"Haah, this is killing me. Seriously."
I massaged the stiff back of my neck and leaned back against the chair in my office.
Ink stains and crumpled scraps of paper were strewn across the desk like a battlefield.
"I seriously need a tablet."
The theme I had chosen this time was "maids."
And naturally, the core of a maid was the maid outfit.
The problem was that maid outfits were delicate work that required quite a lot of brushwork.
Which meant that with the low-grade paper in the House of Viscount Ash, detailed expression was difficult no matter what.
"At this rate, even making more than ten copies will be hard."
Ten copies wouldn’t earn me much money.
In truth, even with my previous work, I had barely managed to squeeze out the maximum profit with just twenty copies.
At first, I secretly released only two copies to test the market’s reaction.
The result? The concept of an "erotic comic with illustrations," something this other world had never seen before, was a shock in itself, and the secret errand-runners of nobles desperate to obtain the item lined up in the black market.
Once I confirmed that demand had exploded, I began strict supply control.
I gradually raised the price as I released the remaining stock, and the final ten copies were sold through an anonymous auction for the insane price of 500,000 kroner per copy.
Converted into Earth money, that was roughly 500,000 won for a single book.
With that precious, bloodlike money, I had managed to throw a pouch of gold coins in the faces of those merchant-company debt collectors who had been making a scene, demanding I stamp my fingerprint on the territory transfer deed, and successfully defend the door.
'At this rate, I’m going to die of overwork first.'
The biggest problem was "handwork."
This was a medieval Western European fantasy world where modern conveniences like photocopiers or screen tones had no reason to exist.
The process of drawing and duplicating twenty comic books one by one with a pen was agony that drained me to the bone.
And the biggest factor in that was the quality of the paper.
There was no way this beggarly House of Viscount Ash would have proper art paper, was there?
The surface was rough, it tore if I put even a little pressure on the pen, and the ink bled everywhere.
If only the paper quality improved, my work speed would be at least twice as fast, and I felt like I could easily print around fifty copies.
"The problem is money, as always."
Our finances were so bad it wouldn’t be strange if we were out on the street tomorrow.
In a beggar household that didn’t even have money for dinner and had to pick up fallen cabbages from the neighbor’s field to make soup, how was I supposed to buy top-grade parchment or drawing paper?
'I need paper that’s cheap, sturdy, and comes in large quantities.'
As I rested my chin in my hand and pondered, something flashed through my mind.
"Ah, the newspaper!"
That was right.
The morning paper Estelle brought in every morning!
I remembered the quality of the paper in that newspaper, the one that had been cut off after our subscription fee fell overdue and had only just started being delivered again yesterday.
Despite being newsprint made for mass production, its surface was fairly smooth, and the ink didn’t bleed much either.
A newspaper company would handle large rolls of paper, so I might be able to get usable paper at a decent price.
'Come to think of it, Estelle really is strange.'
Her words were as cold as ice, but each and every one of her actions was dignified and elegant, like a noble young lady.
On top of that, she had an extraordinary mind capable of reading even the context of the newspaper and figuring out how the crown prince’s political enemies were being dealt with.
Why on earth was such a perfect maid attached to a beggarly viscount house like this, where her wages were even overdue?
Creak.
Speak of the tiger and it appears—the firmly shut office door opened.
"Young Master. It is time for you to rest. I have brought coffee."
With a calm voice, Estelle entered carrying a tray.
Inside the cup was an extremely weak, watery Americano that looked as though coffee beans had merely brushed past it.
"Thanks."
"... Ngh."
The moment our hands touched, Estelle let out a startled sound and pulled away.
What?
Was it that unpleasant?
When I looked at Estelle, something seemed off.
Normally, she would stand perfectly straight without a single flaw in her posture and look down at me indifferently, but now she was glancing away from my gaze and acting strangely restless.
Sweep, sweep.
With her empty hand, she nervously tugged down the hem of her maid outfit, and eventually even lifted the empty tray in a defensive posture as if to cover her chest.
The breasts peeking out beyond the tray made for a truly excellent arousing point. I should use that.
'No, that’s not it.'
Estelle’s ears were faintly red.
"Estelle? What’s wrong? Are you sick? Your face looks a little red. You seem like you might have a fever too."
It had been a purely innocent question, but lasers shot out of Estelle’s eyes.
Her lips trembled thinly, and between her usual elegant honorific speech, a chilling insult flew out and stabbed into me.
"Young Master... you truly are irredeemable trash."
"...What?"
"Or perhaps a pervert not even worth redeeming. Hmph!"
As if there was no longer any value in speaking, she turned her head away.
Her words were cold, but her ears were bright red.
'... Hmm.'
Is it that day?
Let’s be considerate.
Anyway, there was something I wanted to ask.
"By the way, Estelle, that morning paper you read every morning. Where is the newspaper company located? I was thinking of going there myself."
At my question, Estelle’s movements stopped dead.
Her reddened ears cooled down, and soon a gaze filled with contempt pierced the top of my head.
