Chapter 93 – Herbert George Wells (2)

In truth, I had prepared myself thoroughly for this.

I mean, of course, Bentley had strongly warned me. I already knew the guy was just a plain racist bastard, so I was ready to crush him from head to toe.

Even if I had to use him when necessary, I'd reset the cursed gear and fortify it to +14 before putting it to any real use. So, I took on a fully prepared stance and readied myself for the meeting.

Because of that, when we finally met, I immediately switched into work mode, which made me act a bit more stiffly than usual...

"Oh, Lord…!"

"No, calm down, please."

"How can you ask me to calm down?! I have just witnessed the work of God!"

What God are you talking about?

Sure, I've ended up as a time wanderer, so I'm not about to deny the existence of the supernatural.

But God? I'm just a simple web novel writer from the future, not to mention, your junior! Well, not directly, but still.

Anyway… calming down this drugged-up lunatic is the first priority.

"Oh, how could I have met you when I was younger and yet forgotten all this time? How blasphemous! Truly, I'm…."

This man is no longer even listening to me. He's rambling on about how hard things were when he was younger, spouting some delusional confession like it's testimony time.

I didn't come here to listen to a confession. I came to talk business.

Finally, I let out a deep sigh and nodded towards where Bentley stood.

Seeing this, Bentley also nodded and then—

Swoosh!

With a light thud, he smacked Wells on the back of the head with a hollow wooden stick, making a crisp sound.

And then…

"... Grrr..."

Thud. Herbert George Wells collapsed.

Fortunately, he wasn't dead. Just knocked out.

Only after confirming this did Bentley and I exchange looks and heave deep sighs of relief.

"So... you didn't hide any opium, right?"

"Oh, none at all! If I did, I'd go to a salon to smoke, not in a sacred workspace..."

... So you do smoke, huh.

***

A moment later.

"Well, are you calm now?"

"Yes, yes. I apologize. I just…"

"Ahem."

"… Writer."

Seems like he still hasn't come to his senses.

Every time Herbert George Wells had one of his fits, I glared at him sharply.

Thankfully, his years of experience from the bottom of the barrel had given him some sense, so whenever I shot him a look, he'd get himself back in line.

It was a relief. If he'd been as oblivious as I feared, I would've scrapped the whole plan and found someone else.

'Actually, maybe this worked out for the better?'

I had braced myself for a confrontation, but that entire ordeal was sidestepped.

Even if things had taken an odd turn, he was being compliant now. It seemed like I could smoothly move on with the proposal as planned.

"Anyway, what I want to suggest is... a merchandise venture. Specifically, a 'guidebook.'"

"A… a guidebook?"

"Yes."

I nodded, presenting an example worth showing.

It was—

"Isn't this… William Yeats' Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry (1888)?"

"Yes, that's exactly it."

I explained, nodding.

If you could call this an Irish mythology guidebook or anthology, what I intended to publish was a guidebook for novels.

A guidebook—essentially, a fanbook.

A book dedicated to fans of a particular field.

Its scope goes beyond subcultures like comics, games, and animation. There are fan books for idol celebrities and sports athletes, and the range is limitless.

The most familiar would probably be… let's see… fan books related to games or shonen manga since those genres thrive on intricate settings.

"For me, it would be the fairies from Peter Perry."

I calmly explained.

"For example, on the front page, we'll have Art Nouveau-style fairies beautified into lovely young girls. On the back, we'll write their names and details."

Each page would be dedicated to a particular fairy.

If we continued in this style, we'd have a full book in no time.

"I see, it would be visually appealing, so people would buy it in droves! Brilliant, as always!"

Don't interrupt. I shot a brief glare at Wells, who, realizing his mistake, shrank back.

"And since we're doing this, I plan to go all out. With DawnBringer, we'll separate it into hero and villain guidebooks. For Doctor Dickter, we'll cover not just the ruins he explored, but the cultures, ecosystems, and natural environments of the countries those ruins were in, compiling them by category."

While Peter Perry was pure fandom, these books would appeal to intellectual vanity.

They would be fun to look at, educational, and filled with enough material to satisfy the gentlemen who love showing off their knowledge.

And the best part? We wouldn't even have to promote it; the buzz would spread on its own!

Haha, I could almost see the money rolling in.

Vincent Villiers would've been a good candidate too, but there wasn't enough marketable potential, so I had to pass on that one.

There's no helping it; the tone is too serious, the cast too small, and dedicating too many pages might stir up trouble from the critical circles… Honestly, that was the bigger concern.

"I haven't mentioned it yet, but I plan to bring Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes into this guidebook project too."

"Ohhh."

Each page would explain a short story. Instead of focusing on the plot, we could include a section detailing legal provisions related to the crimes, making the book marketable to both adults and parents as educational material for law students.

