Chapter 247
Chapter 247
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 247
Chapter Title: This Murderous Heat...! (3)
“Hmm...”
I frowned as I held the measuring tape against Emily, who was wearing just a black dress without her apron.
This modification was a summer-only upgrade to improve the comfort and convenience of the maid uniforms.
The goals and direction were crystal clear, but this was one hell of a headache to pull off.
Why?
Unless we used magical fabric that cools on its own, improving ventilation meant reducing the amount of fabric.
Or making the clothes so thin they were practically see-through.
That ran completely counter to the modest, prim aesthetic of maid uniforms.
Well... that was just a narrow-minded view from the purists' perspective.
Maids were ultimately just servants doing odd jobs.
Nobles didn't care what they wore, as long as it wasn't flashy.
Just look at how there was no set definition for what counted as a maid uniform.
That's why maid outfits came in endless varieties.
Later on, as society got more sexually open and standards for maid uniforms dropped, even the wildest designs would pass as maid attire.
Overexaggerating?
Just check out some subculture works.
They're full of outfits where you can't tell if it's a maid uniform or prostitute gear masquerading as one.
Even the orthodox French maid look—a fetish staple—gets twisted into something so vulgar it's anything but prim.
Of course, all that stuff could be called heresy or traitorous garbage.
By the principles, there are only two legitimate maid uniforms in the world.
One is the root of it all: the Victorian-style maid uniform, with its three mottos of modesty, purity, and chastity.
The other is the foundation of modified maid uniforms—and in subculture, it might even appear more often than the Victorian style—the French style.
Everything else is heretical trash unworthy of attention.
Personally, I'd love to brand French maids as heretics too, but they've grown too big for that.
It's like how Catholicism views Protestantism—splintered off Christianity but too massive to outright condemn. A painful thorn.
The reason I think this way is simple.
Unlike the Victorian style's emphasis on modesty and purity, our French friends—whether out of spite for copying the English stiffs or just unable to resist the maids' perfection and unleashing their lust—ended up with something wildly sexy.
They flipped the black dress, apron, and frills on their head, overemphasizing femininity until maids became synonymous with cheap, lewd temptresses. A detestable outfit.
I hate even looking at it, but damn if it doesn't have killer ventilation.
Naturally. It's so short.
Blatant garter belt exposure is standard, with a skirt barely covering the ass and a vast Pacific of cleavage up top.
That's the French maid design—perfectly meeting every maid's demands.
Even in my past life, French maid outfits were a bit much, but the design nailed it.
Ignoring the 'maid' part and judging purely as clothing, it's a cheat code for scratching male itch.
It's pretty, so it sticks around as maid wear. Pretty, so it lingers as a fetish, constantly teasing men.
To beat it, you'd need outfits that don't just tease but outright declare war on men—like bunny girl costumes or victory undies.
So, as unfair as it feels, I have to reference the French maid this time.
“Cut it here like this...”
“Young Master.”
“...Yeah?”
As I maneuvered the tape, marking spots to cut, fold, or roll up, Emily called out to me.
Wondering what was up, I met her eyes, and she blinked blankly while lightly placing her right hand on her chest.
“I get why you're modifying the maid uniforms, Young Master.”
“Yeah.”
“But why are you doing it while I'm wearing mine?”
“You're questioning it after putting it on?”
“The more I think about it, the weirder it feels.”
“Hmm...”
I let out a groan and rolled up the tape.
“When making clothes, you do basting to check the fit and measurements, right?”
“Yes.”
“But you can't do that with a finished outfit for alterations.”
“Right.”
“So we check how much to cut and where to add fabric while it's being worn.”
“Hmm... Isn't it just rolling up sleeves a bit and loosening the collar?”
“No way. That won't solve the heat. We need bolder adjustments.”
To ventilate properly, you have to open up the clothes way more drastically than you'd think.
Because minor tweaks can be handled by the wearer just loosening and refastening a little.
“For example, with the shoulders...”
I pressed firmly into the dip just inside where the shoulder blade meets the collarbone, where there's no bone and it hollows out.
“Eek...!”
