Chapter 32
Chapter 32
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 32
Chapter Title: Secret Rendezvous (4)
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"This is the bookstore."
She scooped up a bite of ice cream.
A spark of life had kindled in her red eyes.
"It's packed because of the contest deadline you mentioned."
"Tell me about it. It makes me even more nervous for no reason."
The woman with pink hair lifted the brim of her hat.
Like someone stepping out of the house for the first time, she drank in the vast scene before her.
With her beautiful face revealed, the bookstore patrons stole glances at her.
The entrance soon split neatly: men staring at her, and young ladies gazing at one particular young lord.
"Looks like the young lord entered the contest too."
"The grand prize is yours for sure, my lord. That piece you showed us last time was incredible!"
The black-haired man surrounded by young ladies flashed a bright smile.
A dove badge, symbol of Berryhill, adorned his jacket.
'So the lord's son I was supposed to meet today is a novelist.'
I had a rough idea about him already, but I asked Eri anyway.
"Is he famous?"
"Yes. He's the lord's son who recently distributed his self-published novel to the citizens."
"He's got some guts. Printing novels for public sale must've cost a fortune in printing magic."
"It was really fun. I even think of him as my rival deep down."
Eri sidled up next to me.
Then, in a soft, feminine whisper:
"Truth is, I distributed some copies too. Word is, my work and his are the top contenders."
She gave me a mischievous smile with those red eyes.
For a fleeting moment, I wondered how nice it would be if Anje had grown up in an environment like this.
"You've invested quite a bit. Hope you place high enough to at least recoup your costs."
"It's fine. A very kind mage did the printing for free."
How captivating must it have been to get pricey printing magic comped?
She spoke with real passion about her novel.
"Plus, the young lord's work has a fatal flaw. It's extremely similar to other popular stories."
"Plagiarism or ghostwriting, you mean."
I nodded calmly.
Then tossed out a loaded question.
"By chance, who was the villain in the story?"
"The villain?"
"Yeah. The princess, perhaps?"
"...How did you know? You must enjoy reading too, Lord Derek."
Her answer confirmed my hunch about the contest winner.
The lord's son—tied to the crown prince's faction—would snag the top prize.
I knew all about it.
The literary world had long been rife with award rigging based on political leanings.
And at the center was the man who'd helped bring down the Empire.
Aintz, the prince's right-hand advisor.
My predecessor as Imperial Prime Minister in my second-loop days as such.
If Tutton Grand Duke was the prince's frontline enforcer,
Aintz pulled strings from the shadows with agitation and politics.
His signature: portraying the princess as the villain or mastermind.
Often as a deviant who ensnared men, or with twisted sexual tastes.
Camillia's icy image and overwhelming might made it easy.
More war hero than politician, she was ripe for smears as cruel.
Aintz eroded her public support this way.
"Go submit your manuscript first. I'll browse the shelves."
"Got it."
As the aspiring author with pure literary dreams headed to the lounge,
I scanned the display rack alone, flipping through the lord's son's printed copies.
While digging into the previous prime minister's scandals, I'd seen a list of ghostwritten propaganda pieces.
And sure enough...
The son-of-a-lord's "original" work matched a title on that list.
'What a bunch of bullshit.'
Just to check, I read Eri's distributed copies too.
No similar phrasing or titles in the legit ones.
"Lord Derek, you don't look so good. Everything okay?"
Eri had returned after submitting, unnoticed.
My grim poker face would've sent anyone fleeing, but she looked at me with genuine concern.
"I need to check on the judges."
"What happened?"
I headed for the lounge where the judges were stationed.
Eri hurried after me.
"That young lord's entry is a rigged ghostwritten novel."
I straightened my black uniform cap and barged in.
A mustached man and his colleagues were sorting manuscripts.
"Who are you? Outsiders aren't allowed here."
"Not exactly an outsider, so relax."
The middle-aged man in ornate gold-rimmed glasses peered up.
Seeing my uniform, his arrogance evaporated.
"One moment... Here on official business?"
"Yes. I'm Berryhill Prison's warden."
He froze at my title.
His name tag read Turner. He soon smirked.
"Berryhill Prison... Ah, I see."
He knew full well it was a dumping ground for disgraced losers.
"What brings you here? Entering a piece yourself, Warden?"
The judges and aides chuckled.
They knew one thing but not the other.
Recently, northern nobles had pledged loyalty to me.
Ignorance of that meant...
These guys were so low on the totem pole, HQ didn't even share intel.
"No. There's an issue with one of the entries."
They stiffened at the fairness complaint.
Quick eye contact, then scripted responses.
"Which one? The lady beside you?"
"No. The guy signing autographs for the young ladies at the entrance."
"Surely not Lord Luca, the lord's son..."
"That's the one. His is definitely ghostwritten."
Silence fell at "ghostwritten."
Their mockery long gone.
Like realizing the wall lizard was a venomous snake.
"Got proof? Messing with Luca here could end badly, even for a warden."
