Get Naked Right Now, Commander
The sound of bones shattering completely sent a razor-sharp pain straight through my eardrums.
The reeking stench of blood and rotting filth struck my nose, and my eyes snapped open.
It wasn’t the dazzling backstage of Paris Fashion Week where spotlights flooded the stage.
Instead, the cool, damp stone floor pressed against my back, and from every direction came the desperate, strangled gasps of someone on the brink of death.
‘…Where the hell am I?’
My head pounded as if it would split open. The world spun wildly. I forced my upper body upright, and a rough, calloused hand grabbed my shoulder urgently from the side.
“Are you coming to, Ed? You jumped out of the transport wagon yesterday, smacked your head hard, and passed out for a full day.”
The voice belonged to an old soldier whose tone was completely exhausted.
He wore a tattered leather armor soaked in blood and mud.
The moment I saw his wrinkled face, fragments of a completely foreign memory crashed into my mind like a tidal wave.
‘Ed. Second son of the fallen Baron family. I enthusiastically enlisted in the Human Allied Forces to rebuild our clan. But I had zero talent for swordsmanship—only meticulous sewing. So I ended up as a sewing soldier in the rear supply unit. And…’
Only a few days ago, in an unknown massive battle against the invading monster army.
The commanders of the Human Allied Forces, who had shouted about light and justice, fled at the first sign of the enemy’s overwhelming power.
The shattered command structure sent the entire army fleeing like chaff before a reaper. Even the rear supply unit—tents torn apart, still stitching—fell into total capture.
I wiped my pale face with a trembling hand.
In my past life, I had been Lee Do-jin, the youngest chief designer of a world-class fashion brand.
From glittering red-carpet gowns to extreme ergonomic functional undergarments—everything. I lived for the perfect harmony between a woman’s body curves and the clothing that embraced it.
0.1-millimeter errors were unforgivable. I’d tortured my body for twelve hours a day, cutting patterns and sewing, until I finally dropped dead from overwork in the workshop just one day before the runway.
Yet here I was, reincarnated into the body of a prisoner in a mad world where monsters slaughtered without mercy.
“Hans, Uncle. Where exactly have we been dragged to?”
My voice, raw and cracking, tore out of my throat.
The old soldier Hans looked out through the thick iron bars with hollow eyes and pointed.
“This is the prisoner holding pen for the Demon King’s 1st Corps. As soon as the sun rose this morning, those demons started their classification.”
“Classification?”
“Yeah. They’re brutally practical. If a prisoner isn’t useful to them, they kill them on the spot. Weapon-smiths and strong types get sent to the mines. Old folks or those with no fighting ability like us…”
He couldn’t finish the sentence. He just pointed outside the bars.
“They’ll feed us as breakfast to those Demon King wolves.”
Before Hans’s despairing words even finished, horrifying screams exploded from the vast square beyond the bars.
‘Crunch. Crack!’
The sight through the bars was crystal clear—massive black Demon King wolves devouring a human torso whole.
Red blood sprayed like a fountain, soaking the iron bars of the pen, and severed limbs lay scattered on the ground.
‘Crazy.’
My lungs wouldn’t stop working. I forced my legs, shaking like aspen leaves, to stay upright and swallowed the dry lump in my throat.
It was already unbearable that I’d died from overwork while obsessed with clothes in my previous life. Now I was about to be digested inside a monster’s belly?
But the panic didn’t last long.
In my head, Hans’s words from moments ago started spinning like a roulette.
‘Kill anyone not useful? Wait… if I look at it the other way, that means if I can prove I’m useful, I might survive?’
I grabbed Hans’s thin arm urgently.
“Uncle, what about the sewing soldier? You know I can sew, right? I can fix torn uniforms and patch leather tents.”
‘…?’
“They’ll still wear clothes, won’t they?! If I shout that we need someone to repair clothes…”
His bitter expression shook his head at my desperate shout.
