“Hey, lighten up. Anyone would think you’re at a funeral.”

 

Maurice chuckled, taking a sip of his steaming herbal tea. He flashed me a mischievous grin and teased, “The whole school is buzzing about it, you know? Every student, regardless of their status, is talking about <Admiral Lee>.”

 

<Admiral Lee>

 

The localized name for Admiral Yi Sun-sin, adapted to this otherworldly setting, and also the title of the play.

 

The whole thing was set up under the premise of events taking place in a far eastern country.

 

‘It’s fortunate that Orientalism is prevalent in this world too.’

 

Turquerie, Chinoiserie, Japonesque… These were all examples of how Westerners romanticized Eastern cultures. Orientalism was a trend that fetishized the mystique and otherness of the East, often from a Western-centric perspective.

 

The Holy Empire had a similar fascination with the Orient, so I decided to exploit it.

 

As a result, the historical accuracy of the costumes was slightly off, and the names were subtly altered, but these were necessary changes to cater to the audience’s expectations.

 

Just like in Puccini’s masterpiece opera ‘Turandot,’ although set in China, it featured bizarre, incomprehensible names like Emperor Altoum and Princess Turandot, which bore no resemblance to actual Chinese names.

 

However, I found it hard to be genuinely happy about this success.

 

Because it was a bit too successful.

 

“Whoa, you know about Admiral Lee too? It’s soooooo good!”

 

“What? I haven’t seen it yet, is Admiral Lee really that thrilling? Isn’t it just another common play?”

 

“What? You haven’t seen Admiral Lee yet? Which cave have you been living in?”

 

“Common play? Get lost. I won’t waste my breath on an uncultured swine like you.”

 

Everywhere I went, I was bombarded with talk about <Admiral Lee>. Whether it was in the hallways, in class, or even back in the dormitory, it was all anyone could talk about.

 

I was starting to get a little sick of hearing about “Lee” this and “Lee” that.

 

The truth is, if it had been moderately successful, I might have boasted and revealed my identity. It would have been a way to show up those arrogant theater troupe members.

 

But at this level of success, revealing my identity had become a heavy burden.

 

“The naval battle scene! Wasn’t it amazing?”

 

“I got goosebumps when they deployed the Crane Wing Formation! Crushing the enemy’s spirit with a single decisive victory! So cool!”

 

“And when that ironclad turtle ship appeared? The playwright who wrote Admiral Lee is a god!”

 

Ah, the Battle of Hansan Island.

 

It must have been around the midpoint of the play. I had submitted my script to one of the biggest, most prestigious theater companies in the capital.

 

Their theater was equipped with all sorts of magical contraptions, and it was large enough to even stage mock naval battles, having once been used as a coliseum. Yi Sun-sin’s exploits were brought to life on a grand scale.

 

Of course, adapting Admiral Yi Sun-sin’s life into a play required some compression and creative liberties.

 

For example, to streamline the narrative, I had to either omit or summarize most of the naval battles, aside from the Battle of Hansan Island and the Battle of Myeongnyang.

 

The Battle of Okpo, the Battle of Sacheon, the Battle of Dangpo, the Battle of Angolpo… If I had included all of them, the play would have gone on forever.

 

Additionally, many key figures related to the Imjin War had to be inevitably cut.

 

Won Gyun, Ryu Seong-ryong, Todo Takatora… These were key figures in Yi Sun-sin’s story. But I decided that focusing on just a handful of essential characters would create a more compelling narrative.

 

“Ugh, damn that traitorous wretch Warken! I almost got cancer watching that bastard!”

 

“That scum destroyed Admiral Lee’s entire invincible fleet! Even that amazing turtle ship! I nearly cried when the turtle ship sank!”

 

“He was always scheming against Admiral Lee, stealing credit for his victories, strutting around like he was some kind of genius, when he was completely incompetent! The actor did such a good job portraying him that it made me even angrier!”

 

“But it was so satisfying when he finally died! Even the enemy commander was disgusted by him. Haha.”

 

Ah, the Battle of Chilchonryang.

 

It pained me to write about the utter destruction of the Joseon navy, which I had so dearly nurtured.

 

Oh, by the way, Warken is the localized version of Won Gyun.

 

I recreated him as an even more infuriating character than in actual history to rile up the audience; his incompetence, vile personality, and unscrupulous ambition were amplified by several hundred times.

 

But when he died, I gave the audience a moment of catharsis.

 

In my version, he begged the enemy commander for mercy, promising to betray his country in exchange for his life. But the enemy commander, disgusted by his groveling, unleashed a torrent of insults before finally executing him.

 

In reality, Won Gyun simply disappeared after the Battle of Chilchonryang. No one knew whether he was dead or alive.

