Winston Churchill.
The epitome of the British Prime Minister, Hitler's adversary, a man of persistence and foresight… Mr. Gallipoli.
That Winston Churchill was just a 'military academy cadet'… It made me realize I was really living at the end of the 19th century.
Seriously, who had I met since coming to England?
Mr. Miller's family, Richard Bentley Jr., and some ordinary folks from Torquay.
All good people. But, regardless of how good they were, they didn't make me feel like I was living in the 19th century because I didn't even know they existed in Korea.
But meeting Winston Churchill was different.
Ha, indeed, life is long and full of surprises.
And to think that person is my fan, oh my.
"Why Churchill, of all people?"
I grumbled to myself.
There are plenty of others, right? Like Lewis Carroll, who praised me. But why Churchill?
I don't like that man. Just now, he kept dismissing me, calling me a coolie, clearly showing his racist tendencies. Why should I like an imperialist who screamed about not wanting to let Korea be independent?
"Ha ha ha, so that's what happened."
"I really broke out in a cold sweat."
At the commemorative dinner at Bentley Publishing,
It was a place to greet other staff members and writers I didn't know, aside from Richard Bentley Jr.
And I was eating quietly in a corner.
Meeting Churchill made me think again about this era and my position in it.
Late 19th-century England. And me, a Korean… in this era, a Joseon person.
I'd forgotten for a while because the people around me were so kind and no one dared to touch me under Mr. Miller's protection, but I realized that this could happen among the upper class.
Not directly, considering their sense of propriety. Churchill was just an exceptionally rude person.
'Well, whatever.'
What could they do about it anyway?
This was all because I wasn't British.
If I got really annoyed, I could just go to America and write or sell paintings.
I was just staying put because I didn't feel like leaving Ashfield.
Yet, having an imperialist like Churchill praise me felt extremely ironic.
Bentley, noticing my mood as I cut my meat with obvious irritation said,
"Ha ha. Actually, there is a reason for the current popularity of your work."
"Meaning, nationalists are getting patriotic highs from my writing?"
"No, no. It's that your identity is shrouded in mystery."
Huh? I opened my eyes wide. Bentley, abandoning his meal, asked a staff member to bring something.
It was a stack of newspapers delivered to the restaurant, small papers known as yellow journalism or tabloids. Essentially, gossip rags.
Though they didn't yet have that name, the news they contained was definitely that kind.
"─Shock! The author of is a half-elf?!"
Pfffffft──!
I couldn't help but spit out my beer. Gah, cough cough.
"…What is this."
There was even a crude photoshopped picture on the cover, featuring a handsome man who looked nothing like me with elongated ears resembling an elf.
I barely restrained myself from throwing it into the fireplace and turned my head.
Bentley grinned and said, "That's not all. There are more clippings I've been saving for you. Some claim you're an unknown descendant of Lord Byron, others say you're the frail youngest son of a high-ranking noble family defying his parents to write, or that you're actually Lilli Lehmann, a singer from Germany... There's plenty of amusing stuff."
"Argh!"
Get rid of it. Why are you showing me this?
Of course, this kind of interest could help me; it certainly wasn't a negative.
After all, writing is fundamentally a business, and the more attention you get, the more you sell.
This sort of thing happened in modern times too, known as noise marketing.
The key point here was to ensure that any noise didn't stem from my own actions. Even Sir Ferguson said, "Social media is a waste of life."
Though it was a bit late, just look at the quiet orchard keeper who still received waves of great news without doing anything... I wish he would release his sequel already.
"That's why keeping your identity hidden is not just about avoiding losses, it's also good marketing."
"Then I shouldn't come back up here again after I leave."
"Ha, haha. Please try to visit often. We will support you in every way to ensure your safety."
Bentley said this naturally, as if they had the resources for it.
Well, what I was eating now fell into that category. I nodded silently and continued cutting my meat.
Maybe it's because this area has been raising livestock for a long time, but the meat tastes pretty good.
It's a mystery why the fish in this island country tastes so awful.
After finishing our meal and chatting, Bentley and I stood up and moved to our appointment location.
On the way, London's atmosphere was noticeably more lively than usual.
Even in areas that weren't particularly upper-class, the air felt cleaner and less polluted today.
