“Once something gets a tag that says ‘tradition,’ it becomes impossible to change no matter what abuses arise, so there’s neither change nor development. It’s the Empire’s disease.”
“Of course we’ll change it. In fact, His Majesty the Emperor has long wanted this part changed, but this time it was impossible. However, next time....”
After saying that, Kishiar never brought up the matter again. But thinking of it now, he simply hadn’t spoken of it; hadn’t he already been taking action step by steady step?
During the harvest-time festival, Kishiar himself had followed the royal ‘tradition’ and had his formal attire made, but he had the Cavalry’s formalwear made elsewhere. The nobles might have thought he did it because it was a waste to have hundreds of sets made at an expensive place, but those who wore them—and Yuder—knew that wasn’t it.
The formalwear made then was sturdy and of such good quality that it didn’t lose to the clothes of other time-honored ateliers. If the Cavalry’s attire had not looked good, its shape would not have gone on to become fashionable afterward.
Thinking of it now, that was the start.
After he set that trend for plainer and more concise formalwear, Kishiar began, every time he attended a party, to have Yuder’s and his own formal attire made at the same place and in a similar style. People focused only on that sensational spectacle, and comparatively few paid attention to the fact that the atelier Kishiar patronized was far removed from the one traditionally used by the imperial family.
He was of imperial blood, yet now a duke who could no longer seek the throne. In effect, he had all but slipped out of the status of the imperial family, so no one could force him to obey custom and have his clothes made only at the prescribed place. Kishiar exploited that gap and had clothes made many times at various places.
When he attended the funeral of the Second Prince of House Hern in the South, that defiant act reached its peak. On the pretext that he did not have a funeral outfit prepared in advance, he and Yuder went to a nearby atelier and altered ready-made garments to wear; in truth, even ordinary nobles rarely did such a thing. The situation had been so sudden that everyone was in a daze, and perhaps because the result looked good, the flow of events allowed it to pass smoothly.
Having one’s attire made at the atelier reserved for the imperial family was a privilege of the imperial house. Everyone took it for granted. That a member of the imperial line should exist who deliberately would not indulge in that special power—neither nobles nor those in the trade had likely ever dared to imagine it.
They must have thought that Kishiar not commissioning them for his formalwear was an act of acknowledging and bowing to their authority.
But in truth the opposite was the case. While they stood stupefied, Kishiar made full use of his ambiguous social footing to create countless precedents and, just as he desired, even led a trend that eschewed excessive luxury.
And now, in the position where he would have to go as the Empire’s representative envoy to another country, he had decided to throw his winning move.
Because that moment was precisely when everyone would think Kishiar must behave “as a member of the imperial family” and dress accordingly.
“......”
A strange thrill and delight ran up his spine. He’d lived without any interest in clothes, and it was almost a pity he was realizing this only now.
The atelier owner looked at Kishiar with eyes confused and shocked. It was only after quite a while that her mouth opened with difficulty.
“Your Highness the Duke... you truly mean it.”
“Of course. I am always sincere. And it is entirely sincere that I like the garments you make.”
“......”
“Your clothes accord with what I want. They aren’t excessively ostentatious, and by design and skill alone you draw out the highest beauty. Boldness that those who swagger about a ‘time-honored’ name while turning out half-hearted clothes to line their own pockets couldn’t even imagine. And on top of that, a meticulousness that doesn’t forget basic finishing must be good.”
“Ah....”
“When I made the appointment, I merely told you the needed clothing was ‘formalwear for an envoy.’ Did you perhaps hazard a guess as to for what occasion that would be needed?”
“No. How could I dare....”
Needing formalwear for an envoy meant the wearers would attend an international event. It was a matter that could be called a state secret; those who made the clothes had to keep the secret well.
And the best way to keep a secret, of course, was not to try to learn the details or think about the matter at all.
The corners of Kishiar’s lips rose in an arc.
“There will soon be the coronation of the new king of Nellarun. Envoys of congratulations will gather from across the continent. The formalwear I asked you for will be worn there.”
