Chapter 70 – Evolutionary Panic

"What?! Hanslow Jin is ill?!"

"I heard he's at death's door because of a disease."

"Not just at death's door—there's even a rumour he's already dead!"

"No way!! Damn it, how could this happen!!"

Hanslow Jin is sick.

As this news spread, London was thrown into a state of panic.

It was similar to when Sherlock Holmes died but slightly different. Back then, there was a 'target' to demand answers from, but now, there was no one. More than anything, the death of a character in a novel and the misfortune of a writer carry very different weights.

The only confirmed fact was that he was 'ill.' This uncertainty led to various fake news stories spreading, with the lack of concrete information making rational predictions impossible.

In any case, amidst all this, they couldn't help but realize.

"Wait, what's currently being serialized? Peter Perry, Vincent Villiers, and DawnBringer..."

"Even though it's a co-authored work, his name is on King Arthur and the Knight of Mathematics as well as Kid Kevin's Home Defense, which is popular in the western colonies (America)."

"What? So, he's serializing five works? And one of them is a weekly serial?"

"Hmm..."

This is the 'objective' situation regarding Hanslow Jin.

"Come to think of it, it's practically impossible to serialize so many works at once. Has any writer ever done that before? Isn't this really dangerous?"

"He'll be fine. If he were really that sick, would the publishers be acting so nonchalantly? Let's just wait and see."

Some managed to calm themselves and return to their daily routines, but the majority reacted differently. Their concern was primarily about the works.

"Peter Perry may end, but what about the next one?"

"If he collapses and can't write, what happens to the serializations of Vincent Villiers and DawnBringer? What's going to happen?"

"Oh my God! This isn't what I wanted! I just wanted to read more Peter Perry..."

People fear the unknown future, that fear turns into anxiety, and anxiety devours peace of mind.

As the 'Opposition to the Conclusion of Peter Perry' movement fell apart, they increasingly sought to escape responsibility amidst their anxiety.

"This—this is all your fault, you Sherlockian bastards!"

"What the hell are you talking about?!"

Their escape took the easiest and quickest form for everyone: blaming others.

"What, am I wrong?! None of this happened when only Peter Perry and Vincent Villiers were being serialized! It's because you Sherlockians stopped buying The Strand Magazine that George Newnes had to rely on Hanslow Jin!"

"How is this our fault!! It's only natural for a company selling a product that doesn't meet customer needs to fail!! And you all enjoyed DawnBringer too, so why are you complaining now!!"

Regardless of the genre, it's common for fandoms within the same industry to clash. The situation between the Hanslowians and the Sherlockians was no different.

From the beginning, they were like oil and water. Although there was some semblance of reconciliation after DawnBringer began serialization in The Strand Magazine, Hanslow Jin's illness shattered that fragile peace.

"This is war, you fools!!"

Fortunately, thanks to some Scotland Yard officers and a few suspiciously well-informed naval officers, who even made the police chief grovel, actual violence was avoided. In the end, they dispersed, burdened with both worry and anxiety.

In the meantime, The Strand Magazine slightly eased the tension by publishing the new long novel in the Sherlock Holmes series, The Valley of Fear, but that was a separate story. Everyone began waiting for follow-up reports on Hanslow Jin, each in their own way.

And during all this upheaval, at the center of it all, Hanslow Jin... 

***

"Whew, I thought I was going to die."

Under the warm sunlight, I was sunbathing while gazing at the clear lake. How long has it been since we had such weather... Though London's weather is notoriously filthy, lately, with all the canned food and incidents, there hasn't been a single day to enjoy the sunshine.

They say if you don't get enough sun, you'll be deficient in Vitamin D. At this time, without supplements, the last thing I need is to get rickets.

Of course, it's not like it's something worth making a big deal about in the newspapers. I mean, I do feel a bit guilty, though.

But it's not a lie.

When you live a life squeezing out every brain cell, chronic headaches come, and with neck or back discs, or tendinitis, you can't lie down or sit comfortably. There's a reason why so many writers are called "frequent hospital visitors."

Moreover... writers naturally feel "labour pains" in their heads every time they write.

"Writers are human too, you know!"

The problem from the start was daily serialization.

This industry is an open coliseum where freelancers and self-employed people engage in unlimited competition, so there are no limits.

Just think about how many days we spent serializing without weekends in modern times... I need work-life balance, work-life balance.

"What... What are you talking about? You're doing a weekly serial, not a daily one, right?"

"No, I'm just saying."

Of course, it's not that this incident happened because of that.

But think about it for a moment.

Imagine burly men with fierce eyes and thick beards thrusting their arms at you, burning a giant wooden doll right in front of your eyes as they parade through the streets.

As if to say, you're next!

Is there anyone who wouldn't run from that? I really feared for my life!

