In the past, which sounds odd to say, the London I knew from the future wasn't a great city.
The incompetent conservative government made foolish decisions again, and the aftermath of Brexit was killing the city. Common people protested for survival, and racial issues were rampant.
Most of all, the Wi-Fi and 3G were unbearably slow. For a Korean, nothing could be worse.
So, what was London like in the early 1890s, when it was the capital of the British Empire and the center of the world?
"Uweeeek."
How else could it be? 150 years ago means it was 150 years worse.
You know those creatures on the internet who say, "When the Great Map of the East Land was being drawn, London had the world's first subway~"?
I want to take those guys and seat them in that world's first subway.
It smelled terrible, shook incredibly, and with no air conditioning, it was hot and sticky... Half the lines were even steam locomotives!
These crazy Brits ran steam engines underground! With that black smoke billowing out!
"Oh dear, are you okay, sir?"
"Are you alright? I told you to take a carriage. Why did you insist on taking the subway that only commoners use?"
Well, you should have warned me about this.
I made a face but couldn't speak properly as I was still feeling nauseous.
Uweeeek—
After taking a primitive elevator to the streets of London, next was the land of fog.
It was full of smog!
Damn, it was hard to breathe with all this smoke.
There's an expression often used to describe this era: pea soup fog.
The yellowish fog was so thick it felt like a sticky soup.
Ugh, it was harsh.
I naturally covered my mouth and nose with a handkerchief.
So this was why the British always carried handkerchiefs. They couldn't stand the smog either.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm not okay."
"Oh dear... You seem to have a weak nose, sir."
It would be more surprising if someone could withstand this smog!
I was about to snap back, but had to shut my mouth when I saw children running and laughing through the fog.
Unbelievable, humans are indeed adaptable animals. Who knew they could smile so brightly in this smoke.
Fine, you win. England takes the crown.
However, the noise the children made was unusual.
"You're finished, Hell-King Alvis!"
"Brave of you, Peter! Cry out! Hell Sword, Inferno-mourne!!"
"I am the mightiest dwarf wrestler! Come at me if you dare!"
"For the fairy forest!!"
What on earth was that?
Hearing familiar lines and names from my series as the kids played sword fights, I had to hold my head.
For reference, Alvis was the boss of volume 1.
He was originally a dwarf royal, but after digging too deep and awakening the infernal volcano, he turned into the hell fairy king.
Dwarf wrestling involved short, stocky dwarves grabbing each other's pants and trying to topple each other—a form of traditional Korean wrestling, ssireum.
What's wrong with that? It was convenient to set up, so I did.
Originally, it was meant for domestic readers to enjoy. So I made the settings hastily... Too late to change it now.
Anyway, I could easily find kids playing "Peter Ferry" on the streets and parks of London.
"Isn't it a heartwarming sight, sir?"
No. It just made me want to hide in a hole.
Of course, I was grateful and happy to see such enthusiastic readers.
But still, hearing strangers recite my lines made me cringe!
I'm a web novelist, not a drama writer! Oh, my hands and feet.
"Let's hurry up, please."
"Alright, alright."
But I didn't realize that this would come back to bite me.
Charing Cross Road, where Bentley Publishing was located, was famous for its secondhand bookstores in the 21st century.
But what was it 150 years ago? Just a bookstore street.
So, " The latest volume has arrived!"
"Move out of the way!!"
"Shut up, we've been waiting since yesterday!"
"The ninth edition is coming in!"
"Give me five copies! I'm sending them to my relatives this time!!"
Every bookstore along Charing Cross Road was packed with people forming lines to get their hands on the serialized work.
Amazingly, the standalone book, which only started selling after my formal contract, was already on its ninth edition. This meant it had sold out eight times already.
Wow, my heart swelled with pride. Even in Korea, my standalone books sold well, but not to this extent.
"Did you hear? Patrick finally dueled with Raymond."
"Finally? It was inevitable. That's why people who insist childhood friends should end up together don't work."
Nearby, I overheard two gentlemen having a sophisticated conversation in a café.
I wondered what they were talking about, then realized.
"Exactly. In the end, it must be Iruril who marries Peter, right?"
"No, no, what are you saying? Have you not seen the nobility of Mab, the queen of nymphs? While Iruril has a pitiful and tragic aura, a hero must be paired with someone noble."
"Haha, I didn't expect you to be so low-level. Are you saying we should discard the bond formed since they first entered the fairy forest?"
