The Birth of the Chil-ya Suit

"More than I expected?"

Threads and cloth rained down onto the floor like a cascade from the night sky. I stared at them in a daze. Han Yuseon didn't look the least bit tired. At this volume, she'd at least be panting, right? She glanced at my reaction and smirked.

"There'll be failures too, so I picked the ones with the highest mana density."

"Whatever... It's not like I have anything else to do. Let's just call it a hobby. For now, shall we start with your clothes?"

I picked up the cloth, threads, and golden needle from the floor. I had a rough idea of how to make it. Not that I expected success, of course.

Han Yuseon looked puzzled. "Why start with my clothes specifically? Are you hoping I'll wear a bunny girl cos—"

"I don't know what you're imagining, but no. Get lost. The first attempt's bound to fail ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠anyway, so it's for you."

I shot her a disdainful glare. Honestly, Han Yuseon in a costume? I'd love to see it, but no way I'd make one for her.

'I'm making it because that suit looks uncomfortable. What good's something even worse?'

Han Yuseon clicked her tongue in disappointment. I ignored her and asked, "So, what kind of clothes do you want?"

"Personally, I prefer clean, professional styles. Something befitting my intellect and beauty—"

"Skip the bullshit. So, sticking to suits, huh? Makes sense—your vibe's so cold anyway."

Han Yuseon puffed out her cheeks slightly, like she was sulking. Had she always been this expressive?

"It seems Puppeteer doesn't listen to a word I say."

"Half your words are narcissistic drivel anyway. Strongest? You'd get wrecked by Yoo Sorang."

"Yoo Sorang's the one who'd get wrecked."

Han Yuseon snorted in disbelief. I stared at her, utterly baffled.

'Narcissism on that level...'

Was she seriously claiming the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠world's greatest swordswoman, Yoo Sorang—who outshone even archangels in today's rankings—would lose? I acknowledged Han Yuseon was strong, but top tier? No way.

She puffed her cheeks even more, pride clearly wounded by my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reaction.

"I'm far superior."

"Yeah, yeah."

Any more prodding and I might see a new side of her. I just shrugged it off. She was strong, after all—clearing those golems in one go proved it.

"Alright, let's base it on a suit then."

"Very well."

I closed my eyes. My vision went dark, and I pictured the outfit. No need to sew by hand. I just overlaid it onto Han Yuseon's form in my mind.

'Suit with a uniform vibe.'

No sounds reached me. All my focus poured into the cloth and threads.

'Cloth is cotton, thread is line—pure enough to capture the world. Maybe everything.'

Take the night sky as cloth, a single beam of moonlight as thread. Something visible yet unreal, tangible yet untouchable. Starlight pierces the dark. The night sky isn't truly black—perhaps navy, perhaps purple.

Snip. Cut the night sky.

Swish, stroke. Stitch with moonlight.

Rustle. Embroider with starlight.

Thus, the forbidden is complete.

'...Done?'

I opened my eyes. In my hands was a navy suit, beautifully embroidered across the chest—the outfit I'd made.

"Ugh...!"

My head spun. I nearly collapsed, but someone caught me. Through blurry vision, I saw Han Yuseon gazing at me with worry. Her grip was firm.

'What's she so worried about?'

I smirked. "Your clothes. Not a costume, surprisingly."

I hoped she liked it... And with that, I blacked out.

…

"Nngh..."

I grimaced and groaned. A massive headache hit out of nowhere.

'Didn't drink, did I?'

No money for booze anyway. Hangover? No way.

Oh yeah—passed out making Han Yuseon's clothes. That bitch. Should've warned me about penalties like this.

I forced my eyes open. Familiar ceiling... wait, no.

"Why're you the first thing I see when I wake up? Wanted to wake up refreshed."

I clutched my head and grumbled. Han Yuseon sighed in relief, then giggled.

"Thought you were a goner, you bastard."

"Puppeteer has no trace of seriousness."

"Why? Even if I got serious, it'd just be a joke. Ow, my head."

I sat up and looked around. My eyes landed on the window.

'Night?'

The moon hung in the sky. At least nine hours—making clothes and passing out. Daily quest's almost done then.

I pressed my throbbing temples. "What time is it?"

"Time isn't the issue. You said you had no mana—how could you push yourself like that?"

Han Yuseon scolded me, her face grave. Different from usual. She wasn't this openly emotional...

"Push? I'm fine now. And your suit was fucking exhausting. Like it or not, wear it."

"That's what I wanted to talk about."

She held out the suit. It looked perfect—better than I remembered.

I'd named it before passing out.

How cool is that?

'What if it doesn't fit?'

I could adjust it. Probably just tweaks, not too draining.

"Won't remake it if you ask. Seriously, nearly killed me."

"You nearly died, Puppeteer."

I blinked in shock. For real?

"...What?"

Was she joking? But her face stayed serious.

'Not a joke?'

I stared questioningly, and she sighed. "As I said then—making clothes from mana threads and cloth consumes mana. Once mana hits zero, it starts draining your life force."

"That sounds insanely scary. Life force?"

Like some manga trope. Terrifying.

She nodded. "You've been out for four straight days."

"Oh... I was fucked, huh?"

Closest brush with death since childhood—four days was a record.

"What kind of suit did you even make? With what intent...?"

"Just yours?"

"Why go that far? I'm not worth— No."

Han Yuseon bit her lip mid-sentence, face darkening. Tough to even joke now. I just scratched my head.

The important part: "So, how's the suit? Like it?"

"Yes..."

She eyed it, gaze a bit confused.

"Then wear it. Gave up my life force for this."

"It's too good for me—"

"I made it, so shut up and wear it, princess."

She finally nodded. No changing room in this one-room, so she headed to the bathroom. As I waited, her voice came from behind.

"I'm undressing now. Absolutely do not come in."

"Yeah, yeah. Not coming. Not interested."

"...No fun."

She tsked. The rustle of fabric teased my ears. I scrolled Nyeonggle on my phone when her voice piped up again.

"Putting it on now. Last chance."

"Yeah. Put it on."

I replied indifferently. Curious, sure—but not that curious.

She grumbled. The door creaked open, and my eyes snapped to her.

Han Yuseon hesitated out, cheeks flushed.

'She's embarrassed?'

Whatever. The suit fit like a dream—exactly as imagined.

"Whoa..."

An exclamation slipped out. Didn't expect my creation to look this good. Puppeteer perks, probably.

"How is it?"

"Pretty. Very."

"Always was. The suit just highlights it."

"Perfect without your bullshit."

No one kills the mood ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like Han Yuseon.

'Damn, she looks good.'

If I hadn't known her before, I'd be thrilled. Missed the key question.

"So, like it? More comfy than the suit?"

"I do."

She nodded, forcing a straight face, but a faint smile tugged her lips.

"Good, good. Satisfied? Can't make more."

I waved her off lazily.

She looked incredulous. "Asking for more here would make me trash. Do you think I'm that ungrateful?"

"You're not? Shocking."

"...Ruined the moment."

Han Yuseon chuckled softly.