Chapter 17~THE GREATEST PIECE OF FICTION
In the original story louise got almost kicked out of his family until a flying fatty flatten him
Huh
If House Casper was going to discard me, it wouldn’t be after I was broken, humiliated, or conveniently dead. I needed to cut ties before the story reached that page.
There was just one problem.
I am broke
Really broke
No money I could use without permission. No name I could leverage without consequences. No skillset that translated neatly into coin inside a medieval magic academy.
I needed to earn.
The question was how?
Maybe make onthol like that guy
But i was not an engineer student
Use modern knowledge?
I paused.
…What modern knowledge?
I didn’t know how to build a phone.
Couldn’t make a gun.
Couldn’t even explain electricity without
embarrassing myself.
I knew nothing.
Literally nothing useful.
Then a thought crept in.
Slow. Unreasonable. Dangerous.
Writing.
I could do that.
I took a sheet of paper and a pen, hesitated for a second, then began to write.
Wealth.
Fame.
Power.
The man who had acquired everything this world had to offer
The Pirate King
left it all behind at one place.
I stared at the words.
Then I smiled.
Ooh.
I was writing the greatest fiction ever written.
And in this world?
There were no copyright issues.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE]
Host... what are you doing?
Analyzing text...
Warning: These 'Devil Fruits' violate several fundamental laws of Mana-Biology.
In a world where nobles spent thousands of gold pieces on "elegant" poetry about flowers and clouds, the story of a boy in a straw hat was going to hit like a high-pressure jet
.
I finished the first three chapters. My hand ached, but I looked at the pile of paper with more hope than I’d felt since the duel.
I didn't need a family name. I needed a pen name.
"System," I said, leaning back. "Find me the most popular student-run newsletter or bulletin in the Academy. We’re going to leak a 'legend.'"
[SYSTEM MESSAGE]
Source found: 'The Erynthia Ledger.'
Current top story: 'Theo Brandis's Arm - A Medical Mystery.'
Note: Your story has a 94% chance of causing a localized obsession among the student body.
"Good," I smiled. "Let's see what can a rubber man do in this accadamy
I didn't just hand the manuscript over. That would be a rookie mistake. A "Plumber" knows that you don't just dump water into a pipe; you build up the pressure first.
I spent the next few hours duplicating the first chapter with a transcription spell—burning through my meager mana pool until my arm throbbed
I left ten copies in the most high-traffic, "low-prestige" areas: the laundry rooms, the back of the library, and near the training hall's water basins.
No author name. No House seal. Just the hook.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE]
Pressure Building...
Distribution complete. The 'Great Pirate Age' virus has been introduced to the Erynthia ecosystem.
Prediction: First 'fanboy' expected in 3... 2... 1...
The Morning After Chaos in the Hall
When Lucen and I walked into the Great Hall the next morning, the "Math" of the room had changed.
The whispers weren't about my duel with Theo. At least, not all of them.
"Have you seen it?" a third-year student hissed, leaning over a table. "The parchment found in the bathhouse.
'Inherited Will, The Destiny of the Age, and The Dreams of the People.'"
"It’s a hoax," another replied, though he was holding a crumpled piece of paper under the table. "A man made of rubber? It’s mana-biologically impossible. And yet... the way he talks about freedom..."
Lucen nudged me as we took our seats. He looked more confused than usual. "Louis, why is everyone talking about fruit? Is there a shortage?"
"Just a trend, big guy," I muttered, digging into my porridge. "People get bored of poetry. They want adventure."
My eyes flicked toward the central hearth.
Elena von Hestia was holding a piece of paper. It was one of mine. Her expression remained a mask of cool indifference, but she was reading slowly
much slower than she usually did with Academy reports.
Beside her, Aria Asteron was actually leaning over, trying to see the page.
"That's the one,"
Aria said, her voice carrying just enough for me to hear. "The 'Pirate King.' It’s crude writing, Elena. The syntax is... energetic. But the concept of a 'Grand Line'... it’s a fascinating spatial theory."
Elena didn't look up. "It’s a distraction, Aria. Someone is trying to shift the focus of the Academy."
She looked directly at me. I didn't flinch. I just took a bite of my toast.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE]
Critical Alert: The Apex Predator is curious.
Monetization Opportunity: 100%.
Would you like the System to calculate a 'Subscription Model' for the next chapter?
The "Wingman" Move
I leaned toward Lucen. "Hey, Lucen. You know how you're broke and I'm cut off?"
He grunted, his eyes still darting toward Aria.
