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Chapter 02
Dorothy Sailor’s world was divided into two kinds.
“Um, excuse me—are you Dorothy Sailor?”
The heated, shy gazes of young boys asking to confirm her name.
“Why is Dorothy Sailor over there?”
And the sharp, wary voices of noblewomen.
Dorothy’s world was either far too hot or far too cold. And Dorothy had believed that she herself was doing a fairly good job of keeping her balance, even amid such extreme weather.
“That’s right. I’m Dorothy Sailor.”
Dorothy returned the smile of a boy whose cheeks were flushed bright red.
“It’s an honor to meet you! Seeing you in person, you’re so… beautiful!! Much more than I’d heard. I really, really loved your novel! No, I still love it, and I truly admire you, Lady Dorothy…!”
As the boy’s rambling confession of admiration went on and on, Dorothy asked with a gentle smile,
“Would you like an autograph?”
“A-autograph! Yes, yes! I really, really want one! But paper—paper… I don’t have any paper. I can’t do it on my shirt—ah!”
As if this were nothing new, Dorothy pulled out a piece of paper from her sleeve cuff. She briskly unfolded the crumpled sheet and, with swift, confident strokes, drew a stylish signature as she asked,
“Your name?”
“N-Norobin!”
She handed him the autograph, neatly written with his name included, and rose from her seat. Smiling at the flustered boy, Dorothy said,
“Thank you for liking my work.”
The boy stared at her with wide eyes, looking as though he might stop breathing at any moment. Dorothy gave him a small, warm smile and hurried away.
“Dorothy.”
Rops called her with a serious expression.
“I’m really not writing anymore. I mean it. Every pen in our house has been used as kindling. I’m serious—this isn’t a joke. So there will absolutely be no sequels.”
At Dorothy’s words, Lexa, who had been listening nearby, snickered. When Dorothy shot her a glare, Lexa merely shrugged with an innocent look, as if to say, What did I do?
“Dorothy.”
Rops called her name again.
“And I’m exhausted. I was out at parties until late last night too.”
“We’re in trouble.”
“You know I don’t believe you anymore when you say ‘we’re in trouble,’ right? So let’s not do this.”
Dorothy frowned, but Rops Babarin’s face remained grim. Watching him, Lexa spoke up instead.
“Let’s at least hear what’s got him acting like that. It might actually be interesting.”
It was a very Lexa Babarin thing to say—she’d offer up her life if something sounded fun enough. Dorothy glared at her, but Lexa had long since mastered the art of ignoring Dorothy’s fiery looks.
“So what is it this time? Another sellout?”
Rops shook his head. Then, once again with a serious face, he called only her name.
“Dorothy.”
Listening to him call her over and over like a drenched puppy, Dorothy grew irritated. What is wrong with this bastard? She had clearly said she wasn’t writing any more sequels. And yet, fooled by Rops’s constant “we’re in trouble” whining, she had already squeezed out four sequels.
“I said I’m really not writing anymore!”
“Dorothy.”
But the eldest son of the Babarin family never tired of whining, and Dorothy’s patience was always shorter than his persistence.
“Ah! Fine! Stop calling my name. What is it?”
At her resigned question, Rops finally spoke.
“Marchioness Mauven is looking for you.”
“That’s not even a big deal—wait, what? Who?”
Thinking he was exaggerating something trivial, Dorothy looked at Rops in confusion.
Lexa did the same. She glanced once at Rops, then again at Dorothy, before speaking. Lexa, who claimed to be the quickest-witted and most perceptive of the three, covered her mouth and pointed at Dorothy.
“Wow. Dorothy, you!”
“…?”
“You seduced Norobin Mauven? Ooh~ That’s huge!”
“Nor—what? Who’s that?”
“Norobin Mauven. You know—the Marchioness Mauven’s precious late-born only son, the apple of her eye, whom she dotes on day and night. You can’t seriously not know him. She brags about him until her mouth goes dry—you must have heard of him at least once. Really don’t remember? Small build, blond hair, brown eyes, kind of neatly put together. Like this.”
Lexa made elaborate gestures to describe him, but there was no way that could possibly help. Expressing a face with hand motions was impossible to begin with, and above all, Lexa’s art skills were the worst of the three.
“I have no idea.”
“Try to think.”
At Lexa’s urging, Dorothy pressed her fingers to her forehead and tried to recall anyone even remotely similar, but nothing came to mind. Or perhaps there were simply too many like that.