The owner sucked in a small breath. She surely had thought it would be attire for an important occasion, but this was beyond anything she’d imagined.
“Why—why would you tell me that, when if that fact were to leak it would be disastrous.”
“It doesn’t matter. Because I know you won’t. And even if it leaks, what then?”
Kishiar smiled with confidence. It was a sunlike smile that made one certain no one could stop him.
“Don’t you want to show everyone? The clothes you made. To hold out, proudly, before a place where the entire continent gathers, what truly constitutes proper attire. A blank page of a place where there are none of those whose sole pride is that they’ve been entrusted with the work for generations, and where everything can be judged by the garments seen with the eye alone.”
It was a temptation to which truly anyone’s heart could not help but waver.
Even Yuder, listening behind him, thought so—what then of the atelier owner?
While listening to Kishiar’s words, the owner unconsciously clenched her fists tight and then squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. Fear still remained in her pupils when she opened them, but they no longer trembled as before.
A small, challenging spark heaved within.
“...I want to show them. I’ve always dreamed of doing so!”
“A good answer.”
“But in my situation, working alone, it’s close to impossible to accept and finish within the time limit as many as 14 sets of formalwear. Moreover, once I start, no matter how I try to hide it, rumors will inevitably spread, and slander and interference from around me will also come.”
“I understand. What can we do to help from our side?”
After a brief contemplation, the owner answered step by step in a clear and resolute voice.
“There isn’t time to recruit people immediately. First, after finalizing the design, I would like to collaborate with a few nearby ateliers to carry out the work.”
“Are they places you can trust?”
“Yes. They were all founded by craftsmen who ran out of the atelier where I worked. Since we understand each other’s difficulties, even if I propose we sign confidentiality contracts, they will accept. In truth, even for several of the formal sets I made this season, I collaborated with them on the parts that required a great deal of labor.”
“Good. During the work I’ll assign a guard detail to prepare for any possible threat to your person. If you are short-handed, you may use them as extra hands, so please accept them without hesitation.”
“To go so far as that.... Thank you.”
To resolve to break a traditional custom that had continued for close to a thousand years was not something achieved by an ordinary steely mind. Seeming at last to feel in her bones that she herself would be the first to do it, the owner swallowed and bowed politely to Kishiar.
“Your Highness. To tell the truth... just now, while you spoke, it felt as if you already knew exactly how I came to leave the old atelier, and my heart dropped.”
The atelier owner had originally been the chief technician of a luxury glove shop that supplied the imperial household.
A venerable shop continuing since the reign of the Fifth Emperor.
But in reality, as days went by, they merely plastered on cheap fabric and jewels of no great quality, slapped the name of tradition on it, and each time charged more—a place like swindlers.
Was it not strange that all of that could be permitted simply because it was a place the imperial household had used for generations? They created not a single new design; they only kept attaching more jewels of different colors to the designs that already existed. But there, such behavior was simply taken for granted.
Why? Because it was tradition.
There were many noble customers who came precisely because the imperial household patronized them, and the owner treated them all the same way. Everything was for the sake of tradition, and anyone who failed to recognize the true worth of this time-honored product was treated as a person without proper roots, so even fairly high-ranking nobles hardly dared say anything. On the rare occasions when a hot-tempered noble appeared and protested that this was going too far, the ones to take responsibility were only the employees below.
People who preferred making more money and doing more lobbying to making good goods. Those who claimed to make things supplied to the imperial household were all like that.
Technicians who had come in with dreams were ground down until they died, and, thrown as sacrifices to enraged nobles, they died under the pretext of taking responsibility.
Unable to endure that absurdity, she fought and ran out. She thought that even if she were poor, this side would sit right with her heart.
But now she could land a great blow on them.
Just the thought made her heart race.
“My name is Praa Est. I am a distant descendant of the Great Mage Est, and I have no magical talent whatsoever. I have often been called a shameful descendant, but even so, I like the work of making clothes.”
She spoke with her head bowed.
“I will do my utmost to make the formalwear you have entrusted to me.”