"Revolution in Textile Machinery! Productivity More Than Doubled with Improvements to the Mana Engine…"
[Huh?]
When I was young—
The first time I attended a banquet and was shocked out of my mind by the sight of the Hourglass Regiment, I happened to read a newspaper article and came up with an ambitious plan.
An ambitious plan to change those god-awful clothes myself.
To do that, I learned sewing and even made a few outfits on my own.
But in the end, I gave up.
It wasn't because the results were bad.
There were some rough edges, sure, but I was fairly satisfied.
I realized I had some talent for design and sewing, and that with a bit more practice I could make even better clothes.
But I was scared.
Of society's gaze. Of the Church.
I didn't want to get arrested for "moral corruption."
So I gave up.
Believing that, with time, I—and my tastes—might change.
[Are you impotent or something?]
"Fuck."
But after hearing what Mother said at the banquet, I fell into deep thought for several days.
I realized with certainty that the tastes I believed would change hadn't changed at all. And because I'd stayed lukewarm about things, claiming clothes just made me uncomfortable, I'd also learned that the people around me weren't looking at me kindly.
That made me realize I no longer had the luxury of waiting optimistically for things to fix themselves.
Radical change was necessary.
Could I change myself?
Honestly, I wasn't confident.
If I could, things wouldn't have turned out like this.
"..."
I opened the drawer.
A box, long untouched and coated in a pale layer of dust, revealed itself.
Sewing tools I had hidden away after giving up on my plan—yet kept because I couldn't quite let go.
This was probably my last chance.
If I missed this moment, I'd probably just go on blind dates and marry whoever Mother or Father chose for me.
I don't like that idea very much.
I took the box out and placed it on my desk.
If I don't have the confidence to change myself, and I hate the way things are going now
Then I'll change the environment.
I'll change those irritating, ugly clothes.
A plan I had dreamed of for years, only to abandon after crashing into the wall of reality.
Now it was time to put it into action.
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Society's gaze? The Church-led order?
That's none of my business anymore.
If I'm going to keep staring at that hourglass, I'd rather do everything I want and go out in a blaze of glory like a martyr.
"Phew…"
I let out a sigh and opened the box.
If shedding the misunderstanding that I'm impotent or gay means I have to accept a reputation as a perverted bastard—
Then I'll gladly take it.
I had resolved to accept the reputation of a perverted bastard, but I wasn't planning to start by making bunny-girl outfits or miniskirts.
I had no desire to bask in the Church's "warm" love (which is actually very hot). And even if I made something like that, who would wear it?
You have to start with something less provocative. That way, when something bolder appears later, people can accept it.
There's no point if I die before I even see someone wear what I make. So I should begin with something I like that isn't too flashy.
As it happened, I knew the perfect outfit—one that didn't exist yet, but wouldn't cause much resistance.
So I skipped dinner and began designing.
—Screeeech…
As I carefully drew lines on the paper, transferring the images from my mind, the door opened with the sound of creaking hinges.
I had been in a perfectly focused mood, but the sound shattered it like a sandcastle collapsing.
"Who is it?"
"Young Master."
Without lifting my eyes from the paper, I called out in annoyance toward the intruder. A soft yet clear female voice answered me.
"Ah!"
A voice I had been waiting for.
I immediately put down my pen and turned around. A maid with sleepy-looking eyes stood by the door, holding a basket nearly as big as her torso.
"Emily, you're here?"
"Yes, Young Master. I brought the things you asked for earlier."
"Thanks. Could you set the basket down beside the desk?"
"Of course."
Emily nodded lightly and stepped closer with quiet, graceful strides.
The basket seemed rather heavy; she waddled a bit as she walked, looking like a penguin. It was adorable.
Smiling to myself, I watched her approach. She placed the basket beside my desk, then put her hands on her hips and looked at me with a pout.
"Young Master, may I ask you one question?"
"What is it?"
Her slender finger pointed at the fabric inside the basket.
"Why did you suddenly ask me to bring cloth?"
"Well, obviously to make clothes."
Her brow furrowed.
"Young Master, didn't you say the exact same thing when you were younger?"
"I did."
"And then you studied for a few years and gave up."
"That's true too."
"And now you're saying you're going to make clothes again…?"
"Yeah. This time is different."
"That's what you say."
Emily replied sarcastically, staring into my eyes with suspicion.
"Young Master, do you know how worried Madam is about you? Lately she's even been asking me to take especially good care of you."
"Really? She nags me a lot too."
"You know that and you're still acting like this?"
"I'm acting like this because I know."
Mother worries about my marriage prospects and social skills—so I'll just get rid of the clothes that are causing problems with my love life.
A perfectly rational and logical conclusion. I don't see the problem.
"Haa…"
As I stared back at Emily's sharp gaze with wide eyes, she let out a deep sigh and briefly closed her eyes.
She probably realized it was pointless to argue further. No one knew better than she did that once I dug in my heels, I never backed down.
"Then… is there anything else you need?"