Ever since The Hero and the Blue Horn, which Dorothy had written as a pastime in her youth, was published by sheer coincidence, it had become routine for young boys whose faces she didn’t even know to trail after her.
She still couldn’t understand it, but The Hero and the Blue Horn had risen to become required reading for boys, and Dorothy had suddenly become their idol—and their ideal type.
Part of it was because she was the author of The Hero and the Blue Horn, but more than that, it was because the novel’s heroine, “Rosi,” bore an uncanny resemblance to Dorothy herself.
Well, that made sense…
The Hero and the Blue Horn was a work overflowing with narcissism, written during Dorothy’s stormy adolescence…
If only she hadn’t lost that bet with Lexa and Rops, she never would have published such an embarrassing piece of teenage dark history!
The young boys, completely unconcerned with Dorothy’s shame, began to worship her like a goddess from a heroic tale.
It was embarrassing, but they were readers who claimed to be her fans, and she was grateful in her own way. There was no reason not to appreciate readers who loved her work.
So Dorothy endured the embarrassment and accepted the boys’ greetings. Of course, if any of them tried to bring up the contents of the book in detail, she would swiftly shut them up with an autograph and make her escape.
“Norobin Mauven… so he’s fifteen this year. That’s right around the age to be crazy about your novels.”
Lexa nodded to herself, as if it all made sense, then tilted her head.
“But would the marchioness really summon you over something like that? Even if she’s famous for being overbearing.”
She pondered for a moment, then asked Dorothy,
“He didn’t join that, did he? You know—your harem or whatever.”
“No way.”
Dorothy firmly denied it. The boys who followed Dorothy Sailor—whom Lexa called her “harem”—were practically a second living dark history for her.
Of all things, she was popular only with boys! Dorothy’s pleas for them to stop had never worked on those young boys trapped in the depths of raging puberty. In fact, they seemed to enjoy such adversity.
If Dorothy, from a minor baronial family, was slighted even a little, the boys would rise up like a swarm of bees. Their excessive protective instincts toward Dorothy Sailor had even led to absurd critiques claiming it was a cause of generational conflict.
“And it’s not a harem—it’s just… just enthusiastic fans!”
“Oh please. A bunch of barely grown boys swarming around you whenever you appear is basically the definition of a harem. Don’t you remember how it was at the last party?”
Lexa laughed and waved her hands dismissively. Dorothy was annoyed by Lexa’s cheerful expression, but when Rops started calling her name again, she lost even that small margin of composure.
“Dorothy.”
“Yeah! I know my name is Dorothy. I’ve memorized it too, so stop calling me.”
“Lexa’s right.”
“Huh?”
“He joined your harem. Norobin Mauven.”
Rops said it with a grave expression.
“The Marchioness Mauven might try to kill you.”
“…What? I think my ears are malfunctioning, Rops. Um… could you try saying my name again?”
What was that supposed to mean—kill her?
Dorothy stared at Rops with wide eyes. Lexa was the same. No matter how much her son might be infatuated with Dorothy, surely she wouldn’t go so far as murder.
Maybe she’d be expelled from high society…? After all, the Marchioness Mauven currently reigned at the very top of the social hierarchy. Seeing Dorothy’s reaction, Rops hurriedly added,
“You’ve heard the rumors that the Mauven household is a major patron of the Dark Guild.”
“Wow. Hey, Rops. You knew something like that, yet when I asked you about the Mauven marchioness last time, you said you didn’t know anything?”
Lexa jabbed Rops in the side in protest, but Rops continued, his expression serious from start to finish.
“At this rate, it wouldn’t be strange to see an article a week from now titled, ‘Genius Novelist Dorothy Sailor, Dies Young at the Age of Twenty.’”
By then, Lexa looked as if something had clicked.
“Given how obsessively vindictive the marchioness is, that does sound possible. There were rumors that her rival before marrying the marquis died suddenly because of her, too. Wasn’t it said that in this empire, it’s better to offend the emperor than to offend the Marchioness Mauven? You know—the Mauven family has always had, well… that kind of temperament.”
Rops nodded heavily. Lexa drove the final nail in.
“If the Marchioness Mauven takes a dislike to you, it really might be hard to keep your life.”
“…What the hell. That’s terrifying.”
“I’m not joking, Dorothy.”
Rops said in the same grave tone.
“We need a plan.”
That was already a year ago.
Damn it.
