The Maid Craves Some Discipline (3)
Thanks to my successful negotiation with Daily Caliola's deputy editor Lydia, the paper quality had improved dramatically.
"…Kuhhh, this is it!"
Productivity had skyrocketed to insane levels. The nib never caught on the rough surface, ink didn't splatter, and even when I filled both sides to the brim, there was zero bleed-through—perfect density. The pen glided across the page like it was skating on ice.
—Scratch, scratch.
The satisfying friction echoed through the quiet room. On top of that, it seemed the original owner's artistic talent was amplifying my own skills. The prim yet precariously teasing frills of the maid outfit came to life with vivid precision. The way the fabric clung to her curves, the subtle reveal of thigh meeting garter belt—perfection!
As expected of an otaku. This level of detail is non-negotiable.
For someone like me, whose horniness was basically fandom itself, it wasn't just about drawing sexy girls. It was about crafting something that boiled the blood, tailored to every reader's deepest cravings. Erotic manga was already art at its finest.
"Hmm… I think Estelle's were a bit fuller here."
Today's focus was nailing the maid outfit details. The lush frills, the stiff texture of the apron, and especially the taut wrinkles forming when someone roughly hikes it up—these were the episode's core. I was letting out admiring sighs as I worked the pen, but then—clunk—my hand froze.
"Ah… it's a little lacking in detail."
Imagining the fabric's wrinkles had its limits. The tension when the skirt's pulled tight, the subtle shadows between pale stockings and the skirt's underside—one pen stroke could shift the eroticism entirely. For that lifelike perfection, I needed to see it with my own eyes.
"If only I had a model."
Should I ask Estelle? She's the inspiration for this doujin heroine, after all—no better model exists!
But…
"……."
Imagining her face at my request killed that idea instantly. In my mind's eye, she was already glaring at me like trash!
No way in hell she'd agree. Ever.
Ever since meeting Lydia at Daily Caliola, she'd somehow grown even colder and pricklier. I smacked my lips in regret and was about to fall back on imagination when—
Knock knock.
"Young master. A guest has arrived."
Estelle reported it in a voice like an ice block.
By the way.
"A guest? For me?"
Heading down to the drawing room, a welcome face awaited me.
"Ian! How've you been? It's been ages!"
Neat brown bob haircut with a crisp, tidy vibe. Sparkling green eyes full of energy. It was Lena Youngston, eldest daughter of the Youngston count family—close allies of the Ashy Barony—and Ian's longtime childhood friend.
"Ages? We saw each other a week ago."
"A week's plenty long enough!"
Somehow, I'd ended up as close to her as the original owner had been. And like a proper childhood friend, she was sweet as could be.
On the table beside Lena sat a hefty basket that looked packed solid. Freshly baked premium bread and sweet fruit aromas wafted from the gaps. She knew better than anyone about our barony's dire finances—she'd clearly brought a mountain of food on purpose.
"And I hear you've been holed up in your room lately? Your face looks like crap. Eat this. I bought too much on the way and had leftovers, so don't get the wrong idea!"
One comforting thing: she didn't seem to harbor even a speck of romantic feelings for Ian Ashy. Otherwise, she wouldn't bring half-eaten sandwiches like this. Her total bro-vibes made it easy to relax around her too.
"Ahem, ahem."
Lena cleared her throat lightly. Come to think of it, her attitude was a bit off today.
"Spit it out already. Whatever you wanna say, just say it."
"Huh? How can you be so rude to a lady! Us ladies might have feelings tucked away in our hearts, you know?"
"A girl who brings sandwiches like this? And can you even call a big-mouth like you a lady?"
I grabbed one of her half-eaten sandwiches, chomped the air right where her teeth marks were, and she burst into giggles.
"You're insane, for real!"
"Don't worry, Lena. I like big-mouthed girls. Heh heh."
"Ugh, stop laughing like that, you creep!"
"It's fine, it's fine. I'll take responsibility later."
Bicker bicker. I let her pelt me with a few cushions until she finally caught her breath, wiping tears from her eyes.
"No matter how I look at it, Ian, you've changed."
