Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - 4: Hardboiled Contradictions
The hardboiled genre starts from contradiction. Distrust and skepticism toward humanity, a weary and grueling life unlike the bright future touted by propaganda posters. As this contradiction deepens, people stop thinking deeply. That's when novels that smash everything to pieces refreshingly take off. At least they quench the thirst inside!
"Never thought hardboiled would trend so suddenly."
"Young master. What is hardboiled?"
"A genre that solves problems with violence."
"First time hearing it."
"Because I just made it up."
Calling this hardboiled felt too close to just plain violence porn. No real problem-solving—just smash first, think never. I slotted the book I was holding back onto the shelf.
The Mad Hammer
Hammer's Revenge
Ariant's Swordsman
The shelves were packed with violent pulp in the same vein as the one I'd just read. Mostly cheap short stories printed on crappy paper. For the price of one Don Quixote, you could buy two hundred of these. This world's printing tech was more advanced than I'd expected, letting early 20th-century-style pulp violence ride the wave.
This was another unanticipated twist.
"You don't seem pleased with them."
"No, well, trends like this aren't bad from my perspective…."
These low-quality shorts were easy to read and toss away. Pulp fiction had built the foundation for genre fandoms back home, so popularity was never a downside. The problem was….
"They're just not fun."
"Indeed, compared to your novels, they fall short."
"No, even worse than Knight Literature."
This was just dumb shock value. Beatings, murder, rape, violence—they crammed in every cheap thrill. I wondered if they even cared about crafting a "story." Textual gore porn would look like this. Just provoking disgust wouldn't sustain a trend. For it to mature, it needed stereotyped plots.
"Don't bring these cheap shorts anymore."
"Understood."
"Ah, but if you read one and think 'this is fun,' bring it then. No matter what. I plan to write something suited to pulp fiction later…."
"Working on a new idea?"
"A few concepts bubbling up, but it's too soon."
Priority was the results of the secondary creation contest I'd planned from the start. Its outcome was crucial for my schemes to take shape.
"Sion. Pack our things. Oh, and don't forget the potions stored separately."
"Yes, sir."
Sion started loading the potions into the bag one by one. Shock-proof spells on the bag meant no worries about shattering glass. The vials themselves were alchemically reinforced anyway.
"Ah, Sion. Hand me one potion?"
"Pardon?"
I uncapped a vial and gulped it down.
"Guh… haa… fucking hurts…. Doesn't get easier the second time."
"Young master?"
"Better than using my real face."
Fine for now, but who knew what trouble my novels might stir later. Wouldn't want a "Why'd you kill Holmes?" backlash. Better to fully separate "Homerus" from "Ed." A few already knew my face, but no SNS here, so it was manageable.
"Alright. Let's go, Sion."
Time to meet the winners.
"Kyaaah! I-is it true? The real Homerus is coming to present the awards himself?"
"W-what do I do? I'm shaking so bad…."
"Gotta ask for a signed book when we meet…. Oh, and a handshake… maybe…?"
The auditorium hosting the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde Secondary Creation Contest awards buzzed with excitement. Every person here was a fan who'd entered just to meet the author in person.
"C-can I really tag along? What if bullets start flying or something?"
"It's fine! Winners can bring up to two guests."
"Uwaaah… thanks. Seriously. You're the luckiest thing in my life…."
Among literature lovers, the name "Homerus" was practically divine. A superhuman who'd dominated high-society nobles with debut Don Quixote, the creator who'd birthed captivating characters like Jekyll and Hyde in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
"I looove Hyde…."
"I prefer Jekyll. That fragile vibe makes you wanna protect him? Plus he's such a gentleman."
"Aah, I get it!"
Especially Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde slayed with women. The refined, kind yet vulnerable Dr. Jekyll you wanted to shield; the bad boy Hyde who ignored prying eyes—these archetypes hit female readers hard. Their immunity to the "split personality" trope made it lethal.
Even sheltered noble daughters or merchant heirs mingled among the fans.
"Hehe, recognize this?"
"That's… no way, the first edition of Don Quixote Volume 1? The one that's never on the market anymore? How…."
"Planning to get Homerus to sign it. Bliss just imagining it, right?"
"…You wouldn't sell it, would you?"
"Who'd sell a priceless treasure for cash?"
"Promise on the Frinen Mine development rights…."
"…Pardon? For real?"
Like a socialite ball, backroom deals over interests simmered. Some eyed each other warily.
"You didn't hire a ghostwriter, did you?"
"Heavens no. Just having Homerus read my humble work is honor enough—no one would stoop to such vulgarity."
"True, yeah."
But the jabs didn't drag on. Without irreconcilable interpretations, fans bonding over the same work naturally grew close.
"Homerus is like my god. I'd never commit such blasphemy."
"Ah! Totally get it."
Thus, Homerus was a god. In this magic-tech era of rising atheists, perhaps even more influential than actual deities.
"The ceremony begins shortly! Winners, please take your assigned seats. Guests, step back!"
"Huaaah, it's starting soon. What now."
"Do I look okay? Not too haggard? Should've slept earlier yesterday!"
And so.
"Homerus is entering to present the awards!!!"
The ceremony erupted in worship and chaos.
In the auditorium's small waiting room, I sat awaiting my turn.
"Author. Ready?"
"Ah, yes. Don't I just hand out awards? Nothing special to prepare?"
"You might need to steel your mind…."
"I'm just the presenter."
If I were a winner, maybe—but just handing out prizes? No big mental prep needed. Though Dolling Kindersley looked a tad anxious.
"Author…!"
"Yes, President."
"This isn't the time to be so casual…."
"Yes."
"Ugh, you need to grasp your own influence more."
"That's why I changed my face."
The potion had blended my past and present looks halfway—hard to link to "Ed" from sight alone. As I touched my face saying so, Dolling suddenly raised her voice in frustration.
"That face is the problem too!"
"Huh?"
"It's too handsome!"
"Is it…?"
Hmm. Honestly, yeah, a smidge more handsome. Like a classic mixed-race heartthrob actor. Blended the flaws out, kept the best of both lives.
"Should've come as your original face instead!"
"That's not you politely saying I'm ugly, right?"
"Your real face isn't ugly… just harmless-looking?"
Harmless? Praise or insult? I'll take it as praise.
"Ahh, my turn already… Author! I'm right before you, okay? Come out when called!"
"Yes, yes."
Dolling headed out for her speech, leaving the room suddenly quiet. Her warnings had me a bit tense now. I leaned back in the chair, waiting for my name.
Not my name, though.
The greatest author's name in history rang out. I opened the door from the dim waiting room.
Beyond lay lights.
And.
"Kyaaaaaaaah─!!!"
"Waaaaaaaaah!!!"
Cheering crowds.
For a moment, the roar overwhelmed me, mind going blank. Everyone here stared solely at me.
Ah. So that's why the president said to prepare my heart….