Chapter 131
Chapter 131
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 131
Chapter Title: 16 Years Old (1)
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High Theodor.
Anyone could tell at a glance that it was the name of Cecilia's haute couture shop, clearly inspired by her son Theo.
High Theodor had already gained massive fame in high society even before its grand opening.
-Where have I heard that name before? Where was it?
-Oh, right! That was the shop where the clothes Young Master Theo wore came from.
-Yeah, exactly! And the dress Mrs. Cecilia had on was stunning too.
-I heard they opened a big place in the downtown area up ahead. Wanna check it out when we have time?
-Sure!
It started when people began buzzing about Theo's standout performance at Ray's birthday banquet, along with the outfit he wore.
Cecilia had also been making appearances around high society in beautifully adorned dresses, drawing plenty of attention.
And that was hardly the end of it.
-Hmm? Basque Workshop's getting into the fashion business too?
-Ah, customer. That's one of our partner affiliates. It's not far—would you like to visit? They've got loads of pretty accessories that your wife would love.
-Hmm, the prices...
-Of course! They're running an opening discount special.
-Oh, in that case, how can I say no!
Once word spread about the partnership with Basque Workshop, even men who had zero interest in fashion started showing curiosity.
Those who'd come to the workshop to buy weapons spotted the ads set up in one corner and ended up picking out gifts for their wives or lovers.
-Do you know who I am! Hey! You there! Can't you make an exception for just this one?
-Sorry, customer. No cutting in line.
-If you keep acting like this, I'll make sure you shut down in Winterer from now on...!
-The Family Head of Ragnar is the shop owner's husband—think you can pull that off?
-Eeek!
There were times when people tried leveraging their status or jobs to demand favors or throw their weight around, but they'd quickly back down upon hearing the Ragnar name.
Days were packed to the brim.
Yet Cecilia's face bloomed with smiles, in stark contrast to the exhaustion one might expect.
It was a far cry from the days when she'd hole up in Rose Palace, fretting endlessly that Kyle's affections might drift elsewhere.
Then one day.
Slap!
The sound of a slap rang out, and the tailor's face whipped to the side.
"How dare a lowly wretch like you keep talking back!"
The middle-aged woman, dressed in an ornate gown, glared venomously at the tailor.
The eyes of everyone browsing clothes naturally turned that way.
"What are you staring at? Got nothing better to do?"
When her sharp gaze pierced them, the crowd hurriedly fled the shop.
Normally, they'd have stuck around to mock someone daring to cause a scene in a shop under Ragnar protection.
But the opponent's status demanded caution this time.
Vivianri Narsio Mullegan.
As the lady of House Narsio, she hailed from the great Mullegan family, which boasted fame in the south rivaling even the Ragnars. Her infamous arrogance was well-known.
Even her husband, the Family Head, was said to steer clear when she lost her temper.
"I heard you don't take personal calls, so I came myself expecting some real talent. And this is how you handle things? Where's your boss? Get her here now!"
A few attendants scurried to the back.
Cecilia soon appeared.
"Madam, I—"
"I'll handle the rest, so go rest in the break room for now."
Cecilia sent the tailor—hand on her cheek, tears streaming—to the lounge, then stood before Vivianri.
"You were looking for me, Madam?"
"Hmm, yes. You're the owner here?"
Vivianri covered her mouth with a fan made of peacock feathers, blatantly scanning Cecilia from head to toe.
"Yes, that's right. If you tell me what displeased you, I'll take appropriate measures."
"You? And what exactly would that entail?"
Cecilia didn't so much as twitch an eyebrow at the blatant disdain.
"If you don't share the issue, we can't offer any assistance."
"Fine. Since you insist."
"Yes. What is it?"
"Everything, from one to ten!"
Vivianri's voice rose.
"A VVIP like me gets told to just wait, with nothing but cheap snacks shoved my way—no proper refreshments—and then you bring in some untrained girl calling herself a tailor, bossing me around, and on top of that, a custom fit takes at least a week? When you should be begging me to wear it and delivering it gift-wrapped!"
The tailor and attendants listening from behind flushed beet red.
It was all utterly absurd nitpicking.
Cheap snacks?
Cecilia had personally sourced teas and pastries from the western highlands, insisting they wouldn't sully customers' tastes.
Each one was so rare that even average nobles or merchants struggled to obtain them—no grounds for complaint, even if not to taste.
Untrained tailor?
The shop's tailors were all famous enough to launch their own brands, having joined solely on faith in Cecilia.
The one assigned to Vivianri had even worked for the imperial court.
No way her skills fell short.
Above all, Vivianri was the one who'd insulted and personally attacked the apologetic tailor.
The wait time too.
Orders were so backed up that even commoners faced six-month waits.
They'd announced no custom orders for the time being, yet she'd insisted on getting clothes, so they'd cautiously requested a week—out of deference to her, as the mother of Theo's friend, Narsio's young heir.
And...
The moment they suggested waiting, she'd slapped her.
Just for making her wait.
"That's—!"
One attendant finally couldn't hold back and started to protest, but Cecilia raised her right hand to silence them.
