Chapter 240
Chapter 240
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 240
Chapter Title: Clash of the Craftsmen
Despite being a total rookie, I'd earned a somewhat favorable evaluation from the veteran masters, allowing me to claim a seat at their gathering.
Not only did I secure a spot, but production on the dresses had begun centered around the designs I'd initially proposed, and I'd even been granted the official title of Design Overseer—a position of immense responsibility.
Two weeks had passed since I'd been given full authority over the designs and put in charge of directing these renowned tailors.
Thanks to that, we'd overcome the stalled progress and made tremendous headway.
...
That was the situation on the surface, at least.
In reality, things were festering inside, stuck in an endless loop of going nowhere.
Unlike these masters for whom crafting wedding dresses was their main profession and sole focus, I had my own atelier to run, making it impossible for me to be involved every moment—that was reason number one.
Even if they followed my broad ideas, when it came to the finer details, the elders' expertise was undeniably superior—that was reason number two.
A guy with less skill, less experience, and less time invested in the commission couldn't just take the lead. To achieve the best results, I had no choice but to incorporate the elders' opinions as much as possible.
Unless I dragged in an ancient elf from the autonomous elven district and steamrolled them with age, which was absurd.
I'd braced myself for this, so I had no complaints.
In fact, I welcomed it.
I'd even laid the groundwork early on, saying it would be hard to spare more than two days a week.
This wasn't the time to stroke my ego. With less responsibility on my shoulders and higher quality output, who would turn that down?
But there was more than one elder present.
There were so many whose opinions I had to respect and mediate—enough to count on two hands.
When artisans with such strong pride gather in one place, clashes are inevitable.
"The veil has to be lace."
"What are you talking about? It needs chiffon as the base with embroidery overlaid."
Like Lady Clarice and Sir Richards, now launching their thirteenth argument of the season over the bride's veil.
If there were one overwhelming authority figure, we could rally around them. But every elder here had held the top spot in their field for over a decade, so their convictions ran deep.
"Lace gives a sharper outline, doesn't it?"
"Embroidery is more ornate, and we can make it just as sharp. What are you saying?"
The problem was that none of their standards or aesthetics were wrong, so the constructive feedback just ran parallel, voices grew louder, faces flushed.
To the point where these seasoned elders looked like they might clutch their necks and keel over.
"Sir Richards, you barely know what you're talking about!"
"And what do you know, Lady Clarice?"
If I quietly observed this feedback session for about thirty minutes, it would inevitably erupt into personal jabs.
"It's so frustrating I can't even speak."
"My insides are boiling over; I can't just stand by."
"Hah."
"Tch."
At first glance, it seemed gravely serious.
With the two elders glaring murderously at each other, arms crossed.
But when you picked it apart, it was nothing major.
I couldn't persuade one over the other.
Yet I didn't want to abandon my own opinion.
So they pettily lashed out, essentially begging each other in a sharp tone to just compromise this once.
Like saying, "You're both playing this like total scrubs."
And honestly, if those were real criticisms that truly hurt, they wouldn't keep exchanging fresh opinions every time they crossed paths.
If it were a genuine grudge, the barbs would fly the moment they saw each other.
So I stayed hands-off during their spats, hoping they'd reach a compromise on their own.
"Mikhail!"
But they always called for me after the jabs.
Why me, of all people?
Calling another elder would turn it into a real judgment.
But summoning me—the inexperienced one—gave them an out.
They pretended to settle it while forcing a reason to back down.
I understood that mentality completely.
Every action from an authority figure gets overanalyzed by those around them, so from the moment you become top-tier, even bowing your head requires caution.
So I was fine being their excuse.
I'd just play cute in front of the elders and twist myself into knots to make it work.
But were those two the only ones?
Across accessories, attire, bouquets, and more—everything that needed to harmonize on the wedding day—real-time "lively feedback" was exploding between artisans even now.
And there were far more than one or two areas I had to watch.