 

But since I was already rewriting history, I figured I might as well give him a dramatic send-off.

 

After all, I was the writer. I could take certain liberties, right?

 

“Hey, Balthazar.”

 

Maurice, who had been sipping his tea quietly, asked in a curious tone, “Is that really all there is to Admiral Lee’s story?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“It just… ended so abruptly. I get that he defeated 133 enemy ships with only 12 ships, but what happened after that? It didn’t feel like the right place to end the story.”

 

He was talking about the Battle of Myeongnyang.

 

In reality, there were 13 ships when you include the one Panokseon that joined later, and even more when you count the scouting vessels, but for dramatic purposes, I kept it to exactly 12 ships.

 

But how did he know?

 

How did he know there was another major event after the Battle of Myeongnyang?

 

“It’s not just me, you know?” Maurice shrugged, a smug look on his face.

 

“Most of the students are hoping for a sequel. Everyone agrees that Admiral Lee was fantastic, but the ending felt a bit… unresolved. It’s the only flaw.”

 

“I-Is that so?”

 

The script I wrote for <Admiral Lee> ended with the Battle of Myeongnyang.

 

It was my first attempt at playwriting, so I struggled with pacing. And I had deliberately chosen to go with a happier ending rather than a sad one.

 

The Battle of Noryang, considered one of Admiral Yi Sun-sin’s three greatest victories, alongside Hansan Island and Myeongnyang, was a bittersweet victory. It was the battle where the admiral was killed in action.

 

I’m unsure if I left the ending vague or if the true historical events felt familiar to this world’s people.

 

But what matters is, those who watched <Admiral Lee> guessed there was more to the story.

 

“Well, I did have something in mind…”

 

“You do? I knew it!”

 

Why is he getting so excited? I thought, staring at him in bewilderment.

 

We had been friends practically since birth, but I had never seen him this enthusiastic about anything. He looked like a child unwrapping a Christmas present from Santa Claus.

 

He was practically glowing with the thrill of having discovered a hidden treasure.

 

“Sigh, fine. I did have something, but I was planning to scrap it.”

 

“What? Why? Why would you do that?”

 

“…Why are you so disappointed?”

 

With all due respect to Maurice, I was completely serious.

 

Plays weren’t like movies or TV shows that imply sequels with ‘To be continued.’

 

A play should have a complete structure with a beginning, middle, and an end.

 

If the audience felt that the story was incomplete, it meant that the play had failed.

 

And to release a sequel now, with expectations so high? Especially since the next chapter of the story was a tragic one?

 

No, thank you. My post-graduation plans involved kicking back and enjoying my life as a nobleman. I wasn’t interested in adding any more stress to my plate.

 

Seeing my resolute expression, Maurice changed the subject.

 

“A protest? What for?”

 

“What else could it be for? A protest to demand a sequel to Admiral Lee. People get really mad when a story cuts off suddenly. They’re all planning to gather in front of the theater with signs.”

 

It’s not like this is some weekly serial novel…

 

Marching to a theater and demanding the next installment of a play? What kind of nonsense was that?

 

“If you don’t believe me, just look around. Can’t you see how worked up everyone is?”

 

Seeing my incredulous expression, Maurice gestured towards a group of academy students huddled together, their faces grim with determination.

 

“Everyone! If our suspicions are correct, this is an outrageous act of tyranny on the part of the theater! To dangle the story of Admiral Lee before our eyes, only to cut it off at the most crucial moment! Such cruelty is unheard of!”

 

“That’s right! I haven’t slept in three days because I’m so desperate to know what happens next!”

 

“I’ve lost my appetite! Look! My wrists are as thin as twigs!”

 

“You losing some weight might actually be a good th—”

 

“Shut up!”

 

Oh, how pathetic. Birds of a feather flock together.

 

It was a parade of childishness that made me laugh, but as Maurice said, I couldn’t just ignore it.

 

The Imperial Bronde Academy was a prestigious institution, a gathering place for the Empire’s most talented individuals.

 

If these students continued to protest, it could escalate into a serious problem.

 

“And you’re so clueless that you probably don’t even know about this,” Maurice smirked, shaking his head at my nonchalance. He dropped a bombshell.

 

“Even His Highness, Prince Wolfgang, has been staying up all night, eagerly awaiting the sequel to Admiral Lee.”

 

“What?”

 

“If you pretend you don’t know about this, you’ll be accused of treason! I won’t be responsible if the royal guards come to drag you away later. You know how the Emperor, the Empress, and young Princess adore him, right?”

 

…Damn it.

 

“Fine. Fine, I get it.”

 

I’ll write it. Happy?

 

This goddamn monarchy…

 

— End of Chapter —