Her voice had lost its strength, as if she just wanted to finish up and leave. She opened her eyes, pressing a hand to her temple.
"Could you come a little closer?"
"Yes."
Dragging her feet slightly, Emily approached until she was within arm's reach and stopped.
"Since you're here, could you stand at attention?"
"…?"
Though she looked at me suspiciously, she moved her hands from her hips to rest neatly at her sides.
"Hmm~"
I let out a faint murmur and looked her over.
I always thought this, but while Emily was an excellent maid, her outfit left much to be desired.
In this world, proper maid uniforms didn't exist yet. What maids wore looked almost the same as what rural housewives wore.
A true maid should wear a black one-piece dress with a pure white apron and a hairband—that's the gold standard. But since that standard didn't exist here, it always disappointed me.
"Excuse me for a moment."
"Yes?"
I reached toward Emily, sliding my hand between her arm and waist.
Then I grabbed her waist.
My fingers sank in about one knuckle's depth.
Probably because she moved around a lot for various reasons, her waist was firm and nearly free of excess fat.
"Your waist is really thin. Thinner than before, actually. Do you wear a cors—"
"Eek!"
Emily's eyes widened like a startled cat's. Her shoulders jumped, and she shoved my arm away, shouting in flustered outrage.
"Y-Young Master?! What do you think you're doing?!"
"I need you to hold still a bit. It's hard to measure your waist."
"Y-You can't just grab a woman's waist like that! Let go! Right now!"
"Just wait a sec—"
"Eek!"
When I tightened my grip slightly to calm her struggling, she pinched my arm hard.
Her long, slender nails dug into my skin.
"Argh!"
I cried out and staggered back from the burning pain. Emily, her face bright red, glared at me while breathing heavily.
"I had no idea you were such a shameless person, Young Master!"
"I told you I want to make clothes."
"What does that have to do with groping my waist?!"
"I'm making them for you."
"Huh…?"
The sound of air escaping her lips.
Her eyes went wide, her lips parted slightly. Emily stared at me blankly, pupils trembling.
Then, about five beats too late, she broke the silence with a dazed voice.
"What… did you just say?"
"You said you're giving it to me—you want to give me clothes—so you need to know my measurements, don't you?"
"Haa—"
Letting out a sigh so deep it felt like it could sink into the ground, Emily rubbed her face with both hands and wiped downward in exasperation.
"Young master, you should've said that first. I completely misunderstood for no reason."
"Ah."
I'd been in such a rush that my actions came before my words.
I'd ended up doing something inappropriate to an unmarried young lady.
"S-Sorry."
I gave her an awkward smile and apologized to Emily, who was covering her face as if scolding me.
Emily slowly lowered her hands and pouted.
"Be more careful next time."
"Yeah."
She tried to sound calm, but she clearly hadn't settled down yet. Her face was bright red, and her voice still trembled.
"So, there's nothing else you need me to do, right?"
"Can I take your measurements?"
"Huh…"
As if the earlier commotion had never happened, I shamelessly asked for her waist measurement. Emily parted her lips slightly and let out a short, incredulous laugh.
"And what happens if I say no?"
"Then you'd have to wear clothes that don't fit?"
"There's no guarantee I'd even wear them."
"You won't?"
"No."
"Eh?!"
I was startled by the firm nod of her head.
What do I do?
I thought Emily would obviously agree, but my plan was already falling apart at the very start.
I could just make the clothes and show them to Mother, but that would be missing something…
"Ugh…"
My head grew complicated with thoughts.
I clasped both of Emily's hands tightly and looked up at her.
At the sudden contact, her shoulders flinched.
"Ah…!"
"Um, is there any way you could reconsider?"
At my earnest plea, her eyes shifted in confusion.
Her lips moved several times, as if her thoughts were tangled.
"…Why me, of all people?"
The question slipped out softly between her lips.
Why Emily?
The answer was simple.
"You're the prettiest."
Clothes ultimately exist to adorn a person, and beautiful people make any outfit look beautiful.
There's a reason people say the face completes the fashion.
"..."
Emily's restless eyes stopped as they met mine.
Then, as if she wanted to see past my eyes and into my thoughts, she stared at me intently.
"Haa…"
Another deep sigh, as if the ground might cave in.
As though she had made up her mind, Emily placed her hands on her waist and opened her tightly pressed lips.
"I can keep my clothes on while you measure, right?"
"Huh?"
The corners of my mouth stretched upward in a wide grin.
"I'm asking if you can measure me while I'm still dressed."
"Yes! Of course!"
"But please make it quick."
"Yes! I'll be done in no time—really, I'll finish quickly! Thank you so much, Emily!"
Suppressing the urge to pull her into a tight hug right then and there, I vigorously shook the hands I was still holding.
"If you have time for this, hurry up. It's embarrassing."
"Got it!"
Emily wrinkled her nose and avoided my gaze.
I let go of her hands and hurriedly searched through the box for a measuring tape.