Veil, dress, gloves, shoes... and more would pile on as time went.
Would the elders collaborating on each part really skip the post-feedback sneak attacks?
Especially when their pride, fame, and skill matched those two?
Of course not.
I worked with them two days a week, sometimes three, and most of my time there was spent coaxing and soothing the elders.
Just yesterday, the dress team argued for six hours over how to insert the boning in the petticoat.
I had to mediate that too, and the conclusion was tabled.
I could endure a day or two, but after over two weeks of this, I felt like I was losing my mind.
"Whose side do you think is right?"
"You've been listening intently, so you'll judge most fairly."
"......"
And today, another veil spat erupted.
This was the plight of the youngest stuck between elders, but there were limits.
I knew it'd yield the best results, but I couldn't take it anymore.
"Both ideas really seem great."
"So which do you prefer?"
"Both."
"No way. Anyone can see mine is more perfect."
"Both are perfect."
So I channeled Prime Minister Hwang Hui.
He'd met them separately and conceded "you're right" to each, but I did it right in front of both—a minor difference.
"...?"
Somehow, I shut both elders up.
Look at those faces brimming with confusion; I must seem insane now.
But I wasn't crazy.
Just a newbie overwhelmed by the masters' dazzling ideas.
"Both are top-notch, so let's make both."
"Have you lost your mind?"
"How is that even possible?"
"Why not?"
They scowled and shot back sharply, but I tilted my head in genuine puzzlement.
They'd bickered for nearly two weeks.
I'd coaxed and cajoled to merge opinions as much as possible, but it failed.
Two weeks on paper—before I arrived, they'd clashed over other things, obviously.
At this point, I was dying to know what made these ideas so incredible that neither would budge.
It couldn't be trivial; revealing just one to the world felt like a waste.
"Making both at once—we won't have time, will we?"
"If it's production time, I'll call in my staff. I've got landlord-clan seamstresses who can whip up your exact designs in days."
"But this is funded by the imperial treasury—doesn't spending so recklessly seem off?"
"If that's the issue, I'll hash it out with His Majesty the Emperor and Her Highness the Crown Princess. Worst case, I'll cover some with my own funds."
So I was confident I could provide the money, staff, and time.
My atelier anyway—if I turned this into work, what could they do?
My workaholic crew would cheer at joining such an epic project.
"......"
Seeing my resolve, the two fell silent, stunned.
Were they that moved?
Yeah, the best boss showers money, time, and manpower freely.
Impossible not to be touched.
"What's wrong? Moved by how great this is?"
"N-no, hold on."
"Wait here longer? It's already been two weeks without threading a single needle."
"Even so, doing both is too much..."
"Hmm..."
Not moved—aghast.
I thought they could handle both, but apparently not...
Fair enough; overworking elders was wrong.
I wanted to see them badly, but if it burdened them, no choice.
I'm the type who treasures others more than myself, even if I overwork.
"Then let's skip both."
I coolly abandoned both, unwilling to lose people over mere clothes.
"One" was no longer in my vocabulary.
"Wait, wait! Don't decide so rashly—we'll unify our opinions somehow."
"Give us an hour... no, thirty minutes. We'll match up quick."
"Come on~ You held firm for two weeks—think you'll agree in thirty minutes?"
"No!"
Sir Richards panicked, clamping my mouth and glaring wide-eyed.
"We'll definitely unify."
He declared it with the grim resolve of a soldier heading to battle.
Deep down, I wanted both, compromises be damned.
But when elders pleaded like that, trusting them once was a young man's duty, right?
"Then I'll wait a bit."
Swallowing my regret, I accepted their final debate.
"Clarice."
"Got it."
The moment I consented, Lady Clarice and Sir Richards locked eyes and dove into season fourteen's debate.
Unlike the venomous prior rounds, their gazes now burned with grim determination and sincerity.
High chance they'd agree this time.
Would season fourteen fizzle out?
Then I could've scraped together everything to make both versions real...
"Tch..."
Shame.