmering like mixed oil paint in water. The whites were a touch more transparent, his fingers slender and long, perfect for grabbing and releasing anything effortlessly. Overall, he gave off an eccentric vibe.
"This is the form of my soul. Incredibly comfortable, and just my style. Way more natural and refined than a polymorph potion. Like I've shed a skin!"
"...What do you mean, the 'form of the soul'?"
"No idea!"
"Pardon?"
"Doesn't everyone have an ideal, comfortable form they see as 'natural'? Or maybe something uglier and more blatant, like Hyde. People who wear masks might think their slovenly home self is the 'real' them. That diligence could be what turns Jekyll into Hyde!"
At this point, I realized trying to parse the madman's words was pointless. Still, I'd learned something.
"Oh, the effect lasts about a day. Care to try one yourself, sir? I'll give you plenty!"
The potion was strawberry-flavored.
. . .
"Is that the form of Young Master's 'soul'? It's... somewhat exotic."
I couldn't resist curiosity and drank one. It wore off after a day anyway. The result was a bit different from what I'd imagined.
"It does feel comfortable, like wearing clothes tailored to my body."
"Alchemy is truly wondrous."
In the mirror, my face was half my past life's me and half my current life's—familiar yet strange. My voice too: tones from both lives blended halfway.
"But what do I do with all this...?"
In one corner of the room sat a pile of potions from Gallen. What now?
"Why not give them as prizes?"
"Hm?"
"I heard you're running a 'Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde Secondary Creation Contest.' No side effects like in the novel, so the winners would love them as prizes. Experiencing the story's potion firsthand."
"Ooh."
The contestants were all Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde fans, at least readers who'd studied it closely. They'd be thrilled to live the protagonist's experience.
"Great idea? You've got a knack for this, Sion."
"You're too kind."
"Perfect. Let's take them to Ms. Kindersley. Sion, prepare."
"Yes, sir."
. . .
Apart from the contest sailing smoothly, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde itself had less impact in high society than Don Quixote. Unlike the knight literature staple Don Quixote, its genre was unfamiliar, and it was short. But among the common folk, it spread like wildfire. The dry style, shocking events, and brevity perfectly replaced pulp novels.
"Hyde is human nature! Jekyll's just the chains holding him back! Without society's gaze, wouldn't we all act like Hyde?"
"Honestly, it felt so refreshing. Way better than those stuffy, hypocritical knights."
Especially the violence and tragedy hooked the weary masses. Hyde's ruthless cruelty resonated deeply. Unlike honor-bound knight literature or smut disguised as romance, it was different. Like how cathartic power fantasies trended in my past life's webnovels. Demand surged for brutal violence, and savvy pulp authors churned out stories to meet it. Stripping away chivalry and romance for dry, violent tales wasn't hard.
"Hey, you read Harot's Revenge? So damn satisfying!"
"What's it about?"
"Revenge! Super cathartic!"
"Revenge for what?"
"Uh, dunno! Doesn't matter—it's satisfying!"
Low barriers, high demand. Chasing thrills led to mass-produced schlock.
"Tch, making a fuss over that? Lame."
"What? And what's your read?"
"Mad Hammer! A tough guy with a hammer smashes everything!"
"...Sounds fun!"
A "hardboiled" genre was blooming in this world.