I Became A Playwright In Medieval Fantasy

“Philosopher’s Stone? Is this the Philosopher’s Stone that only appears in stories?”

“Shh! Someone will hear you outside, you idiot! Are you trying to turn Bronde upside down?”

Maurice blinked rapidly, asking the question.

I had to break a sweat to lower the volume of that startled guy.

With a sigh, Maurice chuckled and said,

“A ring given by the royal family, and now you want to bring the Philosopher’s Stone too? At this point, nothing surprises me anymore.”

Right? It’s not like it’s some set item, and yet it just keeps piling up!

Should I just install them on different body parts like parts now? A ring on my finger, a medal on my chest, and potions hanging from my waist?

“So? Are you really going to drink it?”

“Of course. Should I just throw it away?”

“Ugh, you’re going to drink a potion made by alchemists without a second thought? You know their product side effects are super crazy. If I wake up tomorrow with horns on my forehead, don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

Maurice was visibly disgusted by my response.

Given the rumors in this world, it was a reasonable reaction.

I once heard someone say they stayed awake for days after drinking a Vitality Potion, or that their fingers grew extra ones after a Recovery Potion.

‘Plus, the changes are permanent, which is a bit scary.’

If they claimed it only had temporary effects, I’d be willing to test it out, but since it’s going to be permanent, I’m a bit hesitant to try it.

What if something strange happens and I end up with twelve fingers or four… something down there? How do you live with that?

“… No. Still, I’ll trust that alchemist old man.”

I heard he was a scholar who had the highest authority on alchemy, at least.

If that guy verified its performance and guaranteed safety, then surely nothing terrible would happen.

Pop!

Curious about its effects, I popped the cork from the vial.

And without hesitation, I gulped it down.

“How is it? Do you feel any different?”

“Ugh, I don’t know.”

For now, the taste was horrendous. I hoped it would have a strawberry flavor since it was red, but no dice.

Moreover, I didn’t feel any particular change in my body.

Instead, the lingering aftertaste just left me feeling uneasy.

‘What the heck is this? Why isn’t anything changing?’

Could it be that the old man pulled a fast one with his business card?

It’s not April Fool’s Day, so why would he play such a ridiculous prank…?

Whoooo!

“Uh, uh-oh?”

“Gah?! What the hell?!”

At the same time, both Maurice and I shouted.

A strange light was leaking from my chest area.

A soft and clear light reminiscent of priests channeling divine power.

As that light gradually settled down, I muttered,

“… What is this?”

I looked over my body in confusion.

I felt like I was a bit healthier than before.

But aside from that, nothing seemed notably different. What exactly changed?

While pondering and examining my body,

“!”

In that moment, instinctively, I sensed what effect the Philosopher’s Stone had on me.

“Hey, Maurice. Hand me that report paper and fountain pen.”

“Uh? Why all of a sudden?”

With a puzzled expression, my friend handed them over without hesitation.

As I received the stationery, I stretched as a warm-up.

Then, as soon as I brought the nib to the surface of the paper,

Scratchscratchscratchscratch!

Words were written at a speed that was almost blinding.

Without a moment of hesitation or delay.

As if I had been aware of what letters to write from the very beginning.

“Done! The report is finished!”

“Wha?! Already?”

Swoosh!

Maurice stared in astonishment at the paper that was slightly steaming.

He alternated gazes between me and the report, dumbfounded, and asked,

“No way, even if you did all the research, writing it shouldn’t take less than a few hours, right? But you did it in under ten minutes?!”

“Yep. Looks like the Philosopher’s Stone really changed me.”

It certainly said it transformed the nature of the user and granted mysterious abilities.

‘I’ve been so busy juggling reports, studying, and writing scripts lately that I could hardly keep my eyes open.’

Maurice did his best to take care of me, but how many sleepless nights have I had because of that?

You know, I was even wondering, ‘Am I going to collapse at this rate?’

It seems the Philosopher’s Stone automatically recognized that functional need of mine.

Now, I could probably produce scripts on demand!

With all the knowledge in my head, and those lightning-fast ideas.

Though, the premise that these two need to be in place still holds.

“And what else? Can’t you sense any other differences?”

“Other differences?”

