Chapter 37
Chapter 37
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 37
Chapter Title: Sera Wigo's Visit
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Time flew by until late July, when the sweltering heat was at its peak.
In Renten, the capital's bustling commercial district.
At the end of the street lined with designer boutiques flaunting their flashy signs stood the modest little shop of Madam Becky.
[Blanc de Ruby]
Madam Becky, the shop's owner, gazed at the storefront from outside, her expression somber as she let out a sigh, lost in memories sparked by the newly installed, eye-catching sign.
It had been about a month ago.
* * *
That day, tailor Madam Becky had visited the ducal residence at the summons of her loyal client, Duchess Rubette.
Rubette, who was always timid and quiet, seemed utterly different that day for some reason.
"I've got a lot to talk about today."
She'd opened with a bright smile.
"You might think it's out of the blue, Becky, but I'm truly grateful that you always make my clothes without ever showing a hint of annoyance, no matter how often I call on you."
"Huh? What are you talking about, Duchess? There's no greater honor for me than dressing you."
Becky flailed her hands in genuine fluster.
"You know how it is, right? No one wants to make dresses for me."
"Oh..."
Becky scratched her cheek, at a loss for words.
It was true. The capital was full of renowned tailors known as "big names," but Rubette had never worn anything from them.
The prestige of the wearer directly influenced the value of the garment—and by extension, the tailor who made it and their brand.
Naturally, those elite tailors clamored to dress the socialites who turned heads in high society.
Rubette had noticed long ago that they shunned orders from someone fat and unpopular like her, so she'd stuck exclusively with Becky.
"What if you get famous someday and pretend you don't know me, Becky?"
"..."
Her question stung Becky's heart.
*How hurt she must feel...*
Becky carefully chose her words to spare Rubette's feelings.
"Duchess."
"Yes?"
"I'm just a mediocre tailor who'll probably never get famous anyway, but if some miracle happened and I did... I'd rather become so huge that just anyone couldn't commission me anymore."
"Oh? More ambitious than I thought?"
"Not really. I just want to keep making dresses for you, my Rubette Duchess, in peace. Haven't you heard about Madam Susan?"
Becky cupped her hand over her mouth and whispered conspiratorially.
"The Pelkan lady spent a whole week nitpicking a commissioned dress, finally took it home, then threw it over Susan's head because she didn't like it—and hurled insults on top of it."
"Goodness, what a temperament."
"Exactly. I thought tailoring was just about sewing, not emotional labor too."
Becky shook her head, then beamed.
"What's the point of Madam Susan being famous and raking in cash? I'm not jealous at all. My client is sweet and kind, nothing like hers."
Rubette paused for a beat, then broke into a radiant smile.
"Thanks for saying that, Becky."
"Heh heh... Anyway, I don't dream of fame. I just want enough orders to scrape by, quietly making clothes I love."
For some reason, Rubette snorted at Becky's modest wish.
"Hmm, we'll see about that. I get not wanting the hassle and exhaustion, but life's short, right? At least my name—"
She chuckled, tapping her temple with her index finger.
"—ought to be etched into people's minds, don't you think?"
"...Pardon?"
"Let's skip the half-hearted tailor life you want, Becky. That'd just be tiring for nothing. If we're going famous, let's go all the way."
"What do you...?"
Smiling at Becky's puzzled tilt of the head, Rubette crossed her arms confidently, more assured than anyone.
"I'll make you a tailor so renowned that just anyone can't commission you."
* * *
Snapping out of the memory, Becky stared blankly at the mannequins displayed in the shop window.
"Let's make a deal. I'll handle the designs. You become my exclusive tailor and make only my designs."
Rubette had dangled terms like she was afraid to lose out on a top-tier talent.
First, she'd bought the rundown building outright for 200 million marks.
"Now I'm the landlord."
And for Becky, who'd been paying 650,000 marks a month in rent to the previous owner,
"No more rent from now on."
She'd made it possible to run the place rent-free, no less.
"Three-year contract. Revenue split 50-50. I'll pay 30 million marks signing bonus upfront, plus 20 million advance. The signing bonus is all yours; the advance gets deducted from future earnings."
All Becky had to do was sew, yet she was getting a bonus rivaling her annual income, plus half the sales—and even then,
"Think of the advance as investment capital. You're hesitant about selling new designs, right? Even if it flops, you've got 20 million marks secured—nice and reassuring, yeah?"
To ease Becky's doubts, she'd guaranteed a safety net.
What could she say? It felt like royal treatment.
Beyond the money, the earnest need for an unknown tailor like her was touching. Becky signed on the spot.
