Chapter 73
Chapter 73
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 73
Chapter Title: The Princess's Tearful Plea
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"Give it to me."
"......"
In response to Princess Elizabeth's bold demand, I closed my eyes and pressed my furrowed brow, lost in thought.
If I made a dress for the princess, it would undoubtedly suit her perfectly.
Her aura and looks would make the outfit shine.
And her extraordinarily high social standing was a huge merit as well.
The higher the nobility wearing the clothes, the more attention they drew, the more positively they were received, and the higher the chances of starting a trend.
The princess had the drawback of a gap in her social circuit, but her overwhelming status could override all that.
Yet this woman before me was someone even my mother couldn't handle directly—she'd only left me a warning.
If I dressed the princess, it would guarantee the best results, exactly as she desired.
"Tsk..."
But no matter how I thought about it, handing it over to Princess Elizabeth was a hard no.
Not just any item, but a dress.
This wasn't a simple tailor-client relationship; it was employee-boss.
And she wasn't a model like Katarina—I'd be making her dress for the founding anniversary?
People would absolutely talk behind my back.
Beyond that, I had no idea what her intentions were in asking for the dress.
100% she had some scheme.
She'd stopped hiding her scheming vibes at some point, which only made me more uneasy.
"Haah... damn."
It was a tough call.
My head was screaming to refuse, but my heart was yelling if I didn't want to see that insanely cool dress on someone.
If my head had to pick who it'd suit best, it'd choose Elizabeth.
I was refusing purely out of survival instinct.
"Sir William."
"Yeah?"
As I sank deeper into my dilemma, the princess, who'd been watching quietly, dragged a chair over and sat nearby, calling my name.
She stared straight at me with an expression devoid of any smile and asked her question.
"Do you know how old I am, Sir William?"
"Uh..."
I had no clue.
She'd never mentioned it.
I scanned her carefully, trying to guess her age.
From her looks and vibe, she was definitely older.
Roughly twenty, maybe.
"Twenty?"
"Seventeen."
"Huh?"
Surprisingly, we were the same age.
Birthdays mattered, but it was just a one-year difference at most.
Suddenly, an odd sense of familiarity washed over me toward the princess, who'd felt so distant.
"We're the same age?"
I lit up a bit, letting that feeling slip, but the princess's eyes widened like a flounder's, her face turning displeased as she snapped back.
"Sir William, is that what's important right now?"
"No, it's not."
The budding closeness plummeted right back down.
I wondered if she was overreacting, but pointing it out would've gotten me verbally thrashed, so I agreed immediately.
The princess, who'd glared sharply for a split second, composed herself and continued.
"I've barely participated in society for reasons I can't discuss—except for a few times in early childhood, none at all."
"Yeah."
"So this founding anniversary is essentially my social debut. It's the most important and precious moment for me."
"......"
Her words just tipped the scales a bit more.
Toward not giving it to her.
Making a dress for someone who'd been secluded for years, for their societal debut?
Way beyond what I could handle.
"That's too much for me to take on. For something that important, you'd be better off with a more skilled tailor."
"No, I think your dresses are the best, Sir William. Anything else would just make me look like an ordinary lady."
That was absurd.
The princess would look noble even in a maid uniform.
Yet she claimed she'd be an ordinary lady? I'd seen her wrap countless women around her finger just days ago—if that's ordinary, the bar for ordinary was ridiculously high.
"That's a huge exaggeration."
"It's not. I can say for sure an ordinary dress won't leave an impression."
"Even so, it's still too burdensome."
"Then is it okay if another tailor makes a dress with this silhouette?"
"No way."
"See? Do I have any other choice? Telling me to show this and go elsewhere is too harsh, isn't it? You're the only one who can bring out its uniqueness. Wanting to look my most beautiful on such a precious day is natural, right? I just want to entrust my most important day to the best person for it."
"Ugh..."
Tough spot.
If she'd argued logically with pros and cons, I could've cut it clean, but hitting me emotionally made it hard to counter.
"Still, it's kinda difficult..."
"Eut..."
As I steeled myself to say no, a faint whimper escaped her pursed lips, tears welling in the corners of her eyes.
"Wait, hold on."
"I, I just..."
"Elizabeth, calm down first, let's talk after you've calmed—"
"Calm down?"
I panicked, trying to soothe her, but she shot me a resentful glare and sobbed out her words.
"Wanting to debut in society looking my most beautiful... is that too much? Selfish?"
"No, it's not that, but consider my position a little—"
"Sir William, I'm working with you because I deeply agree with your philosophy of natural beauty."
