Chapter 131
Chapter 131
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 131
Chapter Title: Recruitment and a Muff for the Princess
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"There isn't..."
"Me neither..."
"Huh?"
I hadn't even hoped for an immediate yes, but I never expected them to shoot it down without a second thought.
"Why?"
"B-because... we lack confidence..."
"We've never... drawn patterns before..."
"And it's... something nobles do..."
"Ah..."
Confidence issues were par for the course with them, so I could let that slide, but this weird misconception was a problem in all sorts of ways.
Tailoring is nobles' work? In no world is that true.
Unless you're talking about the pinnacle like a duke's personal tailor or a court dressmaker, it's usually something for washed-up nobles far from inheritance or just well-off commoners.
Some stuffy types even draw a line, saying sewing is women's work.
Ours is special—practically like an invite-only event.
They just happened to start here and got the wrong idea.
"Ugh... First off, tailoring isn't nobles' work. It's for people with good hands."
"R-right..."
I corrected the misconception right away.
Their faces screamed "don't lie," but even if it fell on deaf ears, I had to try...
The real issue was how to convince these two who showed zero aptitude.
Kids who won't listen let nothing in, no matter what you say.
"...?"
They acted like frightened rabbits, but their convictions were rock-solid, making persuasion a nightmare.
It took time and ironclad logic to barely succeed.
In other words, practically impossible.
"Haa..."
A sigh escaped me.
This was all because Snowball went to prison too damn early.
I should've prepped during the trip and posted recruitment notices en route, but prison first and cleanup after tangled everything up.
"Sorry to you two, but even if you're not interested, you need to be now."
"...H-huh?"
A twinge of annoyance crept in from the disappointment.
"Truth is, I didn't call you to ask—I called to force you."
"...H-how can you say it so straight...?"
"I don't wanna..."
"But if I order you, what can you do? Five days a week, forty hours, higher pay than anyone else—can you walk away?"
"Eek..."
"Uuu..."
With a meaningful smile like a slave trader revealing his true colors after a not-quite-threat, I looked down at them. Their eyes started to glisten.
Did I go too far with the joke?
"Haha, just kidding."
I quickly softened my expression and lightly patted their heads with a laugh.
To be honest, forcing them wasn't entirely off the table, but that was a last resort.
Like if I got thrown back in prison or His Majesty suddenly dumped some bizarre task on me.
I hate being forced myself, so making others do it looks bad too.
"R-really?"
Even after I called it a joke, they clung to each other with faces full of suspicion.
"Forcing it wouldn't work anyway—efficiency would tank."
I nodded and shrugged.
It was one of my core principles—maybe convictions?—people need sincerity in their work for efficiency and motivation to learn.
If teaching a reluctant kid drags me down and worsens things, better to leave them be.
"But you can feel it lately, right? The tailors are swamped."
"Yes..."
"Planning to hire new help to ease the load, but it'll take time for anyone to pull a full share."
"......"
Drafting and cutting patterns is tough—turning flat into 3D.
Even simple shapes like panties take weeks to learn.
We're not making off-the-rack stuff.
I can provide base patterns, but customizing per person takes brutal practice.
That's for average folks, of course.
Genius cuts that time way down.
"But you two are different. I think you could do it well—that's why I asked if you're interested."
Thriving among monsters proves they're monsters too.
They weren't cowed by the munchkin Adelaide, constantly honing themselves with superior learning speed.
A few months ago, two of them equaled one pro—impressive. Now their sewing matches mine.
Key hands are ready.
Just teach patterns, and simple garments go to them.
Once new hires mature, level them up to tougher pieces.
That builds seniority, perfect apprentice chain with subcontracted training.
Art rewards talent plus effort most, so not always strict hierarchy.
"If you hate it, fine. But at least think it over."
"Y-yes..."
"How much time...?"
Give enough to ponder but tight enough not to overthink.
That yields balanced decisions—not too calculated, not too emotional.
"At least pretend to mull it until next week. Reject if you want. Worst case, I'll hustle recruitment for months."
"N-n-nep..."
Couldn't skip subtle pressure while saying take it easy—gotta hope they step up.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ My eureka-moment patch job was teetering on failure for complicated reasons, but sadly, there was little I could do.
At best, I'd slash lunch and consult time until reinforcements arrived—my desperate scramble.
My tearful hustle was just that: a show.
Now, manpower woes aside, it was time to focus on an event I'd sidelined but suddenly spiked in importance.
Princess Alexandrine's birthday next week.
Normally a quiet affair sandwiched between the Emperor's and the envoys' birthdays.
If she hadn't just become Crown Princess.
Still lower priority, but it was the next Emperor's first public move.
A chance to glimpse her mindset and future path. Plus, her partner for next year's good news remained veiled, ramping up interest beyond past birthdays.
"Guess I should offer a little gift too?"
Riding the hype, I casually asked Elizabeth.
"A gift?"
She furrowed her brow and tilted her head at the question.
"Your parents will handle it perfectly."
"True, but I'm a titled noble now. Feels off leaving it all to Father."
Like getting an allowance after starting a job—awkward.
Parents outshine me, so nothing weird, but it chafed, turning sentimental and moody.
"Hmm... not a bad idea, but with under a week left, isn't it too late?"
"No jewels to offer, so I'll craft something simple. What else can I do besides sewing?"
"If it's your make, it'd be fine... but whipping up something fit for royalty in days isn't easy."
Next week? Four days, really.
Short timeline, sure, but plenty of heartfelt pieces doable quick.
"True, but gloves or a hat would be fast."
"Hmm... If memory serves, my sister rarely wears hats, so gloves are safer. It's old, not certain..."
"Gloves, huh..."
Plain evening gloves felt dull.
"Does she like muffs?"
Winter's here— a muff seemed perfect.
A muff's winter handwarmer: rolled fur cylinder with a hollow center for hands or arms.
Basically like the arm pillow students use for desk naps.
Just fur instead of fabric.
"Not sure about muffs, but she'd love fluffy. She kept a Samoyed glued to her as a kid."
"Samoyed?"
"Yeah."
"Hoo..."
A dog bred by natives beyond the northern plains, near the poles.
Tough even on northern plains with local weather...
Imperials solved it with money?
Samoyed sans AC? Impressive.
"Winter timing makes it a solid pick."
White fluffy fur muff, small enough for both hands—looks good.
If time left, make for staff too.
Stoves help, but drafts freeze fingers.
"Mm... good."
Muff it is!