"Revolution in spinning machines! Productivity more than doubles with improvements to the magic engine..."
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙[Huh?]
Back when I was a child.
The first time I attended a banquet and came face-to-face with the Hourglass Legion, I was plunged into shock. That's when I spotted an article in the newspaper and hatched one grand plan.
The grand plan to change those hideous clothes myself.
To that end, I learned sewing and even made a few outfits by hand, but in the end, I gave up on the dream.
It wasn't because the results were bad.
There were some clumsy parts, sure, but I was reasonably satisfied.
I knew I had talent for design and sewing, and 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 hauled off for moral indecency.
So I gave up.
Believing that in time, my tastes—and I myself—would change.
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙[Are you impotent by any chance?]
"Shit."
But after hearing Mother's words at the banquet, I spent the next few days lost in deep thought.
I realized for certain that my tastes hadn't changed at all, despite my hopes. And because I'd been lukewarm about the uncomfortable clothes, I knew the looks from those around me weren't kind.
That's why I felt I no longer had the luxury to wait optimistically. I needed radical change.
But could I change myself?
Honestly, I had no confidence.
That's why things had turned out like this.
"..."
I opened the drawer.
A box covered in a fine layer of dust from years of neglect came into view.
Sewing tools I'd hidden away when I abandoned the plan, but kept out of lingering attachment.
This would probably be my last chance.
If I let it slip now, I'd just marry whoever Mother or Father chose for me.
And honestly? I didn't want that.
I pulled the box out and set it on the desk.
If I didn't trust myself to change, and I hated how things were going, then I'd change the environment.
Replace the frustrating, ugly clothes.
The plan I'd dreamed of long ago, only to abandon it against the harsh wall of reality.
The time to put it into action had come.
Societal gaze? Church-enforced order?
None of that was my concern anymore.
Better to do everything I wanted, burn bright, and go out as a martyr than stare at those hourglasses forever.
"Hoo..."
I let out a sigh and opened the box.
If shedding the misunderstanding of being impotent or gay meant embracing a reputation as a pervert, I'd gladly take it.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
I'd resolved to embrace the infamy of being a pervert, but that didn't mean I was jumping straight into bunny girl outfits or miniskirts.
I had no desire to bask in the church's warm love (scorching hot). Besides, even if I made such things, who would wear them?
You have to start with things that provoke less resistance, so bolder designs can be accepted later.
It'd be pointless to make and wear clothes without anyone seeing them, so best to begin with something I liked that wasn't too flashy.
Conveniently, I knew just the perfect outfit: something that didn't exist yet but could be worn without objection. Skipping meals, I dove into designing it.
-Creaaak...
As I carefully sketched my mental image onto paper, the door opened with a creak of hinges.
I'd been perfectly immersed, but that one sound crumbled my focus like a sandcastle.
"Who is it."
"Young Master."
Without lifting my eyes from the paper or stopping my pen, I snapped irritably at the intruder. A woman with a soft, clear voice that slipped right into my ears called out to me.
"Ah!"
The familiar voice I'd been waiting for.
I set down my pen and spun around. There stood a maid with half-lidded eyes, holding a basket as big as her torso in front of the door.
"Emily, you're here?"
"Yes. I brought the items you requested this afternoon, Young Master."
"Thanks. Could you set the basket by the desk here?"
"Of course."
Emily nodded lightly and approached with light steps.
The basket must have been heavy; her waddling gait was adorably penguin-like.
I watched her fondly with a smile until she reached the desk, set it down, then placed her hands on her hips and gave me a sulky look.
"Young Master, may I ask one question?"
"What?"
Emily's slender finger pointed to the fabric in the basket.
"Why did you suddenly ask for fabric?"
"Obviously, to make clothes."
Emily's brow furrowed.
"Young Master, didn't you say the exact same thing as a child?"
"Yeah."
"And after a few years of study, you gave up."
"That's right too."
"And now you're saying you'll make clothes again...?"
"Yep. This time it's different."
"That's what you say."
Emily replied sarcastically, staring into my eyes with deep suspicion.
"Young Master, do you know how much Madam worries about you? Lately, she's even asked me to take good care of you."
"Yeah? She nags me about it a lot too."
"So you know, and you're still doing this?"
"That's exactly why."
Mother was worried about my marriage prospects and social skills, so I'd get rid of the clothes causing issues with my love life.
It was a perfectly rational, logical conclusion. What was the problem?
"Haa..."
As I met her sharp gaze with wide eyes, Emily let out a deep sigh and closed her eyes briefly.
