See-Through Overshoes

I toddled across the dark garden toward the workshop.

The door shut behind me.

In my hands were Dolores's socks.

I'd been calling them socks for convenience, but it was more accurate to think of them as the liners padded into the interior of footwear equipment — overshoes, essentially.

They were, strictly speaking, a type of gear.

"…They really are cold."

Tmir's Ice Footbeds.

Even as I held them, a chill seeped out in slow, creeping waves.

In a lot of ways, they seemed like excellent equipment — in both appearance and performance.

The surface was woven from a blue mesh, studded dense as gemstones with ice crystals.

I held them up to the moonlight.

— Sparkle.

Each crystal bounced the light back at a different angle.

"…Holy crap."

I'd known they were something else, but I hadn't expected craftsmanship of this quality. The exterior, paved with ice-like jewels, felt rough to the touch —

but the interior was… smooth as velvet.

A structure refined so that even while channeling cold, it cradled the foot in comfort.

Function, aesthetics, and wearability — all three, nailed.

And the equipment that would replace these?

That was what I had to make, starting now.

Looking back on my last project with a clear head: the gear that replaced Gorgogne's White Gloves — the Apprentice Blacksmith's Thermal Glove — had been a product with a whole lot of luck mixed in.

There had been fewer points to sweat over, and the process itself had been simple.

That's what I mean when I look back. Not that it was poorly made.

But from here on out, it wouldn't be like that.

I had to excel in every field, every step of the process.

I wouldn't plan on finishing it in one go.

"First…"

I began with the process I'd already mapped out in my head.

I was going to make thermal overshoes — the same idea, the same logic, as the thermal gloves.

A proof of concept for the question: Would making them just as warm as last time be enough?

The Sun Dwarf beginner sewing catalog had quite a few entries.

Thermal gloves were one of them. Thermal overshoes were another.

And once again —

"Starting with the tanning."

Earlier that day, with her socks in mind, I'd soaked leather in oak-leaf water and set it outside to dry.

I brought the dried leather in from outside. Soft and fluffy — it was in good shape.

I might have bolted out here in the middle of the night looking unprepared, but I hadn't been unprepared at all.

The process differences between gloves and footwear weren't that significant.

Pattern, cut, sew.

Cutting and sewing didn't so much demand clever tricks as they demanded…

"Honesty, huh?"

It was simple. The more you did it, the better you got.

Like studying.

So I'd expected this time to be easier than the last.

"Ah — what the hell."

Maybe the problem was that I'd underestimated how much bigger a foot is than a hand.

Structure, size — both more complex. My skill had improved, but the time it took still ran longer.

"…If socks are this bad, how am I supposed to make underwear?"

Underwear would almost certainly involve far more clothing-level detail.

That was a problem for later, though.

— Ssshk…

On the bright side, I didn't prick my fingers this time.

That was the kind of honesty I meant. Last time, I'd stabbed myself constantly.

Proof that I was getting better.

— Ssshk…

— Slice.

— Snip.

Before I knew it, I'd finished a reasonably clean pair of overshoes.

"……"

The finished product.

They looked like black foot liners.

"Huh…"

I had a lot I wanted to say, but they weren't finished yet, so I held my tongue.

I looked outside. For the final step.

"What the —"

I'd thought there was plenty of time left.

Dawn was already creeping in.

"How many hours has it been?"

Considering the gloves last time had taken eight hours…

My skill really had gone up.

"Nice."

I picked up the finished overshoes and stepped outside.

The sky just before dawn.

Beneath a wash of pale indigo and gray, I cradled the overshoes in both hands.

The sun was rising — slowly, beyond the estate walls.

— Sssss…

I don't know how long it took.

I felt the hands holding the overshoes gradually warm, and over the leather surface, the apprentice's pattern slowly engraved itself.

Gray-tinged inscriptions sinking into black leather.

— Sizzle…

Meeting the rising sun, the pattern was complete.

Still gripping the overshoes, I went back into the workshop.

