Chapter 203
Chapter 203
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 203
Chapter Title: Delivering the Samples
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"A bit short?"
While I trimmed the interlining for the brim and shaped it...
"I-it's done..."
"We've finished ours too."
"Huh?"
Our little apprentices brought me the finished products before they even started eating.
It had taken a little over two hours, so it wasn't impossible, but that was something only a seasoned tailor like me could pull off.
Not something kids who'd been learning for less than half a year should manage.
That said, there was no way they'd half-assed it...
Well, I'd know once I checked.
I slipped on the loupe I'd stashed in the corner of my workbench.
When I make clothes myself, any flaws or mistakes jump out at me at a glance, but weirdly, they don't when I'm checking someone else's work.
That's why I bought one to teach our apprentices, even though I don't use it myself while working.
When I mentioned getting a loupe, Lady Panny got all excited, saying, "My magnifying glass buddy club just got a new member!" But then she was super disappointed when she saw I never actually used it for work.
Come to think of it, shouldn't she have recommended it to Young Lord Herbert first, instead of me?
...Nah, that guy's got to fix his eyesight first.
I've watched him for months now, and I'm still curious how he even sees where he's going.
Does he navigate by faith, like a pumpkin bee flying on pure belief?
Sounds kinda saintly when I put it that way. Pretty cool.
"...William?"
With the loupe on and just sitting there spacing out, Elin shook my shoulder.
"Oh, sorry. Let me take a look..."
I snapped out of it, shoved thoughts of Herbert turning into a saint to the back of my mind, and inspected each of the apprentices' results on the workbench one by one.
"Hmm~"
They'd worked fast, but hadn't cut corners.
Elin's was flawless—no complaints.
Measurements spot-on, clean cuts, even stitching, and seams finished neatly so they wouldn't show on the outside.
If I had to nitpick, maybe she left too much scrap fabric?
But we're not exactly saving a fortune by skimping on 10cm of fabric, so that was really stretching it.
The other two didn't have any major issues either.
First time in a real project, so they were nervous—double-stitched in spots or had slightly uneven gaps—but nothing critical.
The kind of mistakes no one notices unless it's for an obsessive client or a super high-end piece like a wedding dress.
Of course, if Walter did that, I'd rip every thread out in front of him.
Adelaide's direct disciple, planning to make his living sewing? He'd be practicing on an empty stomach.
But Wirgen and Oliver are patternmakers, so a light warning is enough.
"Good job. The patterns and measurements are wrapped up nicely, but your sewing still has some slips—like over-stitching here or gaps there."
"Ah... what an idiot..."
"Ugh! How did I miss that?"
I marked the mistakes and poked at them with my pencil, and Oliver and Wirgen scrunched their noses, lightly tugging at their hair in frustration.
Just two or three spots per piece. A bit more focus, and they'd have been perfect. Must sting that they fell short.
I was the same when I first practiced.
"Take these to Walter and ask him to fix the spots I marked. Get some sewing advice from him too."
"Yes, sir."
"Sure thing~"
I handed back the capes and scarves, pointing to Walter in the corner, and the two bolted over like it was a race.
"Walter!"
"Wh-what...?"
Startled by them thrusting clothes at him and calling his name, Walter shrank into his chair like a startled shrimp.
Love that enthusiasm.
Here's hoping they keep that fire burning.
"Um, what about me...? Anything?"
"Elin's perfect—no notes. Sewing? You were great from the start. Fabric cutting and finishing? No flaws now. Easy pieces like this? I could probably hand them off to you solo."
"R-really...? Hehe, hehehe... hehe..."
Pure praise lit up Elin's eyes wide. She ducked her head, fiddled with her flushed ears, and let out a goofy giggle.
"Heh."
I gave her head a light pat.
Our little ones are just too cute.
Keep growing like this, strong and steady.
Fame and work? I'll fetch plenty.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Basking in our rookies' growth, I made minor final touches and wrote up an instruction manual.
