Chapter 14: What Is Marketing? (2)
Chapter 14: What Is Marketing? (2)
Translation: Godtl
If you were to stop any random person in Britannia and ask, "Who is Bellaby Blanville?"
Every single one out of ten would answer, "Britannia's greatest actress."
Britannia's greatest actress.
That short phrase carries an immense weight within it.
Wealth and fame.
And attention.
Bellaby's every move becomes the subject of fascination and envy.
Tailors scramble to replicate the designs of the dresses she wears to balls.
The bracelet that adorned her wrist soon becomes the "Bellaby Cut," the most exclusive collection offered by jewelers.
Even a single piece of chocolate she absentmindedly ate during filming becomes a hot topic, and books are published detailing her daily routines.
The attention she commands isn't limited to the general public.
High society, too, has always been fervently interested in Bellaby.
Because anyone would believe that simply having such a rare jewel grace their gathering would elevate its prestige.
If you were to gather all the invitations and letters sent to her each year, she'd never have to worry about firewood for the rest of her life.
Bellaby found it all terribly bothersome, but at least sending an invitation was still considered polite.
Among the dozens of calls she received daily, there were plenty of scoundrels who, relying on their lineage and authority, would subtly push for more... explicit requests.
[Just tell her 'Albuterol.']
"...Excuse me?"
[If you tell Miss Bellaby 'Albuterol,' she'll understand.]
The manager assumed the caller, who hid their identity, was just another one of those disgusting types.
Dealing with such creeps was part of the job, so the manager steeled themselves to fire off a sharp retort and hang up.
"Albuterol? What's that supposed to—"
But the moment the word "Albuterol" slipped into the conversation—
Bellaby, who had been sprawled lazily on the sunlit sofa as if the world itself were a nuisance, suddenly shot upright.
"Give me the phone."
"Miss Bellaby! Why all of a sudden—?! This person's a pervert!"
"Just hand it over!"
"But we don't even know who it is—"
"It's fine, just give it to me! And step outside for a moment!"
Not stopping there, she strode over and snatched the receiver.
Bewildered but obeying her gesture to leave, the manager was promptly shooed out onto the terrace.
Through the frosted glass, they could see Bellaby's back as she took the call.
"What in the world...?"
Seriously, what in the world?
Bellaby on vacation was notorious for being unreachable—even Her Majesty the Queen couldn't summon her.
The sheer volume of attention she endured made her vacations sacred for catching her breath.
So the fact that Bellaby had taken the call at all was shocking, but her demeanor was unlike her usual self.
This wasn't her typical half-hearted, socially obligatory act.
She pressed the receiver tightly to her ear, twisted the phone cord around her finger, and fussed with her hair.
She even seemed... restless.
"You call that a plan?!?!"
The sudden outburst made the manager jump.
Worried, they cautiously cracked the door open to eavesdrop further.
"No, you're seriously using it for that?"
"After years of careful deliberation, that's the best you could come up with?"
"Ugh... Are you really sure that'll work?"
"...Fine. A promise is a promise."
Listening to Bellaby's side alone made it impossible to guess what was going on.
Just as the manager strained to hear more—click—the call ended.
A long sigh followed the silence, Bellaby standing there dazed.
Frowning, she tapped her elbow with her fingertips before finally speaking.
"Manager."
"Yes?"
"I think I need to go somewhere for a bit."
"Huh? Where?"
"Nortaris."
"Nortaris? Now?"
Right now, they were at a luxurious villa on the eastern coast of Soltera, a renowned vacation spot.
Meanwhile, Nortaris was a backwater city in the far north of Britannia.
Nortaris was absolutely not the kind of place Bellaby, who lived in extreme seclusion even during vacations, would ever consider visiting.
Especially considering she had chosen Soltera as her vacation spot precisely because she hated winter.
Wasn't Nortaris freezing cold over there?
"Is this because of that phone call earlier? Just who on earth—?"
"Don't even ask. There's this one utterly, utterly stupid person."
Bellaby badmouthing someone?
And yet she was willing to travel all the way to the northern edge of the kingdom just to fulfill their request?
Why?
Was she being blackmailed or something?
The manager couldn't make heads or tails of it.
<Britannia's Jewel Comes to Proud Nortaris!>
The moment this headline graced the front page of the morning newspaper, Nortaris erupted in excitement, forgetting even the biting winter cold.
"Is it true? Is Lady Bellaby really coming?"
"That's what they're saying! Apparently, she's staying in Nortaris for a whole week!"
"Oho, finally... our Nortaris gets its turn...!!!"
The citizens' reactions were not without reason.
Nortaris, thanks to the power of the Labyrinth Demon Realm, played a crucial role as Britannia's granary.
But despite its importance, the kingdom's perception of it leaned heavily toward "backwater" or "frontier."
It wasn't entirely baseless slander.
Nortaris was just too damn cold.
The northern regions, responsible for the kingdom's food self-sufficiency, had always lagged behind in development compared to other areas.
Because of this, the people of Nortaris harbored a quiet sense of inferiority.
Even though they fulfilled a vital role for the kingdom, public perception was stuck at, "Isn't that place just a giant freezer?"
This perception was even more damaging among the nobility.
To put it bluntly, it stung harder for them.
It wasn't that the nobles from Nortaris lacked wealth.
