Why did I write this novel? There wasn't any special reason. It was just to get closer to my employer's children.
─ Hansel, read us a book.
─ That one's boring. I've already read it all.
─I want to read something more interesting!
Curious and scholarly rich kids. They were Mr. Miller's siblings, my employer.
As a wealthy man, Mr. Miller had quite a few books. His study was almost like a library.
But it wasn't enough. Not by a long shot.
Of course. This era didn't have BIN syndrome yet, so authors were slow to publish books.
In the web novel era, daily serialization is standard, but in this era, monthly serialization is standard. And the amount is only about 4–5 times a month.
For smart and good-memory kids, that speed is frustratingly slow.
So, getting closer to the employer's children wasn't a bad thing, and I couldn't always give them piggyback rides that hurt my back. To escape that hard work, I scribbled this book as practice.
Don't you feel from the title that I wrote it in a way that suited British kids' tastes and my style?
Luckily, the response was good. Despite being a short story, Majina and Monty came looking for more every other day.
Thanks to that, I told them stories in my spare time while handling Mr. Miller's art business.
Surely, all I did was write it on low-quality paper left over from work and loosely bind it together. Even that had been scarce lately because of my busy business. But then...
Why on earth is it coming out of that gentleman's hands!
"I haven't introduced myself yet, have I? My apologies! I am Richard Bentley Jr., working as an editor to inherit my family's publishing house."
"Oh, yes."
The gentleman smiled and showed me his business card.
I casually put Richard Bentley and Son's card in my pocket.
Honestly, I didn't know them well.
I wasn't an author of this era, so I couldn't remember all the publisher names.
Bentley's face briefly showed disappointment, but true to his profession, he quickly returned to his original humble expression.
No, that's not what's important right now.
"Okay, so how did you, Mr. Bentley, come to have my private manuscript?"
"What? Private manuscript? Didn't you submit it to our company by mail?"
"What are you talking about? I had no intention of publishing it."
I said with genuine bewilderment.
I had absolutely no, not a single, intention of publishing this manuscript.
I was already busy, and honestly, would a native Korean who's only been in England for a few years write something in English that sells well? In this romantic (laughs) era?
I'd rather be ridiculed by the Royal Society of Literature (RSL).
"Whatever happened, this isn't a pleasant situation for me as the copyright owner."
When I said this with displeasure, Bentley's pupils shook as if an earthquake had struck Lisbon.
He, seemingly flustered, wiped his sweat with his handkerchief.
"But, sir, your work is already the most popular piece in our publishing company's monthly magazine."
So what? I absentmindedly scratched my ear. The fact that my hastily written work was the most popular piece must mean that the magazine wasn't very popular.
At that moment,
"P-Please take a look at this!!"
The gentleman pulled out a thick envelope from his bag and showed its contents.
A strong floral scent, mixed with various perfumes, assaulted my nose.
Frowning, I asked,
"What is this?"
"These are fan letters addressed to you, sir!!"
"Fan letters?"
They really went all out to make this prank elaborate. I incredulously pulled out the letters.
But...
"What?"
They were real. There were countless letters addressed to "Author Hanslow Jin."
This one was from London, this one from Plymouth? Good heavens, there was even one from Edinburgh.
How well has my book been selling? And why?
"Isn't this an overwhelming response? Our publishing house came to see you in person and discuss publishing it as a standalone book."
"So, the book hasn't been published yet?"
"That's right. This is a sample. It's also meant to be a complimentary copy for you."
So, it was still only serialized in the magazine.
But in any case, my rights had been infringed upon by this point, since it was already being sold.
My sense of copyright ownership, long dormant, sharpened.
Just as I was about to interrogate this Bentley or Macmillan about who submitted my work,
"Hanslow? What's going on?"
"Ah, Mr. Miller."
My employer, Mr. Miller, had returned home.
Before Bentley could say anything, I quickly spoke.
"Sorry, sir. Some thief is spouting nonsense. I'll handle it right away."
"Thief?"
"Sir! No, that's not it!!"
Quiet, you thief.
Anyway, the fact remains that they sold my book without a proper contract. What's there to boast about?
As I seriously considered using this thick book to smash the so-called editor's skull, like some clergyman,
Mr. Miller approached and took the blunt instrument from my hand, saying,
"So, it has finally arrived."
"What?"
Wait a moment.
"Finally"? What does he mean by that? Why is Mr. Miller talking as if he's been waiting for my book?
I looked at my employer with puzzled eyes.
Mr. Miller, noticing my gaze, chuckled and continued while lighting his pipe.
"Well, the truth is, Majina asked me to scold you a bit."
"Scold me? What did I do wrong...?"
