Amelia Bluewell
Amelia Bluewell
"It's a pleasure to see you again."
The Avengers—no, our territory's artisan task force—had gathered once more.
For the Bluewell Ducal House's commission, I had to summon the artisans again.
If I had my way, I'd just crank something out and send it off, but that would definitely blow up in my face.
'Rupert, are you perhaps insulting House Bluewell?'
If the heroine, who had spoken her mind even in front of the Third Prince, started grilling me about the book's quality, I'd have no answer.
'She really is pretty, though.'
If I'd been transmigrated without knowing The Imperial Family's Youngest Son, her looks might have left me staring in a daze.
Her blue hair and sea-bright sky-blue eyes were an unreal beauty you could never see on Earth.
'So this bastard Rupert did have an eye for women after all.'
It was a face that made it plausible that the original owner of this body, Rupert, had let himself be strung along.
"So this time, we only need to make one volume?"
The artisans, having heard that the Bluewell Ducal House wanted a Cinderella picture book made, assumed they only needed to produce a single copy.
Their expressions looked regretful. Last time, the pay had been good relative to the effort, so they'd probably been happy when I called them.
But once they got here and heard it was only one volume, it must have felt like a letdown.
"No. The book for the ducal house will be made separately, and this time I plan to make about a hundred copies of a simpler version."
At my words, the expressions of everyone gathered changed.
"Master Rupert, did you say a hundred copies? That's truly...."
It was certainly surprising. Last time it had been only ten copies, and now it wasn't double or triple but suddenly ten times that—a hundred.
But since I'd made up my mind to do this, I might as well sweep away all future annoyances in one go.
'Once we hand the book over to the ducal house, it's obviously going to cause another uproar.'
A ducal house's circle of noble acquaintances would be on a completely different level from that of local lords like us.
Then the visits from nobles and merchants we'd just been through would happen again—no, they might multiply several times over.
Rather than let my comfortable otherworld life be ruined, I'd rather mass-produce the books while I'm at it and scatter them around to settle the matter.
"However, the hundred copies being made separately this time will have their quality significantly lowered."
I wasn't just talking about the quality of the materials.
I also had to compromise on the quality of the illustrations.
'I have to draw a different Cinderella for all hundred copies? Even if I brace myself to pull all-nighters for a month, it might not be enough.'
Not only that, but last time I'd gotten carried away and used only top-grade materials.
Honestly, a picture book for children didn't need materials of that caliber, so this time I planned to stop at a reasonable level.
Of course, that didn't mean I'd use cheap materials.
It felt regrettable not to give every child reading the picture book a book made just for them, but this was a part where I had to compromise with reality.
Still, I rationalized it: isn't it better for many children to be happy than for a few children to be extremely happy?
***
"Still, we managed to get sheepskin of decent quality! As long as it's this grade!"
"If it's not Magic-Stone Paper, then Stone-Powder Paper mixed with stone dust doesn't bleed and has good durability."
"As for the thread, it doesn't have to be silk. Wool will do just fine."
Perhaps because they had experience making a book last time, the artisans gathered and discussed among themselves and progressed smoothly without me giving separate instructions.
In the process, many things actually improved. Since children would be looking at it, Magic-Stone Paper was too sharp and could cut them, so they improved that part,
and they applied candle wax to the cover leather for waterproofing, something we hadn't thought of last time.
Last time, when I gave Ada the newly made top-quality Cinderella picture book, she carried it around even at mealtimes and once spilled water on it.
'Nooo!!!'
I hadn't known Ada could make that kind of face.
Considering the trouble I went through because Ada cried with an expression identical to Munch's The Scream, this was necessary work.
"At this level, I'm satisfied."
Since it was work we'd done before, the sample was finished quickly despite various revisions, and now all that remained was to go to the Magic Tower, print the books, and produce the hundred-copy run.
Watching the butler carry the manuscript of the mass-market Cinderella edition, filled with my hard work, to the Magic Tower, I finally felt a bit relieved.
Now only the handmade version for the youngest daughter of the Bluewell Ducal House remained. Since this one couldn't be made as a mass-produced edition, I couldn't rest, so I sat back down at my desk, picked up my pen, and checked the photograph.
'Is this blue hair and sky-blue eyes a trait of House Bluewell?'
The photograph of Evelyn Bluewell, which I'd requested and received from the ducal house, looked exactly like a younger Amelia.
I was supposed to use the original photo as a base and recreate her as Cinderella, but the finished illustration ended up—
'This is literally Amelia Bluewell.'
It was a dead ringer for the heroine, Amelia.
It felt a bit awkward to say, but maybe because the original model was good, it was the most convincing illustration I'd drawn so far.
