Surviving as a Plagiarist in Another World

“Oops, my apologies. It seems my explanation went on for too long.”

Caught up in the excitement of explaining, I realized that Howlen’s eyes were spinning.

It appeared I had spoken too much to someone who was already tired.

“Anyway, thank you for your hard work today. I appreciate it.”

“It’s my pleasure….”

.

.

.

After organizing the limited editions signed by Howlen, I slumped onto the sofa.

As she was usually expressionless, it was hard to guess what she might be thinking. All I could do was infer based on where her gaze lingered.

“…Do you want to read Peter Pan?”

“…….”

“Hmm.”

“I want to try… signing.”

“Signing?”

The young witch’s signature, huh? Considering she had also become one of the troupe’s popular actors, there was no reason why not.

If anything, a limited edition signed by both “Captain Hook” and “Peter Pan” would have even greater collectible value. Anyone who saw their play would want to own such a book.

The only issue was—

“But you don’t have a name, do you?”

She had no name.

To sign something, a name was necessary.

“…….”

At my question, the young witch seemed lost in thought.

She slightly rested her chin on her hand, her brows furrowing as her head tilted diagonally. It was a gesture that resembled the expression I often made when deep in thought.

She was likely mimicking my expression.

Since she usually had no expressions of her own, this was her way of signaling to me, “I’m thinking.”

I waited quietly.

“Jane….”

“Jane?”

“Doe Jane.”

“That sounds like the kind of name a victim with no identity would have in a detective novel….”

Had she just taken the “Jane Doe” name straight from that little booklet?

Having a name that literally meant “no name” felt odd, but if we thought of it as inheriting Mary Jane’s surname, it seemed like a decent choice.

It was essentially the same name, just with a reversed order, which could add an interesting twist—perhaps it truly was her name all along.

I nodded and handed her a pen.

“Then, could you sign here, on the book’s inner cover?”

And that’s how the young witch’s name was decided.

.

.

.

The young witch—Doe Jane—continued to take the stage with Howlen for their theatrical performances.

On stage, she saw the faces of countless audience members.

With just a glance from her, they wept; with a single gesture, they were awed; with a single smile, they rejoiced. The reactions were so overwhelmingly beautiful that Doe Jane was often overwhelmed by the sheer force of such emotional responses.

For her, theater was a form of communication and a means of empathy.

When she performed sorrow, the audience grieved alongside her, and from their tears, Doe Jane learned how to convey sorrow.

When she sang of joy, the audience laughed and celebrated with her, and from their laughter, she learned how to express joy.

It was a profound communion, a mutual exchange of emotions.

For a witch who followed emotions, this was a deeply gratifying experience. To connect with someone, to share expressions, and to exchange emotions—

It brought her true joy.

“…It’s delightful.”

“Huh?”

“Hehe, let’s prepare for the next performance quickly! Mr. Howlen, is the next script ready?”

“Well, you’re full of enthusiasm, aren’t you?”

And through this process, the witch began to smile more often.

Although it was nothing more than an imitation of a smile, no one could think of it as mere acting.

Even if you told them so, they wouldn’t believe it.

“Yes! I can’t wait for the next play!”

After all, who could think that a girl with such a radiant smile wasn’t sincere?

The witch had learned how to smile.

She learned how to smile at flowers, to furrow her brows in frustration when things didn’t go as planned, and to cry with someone while offering comfort.

She learned countless expressions and gestures that enriched her life.

At that point, “genuine emotions” were no longer necessary.

The expressions she felt were most needed at any given moment were, in truth, her most genuine emotions….

.

.

.

“Ah, Miss Mary Jane. You’re back.”

“Jane, my dear!”

“Yes… I tried to find a village where the young witch could undergo socialization and brought her there….”

Mary Jane alternated her gaze between the smiling Doe Jane and me.

Tilting her head slightly, she asked, “Has she… already been socialized?”

“Somehow, it turned out that way.”

“Oops, I’m sorry. It seems my explanation went on for too long.”

