Just like that, I was officially in charge of writing the script for our play. However, the second I sat down to start writing, I regretted my decision.
Oh my god, I’m so stupiiiiid!!!
I’d been desperate to avoid playing the leading role so I wouldn’t end up doing the same thing as the Ekaterina from the game, but why had I agreed to write a script of all things?!
I wanted to punch myself for believing that being in charge of the script would be easy, and I could just casually adapt the story of Momotaro to this world for us to perform!
I couldn’t do that! Especially since we were doing a musical!
Our class had two students who’d been summoned by the God of Music and were currently the center of everyone’s attention: Olga and Renato. People wouldn’t be satisfied if we didn’t include Olga’s singing and Renato’s playing in our performance. Actually, I was people. Even if the others accepted it, I couldn’t approve of such a waste of talent. I wanted everyone to hear them!
However, that made writing a script that much harder... I had to figure out what song I wanted Olga to sing and somehow work it into the story.
Obviously, I didn’t have the skill set to write a song that would fit into the play from scratch. All I could do was use songs I already knew, which greatly restricted my options.
Besides, since I had the chance to make Olga sing anything I wanted, there was something I really wanted her to try... When I’d heard her at our musical evening, the first thing that came to mind had been that she was the Susan Boyle of this world. I couldn’t help but wonder what she’d sound like if she performed the song that had made her famous.
I’m sure she’d sound divine...
But how do I make that work with Momotaro?!
If not Momotaro, what story could I go with? The Susan Boyle song had been from a musical, but that was a grand play with a deep story—definitely not the sort amateurs could pull off at a school festival. The play’s historical backdrop was also a bit of an issue. The empire was an absolute monarchy, so performing a play set during a revolution was a tad...
Yeah, no, it’s totally impossible!
Come to think of it, Victor Hugo—the author of the original story—had been the driving force behind the Berne Convention, the international agreement that established copyright law. Back when I’d first learned about intellectual property, I’d been so surprised to hear his name that I’d looked it up. Apparently, Hugo wasn’t just a literary giant; he’d also been deeply involved with politics.
In Japan, the closest historical figure I could think of was Saijou Yaso. He was famous for his poetry—especially “Canary,” a poem about a bird that forgot its song—and had written lyrics for some of the biggest hits of the Showa era, like “Soshuu Yakyoku” and “Aoi Sanmyaku.” He’d also been a British literature professor and served as the chairman of the predecessor to JASRAC, the organization that managed copyright in Japan. He’d worked tirelessly to raise awareness of authors’ rights, or so I’d read in his biography, and...
Oops, I’m escaping from reality again.
I need to keep myself on track to unleash the full potential of Momotaro!
The popular cell phone commercials had proven that Momotaro could be anything. His possibilities were endless.
I can do this! I can make Marina play the monkey in the action scenes. She’s so athletic, I’m sure she’ll pull them off adorably.
Wait. There’s another story where I could have her as the monkey. Journey to the West—with Sun Wukong!
That actually sounded easier to adapt to this world.
All right, change of plans!
That was quick, but didn’t Momotaro always advise us to change plans quickly because it was more advantageous? In the ads, of course.
Who should I pick as Sha Wujing, the kappa, and Zhu Bajie, the pig? Actually, maybe I should cast Tang Sanzang first?
And what do I do about the song?!
“My lady.”
Aaaah!
I jumped at Mina’s voice and almost threw my silk duvet to the floor.
It was past the dormitory lights-out. I should’ve been asleep, but I’d gotten so focused on the script that I’d completely forgotten to try.
“If you can’t sleep, would you like some warm milk?” Mina asked, her expression flat as she watched me from the doorway to my bedroom.
I hadn’t heard her open the door. Actually, how had she known I wasn’t asleep with the door closed?! It was so mysterious. Although, really, I should have been used to Mina’s fearsome abilities by now. Surely my battle maid could sense people’s presence and breathing.
I considered feigning sleep, but there was no way Mina wouldn’t see right through me, so I gave up and freed my head from under the covers.
“I’m sorry for worrying you, Mina. My mind was on the festival and I couldn’t find sleep. You can go back to bed. Don’t worry about me.”
“You’re trying too hard,” Mina said. “You often make the extraordinary look effortless, my lady—but even you can’t always perform miracles. If anyone gives you a hard time for not putting in one hundred percent at all times, I’ll make them disappear for you.”
Her tone was monotone, but the gleam in her eyes told me she was serious.
Oh, boy, we’re back for another episode of That Time My Beautiful Maid Almost Became a Murderer.
Despite the horrific vision that ran through my mind, I couldn’t stop myself from smiling.
“No one’s said anything or given me a hard time. I just do all this because it brings me joy. Still, I shouldn’t have made you think I was in trouble. I also promised my brother not to overdo it, so I’ll go to sleep now. Thank you, Mina.”
I’d messed up. If I didn’t sleep, Mina couldn’t sleep either. I couldn’t believe I’d been blind to such a blatant case of overwork so close to me.
I really need to do something about Mina’s ridiculous working hours.
I drank the milk Mina had brought me and lay back in bed. Then, I closed my eyes and fell asleep almost immediately.
Despite my suffering behind the scenes, my script gradually took shape.
After forcibly cramming the song that had made Susan Boyle famous into the play, my version of Journey to the West had become a tad, well, unique. But I’d decided that was fine.
In my version, Tang Sanzang, the Buddhist monk, had been replaced by a traveling saint believed to have existed in this world. She was a woman who, according to the legend, had visited many countries to help people. She was said to have been a real person, though the tales recounted her living for a ridiculously long time. Depending on the region, she had different names: Estelle in some, Anemoni in others. Personally, my theory was that several women had been conflated into one over the years.
Since the lead of the play was a saint, Flora was likely to get the role. Regardless, I intended to insist the part go to her. Tang Sanzang absolutely had to be played by a beautiful girl. That was an ironclad rule in my previous world!
But why?
Now that I thought about it, it was pretty weird to insist on casting a beautiful actress only to shave her head. Maybe the tradition had stuck because that was the way they’d done it in the famous Journey to the West drama that’d aired during the Showa era, and it had been a huge hit. The actress who’d played the role of Tang Sanzang had sadly passed away at a young age, but she’d been absolutely breathtaking.
There were plenty of odd customs like that. For instance, Okita Souji—the first unit captain in the Shinsengumi—was always a pretty boy in shows and movies. I’d heard it was because a very pretty boy had played him during the Showa era. Maybe that was true.