The judge dared threaten, despite his station.
Usually meant backers higher than me.
Self-admitting a puppet master.
I pointed at the stack of submitted manuscripts.
"If it's by that ghostwriter, a white hawk drawing hides on a specific page."
"White hawk?"
"Ghostwriters have always left signature marks on originals, unlike prints."
"...Understood. We'll check ourselves."
The mustached man nodded coolly.
But I wasn't one to let managed expressions slide.
"Check it right here in front of me. Wardens have summary execution rights in criminal cases."
"No need. This involves the lord—we'll consult his people."
My green eyes flashed under the cap.
He broke into cold sweat, fumbling excuses.
"That's backwards. If it's lord-related, outsiders should investigate."
Eri stepped up this time.
The prim woman spoke low for the first time.
"If it's a crime, who knows if the lord will cover it up?"
"Aren't you that aspiring contestant from earlier?"
"Yes. How could I ignore a fairness violation?"
"Sour grapes because you're a top contender?"
The judge shrugged with false charm.
"Look, your writing had no shot anyway. Zero marketability—let it go."
"..."
Her face darkened further at his harsh critique.
The sparkle in her eyes under pink locks dulled.
"Eh, the sex scenes weren't bad. Pivot to erotica."
"Right? Felt like firsthand experience."
Seizing the moment, they shifted to crude bait.
Skilled with words, they'd been tearing down hopefuls like this.
"..."
The hatted woman fell silent.
Shocked by the sleazy industry insiders.
'Empire scum aren't worth sparing after all.'
She muttered softly.
Barely audible, but she seemed furious.
'Better to kill and purify them all...'
One hand slowly extended.
Her pink hair began to quiver faintly.
But the ripples halted abruptly.
Slap—!!!
As Eri muttered,
I'd already charged the judge and smashed his skull aside.
"What's with everyone? I just roughed up a side character to build tension, like in a novel."
I grabbed his hair.
Yanked him up like pulling a potato, then slapped relentlessly.
Blood poured from his nose like soil from roots.
Still, I didn't stop.
I couldn't tolerate a pure woman hurt by filthy elites.
I refused to let the saint's suffering repeat.
"S-stop... I was wrong."
"Wrong how?"
"For spouting nonsense and upsetting you..."
"Apologize to her, not me."
Slap!!
I backhanded him again for only eyeing me.
Hard enough to bruise his cheek purple.
"Trash like you makes dreamers lose their way and despair. Nothing more pathetic."
Other judges rose to call backers.
I shot them a venomous glare.
"Leave, and you're arrested on sight. Stay down till we check the young lord's manuscript."
Regaining Imperial Knight-level power?
My honed aura froze them.
True to schemers valuing their hides, they hit the floor.
Meanwhile, I rifled through the stacks alone.
As expected, the "winner" Luca's manuscript was missing.
'Predictable.'
The drawer held it, separated.
Flipping the original...
There it was: the previous prime minister's white hawk signature at the end.
Matching handwriting too.
No need to disguise among themselves—they'd just swap and decide.
"Investigators from the northern palace will arrive soon. Anyone lifting their head before then dies."
"..."
Now they realized who'd caught them.
But they wouldn't go quietly.
Even Imperial Knights struggle holding three men.
They signaled, poised to bolt.
But then.
"S-suddenly sleepy..."
"..."
The advisor's lackeys collapsed asleep at once.
As if compelled by command.
Eri strolled casually among the slumbering men, hands behind back.
She approached cautiously.
"You okay?"
"With what?"
"I heard you came to see the lord today. Now you've tangled with his son."
"No issue. I came to rein him in anyway. This gives me cause to subjugate fully."
I wrote the palace dispatch calmly.
"As warden, I rehabilitate inmates. But first, I prevent them entering."
I sealed the letter quietly.
"That starts with making this land a better place."
I gazed up at Eri steadily.
Her, beautiful and dream-filled as never before.
"So the next generation doesn't suffer or corrupt from elites' greed."
The white-haired woman in her cell came to mind.
Maybe Anje was Eri from a parallel world.
"Noble goal."
The ordinary aspiring novelist lifted her white hat brim.
Smiling like me, she thanked my efforts.
"Now your rival's out, the prize is yours, Miss Eri."
"Come on, you haven't even read mine."
Eri giggled, hopping onto the judge's desk beside me.
"I have. Saw it on the display earlier."
"...My novel?"
She startled, voice higher than her usual low calm.
I replied matter-of-factly.
"Yes. The imprisoned heroine and the man. He locks up the criminal, but sympathizes learning her story..."
Drawing on old romance novel reads, I rattled it off.
"Sympathy turns to love. His moral dilemmas were striking."
"...Thanks for the kind read."
"What's the ending? Genuinely curious."
"The ending..."
Eri fiddled with her white dress strap.
Then yanked her hat brim down over her face.
"Later, she imprisons him instead."
Like hiding her current expression.