Surviving as a Plagiarist in Another World

Surprisingly, the appropriate marriage age in this world is quite broad.

Even though early marriages at a young age aren’t frowned upon, there were many cases where people married later compared to modern times, which had advanced medical care and hygiene.

This was mostly due to the existence of “magic.” Lifespan, aging, and even the pace and extent of growth could be somewhat adjusted.

There were cases like witches or Harren royalty, whose lifespans exceeded the normal range.

The Blue Magic Tower could accelerate growth and adjust its direction based on the principle of “children resemble their parents.”

The Purple Magic Tower manipulated hormones to make people mature at a young age and suppressed side effects caused by hormonal imbalances.

The Red Magic Tower specialized in maintaining bodily homeostasis, preventing aging, and burning harmful toxins within the body.

The “blessings” of certain clergy in the church could heal most illnesses and defects, allowing life to flourish.

In other words.

In simpler terms.

“How old is the Countess of D’Amartin?”

“She’s said to be 13 years old.”

“And they sent me a marriage proposal?”

“Isn’t it just testing the waters? Even the Marquis of Mibernen sent a proposal for my sister, who’s over 40.”

If a family had an unmarried daughter.

It meant they could send a proposal regardless of age without hesitation.

This was one of the reasons the Fríden family’s mailbox was overflowing.

“…Please reject all the proposals we’ve received so far.”

“Even the one from the sister of the Harren King? The Lazy King… The Eternal King personally wrote a letter filled with compliments. It feels a bit burdensome to refuse outright.”

“I’ll speak to His Majesty the King of Harren directly, so please handle it that way.”

“Oh, and the collateral branch of Duke Kapeter and that famous art aristocrat, Marquis Jaime—they seem petty enough to cause trouble too….”

“Father.”

“Yes?”

“You’re just avoiding the hassle of rejecting my marriage proposals, aren’t you?”

“If you know that, handle it well.”

“Understood.”

My father, who hated work, had abandoned most official positions and halved the family’s scale.

Lately, he’d been writing dozens of letters daily to reject marriage proposals, so he seemed quite stressed.

Hmm.

Sigh.

“…I’ll meet with a few of them.”

Having a meal with them wouldn’t hurt.

“As expected, the most prominent writer these days must be Balzac! While his dramatic flair is a bit lacking, his delicate portrayal of human relationships is so vivid that once you start reading, you can’t help but be drawn into his gentle atmosphere.”

“Indeed! He’s been experimenting a lot since his early works, but his gentle tone remains consistent in all his writings. He’s one of the authors who immediately comes to mind when you think of a writer with their own unique style.”

Why am I enjoying this?

At first, we were discussing the marriage proposal politely, but at some point, the conversation shifted to books, and now both of us were passionately raising our voices, our eyes sparkling.

Come to think of it, it made sense. If someone was interested in a marriage proposal involving “The Transcendent of Literature” Homer, it would be strange if they weren’t interested in books.

“When it comes to writers who experiment, even though it feels odd saying this in front of you, I think we can’t not talk about you, Homer. From Don Quixote to your recent publication, One Thousand and One Nights… You’ve written such a diverse range of compelling and convincing works. Some say the current literary genres exist because of you.”

“Indeed.”

“How can you write such novels?”

“Who knows? Maybe I plagiarized from memories of a past life.”

“Ah, just like your work, Surviving as a Plagiarist in Another World! Haha.”

“Exactly.”

Anyway.

While the conversation was surprisingly enjoyable… I still couldn’t grasp anything about love or marriage. That “pull of the heart” just wasn’t there.

How did I feel when I dated a junior in my past life?

Hmm, I think we just talked about novels all day. Or grumbled about the Korean literary scene….

As these thoughts crossed my mind, I carried on the conversation, and before I knew it, the time we’d agreed upon had completely passed.

“I enjoyed today’s conversation.”

“Me too. Oh, don’t worry too much about the marriage proposal. For me, just having the chance to speak with the Homer I admire is more than enough. You’re my idol.”

“Your idol?”

“I’m an aspiring novelist. I even receive support from your foundation.”

“Ah… If you publish officially, I’ll be sure to read your work.”

“That’s such an honor.”

With that, we exchanged farewells and parted ways.

By the way, what was that person’s name again? Something like Miniette from the Jaime Marquis family? I’ll have to ask Sion later.

Anyway.