It was clear now.

Calling these "socks" would be embarrassing.

Once inside, I immediately clenched Dolores's socks — not socks — in my hand.

The ones she'd been wearing as recently as this morning. Those ones.

And then —

— Squish squish…

Eyes closed, I kept kneading them.

"Definitely soft and squishy."

It wasn't like that.

Then I touched the overshoes I'd just made.

"These are stiff. Figures."

That was my honest feel for them.

To check the result, I pictured Dolores in my mind.

A status window rose — several slots still locked. But now two of them were open.

Overshoes and gloves. The overshoe slot above the footwear slot was currently empty.

I lifted the newly made pair.

The freshly completed Lionel MK.2 Thermal Overshoes were, in fact…

Oh, for the love of —

"Augh, come on."

Got me again. Seriously.

Wow.

You can't even think while you're making these things.

I'd just become a potential underwear craftsman.

…Not that I was denying it.

I'd have to do it eventually. Yeah, yeah.

"……"

Apparently you needed a high-ranking appraiser to even see this stuff, so for now, let's just check it.

Honestly, my expectations weren't high at this point.

Then the interface opened.

Of course the compatibility had gone up. It had.

But at the same time — some seriously sharp feedback.

You could feel how disappointed it was. Honestly, so was I.

Things I'd been unconsciously guessing at, landing right on target.

Let's go through them one by one.

First line of the evaluation: good.

The problems started from the second. You could raise questions about "standing" and "materials."

Hold on — the gloves used the same materials and nobody said a word?

That wasn't it.

What I'd felt looking at Tmir's Ice Footbeds was the relative nature of it all.

The difference in the high-water mark when real effort went into the design.

Gorgogne — Dolores's old gloves — and my gloves hadn't looked that different on the outside.

If I allowed myself a little bias, mine were actually a bit more refined and stylish.

But looking at Tmir's footbeds… the materials and the level of craftsmanship overwhelmingly outclassed me.

The exterior went without saying. Those socks were pretty enough to wear as a hat.

Not that I was saying I wanted to.

That gap in the ceiling is probably why it's saying they don't match…

It wasn't enough that they be better than the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠currently equipped gear. They also had to match the wearer's standing.

I was performing a relative equipment swap right now.

So I had to lead in most every respect.

Next.

Third line: ill-suited to physical characteristics.

I thought I understood this one too.

I crumpled the overshoes in my hand.

— Crrk.

Pretty stiff. Wrapping leather into a cylinder like that had made them considerably thick, too.

Dolores had slender ankles.

Anyone without a sturdy build like Eric's would struggle to wear these. Put simply, they'd be uncomfortable.

Even more so for walking around the house.

And last —

The wearer's allure is diminished.

"I accept that."

I nodded and gave a standing ovation.

— Clap clap clap.

Allure: diminished. Correct.

What had been bothering me the whole time — what had nagged at me throughout the entire process — was exactly this.

I lifted Tmir's Ice Footbeds.

The core of Tmir's Ice Footbeds was this: you could see what was underneath.

In stocking terms, maybe ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠about 10 to 15 denier.

The style where the inside shows through completely transparent.

In other words — see-through.

These SEE-THROUGH socks showed nearly every detail of Dolores's pretty, neat, long and slender feet without filtration.

A little lighting and it would be chef's kiss. Absolute gold.

But these blunt-looking overshoes covered all of that up.

"No. No no no."

That was absolutely not acceptable.

This was the most serious problem of all.

Dolores was going to wear these overshoes around the estate, you understand.

Semi-transparent was mandatory. That was the correct answer.

The unease that had dogged me the whole time finally eased.

"Phew…"

I ignored Yuna and set the overshoes on the side table.

"How am I a pervert."

Wait — how did she know that…?

I was sure I'd turned her off properly…

Maintaining the most serene expression I could manage, I ignored Yuna.

So.

"Overall — hard to replace."

