I Became A Playwright In Medieval Fantasy

Huh…!!

Are you an academy student?

Princess Diana fired off a line like an arrow.

The moment I heard that, I froze up like I was in some kind of cryogenic chamber.

After that, I couldn’t really catch what else the princess was saying.

She started deducing my grade based on my vocabulary, physique, and calluses or something.

Watching her nail it with her keen observation skills was almost enough to make me faint.

“Are you some kind of Sherlock Holmes?”

You take one look at a person, and their personal info pops up like a smartphone search?

I had heard the rumors of her exceptional intellect but never expected it to be at this level.

“Now then, who do you suppose is hiding behind this mask? Should I figure it out myself, or would it be better for you to just come clean about your identity?”

That was the last question I managed to hear clearly. It was practically an ultimatum.

“Will you open your mouth or get punched for it?” It was just as good as a threat.

“Damn.”

Revealing my identity was daunting, but it was still better than being on the bad side of a future empress.

“Well, I suppose it would be best for me to reveal myself. After all, I’m a loyal subject of the empire, haha.”

I forced a calm laugh and looked straight at the princess. I simultaneously brought my right hand up to remove my mask.

Just then…

“…Pfft.”

The princess gently caught my hand as I reached for my mask.

She lifted my right hand from my face and placed it on the table as she began to chatter on.

“It’s a joke. I have no intention of forcing you to reveal yourself. If you wish to remain anonymous, feel free to continue hiding.”

“Is that so? I genuinely appreciate your magnanimity, Your Highness.”

“Heh, such insincere words.”

With a smile that mixed charm and sophistication, the princess stood up.

She swayed gracefully, her silky gown like Cleopatra’s fluttering behind her as she turned away.

“It was nice meeting you, Phantom. I shall take my leave now.”

“What? Are you leaving already? It’s barely been 30 minutes since the fan meeting…”

“Meeting you in person is enough. I’ve gathered quite enough. You should rest; balancing academy life and being a famous playwright must be tiring.”

“…Thank you for your consideration. Take care, Your Highness.”

In the end, I couldn’t deny it until the very last moment.

I’d blurted out a bit too much, caught up in her charm.

Before I even had a chance to react, it was already too late.

“I feel like I’ve been entranced by a legendary nine-tailed fox.”

Maybe Diana really is a fox in disguise.

I wouldn’t be surprised if nine tails popped out from behind her lovely figure as she walked away gracefully.

“Oh, by the way. You’d better not disregard any letters sent by fans, Phantom.”

Just before she stepped out of the parlor, she turned slightly and threw a few words my way.

“No matter how talented a great author you are, if you don’t respond to a letter just because the content doesn’t please you, it’s bound to hurt feelings.”

“Excuse me?”

“Heh.”

Left dumbfounded without understanding her words, Cleopatra-like Diana gracefully exited.

And about ten seconds after she disappeared…

Huh…!!

I finally realized the chilling truth behind her warning.

‘No, no, no! Was the sender of that letter from before…!?’

I’m really aging multiple times today.

*

“How was it, Diana? Your one-on-one meeting with Phantom?”

As soon as the princess left the theater’s parlor, she ran into none other than Rosalyn Wenford.

Dressed as Julia Caesaris, she stood eagerly with a small frame tightly clasped in her arms, excitement glowing on her face.

“What was Phantom like? Was he the gentlemanly yet delicate type? Or unexpectedly stoic, a deep thinker?”

“Calm down, Rosalyn. We’ll head back to the dorm, and I’ll tell you everything.”

“Okay. Hehe.”

With a childlike innocence, Rosalyn chuckled and nodded along while glancing at the precious frame she held.

“Are you really that happy to have gotten an autograph as the second prize?”

“Of course! Look, he even wrote my name.”

‘The playwright Phantom to the noble lady Rosalyn Wenford Hope only spring days without dark clouds come your way.’

The words written in dark ink on the pure white paper inside the frame.

It was such a simple and plain gift, yet Rosalyn was so overjoyed that she could hardly contain it, even after losing the first prize.

“Phantom must know how we’ve been saved thanks to his work, right? That’s why he wrote such a significant encouragement along with the autograph.”

“Who knows.”

“Tch, what’s with that lukewarm response? You met Phantom and won’t even share with me.”

Diana suppressed any premature statements.

If Phantom was a fellow student, he could very well be a close acquaintance of Rosalyn.

Keeping all possibilities open, she decided not to jump to conclusions.

The age group was either a first or a second year.

And he was quite tall, associated with a martial family, and had brown hair.

If we consider families that fall into that category, there are Schwarz, Cromwell, Granada…

“…And lastly, Arture.”

Which of them could possibly be the one?

The answer still seemed unclear.

But narrowing down the possibilities felt like a satisfactory achievement.

Thus, Diana resolved not to rush herself.

The process of tracking down the mysterious man named Phantom had become genuinely enjoyable for her.