“Clothes? Look carefully outside the bars, Ed.”
‘…?’
“Does that look like clothes to your eyes? Those monsters are wearing nothing but crude steel plates and reinforced beast-leather armor. We’re screwed. There’s no way around it but to pray for a quick, painless death.”
Exactly as Hans said.
The soldiers patrolling outside were all grotesque and armored in thick iron. There wasn’t even space for a needle or thread.
‘No survival method. If this keeps up, we’re definitely wolf food.’
Fierce terror tightened like a snake around my neck, and the heavy iron door suddenly slammed open with a clang.
“All prisoners in this wing—get to the square!”
Booted and trampled by merciless soldiers, dozens of us prisoners, including Hans, were dragged out to the square.
My stomach churned at the vibrating stench of blood. In the center of the square, hundreds of prisoners were already kneeling and shaking.
‘Clink. Clink.’
Then a horrifying metallic scrape cut through the humid air of the pen.
The sound of a massive scythe dragging across the stone floor.
Just hearing it made the surrounding temperature plummet and the air grow thin.
“The Commander has arrived for inspection! You filthy insects, bow your heads!”
The moment I saw the woman walking out of the darkness, every prisoner gasped.
Her silver hair cascaded down to her waist, and her crimson eyes held zero emotion toward anyone.
Commander of the 1st Corps—the butcher who had slaughtered the continent’s humans without mercy.
Illusia.
She never personally stained her hands with blood. She merely swept her indifferent, bored gaze over the prisoners; the execution was left entirely to her subordinates and the wolves.
“This one has a badly injured leg—worthless as labor.”
“Dispose of it.”
At the subordinate’s dry report, Illusia flicked her fingers.
One of the waiting wolves lunged like lightning and bit into the prisoner’s nape. Blood sprayed in a fountain as the horrific crunch echoed.
One prisoner, already driven mad by the sight, screamed wildly and charged toward Illusia, clutching a hidden sharp stone shard in his hand.
“You damn demon bitch! We’ll all die together!”
Before the subordinates could even draw weapons, Illusia’s eyes turned ice-cold. The scythe she dragged along the ground suddenly slashed through the air at blinding speed.
‘Slice.’
The prisoner’s torso and legs split apart without a trace, lying in pieces on the ground. Guts spilled out in a grotesque mess.
Overwhelming power that crushed any will to resist in a single breath.
‘…Wait.’
But in that split second, a strange sense of wrongness brushed past my mind while I was still frozen in terror.
As she lowered her scythe, the Commander’s brows furrowed ever so slightly.
Her chest plate’s right seam dug hard into her ribs, and her breathing caught for a moment.
My hand unconsciously pressed near her right side to relieve the pressure, but I stopped instantly—my sharp eye caught the tiny hesitation.
My lifelong occupational disease as a chief designer burst through the survival instinct and started scanning the contours of the grotesque armor she wore instead of the lethal scythe aimed at my neck.
‘No way. This isn’t clothes. It’s absolute garbage.’
Outwardly it looked like intimidating full-plate armor bristling with spikes.
But to a professional’s eye, the metal mass was the worst possible failure of what a garment even was.
The right shoulder plate was off-balance by at least thirty degrees.
To swing a massive scythe using centrifugal force, you need a flexible waist and contracting back muscles. Instead, this stupidly thick breastplate ignored human ergonomics and crushed the ribcage mercilessly.
Every swing would tear the soft flesh inside against the steel, and the ribs would be permanently compressed, making even breathing impossible.
The moment she forced her body to swing the weapon, her chest would be constricted and heartburn would set in.
The clothing wasn’t protecting her—it was hammering her body.
“Next ten. Bring them forward.”
At the subordinate’s command, my body was forcibly pulled ahead.
Hans beside me shook and slammed his head against the ground.
“An old, sickly man and a sewing amateur. Shall we dispose of both right away?”
