episode_0023

“Hehehe.”

Diana quietly smiles as she reads the reply that arrived a while ago.

Phantom’s own well-being, difficulties encountered while working on his art, and other things.

She muttered quietly as she followed the dense writing on the paper.

“He was a man with a pretty cute side.”

Letters that they started exchanging occasionally after the cosplay competition.

It started out as a joke, but now the communication itself has become quite enjoyable.

It’s become a habit to count down the days until I get a reply after finishing my day.

… … Of course, there was another purpose to reading Phantom’s letter in detail.

“I thought he was a healthy young master of a martial arts family, but his writing style is so delicate. Is it because he writes so beautifully that he is also good at writing plays?”

A playwright’s letter written in a round and meticulous handwriting.

Diana narrowed her lime green eyes, carefully studying each word.

People who mainly train in martial arts tend to neglect the details of literature.

Even the royal knights didn’t really make an effort to write beautifully as long as it didn’t harm readability, did they?

Taking this into account, the list of candidates for the great writer Phantom was narrowed down even further.

A 1st or 2nd year cadet who is so serious about martial arts training that calluses form on his palms, and who writes sentences beautifully enough to be identified.

“I am glad that you are feeling better, Your Majesty. Weren’t you feeling a bit down due to the uproar over the urgent news in the capital?”

At her side, the person who always delivers letters asks cautiously.

At this, Diana put the letter she was reading down on the table with a pitiful sneer.

“What about low pressure? That’s an exaggeration. That’s what you call ‘slightly annoying’, Franz.”

“Is that so? No matter how I look at it, it seems like you were in a very uncomfortable mood at that time… … ”

“Shut up.”

“Yep.”

This time, Diana sealed the mouth of her close aide in a cheeky manner.

In her mind, a newspaper headline she had received from her subordinate a while ago came to mind.

A large article about Saint Beatrice recommending the great writer Phantom as a candidate for the ‘Warrior of the Pen’.

Of course, it is none of her business who the saint recommends as a candidate for warrior.

Because the task of selecting a candidate to become a warrior was a privilege open only to high-ranking officials of the Vatican.

Nevertheless, the fact that the target was the playwright Phantom.

So, somehow, the fact that he was a special man that even the princess herself had not yet completely captured made her feel subtly uncomfortable.

‘When have I ever felt like this?’

A feeling that is clearly unfamiliar, yet somehow familiar.

After much thought, Diana finally remembered where it came from.

A feeling I had for a moment when I gave up my favorite doll to my newborn younger brother during my immature childhood.

It was a sense of deprivation that I had never felt since I grew up, a feeling that I only felt when someone else took what I wanted without my permission.

“Ugh.”

Saint Beatrice, La.

On this day, Princess Diana was offended by the saint for some unknown reason.

“Okay! This is complete!”

A draft written over several days, squeezing in spare time.

Putting it down, I wiped the sweat off my forehead with relief.

The reason I chose Socrates to write my drama about was simple.

A dialogue written by Plato, a disciple of Socrates, recording his teacher’s life and philosophical thoughts.

Isn’t it considered the origin of the genre called the legé drama in the literary world?

‘In the first place, Socrates never left behind any writings of his own.’

He believed that relying on letters for memory would impair one’s thinking and intelligence.

I believed that the moment words are put into writing, the context of the words is lost and their true meaning is lost.

Therefore, the actions and thoughts of Socrates had to be thoroughly discussed by his disciples.

Also known as Dialoghi.

A form very similar to dramatic literature, in which the dialogues between Socrates and countless other people of his time were recorded in detail.

“Read it first, Maurice. I’ll do some more proofreading before publishing, though.”

“Oh? I guess this time it’s set in ancient times like Julius Caesar? I see a democratic city-state called Athens and a primitive polytheism that mistakes spirits for divine beings.”

“Well, I guess so.”

We tried to dramatize as much as possible the parts that would be uncomfortable for people from another world to see, but for the parts that were difficult to dramatize, we just brushed them off by saying, “It’s because it’s an ancient country.”

Socrates was a philosopher born in Athens who lived to reform Athens.

Because without the democratic/polytheistic background of Athens, his essence cannot be properly realized.

For example, like the first scene that opens the prologue of .

“Hey! The introduction is quite interesting, Balthazar?”

Maurice’s eyes sparkle as he turns the pages.

He looks at me sideways and asks me in a subtle tone.

“I went to the temple of Delphi and received an oracle, and there is no one in Athens wiser than the main character, Socrates? Hehehe, is this main character a genius who defeats his enemies with his wisdom?”

“Well.”

I’m not very interested in philosophy, but I was so intrigued by the records related to Socrates that I read and reread them.

Compared to other rigid and dry philosophical books, Plato’s writings were definitely as smooth and enjoyable as a play.

… … Of course, even so, it was impossible to reproduce all of Plato’s 25 dialogues.

‘Because a book of philosophy is something that is profound and has a mysterious depth to it.’

I am neither Plato, who was a disciple of Socrates, nor a professional philosopher.

Therefore, it is absurd to say that all records about him are 100% accurate, or that they are perfectly resurrected.

So instead of the classic method of just copying the dialogue, I chose a better alternative.

This is a theatrical re-creation of the figure of Socrates, a great man whom I, an individual named Ha Eun-seong, remembered and respected in my previous life.

“… … Hey. Is this really how it’s supposed to go?”

A question from my friend who had been flipping through the pages for a while.