"Now... do you intend to extend your filthy claws even to the newspaper president’s daughter?"
"What?"
"Are you planning to use class as an excuse to do something to a commoner girl... Have you finally decided to degenerate into a perverted, sadistic beast of the back alleys?"
"I’m not! I just need some paper, so I’m going there to buy it!"
Just what kind of eyes does she see me with?!
◆
Daily Calliora, a small press located on the outskirts of the House of Viscount Ash’s territory.
Lydia, the acting president who was effectively running the newspaper company in place of her elderly father, had recently been suffering from extreme stress.
Lydia was someone with an extraordinary sense of pride in newspaper production.
She used pulp superior to that of any major newspaper in the Empire and had found the optimal paper mixture ratio that prevented ink from bleeding, printing newspapers every morning.
But the foolish readers of the imperial capital had not the slightest interest in paper quality.
The only thing they went wild over was sensational gossip.
And over the past few days, the inquiries pouring into the newspaper company from readers had all converged on one topic.
"Editor-in-chief! Have you heard anything about who that author, 'Extra,' might be?!"
"Please! I’ll pay any amount of money, so please tell me the identity of that great artist!"
Lydia pressed her fingers to her forehead as if her head hurt.
'Extra.'
A mysterious artist who had suddenly appeared like a comet in the back alleys of the capital one day and turned imperial high society upside down.
At first, Lydia had merely thought he was a peddler of vulgar erotic paintings.
However, even renowned nobles deeply versed in the arts were praising the comic’s delicate pen strokes and elegant depiction of the human form, calling it "a masterpiece that would not be out of place hanging in the Imperial Museum of Art."
As a result.
"It has to be a painter. A famous painter must be hiding his name and drawing indecent things."
"Wouldn’t it rather be someone from the religious order?"
"In any case, if we catch him, it’ll be a scoop, a scoop!"
As she sighed while watching the chaotic atmosphere inside the newspaper company—
Jingle.
The bell on the entrance rang.
A cold, sharp-looking man with black hair and gray eyes, but somehow handsome in a pretty-boy sort of way.
And behind him, a head maid with a chilly expression following like a shadow.
Lydia recognized them at once as Ian Ash, the second son of the nearby House of Viscount Ash.
◆
I looked around the modest interior of the newspaper company and couldn’t help admiring it inwardly.
This place, where the smell of ink and pulp mingled together, was far more systematic than I had expected.
In particular, when I discreetly touched the blank rolls stacked on one side before printing, the smoothness of the surface and the firmness of the texture were on a completely different level from the trash paper shoved into our house’s garbage bin.
'Good. With this texture, the nib won’t catch, and the ink should absorb beautifully.'
As I was fiddling with the paper and smacking my lips, a woman with ink on her cheek approached me. She seemed to be the acting president who ran the newspaper company.
"Welcome, Lord Ian Ash. I am Lydia, the acting president. What brings you to our newspaper company? Could it be... that you too have come because you are curious about the identity of 'Extra,' the author of The Saintess’s Unspeakable Secret?"
At the all-too-familiar pen name and title that popped out of her mouth, my heart dropped.
"Do you see? Even the commoners of the Empire have already seen through your perverted, wicked intentions, Young Master. You should be ashamed."
"I told you it’s not that!"
After desperately waving my hands at Estelle, I looked at the acting president and smiled awkwardly.
"Hahaha, Extra? Do you have some kind of information?"
"Ah, I’m afraid our newspaper company knows absolutely nothing about that author’s identity either. There have been so many inquiries lately that I asked."
"Is that... Extra really that famous? No, are that many people looking for him?"
At my question, the acting president shuddered and nodded.
"Don’t even get me started! Among the nobles, he’s being revered as a once-in-a-century genius painter, but on the religious order’s side, believers are coming in by the truckload insisting he be caught immediately and brought before the imperial court for blasphemy!"
Cold sweat trickled down my back.
I suppressed the urge to pack my things and flee in the middle of the night right this instant, and took a deep breath.
Stay calm.
As long as my identity isn’t exposed, it’s fine.
Fortunately, she was reacting so thoroughly in a businesslike manner that she didn’t seem to dream I was the author himself.
"I-I see. I have no interest in such a heinous criminal. The reason I came today is actually... because of paper."
"Pardon? Paper?"
I pointed to the stack of blank paper I had touched earlier and said,
"I was impressed while looking at the newspaper delivered every day. The pulp blend is excellent, and the ink absorption is first-rate. I was surprised that there was a newspaper company using paper of such fine quality. So, about that... I would like to purchase a large quantity of paper cut to book size."
"Ah..."
"B-But I’m a little short on money right now... If you have any waste paper or leftover scraps, perhaps at a low price..."
I did have money I had earned as Extra, but after paying off the family debt and taking care of Estelle’s overdue wages, every coin counted.
I tried to negotiate with the most pitiful expression I could manage.
But at that moment—
"You! Under! Stand! It!!!!"
The acting president rushed at me like a madwoman.