I rember the existence of Earth.
I know of the person who tried to express the horrors of war through literature, the man who experienced a miracle by being pardoned at the execution block, and the nobleman who enjoyed traveling and wrote novels based on the stories he heard from various people.
I understand that literature is written through the experiences and inspirations of its authors.
In the front pages of literature, under “Author’s Note,” and in the back pages of novels I translated, under “Translator’s Note,” such details were always included—stories about the author’s personal anecdotes or the background in which the work was written.
So, the novel “Surviving as a Plagiarist in Another World” was…
A sowhat lengthy and ridiculous “Translator’s Note.”
As a translator, I felt obligated to write a “Translator’s Note” for the readers.
“…It’s a lighthearted yet entertaining novel! A protagonist reincarnated in another world plagiarizing advanced literature to succeed—it seems like there are so many ways to expand on this idea! Like introducing new cooking thods or spreading different gas!”
“It’s an autobiography.”
“Sorry, what?”
“It’s an autobiography.”
The “Translator’s Note” was the only space where the voice of a translator could reach the readers.
Translation, as a process, is about conveying the author’s voice as wholly as possible.
No matter how much I tried to overlay a new voice as a “translator-author,” my voice ultimately could not—and should not—reach the readers.
Thus, the “Translator’s Note” was the only place where I could speak as an author.
Even now, nothing had really changed.
I translated “Earth’s literature” into this world and shared it with the people.
And now, through the text titled “Surviving as a Plagiarist in Another World,” I wanted to share about myself as a translator, the reasons these novels were written, and why I translated them.
“…Sorry?”
President Kindersley failed to grasp the aning of my words and asked back several tis.
Amused by his confused expression, I let out a faint smile and nodded.
“Please proceed with publishing it, President.”
“Ah, yes!”
And so, the novel “Surviving as a Plagiarist in Another World” was published in the Empire.
.
.
.
The novel “Surviving as a Plagiarist in Another World” garnered a rather explosive response among readers across the Empire.
The overall consensus could be summarized as “easy to read and fun.”
However, contrary to the general public’s favorable reviews, the reactions of scholars and intellectuals who recognized the “characters” in the novel were slightly different.
“This… is this for real? Are you telling that Prince Idris was actually a cross-dressing man? And that the current Prince Idris is actually an illegitimate child of Emperor Enoch?”
“Co on, it’s probably just fictional settings, right? Just settings… it has to be, right?”
The emotion they felt could be sumd up in one word: “chilling.”
Religion, the imperial family, diplomacy, traditions—this novel, which featured Horos as its protagonist, boldly crossed nurous political taboos of the Empire.
The details were so specific that dismissing them as re “fictional settings” felt like a stretch.
When so of the existing mysteries of this society were viewed through the lens of this “novel,” the connections were disturbingly clear and undeniable.
The mont they realized this, the intellectuals who were reading the novel couldn’t help but feel a cold sweat running down their backs.
“Haha! Aren’t you overanalyzing this novel? It’s not exactly rare for the nas of real nobles or royals to appear in fiction. Besides, considering it’s a work by Horos, the church or the imperial family would likely overlook a bit of blasphemy, don’t you think? Don’t overthink it.”
“Y-Yeah, you’re right, probably.”
“Anyway, isn’t the author Horos just amazing? His depiction of this ‘Earth’ is so detailed and convincing. The idea that this world gave birth to the current world is fascinating, isn’t it? It’s as if he has an entire ‘world’ inside his head, with countless characters living their lives and telling their stories within it.”
“Wow, that’s a great way of looking at it!”
Of course, not many people took these discussions seriously.
It was common for real noble nas to be used in novels, and for an author like Horos, writing such a compelling story wasn’t far-fetched at all.
Starting a story by claiming it’s based on a “true autobiography” was also a long-standing tradition dating back to the age of chivalric literature before Don Quixote, so it wasn’t all that unusual.
In the end, the conclusion of such debates was often sumd up as a Tolkienist-like praise: “Horos is simulating an entire world in his head to create his stories.”
And yet.
For those who were not just intellectuals “familiar with” the characters but were actually characters depicted in the novel—
“Author, isn’t this going a bit too far? To reveal a lady’s secrets in a novel like this…”
“Haha… My apologies.”
“So, you’ll take responsibility for this, right?”
“Excuse ?”
—they each expressed their displeasure to Horos in their own ways.
.
.
.
Honestly, I did think it was a rude thing to do.
Setting aside the principle of secrecy regarding the imperial family or religious matters, it was improper even from a human perspective.
I had spent so much ti researching the past that I completely forgot to consider the consequences of sharing the purpose behind it.
However.
I still thought it was sothing necessary.
In the end, it was also for the sake of literature. All literature can only fulfill its purpose within an appropriate social context, and I judged that revealing the “truth” would serve as such a context.