Nor were they lacking in pedigree.
Yet, the moment they stepped into other social circles, they were treated like minor-league bumpkins from some rural backwater. How could that not make their blood boil?
And now, in the midst of all this—Britannia's top star!
Choosing Nortaris's year-end Charity Event over all other regional social gatherings!
She was actually coming!
Where else would you find news so elevating for the city's prestige?
"Spring has finally come to Nortaris!"
"Sniff... It's been a long, humiliating time."
"This time, things will truly be different!"
Some were moved to tears, feeling as though their years of hardship were being washed away.
"Our banking guild pledges full support to ensure Lady Bellaby's stay is as comfortable as possible!"
"The Merchant Alliance will provide the finest goods free of charge!"
"The Adventurers' Guild will assign its most elite members for her security detail!"
Those with influence rolled up their sleeves, vowing unlimited support for Bellaby.
And among them, no one was more delighted by this news than old man Ritz, the general manager of The Litchfield Hotel.
"Lady Penelope! This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! Lady Bellaby has promised to stay at our hotel for an entire week, hasn't she?"
His wrinkled face beamed like a lovestruck boy who had finally succeeded, his feet practically dancing.
There was no doubt about The Litchfield Hotel's pedigree and high-quality service.
But Nortaris had been spreading its wings in recent years, experiencing rapid growth.
With that came a flood of new luxury hotels, each challenging The Litchfield's throne as "Nortaris's No. 1 Hotel."
Though he pretended otherwise, the general manager had been deeply bothered by this.
But now? Now he had nothing to worry about!
No matter how much those upstarts boasted—"We're the best now!" "Our service is superior!"—all he had to do was drop the ultimate trump card: "Oh? But Bellaby isn't staying at your hotel, is she?"
Game over.
"Congratulations, old man."
Penelope, who had been summoned to Litchfield while washing cola bottles, remained indifferent even to such joyful news.
"Aren't you pleased, my lady?"
"Why should I be?"
"Of course you should! This hotel will soon be yours, after all. The honor of our hotel is your honor, is it not?"
The Litchfield Hotel belonged to the Rosemore Count Family.
If the ailing Count of Rosemore were to pass, it would be inherited by his second daughter, Penelope.
"You think this hotel will be mine? It'll be my sister's."
But Penelope knew the truth.
She was nothing more than a figurehead.
The moment her sister took even the slightest whim, another vassal would replace her—this position was as fleeting as a mirage.
Old Man Ritz straightened his posture as he watched Penelope respond dryly.
"I've watched over both young ladies since you were children. I'm sure your elder sister doesn't truly despise you, Lady Penelope. She simply prioritizes the family's interests above all else."
"So what? I hate my sister."
"Well, isn't it natural for sisters to quarrel when they're young?"
Old Man Ritz was kind.
Even after Penelope had been deemed "of no use to the family" and lost her father's trust, effectively becoming invisible to everyone else—
Old Man Ritz still treated her exactly the same as before.
The only problem was that his kindness made him assume everyone else was as good-hearted as he was.
"Good for you, Old Man Ritz. Congratulations."
"I'll do my best to ensure this joyous occasion benefits you as well, my lady."
"Fine. Let's get this over with."
Honestly, she'd rather return to making cola with Viche...
But nominally, at least, Penelope was the owner of this hotel.
For matters this significant, her approval was required.
And out of respect for Old Man Ritz, who had dedicated his life to managing the Litchfield Hotel, she intended to handle this properly.
"Give her the best suite. Arrange first-class airship accommodations, and we'll cover the expenses."
"Of course, we've already taken care of the basics, but Lady Bellaby has... quite a few additional requests."
"Hand them over. I'll take a look."
Penelope accepted the list of demands Old Man Ritz had transcribed.
And was utterly stunned by its density.
"All of this is her demands?"
"My, my... I'd heard rumors, but I never imagined she'd be this particular."
"This is ridiculous."
The list went on endlessly—demands so meticulous that even the notoriously fussy Penelope was left speechless.
An entire floor reserved exclusively for her, complete with a private parlor and dining area.
Room temperature maintained at precisely 26 degrees at all times.
Premium wool carpets laid so she could walk barefoot.
A Clopet bathtub installed in the bathroom, stocked with bergamot, lavender, and orange blossom essential oils as bath additives.
Two thick shower robes lined with angora wool, cashmere blankets, and a maid on standby 24/7?
"If you look, there's a bit more at the bottom."
"Good heavens... Does she think she's some kind of tulip?"
The Litchfield was already equipped with facilities and services designed to satisfy the most demanding nobles.
She'd thought there wouldn't be much to worry about, but looking at this, they'd practically have to tear down the entire suite and repaper the walls from scratch.
Part of her wanted to back out, but it was hard to pour cold water on Old Man Ritz's excitement.
As she swiftly signed off on the documents, Penelope suddenly paused.
"Huh?"
At the very end of the exhaustive list of demands—
No excessively oily dishes in meals.
No phone calls, visits, or knocks before 10 a.m.
And among the final, equally fastidious requests, one sentence stood out, heavily marked with asterisks for emphasis:
Every evening after dinner, prepare six bottles of cola in an ice bucket filled to the brim with ice.
"..."
An ominous premonition of fortune was storming toward her like a hurricane.