Surviving as a Plagiarist in Another World

Howlen thought the nameless girl was a genius.

She possessed talents that he himself lacked.

The girl’s voice was like a witch’s enchantment that captivated people’s hearts, and her gentle smile was a witch’s deceit that made everyone reach out to her.

The power of a witch, said to lure and consume those who entered the forest, was precisely the kind of talent most essential for an actor.

It was also a talent Howlen himself didn’t possess.

His own acting skills were so poor that calling them clumsy would be an understatement.

Though he was lucky enough to enjoy undeserved popularity, the reality was that even junior actors who learned acting later surpassed him, making him a mediocre actor at best.

There was even a time when he wanted to give up on everything.

However, due to a personal realization, he couldn’t abandon acting and clung to it to continue his life.

[Hook was not his real name. If his true name were revealed, it would ignite flames that would burn this country to the ground.]

Howlen stepped onto the creaking deck, raising his hook-clad hand high.

Then, the lines of Captain Hook, which he had practiced countless times, flowed from his lips.

[“Perhaps Hook could have been a better man,” Hook cried. “If only his ambition had been less!”]

[Hook referred to himself in the third person only during his darkest days.]

He no longer suffered from feelings of inferiority due to a lack of talent.

Today, he was better than he had been yesterday, and if he didn’t stop, he might be slightly better tomorrow.

Sometimes he stumbled backward, but at least he had become a clearly better actor than he had been a few years ago.

That was the realization he had discovered.

Not to be a more talented actor than others, but to be a better actor than he was yesterday.

Wanting to share this realization, he sometimes taught acting to juniors.

Occasionally, he indulged in this simple, boring realization, practicing late into the night.

And then.

[An eerie ticking sound reached everyone’s ears.]

[The pirates, the boy, and Wendy—all heads turned in one direction. Not toward the water where the sound came from, but toward Captain Hook.]

[Everyone could guess what would happen next.]

[Hook collapsed onto a small heap as though every joint in his body had been cut.]

Sometimes, he felt a terrible sense of defeat that no realization could console.

The kind of ugly, wretched defeat that made even the noblest villain crawl across the deck and flee down a passage.

Fallen on the deck, Howlen crawled as far as he could from the source of the sound.

The ticking grew louder, and from the shadows where the sound originated, a figure emerged—a boy… no, a girl.

Because he was crawling in the opposite direction, Howlen couldn’t see her.

[The one who came to help them wasn’t a crocodile. It was Peter.]

[Peter gestured for them not to shout with astonished exclamations. Then, he kept ticking.]

Peter Pan.

The nameless witch.

As she stepped onto the stage, the audience held their breath.

In that moment, the entire audience seemed to transform into Captain Hook.

“…….”

On the silent stage, where only the ticking sound echoed.

Howlen thought.

He wanted to act like her.

.

.

.

All witches, from birth, feel a profound longing for “emotions.”

It was the only feeling allowed to witches and an eternal curse that could never be satisfied.

That was why Mary Jane, a witch, had spent a thousand years searching for the feeling called “love.”

And why the young witch had sought to learn how to express emotions under the guidance of Howlen, an actor.

And.

The more she learned about acting, the more the young witch realized something.

[“Peter Pan! Who are you, and what are you?” Hook shouted hoarsely.]

Imitation was just that—imitation.

The young witch could mimic every emotion, but she couldn’t genuinely feel them.

She could convince others of the emotions but couldn’t experience them herself.

That was… perhaps an overly tragic fate.

So much so that the witch couldn’t even feel despair or misery about her inability to feel emotions—a misfortune that could almost be considered a blessing.

The witch came to understand, with undeniable clarity, that she could not feel “emotions.”

[“I am youth, and I am joy,” Peter answered without fear. “I am a little bird that has just broken out of its egg.”]

[Of course, this was nonsense. Peter had no idea who he was or what he was.]

Howlen’s sword clashed with the dagger she held.

The two swords were nothing more than dull imitations.

Even the clear sound they made when clashing was a trick created by striking metal instruments offstage.

She could see the expression of Howlen, who was playing Captain Hook.

The aristocratic and despairing expression of Hook, which she had learned from Howlen, now carried an unfamiliar passion she hadn’t been taught.

Howlen’s breathing was harsher than it had been during practice, and his eyes were more sunken than before.

His fingertips trembled slightly, as if he were feeling emotions like excitement or fear.

Howlen was both acting out Hook’s emotions and experiencing his own.

That was something impossible for the witch.

Cold sweat reheated by an odd intensity, a clash between reason and emotion that made his facial muscles quiver, and a slight imbalance in his posture caused by gripping his weapon too tightly.

None of these contradictory emotions had ever been granted to the witch.

Of course, she felt no intense jealousy or bitter despair over this fact.

Nor would she ever take it out on Howlen.

The witch simply acted as she had practiced.

Captain Hook, driven to the edge of the deck by Peter Pan, leaped onto the railing.

[“James Hook, you are wholly unheroic. Farewell.”]

[We have come to his final moment.]

Instead of striking him with a sword, Peter Pan kicked Hook off the deck.

Whether Hook fell from the kick, or if he chose to retreat gracefully into the sea rather than be trampled, remained unclear.

But his fate was certain.

There was a crocodile in that sea.

[At last, Hook received the mercy he had longed for.]

[He cried out mockingly, “What a wicked deed,” and was contentedly devoured by the crocodile.]

.

.

.

When the play ended, the young witch expected the lights to brighten, and the crew to bustle about, cleaning the stage and organizing the props behind it.

That was how it always went during rehearsals.

However, this time, it felt a little different.

A thunderous cheer and applause echoed from beyond the stage.

The sound was so loud that it reached the dressing room.

“It’s time to go out for the curtain call.”

“Yes!”

She knew what a curtain call was, as it had been part of her training.

After the play, the actors would step onto the stage and bow to the audience.

However, during her practice sessions, the audience seats had always been empty, making it hard for her to grasp its true meaning.

Thus.

For the young witch, this was her first genuine “curtain call.”

When she stepped out of the dressing room, bright lights illuminated the stage.

The audience cheered, clapped, and filled the theater with noise, and as the young witch approached the center of the stage, their cheers grew louder.

“…….”

At last, the young witch stood at the center of the stage alongside Howlen.

Only then could she properly face the audience.

During the performance, she hadn’t been able to see their faces clearly.

This was her first time truly observing the audience’s expressions.

“……Ah.”

At that moment.

The young witch felt a kind of… satisfaction.

It was a terrible thirst being quenched, a sense of fulfillment.

Her magic entwined with her gaze, bringing the audience’s expressions into sharp focus.

The myriad expressions of satisfaction from the play merged into a singular “emotion” that pierced into the witch’s soul.

She realized just how diverse expressions created by a single play could be.

Cheers. Roars. Applause. Encouragement. Whistles.

The faces of thousands of people who had come to see the play, and the voices of thousands crying out.

“Ahh…….”

Her heart pounded.

The sound of applause became the rhythm of her heartbeat, and the cheers became the pulse of her energy.

Though she could not make her heart pound on her own.

By borrowing the breaths of countless audience members, her heart raced with overwhelming intensity.

And so.

In this moment.

The young witch did what was expected of an actor during a curtain call.

“Thank you─!”

She expressed her gratitude.