When asked about the father of genre literature in the 21st century, the inevitable question is, "Which genre?"
After all, genres have diversified so much.
For fantasy literature, it's John Ronald Reuel Tolkien.
For survival literature, Daniel Defoe.
For creature stories, it's Mary Shelley; and if we're talking vampires, then Sheridan Le Fanu or Bram Stoker.
For cosmic horror, it's Howard Phillips Lovecraft.
As for detective stories, it's usually narrowed down to either Edgar Allan Poe or Arthur Conan Doyle.
Then, what about science fiction?
If you asked a hundred people, probably all of them would point to Jules Verne.
H.G. Wells? Unfortunately, he's a latecomer. If Wells is Zhang Sanfeng, then Jules Verne is more like Wang Chongyang or Bodhidharma.
But even setting aside all those factors, I hold deep respect for Jules Verne.
Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, Around the World in Eighty Days, The Mysterious Island, and Journey to the Center of the Earth, even The Lost World.
... Well, the last one I saw as a movie.
Anyway, these are just a few of the masterpieces I've read and immersed myself in. And they didn't just stop there; they continued to inspire countless others, spawning new creations that left a profound impact on many.
His books made people dream of travelling, flying in the sky, and navigating the depths of the sea.
As a web novel writer and someone who enjoys subcultures, I can't help but respect him.
But now, that same Jules Verne...
"I've really, really wanted to meet you."
...is looking at me with his deep, wrinkled blue eyes.
Wow, what... what even is this?
But despite my bewildered thoughts, words flowed smoothly from my mouth.
"The honor is mine, sir."
Of course, thanks to the Confucian dragon that guards the core of my being, my manners were impeccable.
"I too was inspired to become a writer by reading your works."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, so please speak freely. As your junior, I will humbly listen to your guidance."
"Guidance, you say? These days, I find myself learning a lot from reading your stories."
Wow, even though I know this is a typical French exaggeration, it still feels great.
It's like a surge of adrenaline is rushing through me, making me feel dizzy. As I stood there in a daze, overwhelmed, Jules Verne looked at me with calm eyes and spoke.
"I also wrote about a virtual society in The Begum's Fortune, but the society I depicted back then was nothing more than a hazy fantasy. But your Fairy Forest, even though each element was pure 'fantasy' without any grounding in reality... strangely enough, it felt like it could actually exist. It was as if there was a roadmap showing how it all came to be! You must have put a lot of thought into the world-building."
... That's because it's based on things that exist in the future.
I couldn't say that, so I simply nodded and offered an explanation instead.
"I just wanted readers to see the fairies as real, living friends. If the society they lived in felt unrealistic, it would be hard for the characters to feel real, too."
"That's crucial."
Jules Verne's eyes gleamed.
Even in his old age, his blue eyes still held an undying imagination.
"When I read Vincent Viller's, I noticed that despite its unusual beginning with reincarnation or possession, you made a conscious effort to exclude unrealistic elements in the subsequent developments. Why is that?"
"Because I believed that if I didn't, people wouldn't see Vincent as someone like themselves."
"And yet, you managed to create a coherent and compelling story of a victor who takes advantage of every benefit he can... It was a strange yet refreshing piece of writing."
The old man, who had just been speaking with the enthusiasm of youth, now had a calm and composed look in his eyes.
If he had shown the vigor of youth moments ago, now he was displaying the wisdom of an elder.
"So, I've been thinking about it lately. Whether I could actually do it or not."
He sighed deeply, then looked me in the eyes and spoke again.
"Do you know how many books I've written in total?"
"Isn't it over fifty?"
"Have you read them all?"
"Well, that's..."
That would be a bit much.
I scratched my head and made an excuse about my limited French. Jules Verne chuckled and shook his head.
"There's no need to say that. I'm well aware of how my work is received. 'He always draws the same kind of characters, and if you take away the fresh ideas, there's not much left.'"
"Hmm..."
I scratched my head. It was true, to some extent.
"But, well, isn't that something people can say lightly? Either way, if it ends up being popular, it doesn't really matter, does it?"
"Is that what you think?"
"If I didn't think that way, wouldn't it be disrespectful to those who enjoy the work?"
It's like the description of a kimchi stew restaurant.
Not every restaurant needs to serve fine dining, and not every filmmaker needs to produce blockbusters. It's not possible, and it's not necessary.
"Of course, I think the desire to improve is important. But that's something each writer should strive for on their own; it's not for others to comment on."
"Haha, those are comforting words."
He murmured softly.
Jules Verne turned his head to look at the sky outside the café and spoke.
"But at this age... I can't say I don't still want to try."
"Then just do it."
"Haha, if only it were as easy as saying it... When you dig deeply and closely into the human mind... that 'thing' comes to mind."
'That thing'? I looked at him curiously, and Jules Verne sighed deeply before speaking.
"My gloomy, pessimistic, other self."
"······."
"It keeps interfering with my thoughts. Have you read Two Years' Vacation?"
"Of course."
I answered immediately.
Two Years' Vacation, originally titled Deux Ans de vacances, is a work that has influenced countless others.
From Lord of the Flies to Digital Adventure and Mobile Suit Gundam.
This alone speaks to the impact of the work.
"It's a masterpiece about boys from around the world setting aside their differences in nationality and culture to cooperate for survival. I'm very fond of it."
"Is that so? I liked it too, back then. I was full of hope for the future."
But not anymore. Jules Verne smiled bitterly and said.
