Chapter Text
"Exit Enter, pursued by a bear."
—William Shakespeare, The Winter's Tale
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For the twelfth time that hour, Atsuko shuffled the papers in front of her. The ink characters swam before her eyes; she hardly recognized her own handwriting. She subtly wiped her palms on her plain cotton yukata. Across from her, the editor from the publishing house sipped her tea leisurely.
After what seemed to be an eternity, the editor, Tsubasa, set the last page of Atsuko’s manuscript down.
“It’s certainly interesting,” she said, enigmatically.
Atsuko wanted to throttle the smirk off of her face.
“Thank you,” she said instead. “...I think.”
Tsubasa chuckled. “Yes, certainly interesting. Whether or not it’s worth publishing—let me ask you this, Nakamura-chan. Why do you want to publish this book?”
Atsuko gulped. Every rehearsed answer flew straight from her mind. How did one justify publishing Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing in a world where Shakespeare didn’t exist?
“Well,” she said, “the language isn’t complicated. It’ll appeal to many audiences because of that. And—” think, think, “—it can be adapted easily into a wide variety of other media. Like a live-action play.”
“Yes, yes,” Tsubasa said, waving her hand. “But I could do that with any other book already in our warehouse. Why should I care about this one?”
Atsuko frowned. Licked her lips. Took a deep breath.
“...to be honest, there’s nothing revolutionary about this story. It doesn’t have some deep philosophical meaning. It’s just a funny story to make people laugh.”
Atsuko straightened her back, leaning in toward the editor.
“But is that such a bad goal? In the world we live in, we’re here one minute and gone the next. I’d like to have a little more fun along the way.”
There was a pause as Tsubasa sipped deeply from her cup. Damnit, woman, stop torturing her!
Then, she smirked.
“Such a bold statement from a pretty young girl, Atsuko-chan. I like your style. Let’s talk royalties.”
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Three months later, Atsuko was traipsing home from work. The D-rank of the day had seen her ankle-deep in mud as she deepened the trenches around Konoha’s walls. The rainy season had washed all sorts of silt into any available gap, ditch, and hole. The Genin Corps were the backbone of Konoha, her ass.
Unfortunately, her fear of dying a terrible death at the hands of an enemy shinobi far outweighed her fear of physical labor. But was it too much to ask for paved roads?
There was something poking out of her mailbox. Sandals squelching in spectacular fashion, she stomped up the steps of her apartment complex and fished a stack of envelopes out of her assigned box. Climbing up to her second-story room, she tossed the envelopes onto her kotatsu as she flopped onto a cushion, exhausted.
Paused.
Sat back up to look closer at the top one.
The Yamaki Publishing House’s fox-shaped seal winked prettily at her.
She tore open the envelope with hands that were definitely steady, not shaking, thank you very much. Then her jaw dropped.
Two thousand advance copies. On shelves in bookstores across Fire Country. Today.
Atsuko leapt up with a shriek of excitement. Fuck the Genin Corps! Fuck Shakespeare! She did this all by herself!
She tugged her sandals back on, grabbing her wallet. This called for celebratory dango.
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Of course, it wasn’t all that easy. The advance that Atsuko received would be the only payment she’d see for months; the Yamaki Publishing House could only promise royalties if at least half of their stock sold.
It would be okay, Atsuko told herself. If this one didn't work, Shakespeare had 38 other plays to choose from.
Life went on. Which, for Atsuko, meant the D-ranks kept rolling in.
As a career genin, she had no specialties to rely on. Average ninjutsu, abysmal taijutsu, passed graduation on the strength of her language and math skills alone. Barely pulled together the Academy Three. Failed her jounin-sensei test, some would say purposefully, and shuffled happily into the Genin Corps. She’d lived paycheck-to-paycheck once before; she could do it again.
Slogging through what was essentially a mundane nine-to-five laborer job left a girl with plenty of time to herself, however. In her boredom, she found herself transcribing and translating half-remembered stories that she’d loved so much the first time around.
Once she’d accumulated a bookshelf full of scripts with nothing to do with them, inspiration had struck one day.
If the likes of Shakespeare and Austen and Dante didn’t exist in this magic alternate universe, Atsuko would gladly stand on their shoulders and pave the way for real, good literature in the Elemental Nations. Icha Icha could kiss her ass.
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“Nakamura’s novel isn’t anything we haven’t seen before. Romantic intrigue between noble clans, devious rumors for political gain, a miraculous ending; it’s a tried-and-true formula. Where Nakamura truly shines is in the realness of her characters. Lovable, amusing, and good people at their core—these are people I’d sit down and eat a meal with. Packaged in a delightful comedy, Much Ado About Nothing isn’t a debut novel to sneeze at.”
—The Konoha Daily
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Six months after the initial publishing date of Much Ado About Nothing , the Yamaki Publishing House announced a three-book deal with up-and-coming author Nakamura Atsuko. Having gained modest acclaim for her first book, Atsuko decided that it was safe to continue publishing Shakespeare.