"I have a job for you. A 'Symmetry' job," I whispered. "I need you to be my distributor. We sell the next chapter. One silver coin per copy. We start with the mid-tier nobles who are desperate for entertainment."
Lucen looked at me like I’d suggested we juggle fireballs. "You want me to sell... stories? Like a street peddler?"
"Not a peddler," I corrected, grinning. "An information broker. Think about it. If Aria wants the next chapter, who's she going to have to talk to?"
Lucen froze. His brain the war machine began calculating. I could practically see the gears turning.
"I... suppose I could facilitate the exchange," he muttered, his posture suddenly very straight. "For the sake of our training budget."
"That's my boy," I said, patting his shoulder.
Lunch was different. The "Pirate Age" virus had reached a fever pitch. Students were skipping their mana-theory homework to debate whether the "Grand Line" was a hidden leyline or a physical location.
I stayed at the table, blending into the background, while Lucen stood by the courtyard pillar the designated 'drop point.' He looked less like an information broker and more like he was waiting to execute a political assassination.
I watched from a distance as a few mid-tier students approached him, exchanged silver coins for folded parchment, and scurried away like they were buying forbidden dark arts.
Then, the air in the courtyard seemed to sharpen.
Aria Asteron walked toward him. She didn't have her daggers out, but her presence was just as cutting. Lucen went rigid. If he stood any straighter, his spine was going to snap.
"Gray," Aria said, her voice like a cool breeze over a fire. "I’m told you’re the one managing the... circulation."
Lucen swallowed. I saw his hand twitch—the one holding the last copy of Chapter 4.
"It is a matter of resource management," Lucen grunted, his voice dropping an octave into his 'serious soldier' tone. "The demand for the narrative of the Straw Hat is high. The supply is limited."
Aria tilted her head, her silver eyes scanning his face. "Efficiency. I respect that. However, I find the concept of 'Gomu Gomu' to be a paradox.
If the body becomes rubber, the mana circuits should lose their grounding. How does he maintain his internal pressure?"
Lucen looked back at me for a split second. I gave him a thumbs up. Wingman mode: Engage.
"He doesn't maintain it," Lucen replied, remembering the 'math' I’d coached him on. "He... he uses the elasticity to increase the pressure. Like a piston. It’s not about grounding; it’s about kinetic storage."
Aria paused. A small, genuine spark of interest lit up her eyes. "Kinetic storage. That’s... actually a viable theory for fire-shaping. I hadn't considered the body as a flexible vessel."
She reached out, her fingers brushing against Lucen’s as she took the parchment. I saw Lucen’s brain go into a total system reboot.
"Keep the silver, Gray," she said, turning away. "Consider it an investment in the next volume. Your 'logic' is almost as stable as your footwork
Lucen didn’t speak for a while after that.
We walked side by side across the courtyard, the noise of the Academy flowing around us.
His posture was the same as always straight back, steady steps, eyes forward.
Too forward.
“So,” I said casually. “How was your… investment meeting?”
No response.
I glanced at him. His jaw was clenched. His ears were still faintly red.
Oh. This was serious.
“She… acknowledged my explanation,” Lucen said at last.
“Mm-hmm.”
“And she did not immediately refute it.”
“High praise.”
He exhaled, slow and controlled.
“When she took the parchment… my heartbeat became irregular.”
I stopped walking.
“…Lucen,” I said carefully, “are you telling me you felt—”
“It was not fear,” he said quickly. “Nor combat readiness.”
I resumed walking, biting back a grin. “Uh-huh.”
“There was… pressure,”
he continued, clearly choosing his words like stepping through a minefield. “In my chest. And my stomach. An unstable sensation.”
Butterflies.
Actual butterflies.
The war machine was experiencing a critical system anomaly.
“I could not maintain optimal breathing rhythm for approximately six seconds,” he added. “This concerns me.
I laughed.
Not loudly. Not mockingly.
Just enough.
“That,” I said, clapping him lightly on the shoulder, “was not a system failure.”
He frowned. “Then what was it?”
I leaned in, lowering my voice. “That was your heart realizing it exists.”
Lucen stopped again.
“…That seems inefficient.”
“Welcome to humanity.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, he spoke again
“…Thank you.”
I blinked. “For what?”
“For positioning me,” he said, eyes still forward. “For the explanation. For not speaking in my place.”
He hesitated, then added, quieter, “I would not have known what to say.”
He nodded once.
“…She called my logic stable.”
“She absolutely did.”
“And my footwork.”
“Career-defining compliment.”
His ears turned red again.