But the important part is—I don't plan on keeping all the profits to myself.

And then—

"Within Bentley Publishing, Mr. Herbert George Wells, we're considering using your The Time Machine."

"Ah, so…"

There aren't many works better suited for this guidebook project than The Time Machine.

Why? Because the key to a good guidebook is an abundance of "lore."

Even if something only appeared in one short story, we could detail its appearance, ecology, and evolutionary tree.

It's even better if the content is somewhat loosely defined. Fans love filling in the blanks themselves.

In other words, it's ideal for fandom!

And Herbert George Wells' The Time Machine, through my tinkering, pioneered a new era for monster genres.

With its exploration of the past and future, how creatures evolved, and what ecosystems they built—there's a wealth of material to work with. In other words…

"It's perfect fanfic fodder."

We could endlessly expand the lore, making it the key to this project's success.

And dinosaurs? Don't forget the dinosaurs. Kids can't resist a picture book filled with dinosaurs!

Naturally, we could expand the customer base even further!

This could easily become a popular picture book that explains evolution naturally—especially in an era where creationism still has many adherents. 

It would be a picture book perfect for both adults and children and would become a sensational hit.

Anyway.

"As an example, I've put together a simple draft of a setting guide."

I pulled out the notes I had once neatly compiled into a thesis and submitted to Westminster University.

Of course, at the time, I hadn't intended to sell this, so there were no illustrations, but it would still help to convey the concept.

"If you take a look at this and give it some serious thought—"

"No, Mr. Jin."

Herbert George Wells cut me off.

His eyes were filled with the same madness they'd held earlier when he'd confessed to me.

"I believe in you, Mr. Hanslow Jin."

"… Really?"

"Yes! To be honest, I didn't understand a word of what you explained earlier…"

Wait, you shouldn't say that so blatantly…

While Bentley and I stood in stunned silence, Herbert George Wells shouted confidently, almost as if he were making a declaration.

"Despite that, I believe the path you've shown me is the right one!"

"Why… do you think so?"

"Why, you ask? Because if it's something Mr. Hanslow Jin is doing, it can't possibly be wrong!"

"…"

"…"

I turned my head slightly and exchanged glances with Bentley.

At that moment, I felt that we were both thinking the same thing.

We're in trouble.

This man is completely gone.

"Well, anyway, we'll proceed as planned."

"Of course!! Where do I sign?"

"… Aren't you going to review the contract terms?"

"Haha! I'm sure Mr. Hanslow Jin has taken care of everything!!"

Well, at least getting his signature on the contract was easy.

The problem came after that.

"So, Mr. Hanslow Jin, setting the business aside for a moment, how's my writing these days? Have you been reading it? It's okay if you haven't! Even if you haven't seen it, I'm sure an omniscient writer like you can point out the flaws and solutions in my work!"

"No, how could a writer be omniscient?"

"It's fine! My faith is strong. I believe in you, Mr. Hanslow Jin!!"

In the end, I had to calm him down with some self-help book advice about how writing is a genre where growth only happens through personal insight, and only then was I able to send him off.

Out of breath, I returned, and Richard Bentley Jr. said in a somewhat awkward tone:

"At this point, it's more terrifying to think about succeeding, Mr. Jin."

"Don't make scary jokes, Bentley."

Of course, I knew Bentley wasn't joking, which made me shiver even more.

And just as I feared… no, it exceeded my expectations.

It was an extreme success.

The guidebooks sold out rapidly, from children's pocket money to aristocrats' coffers. Sales skyrocketed, and stalls dedicated to selling just the guidebooks sold out daily.

Seeing my bank balance swell naturally made me feel good, but… it also meant that I had to work even harder to avoid the increasingly clingy Herbert George Wells.

Why is it that hitting the jackpot only seems to give me more headaches?

Then one day.

"Excuse me, Mr. Jin."

"Who are you? I feel like we've met somewhere before…"

"Ahem! Well, it must be a mistake."

"No, I'm sure… Hmm."

"Oh, just call me Captain Lace. I've come on behalf of His Grace, the Duke of York."

The Duke of York? Ah, that would be Prince George. But why?

—Please send more copies of the guidebook you've published. Signed as well.

Hmm. I could understand the sentiment. It wasn't difficult to send more.

But…

"I already sent a package to His Grace. Did the post office delay it?"

"... Uh, well, his cousins from Germany are visiting, and he would like to gift them copies as well."

Ah, that makes sense. Now that I think about it, Queen Victoria was often called the grandmother of Europe. There's no helping it, then.

Without a second thought, I signed my copies of the guidebook and handed them over to the soldier who had come to retrieve them.

Still, something feels off… I'm sure I've met him somewhere before. Where could it have been?