Signing the Resignation Paper Was Surprisingly Tough. Guess I Haven't Done It Before
Writing a resignation letter is tough. After all, I haven't done it before. I gazed down at the premium parchment laid out on my desk. The paper felt soft, the ink flowed smoothly, and the handwriting was so neat it was almost impossible to believe I'd written it. It was probably just a habit left over from this body. The real problem was the content.
“Seo Yirin, the royal court mage, hereby resigns from her royal duties effective today.”
It was a ridiculously short and concise sentence that would leave the palace utterly dumbfounded. Seo Yirin. The kingdom's youngest special-grade court mage. The one who had torn enemy barriers apart in battle, repaired failed magic circles, and served as the core powerhouse of the royal magic soldier squad. She had money, status, and talent. Anyone who suddenly decided to retire would normally be deemed insane. But I was sincere. No, I had no choice but to be sincere.
Just yesterday, I hadn't lived in this kingdom at all. I had been a tailor on Earth. A famous designer? Nope. Someone who created clothes for the dazzling stage? Also no. I was the person who cut, shortened, patched, and resewed garments that didn't fit anyone—shortening pants that were too long, restitching sleeves with loose shoulders, and replacing torn linings so they didn't show. I'd done this for a long time. And before I fell asleep, I woke up inside the novel I had been reading. Not as some ordinary student or side character, but as Seo Yirin's body—the top-tier royal power.
At first I thought it wouldn't be so bad. I had money. I had power. And my appearance? Honestly, it was too perfect. Floor-length light purple hair, pale skin, and sleepy-looking red eyes. The reflection in the mirror felt unreal, yet it was exactly like the Seo Yirin I remembered. The next problem came right after. This world was the novel's world that I knew. Seo Yirin was about to get deeply entangled in the palace succession crisis that was about to explode. More precisely, she wouldn't just be entangled—she would be crushed. She was strong. Definitely strong. But there were too many things to do. Fight, get suspected, clear her name, and fight again. The original Seo Yirin had endured it all, but I hadn't. I was just an ordinary tailor. I hated political maneuvering, palace intrigues, and the prospect of tearing enemy magic barriers apart with my life on the line. So there was only one answer.
Run. Preferably legally. I signed my name at the very bottom of the resignation letter. Honestly, I had no intention of using this power in combat. In the original novel, Seo Yirin's ability had been portrayed as a dangerous combat skill—cutting barriers, severing magic circles, and reconnecting failed ones like a monster. That was also why the palace didn't want to lose her.
I stared at that ability for a moment and froze. One wrong finger movement and the desk would split. But strangely, the first thing that came to mind wasn't combat. Cutting and connecting. Other people probably thought it was a power used only in war, but to my eyes it looked a little different. Making clothes was ultimately the same. Cutting out unnecessary parts, correcting misaligned lines, and joining the right ones together so they fit the body. Whether it was magic circles or fabric, the presence of lines made it fundamentally no different.
I looked at the royal uniform hanging by the desk. A high-class outfit in black and silver, complete with defensive spells and power circuits to assist movement. But it wasn't a good piece of clothing. The shoulder line was too high. The waist circuits prioritized spell stability over the wearer's movement, and the cuff defense spell tightened around the wrist. It might be excellent for combat gear, but it was no outfit worth wearing for a long time. The original Seo Yirin had probably worn something like this. I hated it. Having to wear ill-fitting clothes and endure palace intrigues was just too harsh.
The resignation letter was written even faster. A few days later, my retirement was unexpectedly accepted. Of course, it hadn't been smooth. The palace had tried to detain me three times, wooed me twice, and on the third occasion had spoken words bordering on blackmail. But my original knowledge had proven quite useful. I quietly told them the exact location of a crack in the border barrier that hadn't yet burst, and handed over a neatly organized list of defective catalysts from the royal warehouse. It was a good way to frame it as the departing court mage showing her final loyalty. On top of that, I settled the war merit reward and unpaid wages.
As a result, I became free. Well, conditional freedom—free to accept requests when the palace needed them, but this was enough. The important thing was that I had left the palace. The next destination had already been decided. Saint Lia Academy. The place where most major events in this world began. Royals, nobles, commoner prodigies, future swordsmen, troublesome geniuses who would become archmages later, saint candidates, and those on the path to becoming dark lords. There were plenty of people who could be profitable, and plenty more who would become a nuisance if left alone. More than anything, they were still students. When they became giants in the future and came looking for me, they would haggle like crazy. But right now? It was the perfect time to buy them cheap.
I bought a building a short distance from the academy gate. By Earth standards, it wasn't small at all. The first floor was the shop, the second was the workshop, the third was living quarters, and the basement held material storage. I bought it because every floor could be used efficiently. On the day I hung up the sign, I spent a long time thinking and finally chose the most ordinary name I could think of.
“Magic Clothing Shop.”
Didn't it stick out too much? I had bad naming sense, though. As long as I handled alterations to academy uniforms, reinforcement of combat gear, and custom dressmaking for events, I'd make a decent living, gather good materials, and build up debts with students who might become troublesome in the future. And if possible, I wanted to do it quietly. That was my plan.
*Ding.*
At that moment, the bell on the door chimed. I looked up. A male student wearing academy uniform had entered the shop. He wasn't tall, and his shoulders were slightly hunched. In his left hand he held a single worn glove. It was a face I hadn't seen before. But it was the face I knew. Currently a commoner scholarship student ranking in the middle-to-lower tiers academically. Always beaten in sword training, ignored by noble students as a side character. And in three years, the man who would become the empire's strongest sword—Yoo Hamin. In the original story, though, he would break his wrist during the entrance exam. He would pass, but the injury would delay his awakening and keep him from holding a sword for a while.
Yoo Hamin carefully extended the glove. “Can… can you repair this?”
I accepted the glove. The wrist stitching was coming undone, and the inner reinforcement leather was almost dead. It was obvious. Even I could tell after my years of experience. If I wore this into a duel, my wrist would be ruined. I could have refused. It was still the first day of opening, and I wanted to take it easy. But no matter how he had perfectly timed this, he was a good customer—a future swordsman. If I kept him alive, he would be a huge money-maker someday.
I placed the glove on the work table. “It's expensive.”
His face hardened. “How much?”
I thought for a moment and said, “For today, let's do it on credit.”
“Eh?”
“In return, please give me priority on one of your future requests when you succeed.”
The male student looked confused, as if he didn't understand what I was saying. It didn't matter. Contracts could be made slowly. I drew a thin line at the tip of my finger. Cutting and connecting. The power that had once torn barriers in battle settled over the worn stitching of the glove.
The first job I performed under the name of the kingdom's youngest special-grade court mage Seo Yirin wasn't a royal command or a battlefield barrier. It was a single glove that would protect the wrist of a future swordsman. I picked up the needle. “Please sit for a moment.”
Since I was already retired, I decided to take the most profitable customers first.