Instead, she turned to the butler waiting nearby and gave a few instructions.
"That thing? Bring it."
"Yes!"
The butler soon fetched a well-worn notebook and placed it in Cecilia's hand.
Vivianri's eyebrow twitched.
She had no clue what Cecilia was up to.
But Cecilia flipped through the notebook with a blank expression, stopping at one page.
"Madam Vivianri, you visited our shop a fortnight ago as well."
"So?"
"Our staff asked you to wait briefly then, and you kicked them in the shin."
"What?"
Vivianri's face twisted.
"A month ago, at our affiliated jeweler, you splashed cold water in a clerk's face for not offering credit."
"You...!"
"Three months ago, at another shop, you demanded full refund and compensation for a dress bought five years prior, claiming it was damaged."
"Eee!"
"Similar refund demands: twelve cases. Assaults on stylists or tailors: twenty-one. Outstanding debts from credit: thirty-four..."
"What the hell is this?!"
Vivianri's face burned crimson.
She had no idea where Cecilia got that dirt, but to air it in front of everyone?!
Then she spotted the notebook's title in Cecilia's hand.
-Troublemaker List.
That... that's calling me a troublemaker, right? Right now?!
"It seems [High Theodor] won't be able to tailor clothes for you, Madam Vivianri. We're sorry, but the exit is right behind you."
Cecilia dipped into a graceful curtsy, then turned to her staff.
"What are you all doing? The troublemaker's gone—back to work!"
"......!"
The staff stifled chuckles and returned to their posts.
Vivianri trembled with rage.
Had she ever endured such humiliation?
Her escort knights scowled, hands drifting to their sword hilts.
Punishing anyone who sullied the name of Narsio's lady and Mullegan's daughter was their duty.
But,
Splash!
"Oh dear. Slippery hands."
"Kyaa!"
A flower vase suddenly appeared over Vivianri's head, dumping its contents on her.
Out of nowhere, like a bolt from the blue.
Vivianri shrieked, glaring back, as the knights' eyes snapped that way—then froze stiff.
The Plum Palace Lord stood there, looking apologetic.
"I got too close admiring the flowers and slipped. Whatever shall I do?"
But her eyes betrayed zero remorse.
Utterly impassive.
"I hear Narsio cuts off hands for such mistakes. Should I offer mine?"
The Plum Palace Lord casually extended her hand, and the knights jolted back in alarm.
Soaked to the skin, Vivianri could only quiver in fury, speechless.
Fighting Ragnar's first wife and one of the Nine Dragons here? The outcome was obvious.
"...L-Let's go!"
Finally, Vivianri gnashed her lower lip and stormed out.
Woooah!
Cheers erupted throughout the shop.
The Plum Palace Lord beamed radiantly, turning to the stone-faced Cecilia.
"I heard this place has amazing tailors, so I came on a whim. Care to consult?"
Cecilia stared silently at the Plum Palace Lord for a long moment, then quietly turned.
"...This way, please."
* * *
Time flew by like an arrow.
In the meantime, Theo formally trained <Nibelung> with the shrine knight order he'd named the 'Crimhilt Knights',
and when the chaos began to settle, he slipped an introduction letter into Vittorio's hand as the man set off again for trade.
Along with a letter suggesting that, to save the crumbling Bacchus family, they partner with the Maritime Alliance instead of Ceres Merchant Group.
The reply came swiftly.
Very curt.
-When the hell did you go there?
Naban had every reason to be stunned.
He'd known from newspaper articles that Theo was in the floating archipelago, but never dreamed he'd drag the entire Maritime Alliance north.
Of course, there was no reason to refuse.
With the Family Head and elders all dragged to Winterer, Bacchus was crumbling fast—this was a lifeline.
Thanks to it, Naban quickly began preparing a joint venture with Vittorio.
"Pleasure doing business."
"The feeling's mutual. Let's wrap this up quick while the north lacks solid merchant groups."
"Monopoly markets are every merchant's dream. Heh!"
Bacchus would handle transport and protection for safe trade, while the Maritime Alliance sourced goods swiftly from everywhere.
The split: 4:4:2.
Forty percent each to the Maritime Alliance and Bacchus, twenty to Theo in name.
Gratitude to Theo for the opportunity, plus a neutral tiebreaker for disputes.
This gave Theo voting rights in the company, and linking it to High Theodor and Basque Workshop ballooned its scale fast.
He'd need massive funds to move in earnest ahead.
This joint venture would surely prove a huge asset.
By the time he'd wrapped up these and other matters, time had leaped forward,
and the new year arrived.
"Theo, you're sixteen now, huh?"
"Yeah. Seems so."
"Kuh! Still a fledgling. Jealous. So jealous."
"Selphred, that makes you nine this year...!"
-Hey! Hey! Shut it, will ya?
The north had long counted ages by new year, not birthdays.
So Theo could now mull his new age.
Still far from twenty, but regression had passed some time—he could feel it.
No time to savor the sentiment, though.
-Mission Directive.
The war fires sparked in the north were swelling rapidly in earnest.
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