“Why? It doesn’t look that good?”

“No, that’s not it, what should I say… … ”

Maurice, who can’t get what he wants to say out loud, just fiddling with his lower jaw.

The guy who had been thinking for a long time finally opened his mouth as if he remembered something.

“Isn’t it so ambiguous? It’s just people talking to each other, and the content of the conversation is just the main character constantly nitpicking. If you keep nitpicking like this, who can say you know anything properly?”

“That’s right. That was the point from the beginning.”

“Huh?”

The that I reconstructed is closer to a general education lecture than a play.

A selection of Plato’s early dialogues, which best show the life of his teacher.

Weave these together like warp and weft to create one story.

The structure adopted was to actively utilize narration and provide footnotes on his thoughts and personality to aid understanding.

And, in fact, Socrates’ philosophy does not assert a specific ‘doctrine’.

If we had to name it, it would be close to the idea of ‘letting others do philosophy on their own’.

“Read to the end and ponder Socrates’ questions and answers for yourself. Then you will see something different.”

Socrates never specifically said that he was asserting anything.

He never said that he had any knowledge or that he was trying to teach anything.

What he pursued was the so-called wisdom of ignorance.

The only truth that Socrates consistently preached was the idea that ‘I actually know nothing’.

The key was to guide the listeners away from superficial and subjective ‘wisdom’ and toward truer knowledge.

“Tsk. Okay, I get it.”

Maurice twisted his lips slightly at my ambiguous answer and replied.

“First, read it all the way through. It’s not someone else’s script, it’s yours, Balthazar.”

So, page after page, and then the next page.

Maurice continued to read quietly, turning the pages one by one.

And as the content goes on and on.

“Um… … ”

The somewhat discontented expression at first began to soften.

A debate with Protagoras, who preached that man is the measure of all things.

A debate with Gorgias, who asserted the futility of all existence in the world.

A discussion with Charmides on the true meaning of the virtue of temperance.

A discussion with Laches exploring what courage really is.

A discussion with Euthyphro, in which they discuss the true concept of piety… …

… … and finally the contents of the trilogy of , , and , which lead to the trial and death of Socrates.

widely!

“… … ”

Finally, Morris finished reading and closed the script, resting his chin on his hand.

He stood alone, deep in thought, in a pose reminiscent of Auguste Rodin’s sculpture The Thinker.

So I stretched out, put down my pen, and lay down on the bed.

“Ugh. It’s late. Now that you’ve finished reading, let’s go to sleep.”

From groping for knowledge in your head to summarizing it in writing.

Wasn’t the amount of energy poured into this one equivalent to writing three decent scripts?

“Hey. I told you I’m sleeping? Aren’t you sleeping? Morris, Emma?”

“… … ”

Maurice doesn’t move an inch even while the clock is set and the lights are turned off.

He looked very serious, unlike usual, but I didn’t think much of it.

‘If you keep doing that, you’ll probably fall asleep when you get tired.’

With that thought in mind, I buried my head in the pillow and fell into a sweet, deep sleep for the first time in a while.

Ring ring-!!

“Ugh, I’m sleepy… … ”

The noise of the alarm clock ringing loudly, indicating that the night has passed.

Forcing myself to open my eyes as usual, I looked out the window at the dawn slowly breaking.

And I found it.

… … The sight of Maurice sitting motionless all night, continuing to reflect on himself.

“Hey, Maurice? Did you stay up all night?”

“Ah. You’re awake. My precious friend Baltazar.”

A question that is extremely absurd in many ways.

Then Maurice slowly released his thinking posture and looked this way.

“I suddenly wondered. As a nobleman, as the second son of the Marquis de Lavalle, as Julian’s lover, as a man, did I really live up to the right virtues?”

“Huh, what?”

“My eyes have just been opened. The true value of a human being comes from the beauty of the soul within, not the exterior and material. So, I must devote the rest of my youth to making a better soul.”

The expression of a wise man who has realized something important.

The guy said, his eyes shining like morning stars despite his dark circles.

“Thanks to you, I finally realized how ignorant I was. Thank you, Balthazar. My best, most just, and most wise friend.”

Maurice reciting lines from Plato’s Phaedo.

Although I don’t know for sure, it seems that had a big influence on my flow of thought.

As the author of , there was only one answer I could give.

“Did you take some medicine wrong?”

… … Surprisingly, Maurice wasn’t the only one who took the wrong medicine.

Two days after actively utilizing my friend’s connections to contact a publisher and publish ,

Professor Prunel of Imperial Political History, who began his lecture punctually as usual, suddenly declared:

“Today, I, Prunelle Rabize, have something to confess to you, students.”

“Confession?”

“Suddenly?”

The students were groaning and trembling in embarrassment.

This was the first time Professor Prunel, who was always strict and old-fashioned, had shown such a side.

Either way, Professor Prunel let out a deep, watery sigh and told us.

“All my life, I have never doubted that I am a wise and intelligent person. That is why I have lived my life easily looking down on others and not doubting my own excellence. I was the epitome of an arrogant self-proclaimed intellectual.”

Well, I know that too.

Aside from his outstanding achievements in his field of study, Prunel was also notorious as a curmudgeon within Bronde Academy.

But why are you mentioning it again?

“But this one book! It broadened my narrow-minded thinking, scolded my foolishness, and changed me into a new person!”

What he brought out with a single word of reflection was… …

“Huh?!”

… … Shockingly, it was a first edition of with a bald philosopher drawn on the cover.