Chapter 86
Chapter 86
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 86
Chapter Title: Pantyhose and the Knitting Machine
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"So, what's the most important piece of clothing? Are we just going to have a naked mannequin parading the streets?"
Thanks to some brilliant ideas, we'd come up with a groundbreaking way to display the outfits.
But there was still one crucial issue left unresolved.
We wanted to show off the clothes, not parade around carts dangling mannequins.
"Now we get to the main point."
I rummaged through the basket under the table and pulled out a sketch, unfurling it.
"Ah, it's that outfit from last time."
"Yeah, that's the one."
Pantyhose.
Since they'd already seen it once before, the staff gazed at the drawing with bright, welcoming expressions.
"Perfect for the grand finale, right?"
"It's great—provocative and practical."
"Compared to babydolls or panties, this feels like something only we could pull off."
In the past month, my ideas had really sunk in, and their reactions were far more positive than before.
"I'm thinking we stick close to the original design. Any other suggestions?"
"Winter's coming, so how about thicker yarn? Sheer fabric might make it too chilly, and no one would buy it then."
"Hmm, good point."
Sheer was the rule for stockings, but we couldn't ignore the seasons entirely.
We could always reintroduce thin ones in summer.
It was a relief that stockings could be worn year-round.
"Any other ideas?"
"How about white this time?"
The white guardian squad made their weekly appearance without fail.
Our Prince Herbert had developed an odd obsession with white lately.
"Enough with the white already, Prince Herbert."
"White is the standard and most universal color for stockings. No hygiene issues, so why go dark?"
"Stockings are black, period."
"Didn't you give Princess Hayes white sheer stockings?"
"Well, that was..."
My words caught in my throat.
Of all times, that moment came back to bite me.
Forget the pure innocent girl image—I should've just gone with black...
"Urk..."
"Even Sir William can't argue, so white must be the absolute standard."
"Why not just go with white and move on? This is getting awkward."
"Yeah, let's do white."
"Fine."
Instead of wasting time on pointless debate, I conceded quickly.
Not making black was disappointing, but white wasn't bad.
I was fine with anything as long as it wasn't weird like green or orange.
"But for stockings, don't we need to knit the fabric?"
"Yeah, sometimes fabric works for design reasons, but knitted feels better, so we'll go with that."
"Hmm... Won't that take forever? The yarn's so thin if we're following your plan."
"That's why I'm importing a knitting machine. Already ordered from the Magic Tower."
"Ah, then no problem."
I'd put in a special order for one that could handle ultra-thin yarn.
It required custom needles from scratch, so time and cost were involved, but for unleashing pantyhose on the world, it was a bargain.
"W-Wait, what kind of machine?"
"A knitting machine."
Adelaide, her voice thick with bewilderment, froze at my answer, then started tapping the floor with her legs and straightening up rigidly.
"What machine?"
"Knitting machine."
"Hmm...?"
Adelaide tilted her head as if she'd misheard, inching closer.
What's her deal?
Is my pronunciation that bad?
"What. Machine?"
Now right up close, she peered down at me with narrowed eyes, repeating the question.
"I'm bringing in a knitting machine."
"Why?"
"Because it's faster than hands..."
"..."
Adelaide leaned in, staring with wide eyes, murmuring softly.
"I knit really well, you know? I won't lose to some machine. I can do it more delicately and beautifully. So why bring in a machine? Oh, have you never seen me knit? I can show you right now."
"Adelaide... I can explain this properly."
With each sentence, she stabbed the floor harder with her legs, her eyes losing focus.
One wrong word, and I'd end up skewered like tanghulu. My blood ran cold.
"I-I actually prefer handmade over machines too?"
Truth was, I loved machines.
I prayed daily for sewing machines to become reality, dreamed of feeding them thinner thread.
But survival came first.
Adelaide wouldn't attack me outright, but those spindly spider legs slamming down in irritation screamed mortal danger.
"Then why choose something so horrific?"
"We need others besides you to make them. You can handle thin yarn, but we can't..."
Pantyhose required needles and yarn far thinner than for sweaters—a whole different league.
The thinnest yarn feasible by hand was about 0.2mm—looks thin, but that's around 300 denier.
In stockings, 300 denier? Winter tights are about 150, regular ones 30-80.
Ours needed yarn too fine for human hands.
Of course, skilled hands could work miracles—handle it ultra-slowly and carefully.
But one pair would take months.
How could Adelaide do it?
Spiderkin silk starts at 0.001mm, like regular spiders.
Handling that thin, normal yarn is a breeze.
Key point: she could; we couldn't.
"We need to be able to make them too, right? You might be busy with other commissions or take vacation. Can't halt work without you, so it's a necessity."
I gestured desperately, explaining with utmost sincerity, and life slowly returned to Adelaide's eyes.
Her tapping legs quieted, her fierce expression softened.
"Does that make sense?"
"Yes... I jumped to conclusions. Sorry."
Convinced and calm, Adelaide bowed her head.
She covered her slightly flushed cheeks and returned to her seat.
"Phew..."
I let out a small breath, watching her hang her head in embarrassment.
Thought I'd piss myself.
From now on, warn before importing anything new.
Otherwise, I'd end up a Luddite martyr alongside the machines.
Tempting to make history, but not as the victim.
"Uh... any more suggestions?"
The staff, cowed by Adelaide, shook their heads, eager to wrap up.
"If not, let's start making them."
Coincidentally, I felt the same, so pantyhose discussion ended there.
_
Unlike previous garments needing fabric cuts, this one—from knitting to finish—was Adelaide's solo show.
We four seamstresses, myself included, did zilch but take measurements. Started Saturday, done by Saturday—a miracle.
Watching her hands after so long filled me with awe.
No wonder she'd bristle at buying machines to speed things up.
With Adelaide's rampage, the pantyhose prototype was born, ushering in a new week. I promptly secured a horse and cart for the Imperial Capital runway prep.
Cart hitched to horse, chair fixed atop, mannequin seated.
The bizarre setup was sure to draw eyes.
"Looks good."
Whether good or bad attention, it'd pull focus—perfect.
"Oh? Sir William, good morning."
"Huh? Oh, Herbert, good morning."
Satisfied, I double-checked the securing ropes when Prince Herbert stepped from his carriage, frowning as he approached.
"What are you doing outside so early, sir?"
"Prepping the promo cart."
"It's Monday already? If not circling the capital today, isn't it too soon?"
"Yeah, starting today. This week, we hustle or bust."
Normally no rush, but with Founding Day next week, dawdling meant disaster.
"Bust? What could— Ah! The carriage surge is coming."
"Exactly."
Why? Hellish traffic jams in three or four days.
The Imperial Capital's wide roads rarely clogged, but Founding Day, New Year, and Emperor's Ascension—those three packed streets solid with nobles nationwide.
"Still, gotta do a full capital loop."
"Wise words."
No thanks to getting hopelessly stuck and busted pointlessly.
Stopped mid-run on report? Inevitable. But delay it as long as possible.
"Need any help?"
As I tugged the ropes, Herbert, who'd been watching, bowed slightly to assist.
"Nah, all set."
I waved him off before he squatted, shrugged, and stood.
"Just confirming it's secure."
"My apologies, I was too late."
"Heh, not you being late—me being impatient."
I chuckled at his slight regretful scrunch, dusted my dirty hands, and headed to the Atelier.
"Let's head in."
"Yes."
Prep done—just wait for staff arrival and roll out.