Of course, it wasn't completely pollution-free, but most of the emissions came from the automobiles, which were still mostly used by the upper class, so the air seemed to get a bit thicker as we neared the upper-class areas.
"This way, right?"
"Yes. It should be just around this corner."
"Ah, here they come."
"Mr. Miller."
When we arrived at the meeting spot, Mr. Miller was already enjoying afternoon tea at a nearby café.
He had already eaten a few scones and, upon seeing me, pouted.
"The world is ending when the boss is sent to work and the employee comes back from a break. I can hear the seven trumpets of angels."
"Why is that the end of the world? Isn't it because you didn't do your job properly, Mr. Miller?"
I was dumbfounded, watching Mr. Miller blow his hands like a trumpet. How old was this man again?
The reason for this situation was simple.
While I attended Bentley Publishing's dinner, Mr. Miller had to return to Christie's to finalize an art sales contract that he hadn't been able to finish due to being kicked out of the auction house yesterday.
So, he hadn't eaten properly and was filling up with tea here.
So, he shouldn't have teased me so much.
"Anyway, is this the right place?"
"Yes, it is."
The reason I said 'had to' is simple.
I was now at Christie's Auction House, specifically the main street in front of it, Piccadilly Circus.
This area bordered Westminster and Mayfair.
Surrounded by Buckingham Palace, the Royal Academy of Arts, and St. James's Square, it was a massive commercial district similar to Myeongdong in Seoul.
Department stores, hotels, and clubs had dazzling lights and billboards even during the day, offering coffee and desserts that were shockingly expensive but of high quality.
Today, the area was even more festive, adorned with numerous British flags in blue and red. Royal monuments stood proudly nearby.
Passersby held flags, royal emblems, or even scarves or hats, giving off a vibe similar to the 2002 World Cup.
I was just a kid back then, so I don't remember much, but I do recall the entire nation being incredibly excited.
The crowd here made me a bit uneasy.
"Are you sure this is the right street?"
"Absolutely. I heard this top-secret information from Lord Cadogan yesterday. He's related to the London Metropolitan Police Commissioner through multiple connections."
So, it's just hearsay.
As I was pondering over this unreliable middle-aged man's words, a loud trumpet sound blasted in my ears.
"Clear the way!!"
"The procession of His Royal Highness The Duke of York!!"
"Her Serene Highness Princess Victoria Mary of Teck is coming!!"
They're here.
With a pounding heart, we moved aside from the street.
The famous Red Coats began their march in sync with the military band's tune, and a spectacular scene unfolded, with balloons and petals flying in the air.
"Long live, your highness!"
"Long live the British Empire!"
And thus began the main event of our visit to London.
The wedding march for Crown Prince George commenced.
First to appear was the Guard of Honour.
It was akin to the popular tourist attraction in modern London, the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, only grander and more magnificent.
As they marched in step to the music, one couldn't help but feel a sense of dignity and awe. With the Union Jack and royal emblems waving, the atmosphere was even more impressive.
I knew that events like these were meant to reassure the public with messages like 'Britain is safe! Citizens, please support the royal family!!' but it was more spectacular than I expected.
I was so captivated without even realizing it.
Moreover, since the procession was happening in an upper-class street, the spectators were likely nobles or elite members, yet I could still sense their excitement.
"Wow!!"
"Long live the British Empire!!"
"Hm, I've secured a spot upstairs. Let's go up."
"As expected of Mr. Miller."
He was a man who knew how to distinguish between on and off. I followed Mr. Miller into the café.
Inside, there was a staircase leading upstairs like in a modern coffee shop, and on the second floor, there was a terrace with seats where you could watch the street.
Wouldn't a place like this be extremely expensive? When I asked, Mr. Miller flashed a stylish smile and said,
"Money is meant to be spent on things like this."
Cool. Mr. Miller is really cool! When he spends money like this, I can't help but feel a sense of admiration.
And it seemed the high cost was justified because watching the wedding march from the second floor was more comfortable and impressive than I expected.
If there was a downside, it was that the main stars, the Crown Prince and his bride, didn't appear. Instead, covered fake carriages passed by several times, like an emperor's procession.
Well, that couldn't be helped. Given the narrow streets and the fact that the Crown Prince was second in line to the throne, his safety was paramount.
So, while my excitement waned a bit, what caught my eye was...
"… What's that?"
What is that?
Why is that here?