Random manual out of nowhere? Bureaucrats love everything in triplicate on paper.
Show up without forms? "Please bring the paperwork." No record? "It's not in the files." Argue all you want, you'll just hear, "So, per the manual..."
And they'll bug me every time something's unclear.
So I prep in advance: suitable fabrics and colors, patterns. Hand that to the workshop handling production—no more hassles for me.
I poured heart into a 20-page guide, neatly packed it in a basket, and waited for Viscount Fletcher.
"Baron Howard, here to pick up the samples."
True to schedule, he showed up an hour before closing, right on the edge of evening.
No set time, but cutting it this close? He must've doubted we could really do it in two days.
I get it.
Most ateliers have maybe ten staff, two or three patternmakers tops—including apprentices.
What folks don't know: our setup's wildly unbalanced.
Thanks to Adelaide, we've got seven patternmakers.
Four without apprentices—and normally, you'd need thirty staff for that.
Two days? With provided fabric?
Impossible, right?
"Ah, Viscount Fletcher. Been waiting."
So I flashed a triumphant smile and welcomed him warmly.
Subtly ribbing him for the late arrival, I handed over the hefty basket. His eyes twitched, locked on it.
"Work kept me. Hope it's not an inconvenience?"
"You made it during business hours—what inconvenience? Let's check the goods in the break room."
"Right."
Leading him confidently, his face brightened.
This reaction before even seeing them? Can't wait for the real show—my heart's pounding.
"Emily, black tea please."
"Yes."
I asked Emily for tea, sat at the table, and slid the basket to the viscount.
"Take your time inspecting. Any changes? Just say—we'll accommodate."
"Got it."
He opened the lid while listening, peeked inside, and his brows twitched as he met my eyes.
"Lots of clothes in here?"
"Made men's and women's versions."
"What...?!"
Startled, he pulled items from the basket.
"This can't be..."
"Kept it simple for mass production. No fancy techniques or tricky curves. Hats and stockings by me—the rest, my apprentices chipped in."
"Hah..."
Checking the cape as I explained, he sighed, staring into the basket with a dazed look.
"Unbelievable. If I hadn't seen it myself, I'd call it a lie. Thought only mages were monsters—turns out the real ones are here."
"All thanks to my talented staff."
"Gathering talent like that? That's skill. No wonder 'popularity' is a ruler's virtue."
"You're too kind."
I didn't say it, but yeah, I know.
Flying Dutchman needs a captain—like this crazy crew needs a crazy boss.
(Ignore that the boss is a baron and the subordinate's an imperial princess.)
"Baron, what's this stack of papers?"
"Instruction manual. Tips for that pattern—fabrics, colors, layouts. Show it to the production workshop."
"Hah, even this? Ever thought of civil service? You'd excel."
"No interest."
I flatly shook my head.
Am I nuts? Civil servant? I'd rather farm.
Even running the atelier now, I'm hounded by His Majesty and the palace. Legally making them my underlings as a bureaucrat? Who knows what they'd do.
Power and fame? Sure. But everything else—poof.
Especially freedom. Freedom. Freedom.
Dad's packed schedule scared me straight.
"Oh."
Reading my resolve, Viscount Fletcher smacked his lips and scratched his head.
For a split second, he'd imagined me as his subordinate.
"How are the clothes?"
His eyes lit up like a grad student spotting a promising undergrad. I swiftly changed the subject.
"From my view? All good. With this manual, we'll discuss internally first."
"Understood. Need to talk? Drop by anytime—me or Elizabeth are usually free weekdays."
"Yes."
He smiled, grabbing the basket.
"Baron, really no interest in office? A baron's got a shot at minister."
"......"
I narrowed my eyes at him, then swept a hand over my face and glanced at Emily.
"Emily, see the guest out."
"Yes."
"Well then..."
With a blatant send-off, I bolted from the break room.
Lifetime slave? Never.