Designing the Princess's Bedroom
Make the princess of art a bedroom. It was a mission that had come out of nowhere. Considering the princess's state of mind, she probably wouldn't complain much even if we just gave her any old room. Still, since she was royalty, I wanted to prepare something properly fitting.
To that end, we gathered the family's experts to deliberate on how to lavishly decorate the "Princess's Bedroom."
"Your Excellency? Why have you summoned me...?"
"Ah, well. I figured you'd at least cough up one decent idea if I threw you in the mix?"
One of the assembled "experts"—the Scammer—looked distinctly unamused. He was already swamped, so he clearly wasn't thrilled to be dragged into this. In fact, after Torso, he handled the most tasks in the family.
"...It's an honor that Your Excellency trusts this lowly one so much, but I don't know much about interior design."
"You know plenty about extravagance, don't you?"
"I know a bit about decking things out lavishly, but my expertise is in dolling up people, not spaces. Besides, since it's all for show, it's not even high-class enough to satisfy royalty."
"So what? You gonna do it or not?"
"Pardon?"
"I said deck it out."
"...Ah. Yes, sir."
"And don't make it too luxurious. Her Highness the Princess is already bored to death of that kind of opulence anyway. Pouring too much money into just a bedroom would be a waste. Better to find ways to appeal to her heart elsewhere."
"Ahh, I see. In that case..."
The Scammer nodded in understanding.
Ceremony expert. Interior expert. Human psychology expert (the Scammer). Art expert. A bunch of people gathered to puzzle out a bedroom suited to the princess's tastes. The key was making it so she wouldn't get bored. The princess, jaded from too much indulgence, needed an environment that could spark endless interest.
In other words, something like a playroom would be ideal. I hoped this girl, obsessed with stealing others' things, would realize the world was plenty fun without taking from anyone.
"The point is, we need a bedroom that feels fresh every day."
"Exactly."
"How about using the school's art classes? They don't just teach painting—they cover crafts and even room decoration. We could use student-made works to retheme the bedroom daily, giving a whole new vibe each time. Or set up two or more bedrooms and let her switch every night."
"Oh, that's a solid idea right off the bat."
Art class. A basic course at the school built for foundational education—not exactly high-level stuff. We'd hired third-rate painters as teachers for it. Based on my past life's school schedule, the content was maybe middle-school caliber at best, but since it skipped art history and focused on hands-on practice, and given the nature of arts subjects, even basic training produced some surprisingly talented slaves.
Most of those slaves handled the family's "illustration" work. They drew pictures for flyers in our "advertising business," or sketched announcements for illiterate slaves when new notices went up. Basically, they drew everything miscellaneous.
Of course, mass-produced flyers required woodblock prints run through the press, but for small runs, using art-trained slaves for education and labor often worked out cheaper.
Others made crafts to sell, or specialized in woodworking. Where do slaves sell their stuff, and who teaches them carpentry when? If you're asking that, you still lack "Riddle slave sensibilities." In the Riddle family, the paths to education and business were open to all.
Anyway, we had plenty of slaves with real skill. The proposal was to put them to good use.
"Then... we should select slaves to handle the princess's bedroom."
"I'll pick and prep them."
"No. I'll do it myself."
"Your Excellency will handle it personally?"
"Yeah."
I'd stepped back from school affairs after hygiene training wrapped up. This was a good chance to check if things were running smoothly.
"Torso."
"Right away."
We arrived at the school. I'd once gathered teachers and doctors in these classrooms for "health and hygiene" lessons. It wasn't that long ago, but my hectic life made it feel ancient history.
"It's quieter than I expected."
"Classes are still in session, so it will get noisy when the bell rings."
"Fair enough. Schools are all like that."
I strolled slowly down the quiet hallway. A teacher walking the corridor spotted me, startled, and bowed deeply. I nodded back casually and headed for the "Art Room" where art class was held.
Walking these corridors, modeled on my past life's school, felt like coming home.
"Brings back memories."
"Memories from... your past, sir?"
"Ah, my own past. Before I possessed Karl, I mean."
"..."
Thanks to spilling the possession secret, I finally had someone to reminisce with freely. I owed the princess for that. Without her Blessing, I probably wouldn't have volunteered the truth. And these stories would've stayed locked away.
"The school I went to was in a rural area with hardly any people, but the building was huge, so we had tons of space. Five stories tall, two main buildings connected by skybridges, plus a four-story one left abandoned except for club rooms."
"...Pardon? For a rural spot with few people, that's... quite the scale."
"Eh, must've been busier back in the day. Mostly old folks, but not total backwoods."
A once-decent provincial school, now rundown. No modern facilities—or what few there were had fallen into disrepair. Still, it fulfilled its role as a school pretty well. Big library, multiple seminar rooms for some reason, music rooms stocked with guitars and music stands for every student, huge auditorium and AV room.
But the place that stuck with me most was the art room.
"Our school's art room... looking back, it was like a warehouse. I don't know if it's typical of art teachers nationwide, but ours was super handy—always making stuff. Tons of tools, craft supplies... all sorts of mysterious gadgets. Bizarre plaster casts, sculptures left by alumni, walls covered in paintings, shelves crammed with pastels, paints, easels. In that old, worn-out school, it felt like another world."
"Another world?"
Ah, no Alice here, so that won't land.
"Anyway, it had a great vibe. The school was empty and stuffy overall, but that room stood out. The teacher was a riot—always grinning when students showed up, handing out snacks. Usually holed up in the attached workshop tinkering, but sometimes you'd hear guitar from in there."
"Hm. I get the picture."
"Thanks to her, art class was fun. I wasn't talented, but I made some cool stuff. The school was so rigid and oppressive with all the academics, but the art room's nothing but good memories."
"..."
"That's why I insisted on art classes. You need them to refresh the soul. Schools are for one-way learning, but arts let you breathe free. Who knows—you might uncover hidden talents."
Of course, expecting that from a slave school was a stretch. Even if I'd designed it from past-life memories, the people running it were from this world. No slaves freely doodling or chatting over snacks. They'd push hard to learn, too tense to relax.
Still, self-expression alone should refresh the soul. That'd be enough for now.
"...Ah, there's the Art Room. Let's go."
"Yes."
With that thought, I opened the door.
And beheld a bizarre sight.
"Balzac?"
"Ah, Your Excellency."
"What are you doing?"
"Teaching the slaves about the mysteries of the human form."
"...Isn't that just erotic art?"
"Ah! They say that too!"
Why is this guy drawing porn?