"Have you read The Carpathian Castle?"
"······ Yes."
Published in 1892, it's considered one of Jules Verne's later works. Though not particularly famous, it's quite interesting.
It's a work that could be classified as a 'vampire story.' Unlike his earlier works, the characters are constantly entangled in mysterious and terrifying challenges. Even Jules Verne's imagination seems reduced to mere trinkets.
"When I wrote Two Years' Vacation, I believed that this 'Belle Époque' would last forever. I thought that as civilization progressed and technology advanced, humanity would eventually lay down its weapons and create a paradise where love and friendship would be sung in unison."
But now, an old man weary of the world's troubles shook his white head and spoke.
"Now... I don't think that's possible. The Crimean War, the Seven Years' War, the Franco-Prussian War... Even during those peaceful times, there were wars. The boys will never cooperate. Survival until rescue? They'd be lucky not to devour each other."
Is that what he's come to believe?
I kept my mouth shut.
As Jules Verne said, he knew of a novel that had been written in that way.
Lord of the Flies.
Mid-20th century, after World War II. A novel filled with disillusionment with the world and skepticism about modern civilization, ultimately depicting children reverting to savagery.
"So that's why you wrote The Carpathian Castle."
"It was terrifying. The thought that even science might betray us."
That's why I wanted to meet you. Jules Verne said as much.
"To be precise, the author of Blue Ordre (DawnBringer)."
The old man, who had foreseen the future in The Carpathian Castle and Lord of the Flies, asked me this:
"When you wrote that work, what were you thinking? Do you believe this peace will continue? Do you think, like your protagonist, Edmund, that heroes from different nations can unite and defeat any dark night, any monster?"
I looked at Jules Verne in silence.
In the future, Jules Verne is regarded as a "pioneer." Many of the scientific technologies he imagined became realities.
Submarines, rockets to the moon, satellites, and so on.
But isn't there something called the curse of knowledge? Because he had such a deep imagination, he could see into the darker depths.
If he lifted the veil and saw the future... naturally, it would lead to pessimism and darkness.
In short, he was exhausted.
It's hard to remain optimistic about the progress of civilization when humanity is still so deeply flawed, selfish, and unpleasant.
So, how should I respond?
After a brief contemplation, I spoke slowly to him.
"Yes."
"Yes," I said.
"I believe that humanity's technology and cooperation will ultimately save humanity."
"Why do you think that? In a world where war never ends, how?"
"I agree that war is barbaric, anachronistic, and profoundly foolish."
There had been many such things even before I came here. The world has never been peaceful, and wars have never ceased.
But, but...
"I wish the world would only progress. But sometimes it takes two steps forward and then one step back."
"Indeed."
"But in the end, we've moved forward by one step, haven't we?"
Even if it's slow, the fact that we've moved forward by one step doesn't change.
If we keep moving forward, step by step, through synthesis and antithesis... perhaps we'll eventually reach it.
"I believe humanity will reach the moon. We'll send projectiles carrying human civilization into space, and we'll even capture a photo where Earth appears as nothing more than a 'Pale Blue Dot' because it's so far away."
We'll set foot on Mars, we'll peer beyond the solar system. And the probes will continue, endlessly, toward places where even radio waves cannot reach.
"In the place I come from, a writer once expressed it like this: 'It will take between 290,000 and 330,000 years for people to fully realize that others are not the most valuable prey.' And during that long time, people will kill at least hundreds of billions, if not hundreds of trillions, of each other."
"Specific... yet vague."
Profoundly despairing.
Jules Verne said as much.
Right? I thought so, too. But I shook my head with a slight smile and said,
"But at the same time, the writer also said this: 'People can continue to exist even as hundreds of trillions die.'"
"······."
Jules Verne's lips quivered. His eyes, pale like a blue dot, trembled slightly. Seeing him like that, I spoke slowly.
"I believe this thought should be enough to end your rest."
"Rest, you say."
"When you're too tired to keep walking forward, or when you're weighed down by nightmares, don't you need to take a break?"
I've had many times like that too.
But.
"But after reading a good book, eating something delicious, and getting some good sleep... I find I feel a little better."
"Primal."
"Because I'm human."
"Hahahaha!!"
Jules Verne burst into laughter.
His cloud-like white beard rippled pleasantly. Watching him, I smiled softly.
"Thank you."
"Did I fulfill your wish?"
"Well. But thanks to you... I'm a little less afraid to lift the veil."
That's a relief. Just as I was thinking that, Jules Verne handed me a thick stack of manuscripts.
"Would you mind having a look?"
"What is this?"
"A novel I wrote thirty years ago. But it was rejected for being too unrealistic and dark. If I hadn't been satisfied with what you said... I was going to bury it forever."
Paris in the 20th Century, it read.
I was about to flip through the manuscript, but Jules Verne's wrinkled hand slammed it shut.
"Ah, ah. Where do you think you're reading raw in front of the author?"
"Oh, then?"
"Take it to England. And if it's alright with you, publish it on my behalf."
"······Are you sure?"
"If you don't publish it, it'll remain buried forever."
Jules Verne said this with a bitter smile. I nodded silently and placed the manuscript beside me.
"Good, I feel like I've finally gotten rid of a bad tooth."
"Then, will you continue writing now?"
"I should. Until now, I've only been rehashing old works... but thanks to you, I think I can write something a little better than before."
"In that case."
I grinned and said to him,
"As a small token of appreciation... I have a request to make."