“Sure, writing fast is impressive, but for the legendary Philosopher’s Stone, I honestly doubt that’s all the change it brought.”

Other differences, huh?

I feel like there should be something more, but it’s just not clear compared to my writing ability.

If I had to put it another way, the changes the Philosopher’s Stone is causing in my body might need more time to observe?

Maybe the skill I just gained is just the tip of the iceberg.

Over time, some new ‘transformations’ might trigger in succession?

“What a coincidence that the ability I gained is related to writing. Are you sure you won’t become a transcendent being worthy of the title of the Writer Hero, Balthazar?”

“Who knows?”

What in the world would that mean to be worthy of the title of Writer Hero?

Would a certain anime alchemist shoot fireballs with a pen?

Or would I swing a brush like characters from educational comics to cast kanji magic?

Or could I manifest my imagination physically like Green Lantern from DC Comics?

If I were to gain a power similar to that, life would be quite amusing.

“Flame, Fire! Blow, Wind!”

Everyone probably fantasized about these kinds of spells at least once as a kid, right?

“By the way, there’s still half left. What are we going to do with the rest?”

“Hmmm, good point. What to do with this?”

There was still a decent amount sloshing around in the vial.

But I didn’t have the guts to gulp it down any further.

If I had to describe it, my survival instinct felt like it was sending me a warning.

Like it might threaten my life if I drink any more of the Philosopher’s Stone?

Thus, I casually suggested to Maurice,

“Why don’t you give it a try too? You’ve helped me out a lot in the meantime.”

This guy was my assistant, who supported me so I could focus on writing.

He certainly deserved at least a share of the Philosopher’s Stone as a token of appreciation.

But unexpectedly, Maurice flatly refused.

“No thanks. I like how I am right now. I have no desire to change into something other than this by taking a potion.”

“Hmmm, is that so?”

Thinking about it, he had a pretty strong sense of self-worth since forever.

His mind was positive, so there was never a dull moment when I was around him.

Though it was somewhat annoying like a privileged rich kid’s snobbery, I decided not to press him further.

Still, there’s no rush to dispose of the leftovers.

‘Someday, I’m sure it’ll come in handy.’

I opened the drawer and stored the remaining Philosopher’s Stone.

And just as I was locking it tightly with a key so no one could open it,

“Waaahk-!!”

Suddenly, I heard a loud cheer from the dorm hallway.

It sounded like a clamor that could rival a full-blown war.

What’s going on? Are those Academy students drunkenly starting a pillow fight again?

Young students often forget their manners and make a ruckus when inebriated.

I was about to nonchalantly brush it off as just another one of those situations.

“Anyone who’s seen Phantom’s work, come out! We’re starting the Rating War now!!”

“… Huh?”

What war?

“An oath! From today, we refuse to be called Bronde students, as we are no better than those barbarians with no aesthetic sense!”

“Waaahk! It’s war! Let’s show those noobs the bitter taste of the extreme!”

“… So what’s the situation here exactly?”

On the balcony of the tall dormitory, I leaned against the railing and asked, and Maurice gave a dry laugh before explaining.

“You know that dialogue script you just released?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“After reading it, the students were so impressed that they set up a public critique board. They wanted to analyze and evaluate its true value through deeper insights rather than just consuming culture. I think they called it Spoiled Melon?”

… Spoiled Melon, what is that? Is it the isekai version of Rotten Tomatoes?

Seriously, what a bunch of oddballs in this Academy. When did they come up with that?

“But during the critique process, conflicts arose over differing opinions, which escalated into a competition, and then turned into emotional fights, leading them to start rating terrorizing one another.”

“Rating terrorism?”

“At first, they manipulated scores collectively on the board. Boosting their favorite works while dragging down the scores of others. But just like how a long tail gets stepped on, they all got caught…”

“Yeah, yeah. No need for more explanation; I get it.”

With a chuckle, I leaned my head over the balcony.

It was already past sunset, with a full moon rising in the evening sky at 8 PM.

In the Academy courtyard, illuminated by magical lights, the crowd was busy growling as they split into three groups.

A red flag with a laurel crown drawn on it.
A blue flag painted with a turtle ship.
And a green flag depicting a staff.

Students had picked their sides, glaring at each other as if they were on the verge of a brawl while making a commotion.

---