Hmm. Did I overdo it? Still, time to play it sly.
"Maybe the lady's the one who's changed? Fallen for me or something."
"In your dreams!"
I dramatically took another cushion to the face and flopped backward. She laughed even harder, then suddenly turned serious.
"Anyway, Ian, how long are you gonna keep this up? You need to head back to the Imperial Academy already."
"The academy?"
I blurted out something dumb without thinking.
"You kidding? You're on suspension after that incident, you idiot! You gonna hole up in your room forever like some poet reject?"
Lena yelled in disbelief.
Oh, right. Ian Ashy was enrolled there?
I quickly rummaged through my memories. The Imperial Academy sat at the heart of Caliola, surrounded by the imperial palace, Mage Tower, and Royal Library—the empire's political and cultural nexus. It was the main stage for the romance fantasy novel I'd transmigrated into, Golden Chains. The crown prince, saintess, imperial princess, Mage Tower lord, northern grand duke—all the major players mingled there, building connections.
Even knowing the story inside out, Ian Ashy was a thorough extra who quietly exited mid-story, so fine details like that hadn't stuck.
I vaguely recalled scraping by as a penniless nobody, invisible even while attending.
No way. I'm not stepping foot in that madhouse.
I shook my head firmly. My long-term goal in this world was crystal clear: avoid the main plot as much as possible, spectate from the sidelines, sell lewd comics for cash, and coast quietly to a peaceful ending. There was zero reason to waltz into the tiger's den crawling with world-topping powerhouses like the crown prince, saintess, or northern grand duke.
"Not going. No plans to return to the academy."
"What? Why! You gonna rot as a shut-in forever? What're you even gonna do for a living later?!"
Lena shot to her feet. Her confident green eyes trembled with panic.
"This suits me just fine. Keeps me busy enough."
"Hah, seriously! You're really…! Don't you know your family'll go bankrupt like this?!"
She clapped a hand over her mouth, realizing her slip.
"Sorry."
"Nah, you're not wrong."
"S-still, that was rude."
Fidgeting anxiously, Lena clenched her fist like she'd made up her mind to make amends.
"O-okay, here's the deal! If you go back to the academy, I'll grant you anything you want!"
It was an explosion of tear-jerking childhood-friend power. Admirable dedication to dragging me into society and making me a functional human.
Not a bad deal.
Childhood friend as the next maid material? Just thinking about it made my mouth water.
She must've misinterpreted my grin.
"…Why? You gonna ask for food or something?"
"Nah, nothing like that."
I stroked my chin, pondering. My gaze drifted over Lena as I did.
She seemed oblivious, but her figure had the elegant curves befitting a noble lady.
Hold up. With that build…
A flash of inspiration—no, pure lecherous artistic greed—struck me. I eyed her up and down slowly, a leisurely, mischievous smile curling my lips.
"Alright then. Wear a maid outfit for me—just once?"
Instantly, the cheerful drawing room air turned to frost.
Lena's face flushed tomato-red from her scalp down, her mouth gaping wide.
"Wh-what, what, WHAT? Y-you pervert…!"
And as she reared back to scream—
Clang—!
"Guh!"
A dull thud, and stars exploded before my eyes. A heavy pain followed belatedly.
"Ow! The back of my head, the back of my head!"
Whirling around with a bizarre yelp, I saw Estelle looming over me, silver tray raised high, her face an emotionless winter gale.
"Young master. Please refrain from such vulgar jokes in front of a guest. It tarnishes the Ashy family name."
It wasn't a joke! Her cool, flawless voice—sans even a hint of smile—stabbed coldly into my skull.
After Lena—face like it might explode—yelled, "Y-you perv! Do whatever with the academy!" and fled the barony like her life depended on it,
I rubbed my throbbing occiput and sat before Estelle.
This won't do.
Estelle wasn't cooperating. That was a huge problem. To pioneer this world's first lewd comic market and feed the family, I needed her help—she controlled my space perfectly. She was basically my hands and feet right now.
So.
Time to come clean.
"Estelle."
I steeled myself and spoke.
"Lift your dress. I want to draw your garter belt."
"…Pardon?"