"Hanslow, she said your book was too interesting, and she was angry you didn't write more."
"..."
It was ridiculous, but I couldn't say I didn't understand.
Anyone who has read fantasy in Korea would have experienced the frustration of waiting for the next installment.
"Of course, I prefer a competent employee like you to focus on work. But considering how much Majina complained, I thought it must be quite entertaining. And I read it, and I found it enjoyable too."
"Mr. Miller..."
I had always heard such things from the children, but hearing it from an adult like him carried a different weight.
They say people receive fewer compliments as they grow older, so maybe that's why it felt strangely bittersweet.
"But I am a merchant, a dealer in fine art. My job is to recognize the true value of the art in my hands, as you well know."
"So, you wanted to verify it with an expert, just like you ask me about art."
The smile that formed on his lips was enough of an answer.
Having worked with him for a long time, his genuine goodwill was clearly conveyed.
Oh, he should have at least told me. For a gentleman, he's quite clumsy but surprisingly warm-hearted.
As I thought this, I suddenly remembered the most important thing.
"Then what about the royalties?"
"You would have sent your bank account number when you submitted it, right? Didn't the publishing house send it?"
"I haven't checked. I've been too busy lately."
"That's true."
Without mobile phones, it was impossible to check if money was coming in real-time like internet banking. Ashfield didn't even have a bank.
To check properly, I'd have to go to Exeter, the largest town in Devonshire.
As I was pondering what to do, Richard Bentley spoke up like a thunderbolt.
"Don't worry! Anticipating such an event, I brought the receipt for the royalties sent to you."
"Receipt?"
I glanced slightly at Mr. Miller to see if this was okay.
Mr. Miller nodded and held out his hand, indicating he would verify it. I handed him the receipt.
After taking out his spectacles and thoroughly examining it, he returned it to me and said,
"I've confirmed it. It's genuine."
"What's the amount?"
"About 300 pounds? Not bad."
300 pounds!? That's not just "not bad."
Isn't that roughly 7 million won in Korean currency? That's a huge amount!
About to exclaim this, I remembered that this man was born into wealth and dealt with million-dollar art pieces as a hobby.
And that worked greatly in my favor.
"Not bad! Our publishing house has offered a rather substantial royalty."
"Really? I trusted the name value of Bentley & Son, but it seems they're struggling. Hanslow, do you know George Newnes? He's a journalist with connections to my wife's family, and he's preparing to launch a new magazine. I believe it's called..."
"Wait a minute!!"
There you go.
Mr. Miller smiled slyly at me.
Indeed, Mr. Miller was ruthless when it came to business.
I couldn't help but admire his skill.
Though he spent more days immersed in cricket than art these days, he had still managed to establish himself in England. His merchant instincts were anything but dull.
Faced with Mr. Miller, Richard Bentley Jr. could only helplessly agree to our terms like a cow being led to slaughter.
In the end, under Mr. Miller's satisfied expression, my contract with Bentley & Son was finalized on very generous terms.
By the standards of future Korea, where authors' rights were much better protected, the conditions were comparable to those for major authors. I had no reason to complain.
"Thank you, Mr. Miller."
"If you're grateful, keep writing diligently, author. Majina is looking forward to it."
"Haha, should I give you a preemptive autograph?"
"Haha! I'd appreciate that."
After Richard Bentley left, I bantered with Mr. Miller and signed the book he had left behind with a flourish.
The quality is really good.
From that day on, I began to juggle my art dealership and writing.
More precisely, I typed away under Mr. Miller's gracious allowance for a significantly reduced workload.
My work was now limited to urgent appraisals and occasional help with the children's nap time walks.
Despite the reduced workload, my salary remained unchanged, for which I was genuinely grateful.
Though the improved environment had helped my writing,
"Is this really okay?"
I still felt a bit uneasy.
They said it was the most popular in London, so why worry?
Well, because the editors' encouraging words often felt like empty flattery, and I was too jaded to take them at face value.
Moreover, my competition was untouchable. The magazine that Miller mentioned, run by Newnes or whatever his name was, serialized Sherlock Holmes. Competing with the greatest detective story of all time?
It was a peculiar era in modern literature.
Would my writing really be successful? It was a natural concern for any author.
"Sigh, worrying will only delay the deadline. Let's just write."
Whether a work becomes popular or not is up to fate.
At times like these, clearing one's mind is more beneficial. All I could do was stockpile content.
"And even if it doesn't work out, I still have my precious artifact coins."
I wouldn't have to worry about my livelihood.
Thinking of my secure nest egg, I began typing.
Yes, that's what I thought at the time.
But.
"No way."
I quietly closed the newspaper.
... This is selling way too well.