Chapter 178
Chapter 178
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 178
Chapter Title: Cowboy Dreams and Staff Skepticism
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After spending Emily's birthday as wonderfully as could be, we welcomed the last week of January.
Normally, with no special events, this was the quietest time for the entire empire. But this year, a rather unusual incident turned it into a rowdy spectacle.
It all started at the beginning of the week, when a noble known as the Illy Marquis met his end in a carriage accident.
Carriage accidents weren't uncommon during seasons like winter or summer, when weather easily wrecks the roads. But the victim was a major noble with a big name in the empire's west, and while the coachman emerged unscathed, the marquis alone suffered fatal injuries. Naturally, nobles across the empire took keen interest.
It was so blatantly suspicious—anyone could smell foul play—that on the first day news broke, rumors flew wild: succession struggles, territorial disputes, you name it.
Yet the Illy Marquis house rushed to call it an accident without any investigation and held a slapdash funeral. Once everyone pieced that together, they got the picture and dropped the topic.
Probably, he'd committed some grave offense against a "very exalted someone" powerful enough to pressure even a marquis house that dominated the west. The marquis paid the price with an "accident."
It was downright terrifying.
I vowed to watch my step and avoid such a fate, offered a quick prayer for the Illy Marquis's soul, and brainwashed myself into believing no shady incident had ever happened.
Someone who couldn't stay on the straight and narrow had become a star in the sky—that was that. The living had to keep living. So, I dusted off my artistic soul, which I'd tucked away briefly for Emily's birthday, and turned my eyes to the paper before me.
"Ugh~"
Groaning as I clutched my head, I stoked my slightly cooled creative fire—chilled by the delay—and tried to recapture that blazing moment when it felt like I could do anything.
Freedom. Liberation.
The emotions that hit me hardest in that instant when I'd wrapped up the mess with just a light punishment.
I couldn't pour 100% of that into clothes—Bishop Bianca, who'd only warned me before leaving, would storm back with a scowl. But I wanted to build the concept for my next "borrowed" design around freedom.
Freedom screamed miniskirts, but unless you were an imperial knight—a special case—that was impossible for at least a century. Imperial knights occupied too ambiguous a spot to treat purely as women, and even they only squeezed it into uniforms thanks to His Majesty's tolerance. And those barely reached the knees—not mini at all.
Drop a skirt hugging the upper thigh out of nowhere, and I might get literally cut down.
So, what design could evoke freedom while upholding public morals, avoiding moral decay, and safe enough for Bishop Bianca's approval?
Purely personal take, but cowboys' gear fit the bill.
Cowboys? Out of left field, sure. But forget historically accurate shepherds—the media's wild west outlaws had that vibe: roaming lawless lands, doing whatever they pleased.
Less freedom, more anarchy and indulgence. Still, utterly free-spirited.
And cool as hell.
I rarely cared about men's clothes, but cowboy fits? One of the few I eyed for pure style.
Wide-brim leather hat. Spurs-jangling leather boots. Leg-guarding chaps. Denim jeans.
Revolver holster slung low on thigh or hip, cigar clenched in teeth.
A lone wolf prowling vast deserts and prairies on horseback...
Ugh... pure romance.
The empire's prairies lay north, not west, so local herders or nomads evoked Mongols. Still, wild west allure was non-negotiable.
The original inhabitants might disagree...
Anyway.
Cowboy gear stayed respectable, public-morals-friendly, and free-spirited.
Plus, full spring hit in two months.
As weather warmed, horseback riders and outdoor enthusiasts would multiply.
Time it right, slip this out—decent demand potential.
Perfect for gallivanting on horseback.
Adelaide even wanted to try leatherwork, and with affordable materials, I could offload to the guild if it caught on.
"Denim and leather from Hans Young Lord, spurs for boots from Patrick... shoes... outsource those..."
Deeming it feasible, I muttered to myself and roughly jotted needs and plans on paper.
It diverged a bit from our usual line, so more prep required. But challenges like this were part of the style chase—sincerity incarnate.
I'd embrace it gladly.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "Drafted a new design—thoughts?"
With the blueprint for my freedom-and-style odyssey done, I couldn't wait to share the thrill. So I summoned the staff to the central table for the first time in ages, beaming as I unrolled the pattern and plans.
"“Hmm...”"
After a quiet stretch for various reasons, a sudden new outfit had them skipping questions to scrutinize my creation intently.
"First impression: pretty feral."
"Rough vibe too."
"Leather and denim materials... no clue on intended use."
"Spurs on boots—riding gear?"
"Hmm... Howard Young Lord."
The noble tailor trio tossed out impressions, then meerkat-like, swiveled to me in unison.
"What's this for?"
"Riding clothes. Focused on durability and mobility. Current ones are uncomfortable, right?"
"Hmm... targeting nobles as customers?"
"Yeah. Whaddya think? Not bad, huh?"
My question carried a sliver of hope.
"Umm..."
"Errm..."
"Hmm..."
But I got a triple groan.
As if scripted, they furrowed brows, eyes flicking between me and the sketch. The verdict screamed "nope," deflating me instantly.
"That bad...?"
"If nobles are the target, total flop. Their riding gear's 'uncomfortable' because luxury design trumps all. Push this? Zero interest."
"Leather and denim? Out. Nobles use fine hides—too pricey for rough wear. Denim? Ignored outright."
"Way too wild a flaw. Hunter or herder image over noble—hard to warm to."
"It's that..."
No urge to refute them, but total rejection like this? Overkill.
"Not cool?"
"Cool factor... underwhelming."
"Commoners might dig it, but they don't ride. Tweak the concept?"
"Yeah, for nobles, fold now."
"Even so, one shot couldn't hurt? We've tried wild stuff before."
"Whaa..."
Elizabeth trailed off with a sour face, then shrugged with a cynical smirk.
"William, you're due for a flop anyway."
"Profits can absorb a loss or two."
"Prototype plus ads? Barely a loss. One dress price tops..."
"Why assume doom? Low popularity, sure—but cult following possible."
"Too distant from our clients' tastes."
"Like/dislike aside, not noble aesthetic. Bet unmodified, three sales is a win."
"Pin distant-noble elements, boom—this. Among believable designs, anyway."
"......"
No wiggle room. Heartache central.
They dissected it coffin-nail thorough—posthumous humiliation level.
Even so, "three sales max"? Harsh.
And zero hopeful spin? C'mon.
Ouch. Truly stung.
"I believe in this. Pushing ahead as is."
"Do you."
"Won't stop you."
"Hmph."
I snorted at the trio's apathy, snatched up the pattern and plans.
Style-blind fools. I'd prove it and rub their noses in it.