The Commander’s indifferent crimson gaze landed on me.
Death was right at my throat.
Any second the wolf’s jaws would close around my neck.
‘I have to prove I’m useful somehow. I need to show that I can make clothing that wraps the body far more perfectly than this garbage.’
But if I lay on the floor begging, that emotionless woman would simply throw me to the wolves.
At that exact moment, faces from countless top clients in my past life flashed through my mind.
Rich ladies who held power and money like bugs beneath their feet.
They would forever treat me as a servant if I groveled, but when I—arrogant genius artist that I was—criticized their outfits, they’d open their wallets and beg for more.
‘Even this crazy demon is just another client who wears clothes. Whether I’ll get eaten is another story, but right now this is the only path.’
I forced my facial muscles to stay still.
I bit my trembling lips hard enough to draw blood, then twisted the corners of my mouth upward into the coldest, most arrogant expression I could manage.
I pulled out the dry, professional tone I’d used with true VIP clients—the cold genius-artist voice.
“Take it off right now.”
Dead silence crashed over the pen. Illusia’s expression turned vicious.
Even the nearby soldiers drew their weapons in shock at my insane words.
But I couldn’t swallow the words back.
I lifted my chin and stared straight into her crimson eyes.
“If you keep wearing that stupid metal lump, your ribs will break and your breathing will stop by tomorrow.”
“How dare a prisoner insult the Commander!”
At the subordinate’s roar, Illusia stepped forward and slammed the scythe blade right against my neck skin.
‘Chilling.’
A line of blood trickled down with a sharp sting.
I was on the verge of pissing myself, but I tsked her and sighed heavily on the surface.
“The third and fourth ribs—right between them. Doesn’t it feel like it’s about to snap every time you swing that scythe?”
Illusia’s eyes widened. The tips of her fingers gripping the scythe trembled minutely.
“The shoulder plates are off-balance, crushing the back muscles. The breastplate’s curve is all wrong, compressing the ribs. The skin underneath is already shredded from friction like rags. Wearing something this messed up while forcing yourself to swing weapons would make your blood boil from the inside and choke your breath. It’s obvious, isn’t it?”
‘Clang.’
The massive scythe dropped to the ground from her hand.
Illusia stared at me in disbelief.
The fatal pain she’d been swallowing alone now laid bare in my eyes. For the first time, she couldn’t hide the shock on her face.
“Who… exactly are you?”
Heat and a thread of curiosity mixed in her voice.
“A tailor. The only expert who can create perfect clothing that is worlds beyond your garbage metal lump.”
‘Please save me. I’ll make you something comfortable—casual wear or pajamas that move freely. Just don’t feed me to the wolves.’
Inside, tears of blood streamed down my face while I sobbed, but I maintained the arrogant pose to the end.
Illusia glared at me for a long time—anger at the cheeky prisoner mixed with a strange curiosity whether he could solve her own pain.
Finally she let out a cool smile and spoke.
“How interesting. A mere human tailor sees through the flow of my mana and claims he can make armor that can withstand it.”
‘…Huh? Mana? Armor? I was just saying the clothes looked ugly and offered to fix them.’
“Fine. Lock that arrogant brat in a private cell. If you can’t make the perfect armor you just promised by tomorrow… I’ll peel your skin and use it as the lining.”
As she turned to leave, I forced strength into my shaking legs and shouted urgently.
“Wait.”
Illusia turned back.
I pointed at Hans, who was shaking on the ground.
“To sew, I need an assistant to match measurements. Please let me use this old soldier as my assistant.”
At my words, the corners of Illusia’s mouth twisted upward.
“Oh? In a situation where your own life is swinging between life and death, you’d take another man’s life?”
“Fine. Put the old man in the same cell. If we fail tomorrow, I’ll peel both your skins.”
‘Boom.’
The heavy iron door slammed shut, and the guards’ footsteps completely vanished down the corridor.