Emily flinched like it tickled, shrinking her neck and wrinkling her nose lightly.
“Exposing up to here should ease the heat.”
“Why?”
“Maid uniforms are tight, so you need to drop the collar this much for air to flow to the armpits and arms.”
The shoulders have some give, but with the neck and chest fitted snug, the fabric doesn't lift easily with minor movement.
If it were a two-piece like a shirt and skirt, a small vent at the shirt hem would do it, but maid uniforms are one-piece dresses.
Wrapped head to toe, you have to solve it right there or nowhere.
So, dropping the collar as close to the joints as possible lets air reach inside.
Off-shoulder would be ideal, but tell maids to do housework like that, and they'd chew me out.
The line in the sand—without slipping but maximizing breathability—is just behind where the shoulder blade and collarbone meet.
“But dropping the collar like that opens the chest way too much.”
I traced a line from the second button from the top to the shoulder with my finger.
“This line would expose a ton of skin, right?”
“Yes... But then isn't modification impossible?”
“For serving guests, yeah. But add sheer fabric overlay for daily wear—exposing the collarbone but covering the upper chest is usually fine.”
The key to a maid uniform's exposure level is the master they serve and the head maid.
As long as they stay neat and innocent compared to the master, anything goes.
If the master's outfit is bold, maids can push further. If modest and prim, maids must be even more so.
So, what about our family?
Our women aim for ordinary attire.
Not wildly trendy, but not too plain either.
They match the norm, but sadly—Evelyn aside—our family's women aren't exactly prim.
Thanks to Mother's superior genes, anything short of nun's robes fails at modesty.
Just a tiny bit past the collarbone, and cleavage and volume pop out. So our maids just need to cover that.
If Sister-in-Law takes over as lady of the house, it might change, but she'd allow some summer exposure for heat relief. At least for the decades until Brother becomes border count, we're good.
“For sleeves, add a vent below the cuffs, closeable with buttons—that way you can roll them even if tight.”
“That sounds good.”
Make collar and sleeves openable/closable, and the upper body's done.
“Just those two for the upper body. Heat builds in specific spots, so no need for more drastic changes.”
But not stopping there—making these mods look pretty was my ultimate goal.
“I see... You said ‘upper body,’ so you're doing the lower half too?”
“Not just upper—swap aprons for thin ones too. But skirts are the real heat trap.”
Even knee-length—no, calf-length—skirts beat pants for ventilation and heat.
Cooling fabrics would change that, but without them, natural fibers rule. Wind-permeable, sweat-wicking is best.
Yet here, skirts drag to ankles or cover the feet.
No airflow—instead, they trap rising floor heat like a personal dome.
Petticoats keep fabric off skin, so sweat beads and drips.
“Mind if I hike the hem a bit?”
“Go ahead.”
With her okay, I gripped the skirt hem and gently rolled it up.
Black-stockinged ankles first, then calves.
Stopping halfway up the shin, a half-calf's span below the knee, I shook the hem lightly to flutter it.
“Skirts are the biggest issue. Just raising the hem a palm's width to show half the calf changes everything.”
“But won't that seem vulgar?”
“That's why it'll be adjustable—roll up for work, drop for guests.”
“Hmm...”
Emily nodded in understanding.
“If it's fixable like that, everyone would love it. Some suffered last year from the heat.”
“Figured as much.”
“But Young Master, why the sudden push to fix maid uniform woes? You didn't seem to care much last year...”
“Well...”
I trailed off, scratching my head lightly.
Lame excuse: I was too busy then.
Even now, it's August before I noticed.
Own workload left no time to look around.
Stripping excuses: 80% truth—seeing Emily suffer up close hit hard.
“I hate others seeing you sweat buckets with a flushed face.”
Specifically, her flushed, sweaty face shown to others.
Hard to explain, but you get it?
Kinda lewd, right?
Fine if just me, but others seeing? Infuriating.
Jealousy flared oddly, so here we are.
“Sheesh...”
Emily made a weird face, rubbing her arms.
“Gave me chills.”
“Yeah, it's creepy.”
Even I knew it sounded unhinged.