Chapter 899: The Fish
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 899: The Fish
"A formal suit?"
The tailor shop owner’s voice rose half a pitch.
One had to understand that compared to ordinary clothing, a formal suit—whether in terms of materials, craftsmanship, time, or cost—was on a completely different level.
Naturally, the amount of material he could skim off the top and the profit he could pocket would also be on a completely different level.
He hadn't expected that after such a long dry spell, his first customer would bring in such a massive job. The tailor rubbed his hands together, unable to suppress the grin tugging at his lips. Suddenly, even the rainy weather outside seemed bright and cheerful.
"And how should I address you, Excellency?"
"Bruce."
The tall, gaunt figure tipped his hat in greeting. His high bridge of his nose accentuated the deep contours of his face, leaving his eyes shrouded in shadow—mysterious and somewhat sinister.
"Just call me Bruce."
"Ah, esteemed Mr. Bruce. What kind of suit are we looking for?" The tailor followed suit with a bow, though his etiquette was clearly clumsy, making for a rather comical sight.
"Something magnificent," Bruce said, ignoring the man's lack of grace.
"And?"
"Something grand."
"Magnificent and grand..."
The tailor quickly sketched out designs in his mind. He turned and pulled out a catalog, flipping toward the back. Pointing at one of the illustrations, he asked, "How does this style look to you?"
The image depicted a suit that radiated luxury at a single glance. It was a dignified silver-white, accented by a sophisticated yet bold gold chain across the chest. It was a slim-fit design; judging by the model, it was perfectly suited for a tall, upright physique.
"Hmm, not bad."
Bruce stroked his chin and nodded slightly. "But it's lacking in the details."
"The details?"
The tailor was slightly surprised. He had paid a high price to acquire these catalogs through special channels; supposedly, these were styles worn only by the upper crust of society.
To be so picky about such an exquisite design... could this Mr. Bruce also be...?
"Do you have any specific instructions?" the tailor asked, his heart fluttering with uncertainty.
"I think..." Bruce mused, "it's not magnificent enough."
"Not magnificent enough?" The tailor was even more astonished.
The style he had shown was already the most opulent in the entire collection. If even this couldn't satisfy his requirement for 'magnificence,' then surely...
"Of course. Look, there's only one gold chain on the chest. How can that be called magnificent?"
Bruce pointed at the picture, clearly showing his displeasure. "For a gold decoration like this, there should be at least ten more!"
"..."
The tailor was no longer just surprised; he was utterly stunned.
"Huh? You... how many did you say?"
"Ten. Is that a problem?"
Bruce thought for a moment, then nodded in self-correction. "True. Pure gold is a bit too vulgar."
"Right, exactly. How could we possibly add ten gold decorations?" The tailor breathed a sigh of relief.
He’d been scared to death, thinking for a moment that the man before him wasn't some high-class boss, but simply...
"We should add some gemstones! Rubies would be best!" Bruce nodded, speaking with absolute conviction. "Yes, rubies. I love rubies!"
"..."
He hadn't guessed wrong. This was a vulgar parvenu! The man had absolutely nothing to do with the word 'class.'
The tailor, who had been bowing low just a moment ago, silently straightened his back a little. A faint trace of disdain flickered at the corner of his mouth.
However, he suppressed it well, ensuring this Slavic nouveau riche didn't notice a thing.
"Ten gold decorations plus rubies... that won't be cheap," the tailor said, rubbing his hands again with a smile.
"Whatever it costs. Money is no object."
"It would cost..."
The tailor did a rough calculation, settled on a figure, and then looked up to steal another glance at the large Slav.
He had heard that Slavs often weren't the brightest, and it seemed the rumors were true.
So, he bumped the number up even further.
"It would be about two hundred and fifty thousand Emiels..."
"Two hundred and fifty thousand?"
Bruce’s voice suddenly spiked.
The tailor’s heart tightened. Did he catch on to the overcharge?
Damn it, I shouldn't have tacked on an extra hundred thousand all at once. Even if Slavs are rumored to be dim-witted, he should still be able to tell...
"That's too low!" Bruce barked in outrage. "How could a mere two hundred and fifty thousand suit possibly be worthy of my noble status?"
"Eh?"
The tailor, who had been about to apologize and lower the price, was now completely bewildered.
"Then you think...?"
"Five hundred thousand. For someone of my status, I must wear a suit worth at least five hundred thousand."
"Five... five hundred thousand."
The tailor swallowed hard. Although Mr. Bruce’s demands were high, the truth was that the value of a formal suit was hard to judge by market price alone.
If he mixed a little bit of other metals into the gold, and replaced the rubies with slightly shinier glass beads, the cost...
He was going to make a killing.
"This is a five hundred thousand crystal card from the Church Bank, along with my measurements."
Bruce didn't seem to want the tailor to touch him. He casually tossed a crystal card and a slip of paper to the man.
"Is three days enough time?"
"It's... it's enough!"
The tailor caught the items with both hands, his palms trembling slightly.
To be honest, making a formal suit in three days—especially one so gaudy and complex—was incredibly difficult.
But under the weight of five hundred thousand, let alone three days, he felt he could probably pull it off in one if he pushed himself to the limit.
"Good. I'll come to collect it in three days. Remember... my suit must be the best. Only then will it fit my status."
After emphasizing this several times, Bruce put his unusually tall hat back on and walked out of the shop.
He seemed indifferent to every other detail. His only concern was that in three days, he would receive a magnificent suit befitting his status.
"What a... freak."
The door closed, leaving only the bell jingling softly. It took the tailor a long time to calm his racing heart. Only then did he put the items away and prepare to head to the warehouse to pick out a bolt of the finest, non-moldy fabric.
"Wait."
He paused before reaching the warehouse.
"Making clothes for a pig-headed parvenu like that in just three days... it's going to be far too much work."
The tailor’s eyes darted around. Watching Bruce’s retreating figure through the window, a strange glimmer flashed in the depths of his eyes.
"Why not... try an easier path?"
*
Throughout the day, Bruce—or rather, Muen in disguise—traversed the streets and alleys of this district, moving from shop to shop.
At times, he was in high-end jewelry stores, buying the most expensive and flamboyant ornaments with the most nonchalant tone.
At other times, he was in perfume shops frequented only by noble ladies, pretending to be a connoisseur before buying the lowest-grade trash perfume at an absurd price because the clerk recommended it with a smile.
He even visited a restaurant playing classical music. After ordering the finest food on the menu, he didn't even move his cutlery.
When the head chef came out nervously to inquire, Muen simply waved him off with a flourish and walked away, leaving the chef and waiters staring in confusion.
"I didn't come here to eat. There's a beggar outside who looks very hungry. Please give my portion to him and wish him a pleasant evening meal."
"..."
In short, by the time Muen had wandered until nightfall, legends of a certain nameless Slav had already begun to circulate in places even darker than the night...
*
That night.
Inside a certain house.
The long silence was suddenly broken by a raspy voice coming from the courtyard.
"Lord Tyren."
"What is it?"
The man in the room exhaled a cloud of smoke and asked languidly.
"Is it time to go hunting tonight?"
"No. A tailor from the West District sent word."
The person outside paused. "He says he’s found a big, expensive fish. He wants to know if we’re interested."