Rubette's eyes brimmed with unshakable confidence, as if failure was inconceivable.
...But!
*Duchess... what do we do? I think we're done for.*
Becky clutched her face, face twisting in despair as she stared beyond the window.
The mannequins wore summer short-sleeve dresses—Rubette's designs.
Lace minimized to accents at the cuffs.
The bodice plain and elegant, highlighting a unique, sophisticated neckline.
No bulky pads on shoulders or hips for a clean, refined silhouette.
*I was stunned at first. So luxurious and stylish. Never knew the Duchess had this talent.*
But.
*New and unique designs don't sell for a reason.*
It veered far from current trends: lace overload, massive shoulder pads, bold ribbon details drawing eyes to the front for maximum flair.
Customers accustomed to the familiar rarely ventured into the new.
No matter how great Rubette's designs, if they didn't sell, they didn't sell.
Bzzz—
A fly buzzed mockingly before Becky's eyes.
"Whoa! Where'd this fly come from...?"
A young boy's hand shot out in front of her, snatching it.
It was her little brother, Orlando.
"Heh heh, sis. Why the death glare outside? Sun's brutal—come in."
"Uh-huh..."
Becky felt ashamed facing her brother.
Truth was, she had three even younger siblings below Orlando. Tailoring income alone couldn't support them all.
So Orlando rose before dawn daily for chimney sweeps and paper routes at strangers' homes.
Her kind brother always said:
"You'll shine someday, sis! So don't worry—just make the clothes you love!"
*But I lack talent. When will that shine ever come?*
Sighing as she stepped inside, Becky knew her design sense was lacking. That's why Rubette's bold "I'll design!" pitch had tempted her...
*But Duchess, what now?*
Surveying the fly-ridden shop, Becky's chest tightened.
*Since we hung her designs, even the curious browsers vanished. Nine days since swapping mannequins—no customers at all.*
Disaster. Utter ruin.
*But today, the Duchess said she'd send a customer.*
Just the other day, Rubette had stopped by to check the shop. Even seeing the ghost town, she'd shrugged it off.
"Tomorrow, a VIP's coming. Big shot, so treat her well. Oh, I'll handle payment—fit her for free."
"Pardon? Make clothes for her gratis?"
"Yeah. New designs make people hesitate. Someone prominent has to wear them first to make an impression on buyers."
In short, dress the guest for free as promotion.
Smart idea, but Becky held zero hope.
*Duchess, sorry, but these bold designs miles from trend...*
She shook her head at the mannequin's back.
*Unless a star like Sera Wigo parades them around the capital, it's hopeless...*
Then—
The moment Orlando plopped down in a corner after cleaning outside, the shop door burst open.
"S-S-Sis!"
Orlando, who'd been outside, rushed in wildly excited.
"What? What's wrong?"
"N-N-N-Now...!"
"What is it? Calm down and speak."
"Can't calm! Right now, outside, th-th-there's someone!"
Irritated by his stammering, Becky frowned—then a carriage pulled up behind him.
Whinny—
"Whoa there!"
A fine, upscale carriage.
*What's this?*
As Becky wondered, two sharply dressed men alighted first, escorting the woman who followed.
The lady in the wide-brimmed hat had her parasol unfurled instantly by the men as she approached the shop.
Click-clack.
The harsh sunlight and hat hid her face, but her slender figure and height drew Becky's eyes instantly.
*Ah, the VIP the Duchess mentioned?*
Becky scrambled up to greet her, still staring.
As the woman stepped inside and removed her hat—
"......!"
Becky's eyes nearly popped out.
"Wh-what... what..."
Was there anyone in the capital—man, woman, child—who wouldn't know that face?
"S-S-S-Sera Wigo...?"
Yes, Sera Wigo.
The capital's superstar actress, golden locks swaying dramatically, cocked her head.
"Is this [Blanc de Ruby]? Madam Becky's atelier?"
Even a casual nod seemed angelic.
"S-S-Sera, Wi..."
Orlando, recovering first in Becky's stupor, shouted energetically.
"Yes! This is Madam Becky's [Blanc de Ruby]!"
"Glad I found it."
Sera extended a hand to Becky.
"Heard you're a skilled tailor. I'd like you to make my dresses."
"Huh? M-M-Me? Me make yours? For Sera?"
"Yes."
Sera smiled softly, adding,
"Exclusively from now on."
"......"
A stunned silence.
"Oh dear! Are you all right, Madam Becky?"
The unknown tailor, overwhelmed by joy, fainted dead away in bliss.