As she and Rosalyn strolled through the theater, they came across a large mirror that had been temporarily moved to the side for the event.

Suddenly stopping in front of it, Diana began to leisurely admire her reflection.

“Hmm…”

“What’s up, Diana?”

“Oh, nothing. Hehe.”

Not as Princess Diana but transformed into the Egyptian queen Cleopatra.

The joy of this unusual experience was indescribable.

…That day, the princess awakened a new hobby.

Cosplaying her favorite character, which was an expensive yet secretive pastime.

*

The uproar caused by Phantom’s character impersonation competition had settled down, along with the sensational humor wave brought by Chaplin’s Comedy.

No matter how intense the stimulus, constant exposure to the same would naturally dull the senses.

The playwright Phantom had struck a balance, releasing a sequel to Chaplin’s Comedy after giving audiences enough time to adapt to the humor.

By doing this, audiences would gradually develop the necessary tolerance.

Was it due to this? At least, the frenzy that swept through this world when Charlie Chaplin-style humor first appeared did not reoccur.

Instead, the theater world faced a completely different issue.

“Counterfeit?”

“Yes. A counterfeit.”

Hoo, Isabella exhaled a long puff of cigarette smoke as she elaborated.

“Comedy is relatively easy to mimic, you see. Plus, there are so many similar gimmicks and concepts that it’s hard to keep track of them all.”

“Hum…”

A deluge of farces nearly identical to Charlie Chaplin’s slapstick came flooding in.

The troubles that had remained quiet during Admiral Lee and Julius Caesar had resurfaced.

Moreover, from Isabella’s explanation, it seemed that their imitation wasn’t just straightforward but was shockingly vulgar in nature.

Indecent jokes, suggestive content, and character ridicule disguised as dark humor—this was clearly a brazen diss towards the original work.

It became evident that they were unwilling to uphold Chaplin’s dignity at all, employing any and all methods to bolster their commercial viability.

“I had worried about this when dealing with Charlie Chaplin from the start…”

Phantom’s previous works had shown inspiring and symbolic success, to the point of significantly impacting society, making it uncomfortable to imitate.

“Thanks to Admiral Lee, the Wenford family returned to politics, and with Julius Caesar, imperial traditions were completely transformed, and they dared to plagiarize recklessly?”

If someone wasn’t ten-headed, they’d find it hard to do so casually.

However, comedy meant to merely elicit laughter was a different case altogether.

After all, this world wasn’t exactly clear on copyright-related concepts.

Under medieval standards, claiming ownership over comedic elements like slapstick, satire, and wit was difficult.

In other words, the common perception among people here is, ‘Well, it’s not serious drama; if it’s just comedy, it can be copied, right?’

“Actually, it’s not just the medieval-like culture of this world.”

Without looking too far, even in modern human rights countries like the USA, issues of humor plagiarism thrived up until the early 2000s!

Bill Cosby, Amy Schumer, Robin Williams—an array of stand-up comedians found themselves in controversies.

Some even faced condemnation for living off blatant imitation, like Carlos Mencia.

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Phantom. You’ve crafted a fine script, and yet it’s gone to waste like that. As an actress, I feel guilty for not preserving our characters.”

“No, it’s those acting without a sense of decorum that are at fault. Miss Isabella, there’s no need for you to apologize.”

I comforted the actress who was awkwardly feeling responsible as if she’d done something wrong.

Regardless, we needed to find a way to resolve this issue.

Though I’d made some adaptations, I had copied Charlie Chaplin’s works, so who was I to question the ethics now?

However, the real reason for not simply ignoring the current situation was something else.

“If we let this slide, the original will suffer.”

A flood of low-quality imitators would ultimately tarnish the original’s image.

That said, suggesting regulation was tricky since related laws and awareness were insufficient to act on them.

“Is there a decent way to tackle this?”

I was pondering a solution when…

“Director! A visitor has arrived!”

Knock knock! One of the theater’s staff knocked on the parlor door.

Isabella frowned slightly and retorted with annoyance, “What’s with a visitor without an appointment? Don’t you know we don’t meet with drop-ins? Send them away.”

“Ah, no, um, it’s not for you, Director…”

At that moment, the door abruptly swung open.

In came two knights wearing a cross-shaped emblem on their chests.

W-What’s going on?!

Holy knights?

Belonging to the Heavenly Church, they are sacred warriors operating under the Pope’s command.

They stood firm, wearing helmets adorned with wings, glaring at Isabella and me.

And behind them…

“Please excuse the rudeness, everyone. I had no choice but to come due to urgent business from the papacy.”

…a beautiful woman dressed as a nun stepped into the room.

Her silver hair shimmered like a pure snowflake, gently swaying.

Her eyelids seemed to flutter as if having a light dream, and around her neck was a beautifully crafted jeweled cross.

“Are you the hotshot playwright, Phantom?”

With an enigmatic smile, the mystical nun introduced herself.

“I’m Saint Beatrice. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

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