In another six short months, she’d hand-written Twelfth Night , tweaking it appropriately to fit her new audience’s tastes. She’d be remiss if she didn’t play up the cross-dressing and homoeroticism for her own amusement. Take that, weirdly feudal Japanese ninja society.
As it turned out, feudal Japanese ninja society loved it.
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“We’ve all read books about poor peasant girls disguising themselves as men to escape their station, who are swept off their feet by handsome daimyos. But what happens when we take that scenario to its logical conclusion? Nakamura answers that question by taking the tired tropes of the romance genre and flipping them on their head. Kanade’s plight is as funny as it is sympathetic. A masterful interpretation of the love triangle by this young author.”
- Kunoichi’s Digest
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Even with the success of Twelfth Night, it wasn’t until Atsuko’s third (plagiarized) novel that she truly made it big. It took some convincing on her part to talk Tsubasa into letting her switch genres.
“It’s only your third book, Nakamura-chan,” Tsubasa said, once again sipping at her tea. By now, the teahouse had started offering them a private booth for their business meetings. Anything for that sweet, sweet Yamaki money.
“You shouldn’t challenge your readers too much,” Tsubasa continued. “They’re only just getting to know you, and they’re eating up your poor orphan background for now. Don’t alienate them.”
“I understand,” Atsuko said, “but I truly feel strongly about this story. Besides, it’s still a romance.”
‘It’ being Atsuko’s answer to Romeo and Juliet —which she’d translated to Imoseyama . Star-crossed lovers Kenji and Yui took the stage instead of Romeo and Juliet, but she’d kept everything else about the original script consistent. Forced apart by their feuding clans, the two young lovers committed seppuku together at the end.
“That’s true,” Tsubasa said, “but do you think your audience will take kindly to such a pointed message?”
“I trust them,” Atsuko nodded firmly. “Although comedies are good to keep your spirits up, one mustn’t become immune to their emotions. Even the negative ones.”
“Such a grown-up answer,” Tsubasa sighed. “Can’t you act more like a teenager? I thought that would be the fun part about signing you.”
“I’m already fifteen,” Atsuko said, pouting.
“That’s hardly anything.”
Typically, Atsuko would agree. What kind of village sent twelve-year-olds off to die for their dictatorship? Unfortunately, Atsuko wasn’t really fifteen, and she’d forgotten how much puberty sucked.
“I know what I’m doing, Yamaki-san. Please, trust me.”
The publishing house’s heiress covered her mouth as she laughed at Atsuko.
“You know what? I already took a gamble on you in the first place. Sure, let’s give this one a go.”
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“A triumphant affirmation of love over hate.”
— Grass Country Observer
“Shifting masterfully from comedy to tragedy, Nakamura tackles existentialism with an unmatched rawness. You can’t help but root for Kenji and Yui, despite knowing exactly how this type of story always ends. What a treat.”
— Konoha Daily
“Where will Nakamura go from here? This is a once-in-a-generation talent.”
— The Will of Fire Weekly
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Atsuko once again found herself sweating nervously as she sat across from someone much more powerful than herself.
This time, it was the Hokage.
“These are some wonderful novels you’ve written, Nakamura-chan,” the old man smiled at her, puffing on his pipe. She resisted the urge to tell him about lung cancer.
“Thank you, Hokage-sama,” she said, steadily.
“What is a bright young mind like yourself doing in the Genin Corps? Surely you could have risen in the ranks by now,” he said. His tone was kind, which set Atsuko’s teeth on edge.
She should’ve used a pen name. Why was she publishing everything with her full government name?! In a government that wanted nothing more than to send her off to die? Next thing you know, Atsuko was going to have her credit stolen, too.
“My apologies, Hokage-sama,” she said stiffly. “Unfortunately, my strengths simply aren't a fit for the shinobi skills we were taught in the Academy. After I failed my jounin-sensei test, and with a lack of sponsorship, I had nowhere else to turn.”
“I understand completely,” the Hokage said. “It’s a shame that our system is built to let young people like you fall through the cracks.”
She gulped her tea to hide the face she made at his words.
“However,” he continued, “I’m happy to say that there are other options for you, now. The Intelligence Division has had a recent opening. With your skill in prose and observation, you’d be a great fit—especially for the cryptology department.”
“Really?” Atsuko couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “How exactly does a romance author make a good spy? Hokage-sama,” she tacked on hastily.
The old man chuckled. “You’d be surprised, Nakamura-chan,” he said. “I think you’d enjoy learning about everything you could be doing to serve your village with your set of skills.”
Atsuko bit back a grimace. Not much of a choice, it seemed.
“I—I’d be honored,” she managed.
“Wonderful. Report to Intelligence Headquarters at 0700 hours sharp tomorrow. You’ll meet your new sensei then.”