Chapter 8 – Auction House (2)

"Hmm. It seems you're a cadet from Sandhurst on leave."

"Yes. I am a cadet from the cavalry, 69th class."

Mr. Miller and I waited for a moment, but the cadet did not reveal his name. Noticing this, he scoffed and said,

"I have no name to share with ignorant colonial fools who do not understand aesthetics."

"..."

What is this soldier talking about? I stared blankly at the cadet's face.

Was his head full of sand just because he was from Sandhurst? Or does every military academy in every country only produce such idiotic morons?

While I was thinking this, Mr. Miller quietly spoke up next to me.

"Cavalry, huh... An English tradition. You must be from a noble family."

"Ha, it seems the colonial eyes that cannot recognize good paintings can still see people properly. Yes, my grandfather is the 7th Duke of Marlborough, and my father was the former Chancellor of the Exchequer."

So, he was saying he was a top-tier noble among nobles.

In martial arts terms, he would be among the top five great families. Considering that the Rothschild's are only barons, dukes are indeed very high.

But... so what? I'm still annoyed.

After all, in this era, the Empire is an empire because it has colonies; it's not a feudal state with a caste system.

Such places only exist in barbaric military states like the Japanese Empire or the German Empire.

Although America started without nobles and France abolished noble titles, this place still had a flourishing spirit of liberty, equality, and fraternity.

British nobles didn't necessarily have both money and power; it was generally an era where money was more important.

Therefore, many poor British nobles were marrying Jewish financiers like the Rothschild's or newly rich Americans like Mr. Miller. Clara Miller's family, the Baymers, were also noble.

In short, Mr. Miller wasn't any less than this noble-looking young cadet with seemingly little money.

So, the situation was set... How should I teach this big-headed cadet a lesson? As I was thinking this, Mr. Miller suddenly nudged my side.

"Hanslow."

"Yes, Mr. Miller. Should we roast him or grill him whole?"

"That's tempting, but look over there."

Over there?

Puzzled, I turned my head to where he pointed... and oh my goodness.

The proud cadet who had been numerous recipes in my head until a moment ago had something under his left arm.

A dark blue book with a title written in flowing script.

It was undoubtedly my book, a limited edition hard cover.

Noticing my gaze, the cadet scoffed.

"Even if you don't have an eye for paintings, it seems you have a taste for literature. This is a precious treasure of the British Empire, written by the great author Hanslow Jin."

"... What?"

As I was in shock and horror, Mr. Miller, almost bursting into laughter, spoke up.

"Kuh, hoo. Pfft. So, you are saying you like Hanslow Jin's writings very much?"

"Of course."

"Khuup, hup. So, where do you rate him so highly?"

"Hmph, where you ask. How rude…"

The cadet glared at us primly, cleared his throat, and began speaking confidently.

"Isn't it obvious? By looking at the four major fairies he created, one can see that he thoroughly researched German and Greek mythology, which constitute our Great British culture. And the protagonist named Peter, after Saint Peter, the first Pope, represents the sacred gospel of God."

Mr. Miller and I exchanged glances.

'Did you know that?'

'Hell no, of course not.'

Well, sure, elves and dwarves come from Germanic mythology. With a bit of Tolkien mixed in.

But nymphs and sylphs... I just chose them because I was used to names ending with 'ph' from childhood comics. I only know Greek mythology at a general knowledge level.

And Peter symbolizes Christianity? No way. I just used a common name. What nonsense is this?

"Not only that, but the school's name, Oberon Academia, and Peter pulling Excalibur from Avalon under the school's pond clearly show inspiration from Shakespeare and Arthurian legend. It undoubtedly draws from the proud culture of the Great British Empire."

Well, those references are the easiest for you British to understand. Don't you get cultural context? Context blind fool!

"How can I, as a proud British officer, not respect a future literary giant!"

"Owww..."

So, stop talking about my work as if it's some British version of The Witcher! I just write what customers want!

As the cadet continued his relentless verbal onslaught like a rap, I cringed endlessly.

Meanwhile, Mr. Miller, barely holding back his laughter, spoke.

"Kuhuhu. I see. So, you're still reading his works?"

"Of course. I made sure to thoroughly read the latest issue, released yesterday! It was another perfect episode! A midnight test of courage in the forbidden forest. Cadets of the Great British Empire should have the courage to break through such prohibitions without hesitation, yes!"