Therefore, what I had to do was simple.
“I’m truly sorry. It wasn’t a topic I should have written about so recklessly, and it wouldn’t have been good even on a public level. If there’s anything I can take responsibility for, I will.”
A heartfelt apology.
Apologizing wouldn’t necessarily solve the problem, but it was sothing I needed to do nonetheless.
“And how exactly will you take responsibility?”
“Um.”
“If the imperial family decides to accuse you of a cri and execute you, will you offer up your neck?”
“In such a situation… there’s no helping it, is there? I’d be grateful if they’d at least let write a will.”
At my calm response, Lady Es let out a disbelieving chuckle.
Then, frowning slightly, she glared at .
After letting out a deep sigh, her expression softened slightly, and she shook her head.
“Honestly, you’re such a hard person to understand…. Is literature really that important? Important enough to risk your life over just one book?”
“Yes.”
I had already staked my life on literature and died of overwork.
Having died once, I could die a second ti.
Hearing my unwavering response, Lady Es questioned again, as if she couldn’t comprehend it.
“Can’t you just… live comfortably? Teach students at the academy, indulge in a little luxury from ti to ti, read the books you love in a library. Isn’t that nice? You’ve got plenty of money, you’re highly influential, people recognize you, and if you wanted, you could even enter the council and enjoy power. Can’t you just live a little more comfortably?”
“…….”
After thinking about it for a mont, I nodded and replied.
“I don’t think I’d feel at ease if literature couldn’t progress any further and was held back.”
“Not writing sothing like this wouldn’t an that literature cos to a halt, though, right? The publishing market is already growing continuously, and writers are being supported through things like library initiatives. Isn’t that enough? Don’t you think you’re wasting too much on sothing so trivial? Couldn’t you just remain the ‘Transcendent of Literature’ rather than confessing that you’re a ‘plagiarist’ who stole the literature of your past life?”
“…….”
“There are quite a few people who take this ‘novel’ as fact. People who know you well would probably believe it even more. Does this… hold enough value to betray the faith so many people have in you?”
“Yes.”
“I really can’t understand you….”
Hearing Lady Es muttering in a tired voice, I recalled an old mory.
It was from the ti I created a book titled The People Beyond the Yellow Wall.
Back then, I think I said sothing like this:
“I wish everyone could beco a writer.”
“…….”
“These days, it seems like there are more cars on the streets than carriages. I hear that coachn are having a hard ti finding work. If those coachn could write honestly about their jobs and their lives, even after carriages have completely disappeared, people would still rember the era when carriages road the streets, understand that there were people who made a living from such an outdated trade, and empathize with those who lived such lives.”
“…….”
“The Empire’s systems are also changing quite a lot, aren’t they? I hear that people who’ve moved from the Security Bureau to the Police Bureau are struggling to adapt to the differences. There are definitely those who mock or belittle people who fail to adapt to new systems or technologies. At such tis, if there were a book detailing the old systems and their operations, I think it could help people understand those who worked hard in the old ways.”
“…….”
“There are families in this vast Empire who can only et once a month. Misunderstandings arise because they aren’t good at writing letters, or they end up regretting careless words spoken during their short day together for an entire month. At such tis, I believe the writing skills learned through literature could serve as a decent tool for conveying sincerity.”
“…….”
“Literature can be a prir for introspection, a tool for discussion, and a reference material before implenting policy changes.”
“…….”
“I wish for literature to be at the heart of this society. For that to happen, I wish everyone would write at least one book under their own na. Even if the day cos when literature is truly regarded as an outdated dium, I hope for a society where people have a small bookshelf with a few favorite books and one book they wrote themselves after much thought.”
“…….”
“I wish for everyone to beco a writer.”
“…….”
“That’s why I needed to write ‘my’ book first. Since my literary imagination isn’t particularly remarkable, I simply wrote the most truthful literature I could in a way that made the best use of my abilities.”
“…….”
“Do I need to explain further?”
“Ugh… fine. Just shut up for a mont.”
Lady Es closed her eyes tightly as if she had a headache, furrowed her brows, and rubbed her face a few tis.
Eventually, she smiled mischievously, like the playful girl she always was.
Then, she extended her hand toward .
“Give your hand.”
“My hand, you an?”
“Quickly.”
“Ah, yes.”
Lady Es grabbed my wrist firmly and placed sothing in my hand.
It was a letter.
“Alright, read it alone when you go back.”
“…What kind of letter is this?”
“A fan letter.”
“Sorry?”
“I enjoyed reading it—your novel Surviving as a Plagiarist in Another World.”
“…….”
“I’m your first supporter, rember?”
At that mont, Lady Es’s smile was so warm and gentle that just looking at her made feel as if I were basking in sunlight.
“That’s why I wanted to give it to you first.”
“…Thank you.”
I nodded blankly.
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