After meeting one more person, today’s schedule would be over. Book discussions were nice, but nothing beats reading alone.

“Let’s see, the last meeting spot is… the library?”

Homeros Central Library.

It was one of the landmark libraries I built with the goal of “popularizing library culture.” Since I could read books here as soon as the meeting was over, it wasn’t a bad location.

Did Father arrange this place? It’s hard to imagine him having this kind of sense….

Ah, it must’ve been Sion.

“Since there’s still plenty of time before the meeting… I should start reading.”

The library buzzed with the voices of people engaged in book discussions.

Although there were separate quiet reading rooms, many people seemed to enjoy reading in this lively atmosphere. Some even joined discussions about their favorite books, while others quietly observed, soaking in knowledge.

This was an ideal library scene I couldn’t have witnessed in my past life in Korea.

I blended into the scenery, grabbed a few books from the new arrivals section, and settled into a corner.

Having more time to read books is undoubtedly a joy.

The hesitation while deciding which book to read, or using spare moments between events like filling the spaces between lines, all of it—

It’s the joy of reading.

That’s also why I chose the present over eternity. Because even the waiting in reading is enjoyable.

And so, for quite a while—

Really quite a while—I read.

Then.

When I closed the final page and lifted my head to look forward again—

“Finally, you’re looking this way.”

“…Huh?”

Wait, what?

“…Junior?”

“Yes, senior. How does it feel to see your beloved junior after so long?”

My junior rested her chin on her hand, looking at me diagonally with the same expression as always.

I stared blankly at her smile.

Then, realizing the truth, I let out a hollow laugh and murmured.

“Isolette.”

“Oh my, I’ve been caught.”

With the memories of my previous life, when I drink the “Hyde Potion” created by an alchemist, my appearance changes into a blend of my past and present selves.

This happens because I regard my identity as somewhat “superficial,” not drawing a strict distinction between my past and present identities.

Whether in my past or current life, I am someone who follows literature, and I have no need for any identity beyond that. That is the essence of my soul. I existed as a singular blend across two timelines.

Lady Es, after drinking the “Hyde Potion,” transformed into a woman.

This was because she considered her identity to be female and completely, thoroughly, and blatantly denied her existence as a man.

That was the essence of Lady Es’s soul. Her soul could only exist in its entirety when it denied one part of itself.

And.

This was the identity Isolette chose for herself.

“I wanted to be your first reader.”

“…….”

“You told me, didn’t you? That I had a talent for critique. Perhaps my soul… could only be complete by relying on ‘you’ as literature.”

Just as every work leaves its creator’s hands to rely entirely on the evaluation of readers—

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Every reader depends on the writer’s diligence until the work is complete.

For a reader to become a “reader,” the manuscript must first be finished by the writer’s hand.

Thus, readers are inherently dependent, incapable of existing on their own.

“The second son of the Count of Fríden, Ed’s first friend, the first fan of the great author Homer who wrote Don Quixote, the first critic to leave a review whenever your novels are published….”

“…….”

“And your first love. It seems I wanted to be your first in so many ways.”

And so, she transformed herself.

By entirely entrusting her identity to me, she refined her very soul into the form of “the person I loved most.”

To become my first in every world, she even greedily desired the love that had already been given to someone else, the love that could never be the “first.”

The conclusion was so absurd—

I—

Recalled the not-so-profound prophecy made by my junior in my past life.

“Senior.”

“Yeah?”

“In Japanese literature, first loves always seem to fail. They leave a painfully bittersweet memory, end with separation, or fail to convey their feelings—those stories really love tragedy.”

“That sounds more like light novel stuff.”

“Of course, I’m an otaku who loves light literature!”

“So? Are you saying you’re my first love and you’re destined to fail tragically?”

“Nope!”

“Huh?”

“Senior, do you know what otakus love most?”

“No idea.”

“Destroying predestined tragedies and fated endings, and succeeding in creating ridiculously happy endings that seem like lies! I don’t want a love that fails. I want a love that’s absurd, fantastical, fairy-tale-like, and ends with, ‘They lived happily ever after.’ A love that’s eternal and happy!”

“…You’re teasing me for being dense, aren’t you?”

“Haha. Who knows?”

“…Fine. Come here, I’ll hug you.”

“Hehe. Senior, you act tough but you’re kind.”

“Ah, that sounded super otaku-like just now.”

“Because I am an otaku….”

Goodness.

It seems my junior really managed to twist even destiny itself!