"Don't twist my words. Friendship is friendship, and love is love."
"Hahahaha."
"Hohohoho."
"Draw, you bastard!"
"Fine, let's settle this!!"
Cancel that. They weren't sophisticated at all. They just had refined speech, but were really just otakus.
Thinking about it, before England was the land of gentlemen, it was rampant with hooligans. I forgot for a moment that if you swapped football with baseball, the whole country would be like the rowdy men of Masan.
"Tsk tsk, such uncouth individuals."
That was Mr. Miller, my landlord, speaking.
Oh, Mr. Miller. Despite living in England for a long time, as an American, he's not like these hooligan pirates!
"If someone is to end up with him, it must be his stepsister Portia, right? Though she barely appears, I saw hope in Peter inviting Portia to the forest. Ah! But I'm not insisting on this, Hansel."
"Uh, yes..."
I looked at Mr. Miller with a bit of dismay, realizing his preferences.
Come to think of it, Mrs. Clara was originally Mr. Miller's foster daughter? Before that, she was a distant cousin. They fell in love and ended up married, so perhaps Mr. Miller empathized with a similar situation.
For his honor, I decided to leave it at that.
"Alright, please come in! Welcome to our company!"
"Oh, yes."
In the meantime, guided by Bentley Jr., Mr. Miller and I entered the publishing house.
The building was quite spacious, probably because it was newly constructed.
There weren't many equipment or desks, which could be another reason. It was also a holiday, so there were hardly any staff.
Seeing us looking around, Richard Bentley Jr. scratched his head and spoke.
"Sorry about the inconvenience. We just moved, so there are still many things to sort out."
"You moved?"
"Thanks to you, sir. We were once arguably the best publishing house in London, but after my grandfather passed away, we faced many challenges..."
"Hmm."
Everyone goes through tough times.
Especially in this industry, which changes rapidly with public taste.
When I was young, Superman or Batman were the quintessential heroes, but before I knew it, Marvel had grown much bigger.
But Richard Bentley Jr. cheerfully said that it didn't matter and spoke energetically.
"Thanks to you, we've successfully bounced back, so we're planning to strike while the iron is hot!"
"How so?"
"That's the advantage of a well-established publishing house like ours."
Bentley then led us to a room in the publishing house.
With the age of web novels, everything was resolved online, so I rarely visited publishing houses.
But each time, my impression was how overwhelmingly many books there were.
And pre-digital era, publishing houses were even more so.
Whether published or not, the manuscripts were plentiful.
"These are the books we've published."
"Wow."
I brightened up, seeing the manuscript-turned-books.
Charles Dickens' works caught my eye first.
Come to think of it, that guy worked as an editor at this publishing house.
And these are first editions! I'm drooling, seriously.
Seeing me, Richard Bentley Jr. proudly said with a grin.
"We're planning to release a special edition series compiling our bestsellers, classics, and masterpieces that have been loved by our readers! It will also be an opportunity to rediscover unnoticed manuscripts and re-establish our publishing house's reputation."
"That's a good plan."
I nodded.
It sounded like a promotional event where authors or genre recommendations are featured, common on platforms.
I used to participate in those events often. In web novels, getting noticed is the best marketing, so I actively engaged in them.
You have to cast the net to catch fish and prime the pump to get the water flowing.
That's how capitalism works.
While listening to him, I noticed something stacked in a corner.
A pile of something like a tower.
"So, what are those?"
Temporarily putting aside the first edition of Charles Dickens' work, I approached the stack of manuscripts.
Bentley shook his head and replied.
"Oh, those haven't been published yet. They're submissions."
"Submissions?"
"Yes. That's how it usually goes. Haha, but with the recent move, we've had to put them aside."
"Well, that makes sense."
I nodded and began to look through the pile of manuscripts.
Though the language was different, this felt familiar and nostalgic.
I was a web novelist, but before that, I submitted my manuscripts.
Sending my clumsy writings to various places... I didn't expect to feel that same old sentiment here.
With that in mind, I slowly browsed through the manuscripts.
Huh? What's this?
"Most are just crude compositions. Nothing for you to worry about, sir."
"Hmm... Not all seem that way."
"Sorry?"
I found a familiar yet unfamiliar name among the manuscripts.
And I picked up that manuscript.
A short and simple, undoubtedly unmarketable title.
But the author's name wasn't simple.
Herbert George Wells.
The father of modern science fiction literature, now just a young former schoolteacher in his late twenties.