As I got carried away while talking, my explanation became rather lengthy, and now Howlen’s eyes were spinning.

It seemed I had spoken too much to someone who was already exhausted.

“Anyway, thank you for your hard work today. I appreciate it.”

“It’s my pleasure….”

.

.

.

After organizing the limited editions signed by Howlen, I leaned back on the sofa.

Beside me, the young witch was blankly watching my actions.

As she usually didn’t show any expression, it was hard to guess what she was thinking. All I could do was infer based on the direction of her gaze.

“…Do you want to read Peter Pan?”

“…….”

“Hmm.”

“I want… to try signing.”

“Signing?”

The young witch’s signature, huh. Considering she had also become one of the troupe’s popular actors, it wasn’t out of the question.

If anything, a limited edition signed by both “Captain Hook” and “Peter Pan” would have even greater collectible value. Anyone who had watched their play would want to own such a book.

The only problem was—

“But you don’t have a name, do you?”

She didn’t have a name.

You need a name to sign something, don’t you?

“…….”

At my question, the young witch fell into deep thought.

She rested her chin lightly on her hand, furrowed her brow, and tilted her head slightly to the side. It resembled the expression I often made when I was lost in thought.

She was likely imitating my expression.

Since she usually had no expressions of her own, this was her way of signaling to me, “I’m thinking.”

I waited quietly.

“Jane….”

“Jane?”

“Doe Jane.”

“That sounds like the kind of name a victim with no identity would have in a detective novel….”

Did she take it straight from the booklet labeled “Jane Doe (No Name)”?

While it felt odd to have a name that literally meant “no name,” if you thought of it as inheriting Mary Jane’s surname, it seemed like a decent choice.

It was essentially the same name, just with the order reversed, which could even add an interesting twist—perhaps it truly was her name all along.

I nodded and handed her a pen.

“Then, could you sign here, on the book’s inner cover?”

And that’s how the young witch’s name was decided.

.

.

.

The young witch—Doe Jane—continued to perform on stage with Howlen after that.

She observed countless expressions on the faces of the audience members.

With just a glance from her, they wept; with a single gesture, they gasped in awe; with a single smile, they rejoiced. These reactions were so overwhelmingly beautiful that Doe Jane often felt overwhelmed by the sheer force of such emotional responses.

For her, theater was a form of communication and a means of empathy.

When she acted out sorrow, the audience grieved with her, and from their tears, Doe Jane learned how to convey sorrow.

When she sang of joy, the audience laughed and celebrated with her, and from their laughter, Doe Jane learned how to express joy.

It was a profound communion, a mutual exchange of emotions.

For a witch who followed emotions, this was an immensely gratifying experience. To connect with someone, to share expressions, and to exchange emotions—

It brought her true joy.

“…It’s delightful.”

“Huh?”

“Hehe, let’s quickly prepare for the next performance! Mr. Howlen, is the next script ready?”

“Well, you’re full of enthusiasm, aren’t you?”

And through this process, the witch began to smile more often.

Although it was nothing more than an imitation of a smile, no one could think of it as mere acting.

Even if you told them so, they wouldn’t believe it.

“Yes! I can’t wait for the next play!”

After all, who could think that a girl with such a radiant smile wasn’t sincere?

The witch had learned how to smile.

She learned how to smile at flowers, to furrow her brows in frustration when things didn’t go as planned, and to cry with someone while offering comfort.

She learned countless expressions and gestures that enriched her life.

At that point, “genuine emotions” were no longer necessary.

The expressions she felt were most needed at any given moment were, in truth, her most genuine emotions….

.

.

.

“Ah, Miss Mary Jane. You’re back.”

“Jane, my dear!”

“Yes… I tried to find a village where the young witch could undergo socialization and brought her there….”

Mary Jane alternated her gaze between the smiling Doe Jane and me.

Tilting her head slightly, she asked, “Has she… already been socialized?”

“Somehow, it turned out that way.”