"So, your conclusion is... you're faking it?"

"Even if I'm not, I've had a lot of work recently. I was getting exhausted too. If you don't take a break, burnout will hit."

"Burn... what? What's that supposed to mean?"

Not to mention, with that sudden foresight of the future, and the emergency work I had to jump into to manage the aftermath of Kevin's popularity in America, I needed to clear my head a bit.

That's why I fled to my cozy home in the countryside of Torquay, Devon.

It's like a crafty evasion maneuver from a South Korean army sergeant who could sniff out the hint of an errand and slip away. Ahem. Ahem.

"Whew, anyway."

The air is fresh, so my mood is lifting too.

Well, London's air was terrible. Lately, my throat had been feeling a bit scratchy.

"Don't worry, I'll take a proper rest and be back soon."

"Hmm... if you say so, it's not my place to object."

As expected, Mr. Miller is truly considerate of his employees' well-being.

"Now that I think about it, Mr. Miller, I haven't paid much attention lately, but how's your main business going?"

"You could say your main job is already as a writer."

Mr. Miller shook his head with a bitter smile and muttered briefly.

"Well, if you're talking about the art dealership, there hasn't been much change since we bought that Japanese painting. Just some small transactions here and there. Oh, and that Munch piece you suggested? Yes, I bought more of those. Just as you said, their value is rising quickly."

"That's good to hear."

I said that with genuine sincerity.

Ever since I found out that Mr. Miller is the father of the Agatha Christie, I've been keeping a close eye on his health and business.

As Lady Margaret Miller also mentioned, you never know when or where a business might collapse.

"But what about DawnBringer and Vincent Villiers? Surely you're not planning to put those on hold too?"

"No, I'll keep those going under the excuse of having built up a backlog before I got sick."

In truth, I had stacked up quite a bit.

In a way, this is Mr. Bentley's lifeline. Honestly, when I think about that 'Opposition to the Conclusion Alliance' or whatever, I can't help but worry about what might happen if I just disappear. Even if I've left a scapegoat behind, I can't let it turn into ashes for real.

I'm not sure exactly how angry the readers are, but I have no intention of stopping the serialization either. I just hope they calm down a bit in the meantime.

And during that time...

"Haha, my new work will burst onto the scene, and the king will return."

This is my perfect master plan.

"Master plan, my foot."

I let Mr. Miller's scolding roll off me as I bit into my cucumber sandwich.

It's fine. It's not like I'm some criminal caught for drunk driving or drugs.

As a writer, I only need to repay the fans with good work...

"So, there's no serious issue with his health?"

"Yes, according to the reports from those close to him, he does appear somewhat pale, likely due to fatigue, but there's no major problem with his mobility."

"Whew..."

In Buckingham Palace, within the audience chamber nestled deep inside, the room's mistress unknowingly let out a sigh of deep relief. Then, her face flushed as she began to gulp down the tea in her cup.

Clack!

The moment the cup touched the polished table, a fierce light shone from deep within her eyes.

'This... this damn rascal...'

Just how much more shock does this wretched man intend to inflict on this old woman to be satisfied? She could feel a fire roaring deep within her chest as she ground her teeth.

Of course, she was already well aware, through intelligence, of the protests by the Peter Perry anti-conclusion alliance.

Even so, the reason she hadn't acted to stop it was probably because, in part, she had sympathized with them. But she had no idea it would escalate to such an extreme.

If it had only been the working class gathering, she would have taken various preemptive measures. But people from all walks of life had joined the protest—bourgeoisie, no, even nobles with titles, along with day labourers. It seemed logical that those who normally enjoyed polo or rugby with elegance would naturally moderate the situation, yet they ended up participating, even creating a hideous scarecrow to burn together. Such a barbaric act! To her, it was an unimaginable outrage.

"So, he's staying in Devon for the time being?"

"Yes, it's such a remote place that access is difficult, but according to what we've heard from those waiting in the town, he hasn't left the mansion."

"Hmm..."

So that's how it is.

Victoria tapped her nails on the table. If he's staying inside the mansion and not coming out, could there be an illness they're not telling us about? The thought briefly stirred a flicker of concern in her mind.

"I understand. Keep him under surveillance."

"Yes, Your Majesty. And also, it appears that Arthur Conan Doyle and George Bernard Shaw—"

"Oh."

Normally, just hearing the names of such irreverent figures would have been enough to send for the police.

"But it's fine. Keep an eye on them."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Though George Bernard Shaw was one thing, Arthur Conan Doyle was a man she could trust.

It would be amusing to simply watch those minor figures bicker in the background.

'Is this what they call a popcorn moment?'

Recalling the words that Vincent, the protagonist of Vincent Villiers, would occasionally say, Victoria let out a fierce, almost ferocious, smile.