"Draw Ada with blue hair too!"
Just seeing Ada, who had been watching my drawing, suddenly puff up and grumble was proof that a good model really does make a good drawing.
'You can't have blue hair. You're blonde, so at least you're cute.'
I stroked Ada's hair as she whined for me to draw her with blue hair too, and examined the drawing carefully.
It was because I was worried this might cause an unnecessary misunderstanding.
I worried that if people misunderstood and thought, as in the original, that Rupert had fallen for Amelia and was drawing pictures for her, things might get needlessly complicated.
'Anyway, once I hand over the picture book, there won't be any reason to meet again.'
The Imperial Academy, where the story's events unfolded, did nag at me a little. But anyway, the Third Prince and other male characters would be swarming around her.
Thinking we'd never run into each other, I relaxed and finished drawing Cinderella.
***
"I like my sister the most!"
At Evelyn's words, the Duke of Bluewell made a face that said, What about me? but he was already outside the sisters' field of vision.
It was the Duke who had sent a large reward to House Somerset for making the book, but that wasn't really important to Evelyn.
What mattered to Evelyn was only that her sister, who had personally obtained this Cinderella picture book for her, was the best.
"Want me to read you the picture book?"
"Yeah!"
Had it been about a week since they ordered the book?
'When's the book coming?'
'After our little darling sleeps ten nights?'
'I already slept ten nights!'
Those past days when, told it would take about ten days, she had closed and opened her eyes ten times and then insisted ten nights had passed and demanded to know when the book would arrive.
The book that finally arrived was certainly pretty enough for a child to fall in love with at first sight.
The prince and Cinderella drawn on the cover from the very start.
When Amelia opened the cover and turned a page to read to Evelyn, beautiful colorful illustrations appeared.
"This is...."
"Oh! It's my sister."
The appearance of the protagonist Cinderella from the very first page.
Amelia couldn't hide her surprise at Cinderella's appearance, with the blue hair and sky-blue eyes characteristic of House Bluewell.
There had been many painters who had painted her portrait before, but she had never seen a picture like this.
"What is this painting?! Did the second son of the Somerset Count's House draw you?"
The Duke of Bluewell, who had been glancing over at the sisters' fuss, saw the picture and flew into a rage.
He was already worried about the many good-for-nothings approaching his daughter, and now this man had painted his daughter exactly as she was.
He raged at the top of his lungs that Rupert must be yet another man who had fallen for Amelia.
'Understood. I'll send it to your house once it's ready. It was a pleasure meeting you, my lady.'
Ignoring her father's outburst, Amelia recalled her first meeting with Rupert.
A man so cold that it was hard to believe he had made such a warm, sentimental picture book.
'Was he just nervous?'
To think he had even drawn a picture using her as a model and sent it.
When she thought of Rupert being bashful, even that sharp face of his seemed quite cute.
***
"Master Rupert, if you entrust it to our company!"
"What nonsense. Our company is the best in Borus—"
"We..."
Alain, the butler of House Somerset, suddenly thought that the mansion's reception room had not been empty a single day recently.
After the head of the family, the Count of Somerset, had been swindled and the family's fortunes had declined, the nobles they associated with had stopped visiting, and the only people who came to this reception room had been debt collectors.
Alain turned his head and looked at Rupert, sitting comfortably in the seat of honor on the reception room sofa, drinking tea.
'Master Rupert has changed.'
Alain had looked after Rupert from close by since the day he was born.
Rupert had always been good-natured and loving toward his family, but to put it bluntly, he had never been someone you could call bold.
'If anything, he was closer to timid.'
Especially after the Countess of Somerset, the lady of the house, had passed away, Rupert had shut himself in his room and done nothing but draw.
But after losing consciousness in the riding accident and waking up, he had acted like a different person.
He said his memory was coming and going and asked basic questions, and then he tried to grasp the family's financial situation.
He even sold off the household's books, saying he needed to make a picture book for his younger sister Ada.
And now he had set up a bidding contest among merchants for the right to sell the book he'd made.
"Quiet! Quiet, please. The right to sell the book on consignment will go to the merchant company that bids the highest price per copy."
Rupert took control of the room without hesitation, even amid the shouts of veteran merchants who had been through every kind of deal.
That change in Rupert's demeanor felt unfamiliar, but it also looked like a ray of hope for House Somerset, which otherwise would have slowly declined.
'My lady, was this your doing?'
Alain suddenly remembered the Countess of Somerset, who had died of illness.
The Countess, whose final request had been for Alain to take good care of Rupert and Ada, still a baby at the time.
He had felt uneasy all this time, as if he hadn't kept that promise, but now it seemed it would be all right.