She knew better than anyone that once I got stubborn, I wouldn't quit. She must have realized arguing was a waste of time.
"Then, is there anything else you need?"
Her voice lacked energy, like she just wanted to finish and leave. She rubbed her temple with her left hand and opened her eyes.
"Then come closer?"
"Yes."
Emily shuffled over until she was close enough for me to touch.
"Stand at attention while you're at it."
"...?"
At my follow-up request, she looked puzzled but dropped her hands from her hips to her sides.
"Mm~"
I let out a faint hum as I looked her over.
I always thought the same: Emily was an excellent maid, but her uniform was sorely lacking.
This world had no proper maid outfits yet; what maids wore was similar to countrywomen's clothes.
A true maid should rock a black dress, pristine white apron, and hairband—that was the standard. But here, standards weren't followed, so it always bugged me.
"Excuse me for a moment."
"Pardon?"
I reached out toward Emily and slipped my hand between her arm and waist.
Gripping her waist, my fingers sank in a knuckle's depth.
Maybe from all her active duties, she had almost no flab—her waist was firm and slim.
"Your waist is so thin. Thinner than before? Do you even wear a corset..."
"Eek!"
Emily's eyes widened like a startled cat. Her shoulders jerked up as she shoved my arm away and started yelling.
"Y-Young Master?! What are you doing all of a sudden?!"
"Just bear with it a sec. Hard to measure your waist like this."
"Y-You can't just grab a lady's waist! Let go! Now!"
"Wait just..."
"Eek!"
As I tightened my grip to calm her struggles, Emily pinched my arm hard.
Her long, slender nails dug into my skin.
"Aack!"
Yelping at the stinging pain, I stumbled back. Emily, face flushed beet red, glared at me while breathing raggedly.
"I never knew you were such a shameless pervert, Young Master!"
"I said I wanted to make clothes."
"What does that have to do with groping my waist?"
"It's for you."
"Huh...?"
A deflating sound.
Her eyes rounded, lips parted slightly. Emily stared at me in stunned silence, her pupils trembling.
Five beats late, she broke the quiet with a dazed voice.
"W-What did you say?"
"It's for you. I want to make clothes for you, so I need your measurements."
"Haa—"
Emily let out a sigh so deep it seemed to bore into the earth, then rubbed her face with both hands.
"Young Master, you should have said that first. You made me misunderstand."
"Ah."
In my haste, actions had come before words.
I'd done the unforgivable to an unmarried maiden.
"Sorry about that."
I apologized awkwardly with a grin as she covered her face in reproach.
Emily cautiously lowered her hands and pouted.
"Be more careful next time."
"Got it."
She tried to act nonchalant, but her face was still red, and her voice trembled.
"So, nothing else now?"
"Can I take your measurements?"
"Hah..."
At my brazen waist request, as if the commotion never happened, Emily gaped in disbelief and let out a short scoff.
"What if I say no?"
"You'd have to wear ill-fitting clothes?"
"What's to say I'd wear them?"
"You won't?"
"No."
"Ehh?!"
I jolted in shock at her firm nod.
What now?
I'd assumed Emily would go along, but my plan was derailing from the start.
I could make clothes and show Mother, but it'd lack that extra something...
"Urgh..."
My head spun.
I grabbed Emily's hands with both of mine and looked up at her pleadingly.
Her shoulders twitched at the sudden contact.
"Eut...!"
"Please? Can't you make an exception?"
Her eyes darted in confusion at my earnest plea.
Her lips twitched repeatedly, mind clearly racing.
"...Why me, of all people?"
A quiet whisper slipped from her lips.
Why Emily, specifically?
Simple.
"Because you're the prettiest."
Clothes ultimately adorned people, and anything looked beautiful on a beauty.
Fashion's true finisher was the face, after all.
"..."
Emily's restless eyes locked onto mine and stilled.
She stared into my eyes as if peering into my soul.
"Haa~"
Another earth-shaking sigh.
As if she'd made up her mind, she placed her hands on her hips and parted her firm lips.
"Can you do it with my clothes on?"
"Huh?"
My mouth stretched into a wide grin.
"Measure over my clothes?"
"Yes! Of course!"
"Then hurry up. This is embarrassing."
"Yes! It'll be quick, super quick! Thank you so much, Emily!"
Suppressing the urge to hug her right then, I shook her firmly held hands vigorously up and down.
"Don't waste time—get on with it. I'm embarrassed."
"Right!"
Emily wrinkled her nose and averted her gaze.
I released her hands and frantically rummaged in the box for the measuring tape.