Fine for a short stretch, maybe, but as a permanent replacement: fail.

That was my conclusion.

"Six hours down the drain."

I said it evenly and nodded.

Was I smiling?

Maybe I was.

Honestly, I was really happy right now.

Even back when I was doing my PhD… even just in daily life…

I didn't like things that clicked into place and succeeded on the first try.

This was a personal conviction of mine, but —

I believed those kinds of results always had an element of luck mixed in.

Room for a fluke to operate. And you couldn't rule out the possibility of a success you could never reproduce.

So I loved this kind of appropriate failure.

Why?

Because it handed you a new milestone to aim for.

Because failing piled up a mountain of things to learn.

How could anyone dislike a failure that laid every possible correction right out in plain sight?

You could make a better result, couldn't you?

With your own hands. No flukes.

And on top of that —

There was no kinder failure in the world than one that wrote out three or four lines of feedback for you.

Even professors never went this far.

"I can skip the time spent figuring out why I failed?"

That was something to be grateful for.

If I really was a pervert, it wasn't about translucent 8-denier stockings and that whole foot territory.

It was about this.

"Gonna need better materials."

Our spotted-cow leather seemed to have hit its limit.

Right then —

In a corner of the workshop, the sack of ores Dolores had brought me caught my eye.

I'd been so focused on the stockings — I mean, the overshoes — that I hadn't even paid attention to it.

I headed over.

Inside were various ores still in their raw state.

And then —

"……?"

A note was tucked in.

Written in Hangul. That was always strange.

There was a ton of it. Dolores's generosity really was sky-high.

"……"

Looking at Tmir's footbeds, those seemed to have jewels worked into them too.

To match that standard…

"There are jewels in here too, right?"

Yuna ran a search.

Really?

Her expectations of me really were high, huh.

In that case, I was in.

Time to knock Tmir off the podium. Just once.

The problem was, while I'd theoretically pushed my grade way up in metallurgy —

Gem cutting.

That side of things, I was naturally a complete amateur.

I hadn't even read the theory books yet.

They said the jewels of this world held a power called mana.

So simply cutting them didn't count as proper work — you needed strict procedures as well.

Even dwarves seemed to focus more on ores and metallurgy than on gems.

Which was probably why the Fairy Race was famous in this field.

"…Can I even do this?"

It wasn't as if I hadn't opened any Fairy documents at all.

I'd read one before, for the leather-softening method.

"……"

With the tension gone, sleep was starting to creep in a little — but still.

If Sun Dwarf equipment crafting and Fairy gem cutting came together, who knew what you'd get.

"Wouldn't that make me the first?"

Equipment combining both strengths.

That curiosity held the sleep at bay.

Just a little reading, then sleep.

I opened the equipment crafting guide — specifically the gem-cutting section.

"…Gem cutting begins with physical labor…?"

Unease from the very first line.

No — wait. These were the same Fairies who'd figured out easy methods for refining leather.

I believed in them.

And then, right at that moment —

— Ding!

Something appeared before my eyes.

Huh?

A message?

Yuna was flustered.

One thing life had taught me: Yuna didn't get flustered often. And when she did, rather than a mere human like me jumping the gun —

"……"

— the correct move was to hold position and wait for my top-tier AI little sister to finish her judgment.

Where had the message come from?

And not long after —

Yuna's razor-sharp briefing began.

As expected — I believed in you!!!

That checked out.

I'd been going in and out of the Sun Dwarf documents like my own living room and never gotten any feedback.

I see.

So basically, they could only send a Tower-system-level DM.

"So the conclusion is…"

I nodded.

The tension melted away in an instant.

Pulling the corners of my mouth up, I went to open the message.

But right then —

Yeah, got it.

She was treating me like a baby or something.

I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wasn't that bad.

"Ahem."

With a fluttering heart, I opened the DM window.

There it was.

"……"

A thoroughly pathetic-looking DM had arrived.

And the moment I read the message —

Just like that, the personal-information interrogation began.