"Speak slowly—I’m listening," Glenn replied, his expression composed and unreadable.

  The balding man drew several breaths before continuing. "Sir, I know this was deeply discourteous to any writer, yet I still hope to earn your forgiveness. Those days when I went to look for you, you were never home. And since your story was spreading like wildfire, we were terrified another publisher would seize the opportunity first. That was why I made that presumptuous decision. I truly apologize for the offense I caused. We are willing to offer any compensation within our power—please, do not hold ill will toward our publishing house."

  His humility genuinely surprised Glenn, though a moment’s thought made everything clear. He now enjoyed a measure of fame and bore the title of "author." Housebound readers surely followed his work already, and any company capable of printing and distributing books nationwide had no desire to offend him.

  "Tell me about the compensation first," Glenn said coolly.

  "Yes, sir. Let’s speak inside."

  The balding man led him into what resembled an office, though the floor and desks were drowning beneath piles of paper and documents.

  Once they were seated, the man began, "For authors who submit work to us normally, once the book is released they receive sixty percent of the revenue. Of course, your case is special, so we are willing to offer you seventy percent."

  Sixty percent? Authors in this world were surprisingly well-treated. Though marveling internally, Glenn opened his mouth like a lion’s maw: "Ninety percent. Give me that."

  The man’s face froze; words fled him entirely.

  Seeing this, Glenn went on, "These profits were never yours to begin with. You were in the wrong from the start—I’m merely claiming what belongs to me. Do remember that, sir."

  "But we invested many resources as well... If you take that much, we won’t have much left to earn..." the man said, nearly in tears.

  "That is precisely why I’m asking for ninety percent. I am a very petty man. When I learned what you’d done, I was furious. The only reason I haven’t stormed through your offices is because I restrained myself. Otherwise, you and I would be meeting in court instead."

  "Sir, this really makes things difficult... Could you not—"

  "No. I’ve made myself clear—I am petty. If you cannot make the decision, fetch someone who can. Or we pursue this legally. In that case, I might end up taking even more."

  Silence filled the room. Clearly, the balding man had never handled anything like this—and in this situation, his side held no moral ground at all.

  Just then, the door swung open and a gaunt man strode inside. He had been listening outside the whole time—Glenn knew this—and his entrance surprised no one.

  "There is something you must understand, sir," the newcomer declared, his tone sharp as a blade. "The world is not absolutely fair."

  "Mr. Senboli, I can handle—"

  The balding man rose, but the newcomer silenced him with a raised hand.

  "And what counsel do you wish to offer?" Glenn asked, his voice as placid as before.

  The gaunt man seated himself behind a desk piled with documents, moving with deliberate calm.

  Half-lidded eyes fixed upon Glenn. "I apologize for our discourtesy, and we are willing to compensate you. But that does not justify your outrageous demand. Yes, you have gained some notoriety. But few have actually seen your face. There are countless men named Glenn in this world. Even if we end up in court, we... have ways to make another Glenn the 'author.'"

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Silence settled. Glenn did not respond. Tension hung heavy in the cramped office. The balding man stood aside, wanting to speak up but abandoning the attempt each time his courage failed him.

  Then—

  A soft chuckle escaped Glenn’s lips, startling the gaunt man enough for his brows to twitch.

  "You believe that because I appear to have no backing, you can mould me as you please?" Glenn asked lightly. "Then you are sorely mistaken."

  He snapped his fingers. A small flame leapt alive atop his fingertip.

  Both men blanched.

  "You— you are a mage?!"

  If Glenn were a high-level mage, matters were about to become dire for them.

  The gaunt man’s pupils widened, his rigid posture softening.

  Glenn watched their expressions with faint amusement. "I am... a First-Circle mage."

  Hearing this, the gaunt man’s crushed hope flickered weakly back to life. A First-Circle mage ranked only marginally above commoners. Without influential backing, the publisher still had a chance to salvage some profit.

  But Glenn seemed intent on playing with them. He added casually, "However, my teacher is a Fifth-Circle mage."

  All hope died in the man’s eyes. He lurched to his feet and nearly stumbled toward Glenn, bowing deeply.

  "I... I apologize, sir. My earlier tone was unacceptable. We will agree to all of your demands!"

  Glenn smiled. "See? That wasn’t so difficult."

  ...

  Leaving the headquarters of White Bird Publishing, Glenn stopped first in town to purchase food and tools for wilderness travel. According to the Kingdom of Zehn’s maps, very few towns lay between Bartsey and Lyons City, so proper preparation was essential.

  The royalties from White Bird would take time to consolidate before being delivered to him. But Glenn held no fear of being cheated—the mixture of reverence and dread in their eyes made it clear how exalted high-circle mages were in this world.

  While shopping, he saw several people driving steam-cars—each dressed fashionably, each seated atop a roaring contraption of steel that drew the gaze of every passerby.

  The appearance of these vehicles differed greatly from the automobiles of Glenn’s previous life.

  They were smaller, shaped somewhat like an oversized shoe; the seats rested at the shoe’s opening and allowed only two passengers. The front engine took up most of the vehicle’s body, with two chimney-like pipes jutting from the hood and exhaling plumes of white steam.

  Oddly enough, Glenn found the aesthetic rather charming. He resolved to acquire one someday, simply for the fun of it.

  Once he left the city, he traveled along the royal road for three days until the silhouette of Lyons City finally rose on the horizon.

  By coincidence, he spotted the same mercenary band that had once detained Dani and her child.

  Even more coincidental—the old man was among them, and appeared to be their leader.

  Those four burly mercenary captains stood before him like chastened schoolboys.

  Glenn’s sharp eyes spotted them long before they noticed him. They recognized him only after he had walked a fair distance closer.