"I'm really grateful for that—"
"But are you... the kind of man who abandons a woman who needs you most at the crucial moment? Is your conviction... something so flimsy you discard it at the slightest inconvenience...?"
With every word, her voice trembled more, thick with sobs.
"So for this time..."
"Hic...!"
Finally, unable to hold back, she sobbed harshly, cupping her face with both hands.
Unlike her previous soft whispers, her loud cries echoed clearly through the entire workshop, drawing the eyes of employees who'd been focused on their work.
"Damn it..."
I muttered a curse under my breath and squeezed my eyes shut.
She'd dragged my past self into it perfectly, and I'd fallen right into her trap.
Thinking I'd dodge some hassle had backfired into something far more annoying and headache-inducing...
I racked my brain for an escape, but nothing came except refusing coldly and looking like human trash.
"Haa..."
I sighed and nodded slightly.
Handing her the measuring tape from the desk, I said,
"Fine, I'll make it. Come back with your measurements."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Thank you."
She wiped the tears from her eyes and took the tape.
"You said you'd make it, so no take-backs, okay? Don't go flipping on me. Got it?"
After wiping her face clean and standing, she bolted out of the workshop before I could respond.
As if nailing it down before I could change my mind.
"......"
I stared blankly at the door she'd vanished through.
"Not easy..."
I muttered dejectedly, shaking my head.
Now I fully understood, down to my bones, why Mother had warned me so sternly about the princess.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Having been utterly fleeced by Princess Elizabeth's tearful onslaught—speedrun-style invoking my past self—I mentally won with "Well, at least I get to see that badass dress on her!" and dove back into work.
While designing the dress, I helped employees here and there, wrote letters to next week's selected production targets, and went back to the forest with Katarina for more photos. Before I knew it, the weekend had arrived.
"Whew..."
I slid the photos for the newspaper into an envelope and went to seal it with wax, but my hand wouldn't move.
I hadn't noticed while shooting, but now that my head had cooled, I worried if I'd gone a bit too far.
His Majesty would definitely get a kick out of it, but I had no clue how others would react.
"Ah, screw it, who knows."
But His Majesty scared me more than the public, so I dripped wax on the envelope and pressed my seal firmly.
Handing the envelope to Emily, I said,
"Emily, have this sent to Francis."
"Yes."
No turning back now.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "Editor-in-Chief, a letter from Sir William has arrived."
"Hand it over, quick!"
The letter from Sir William I'd been waiting for had finally come.
I snatched it from rookie reporter Anson and hastily peeled off the wax seal. Inside was a palm-sized paper and photos.
Afraid I'd forget the letter if I looked at the photos first, I pulled out the paper and read the note.
[Put the shop name and address under the photo this time. The enclosed ones are good to go, so no worries—run them as ads.]
A simple request, no complicated or annoying instructions. Perfect.
"Heh heh~"
Chuckling happily, I tossed the letter on the desk and pulled out the photo.
"Let's see..."
The high-quality black-and-white print revealed itself on fine paper, and I grinned as I examined it.
Same model as before, similar location.
The difference? She was facing front this time.
Sticking to the same concept.
If we printed the same quantity as last time...
"Huh?"
I squinted and shoved my face close to the photo.
Anson, who'd been waiting to take it to the printers, approached curiously and asked,
"What's up? Did something go wrong?"
"Uh... Anson, I think I'm seeing things. Take a look."
"Pardon? Let's see..."
Anson narrowed his eyes at the photo.
"Wha... huh? Wh-what?!"
In one second flat, his eyes bulged, lips flapping soundlessly in repeated gasps.
"You see it too, right? It's weird."
"......"
Anson nodded vigorously at my question, tearing his eyes from the photo to meet mine.
"Is this... o-okay...?"
"Who knows..."
It probably wasn't.
Lots of people would be uncomfortable. Like it or not, reactions would erupt like a volcano.
But legally problematic? Debatable.
It might discomfort, but it wasn't a crime—just morals and conventions.
Sir William had toed the line perfectly.
With solid backing, he could pull off this gamble.
I handed Anson the letter and envelope, saying,
"Still, we took the commission, so we do it right. Anson, take the photo to printing and get it started. Tell them more copies than last week."
"Yes, sir."
Anson nodded, slipped the photo back in the envelope, and turned to leave.
"Hold on, Anson."
"Yes?"
I stopped him at the door, scribbled a quick note on the palm-sized paper, and shoved it at him.
"And put this under the photo too. Gotta cover our asses somehow."
"Got it."
I sent Anson off to printing with that minimal safety net.
Sorry, Sir William, but we gotta survive too. I'm sure you'll understand.