“Ed! Thank you, thank you! Because of you, this old man got to live one more day!”
Hans grabbed my pants hem and sobbed, but I didn’t have the strength to answer.
My legs gave out. I collapsed on the floor and clutched my head.
The genius-artist poker face I’d maintained until moments ago was gone.
‘This crazy bastard! Lee Do-jin, it’s your damn tongue again! There’s no thanks for this, Uncle. We’re both going to get our skins peeled tomorrow!’
Clearly the instinct to survive had shut down my reason.
In the private cell, the Commander’s subordinates had left the highest-grade black spider leather and bundles of tough thread scattered about.
Looking at it, my vision went black.
‘Wait, I only said I’d make him comfortable daily wear that doesn’t touch the body! Armor?! How the hell am I supposed to hammer that into steel plates?!’
In my past life I was a chief designer who created the clothes worn at fashion shows.
A man who couldn’t even light a furnace trying to design armor in this barbaric world?! All I knew was the friction coefficient of silk and the elasticity of fabric.
Put modern women’s fashion on the ruthless Demon King Butcher and they’d chop off my head on the spot for being a lecher.
‘Maybe biting my tongue to death would be less painful than this.’
I sat in despair staring blankly at the black spider leather on the floor.
[Ding—!]
[Responding to the artist’s determination as death approaches.]
[The Modern Fashion Master System has awakened.]
A blue holographic window floated in mid-air. I read the text in a trance.
[Skill: Three-Dimensional Cutting acquired]
[Skill: Mana Fusion Sewing acquired]
[System Property: The characteristics of the design implemented by the worker are granted as stats and special abilities.]
I rubbed my eyes and read it again.
‘…The characteristics of the design become stats?’
What the hell did that mean? It was impossible to understand how the design of a garment could grant stats.
I clenched the black spider leather on the floor in disbelief. I must have gone crazy—hallucinations this vivid.
‘All I know is how to wrap a body comfortably in cheap fabric.’
‘The only elastic, move-free clothing I can think of right now that doesn’t compress ribs while swinging a massive scythe…?’
That instant, when I unconsciously stroked the leather while imagining modern functional workout outfit patterns, the holographic window flashed and new text spilled out.
[Virtual design: Sports bra and seamless leggings recognized.]
[Design characteristic: rib-cage liberation and extreme mobility converted to stats.]
[Expected effect: mana circulation amplification, maximized evasion and agility, physical friction nullified.]
‘…?’
I froze, staring at the glowing text, rereading it multiple times.
Disbelief made me laugh out loud. The system message remained clear and sharp—no hallucination.
‘Then what about something loose and baggy? What if I make an oversized hoodie cloak?’
I hurriedly imagined a wide hood cloak pattern and gripped the leather again.
[Virtual design: Oversize hoodie cloak recognized.]
[Design characteristic: concealment of body contours and extra space converted to stats.]
[Expected effect: existence erasure, maximized stealth.]
‘This world is insane.’
The designer’s instinct that had stopped in despair suddenly latched onto the frantic survival drive and spun wildly.
If this system was real, all the modern clothing I’d made in my past life would become combat equipment here.
No need for heavy steel plating or complex magic circles.
All that was required was my knowledge of human anatomy working like magic through the shape and cut of the clothing.
I stared alternately at the black spider leather and the old measuring tape hidden in my pocket, a bitter smile spreading on my lips.
‘First, I need to check measurements properly…’
Just thinking about pressing a tape to the naked skin of that arrogant female subordinate tomorrow made cold sweat break out all over me.
To create a sports bra and leggings, I had to take measurements from underbust to inner thigh to hip curve with zero 0.1-millimeter error—perfectly skin-tight.
Any slight deviation and the fit would collapse and the system effect would change.
That meant I had to measure every inch of her body.
But if it was to survive, nothing was impossible.
‘Since things turned out this way, I’ll make her the perfect, top-grade custom suit.’