No, you lunatic. I just threw in a slice-of-life cliché... Watching it glorified into the exploration spirit and bravery of the British Empire made my stomach turn. Ugh, nausea...

"Hmm, it seems you greatly respect Hanslow Jin."

"Of course. I respect him deeply from the bottom of my heart!"

No, I don't need it. I don't need respect from someone like you, so please just go away.

Ignoring my silent plea, Mr. Miller kept egging the cadet on with a sly smile.

"If he is such a great writer, I'd love to meet him. Do you know where he lives?"

Meet him? What for? You're the one hosting him in your own house.

And you keep glancing over at me!

Naturally, the Sandhurst cadet, unaware that he was being mocked, responded confidently.

"Unfortunately, I don't know where Hanslow Jin lives. But judging by the pure and beautiful writing, he must be creating his work amidst the clean and beautiful nature of the British Empire that befits him."

"Hmm, I see."

"Indeed. If I close my eyes, I can clearly see it! Like the fairy forest in the novel, in the beautiful nature, he must be a wise old man like the romantic poet William Blake, using a golden fountain pen to write on parchment to spread the beauty of the world to children."

No.

"Writing lines while gazing at the dim sunset in the forest! Surely there are white swans splashing in the lake before him. The splashing water and the faint spreading light... Yes! Just like in the Secret of the Lake episode!"

No, you crazy fool! Who writes like that! Writing in the forest without a desk, crumpling the paper! And what's with the lake!

Then it happened.

"Ha, hearing all this nonsense..."

An elderly man with a monocle turned and spoke up.

"Hanslow Jin, a patriot like William Blake? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!"

What is this? Who is this old man?

"I am a professor studying English literature at Oxford! You see? Unfortunately, young man, you are completely wrong!"

"What do you mean? How could a wise man like Hanslow Jin..."

"It's true that his works reflect the cultural trends of our Great Britain, but his vocabulary sometimes leans more American than British! He could not have been born and raised in England. He definitely uses American English, indicating he's from the United States!"

"No, that can't be!"

The cadet's mouth fell open in shock, as if his world had collapsed... In fact, this so-called professor was not wrong.

I did learn American English, and Mr. Miller, who I live with, hasn't entirely lost his American accent.

So, it's not wrong to say my novels are in American English...

But why would such a distinguished person waste their talent analyzing this?

And then.

"How deplorable. For an Oxford professor, one of our empire's finest minds, to make such a pitiful statement."

The speaker wasn't the cadet. Nor was it Mr. Miller.

We turned around. There stood a man, wearing thick clothes even in summer, with even thicker cheeks, looking down at us.

A new participant out of nowhere?

He began speaking without hesitation.

"Whether Hanslow Jin's vocabulary is American or British, it does not help in determining his origin. You can only guess who he grew up with."

"What do you mean? Who are you?"

"I teach linguistics at Cambridge. And in my view, Hanslow Jin is neither from our Great British Empire nor the United States. His sentences sometimes place the verb at the end, which is a habit of German immigrants. Therefore, he is from Germany or Austria!"

"Are you prepared to back up your claim?"

"How can you insult Hanslow Jin by calling him a Kraut!"

"I merely expressed an academic opinion!"

"That's it, a duel! Step outside, you scoundrel!"

Why did these crazy people argue about my nationality? Not even a hint of me being Asian came up.

"Hey! What is this commotion in the auction house!"

"Guards! Remove them immediately!"

Naturally, such chaos would not be tolerated in an auction house that was practically a social gathering. As I suspected, the cadet and the two professors, along with others who had spouted bizarre theories, were dragged out by the guards.

The unfair part was that Mr. Miller and I were among those others.

Ugh, it's so unfair. I didn't say anything.

"Well, we got what we came for anyway."

"Mr. Miller, you're banned from playing cricket in Torquay."

"What? Why!?"

So why did you provoke that poor cadet and cause this mess, why!?

I shot Mr. Miller a look, and he pretended to cry, clinging to the cadet.

"Ugh, Winston. This is my life now."

"Ahem, don't be too sad, Mr. Miller."

When did they even exchange names?

As I was considering how to deal with these idiots and turned to call for a carriage, I heard,

"Mr. Miller, next time, come to Sandhurst without that coolie! I, Winston Leonard Spencer-Churchill, will treat you grandly!"

"… What?"

Winston, who?