Chapter 82: A Tailor’s Choice

“Ah…!”

Martin let out a low groan.

In truth, he had erased any memories related to this person long ago.

A workplace that was warm, well-fed, and even allowed him to dream about the future—what more could one ask for?

All his coworkers were kind, decent people as well.

And he was supposed to throw away this unbelievable stroke of luck to become Cosette’s assistant again?

That would be insane.

What kind of idiot in this world would make a choice like that?

Yet the moment he met her gaze, a chill ran down his spine.

Cosette was smiling, slowly and deliberately, as if she knew everything.

Words befitting that despicable smile slipped from her lips.

“I wonder if you’ve been hearing much from home lately. There’s been fierce competition for tenant farming plots these days. Your parents are doing well, I assume?”

At first glance, it sounded like casual conversation.

But why would she immediately bring up the Asrno County and his parents the moment she saw him?

It was obviously a veiled threat.

If he didn’t cooperate, she would take away his parents’ means of survival.

And she wouldn’t stop at simply driving them off their tenant land.

Something far harsher would surely follow.

Martin’s heart swayed violently, like the massive bell of the central tower announcing the hour.

Damn it. What do I do?

The faces of his parents and younger siblings back in his hometown flashed through his mind.

If Count Asrno truly set his mind to it, they were nothing more than flies that could be swept away in an instant.

If he feared ruin, he had to choose.

Who he would remain loyal to.

“Why aren’t you answering?”

The corners of Cosette’s mouth curled upward, as if they might tear.

She must have sensed his wavering heart.

The inner struggle dragged on for quite some time.

But as the seconds passed, Martin’s expression gradually relaxed.

The calm he regained began with a single thought.

Would something like that really happen?

Would a powerful figure like Count Asrno truly obsess over something as trivial as clothing style?

This had to be a scheme concocted entirely by Cosette herself.

And even then, what grand plot could a mere tailor possibly pull off?

Perhaps thanks to attending night school and studying so much, his mind began to work rapidly.

Besides, if it comes down to it, I can support them myself.

Martin’s current wage was 15 silons.

That was on par with a skilled technician in the imperial capital.

Considering the excellent lodging and meals provided, it was arguably even better.

A full year of backbreaking farming barely earned a handful of silver coins. Bringing his entire family here would be far wiser.

In Midias, he could even give his siblings a proper education.

Of course, all of that would require Duke Carius’s permission.

Would His Grace really accept ignorant country folk of no importance?

Especially when workers were already lining up to get in.

Even if he refuses, it doesn’t matter. I can settle them somewhere else.

Anywhere would offer a far better life than Asrno County.

Martin felt grateful that his parents were not serfs.

If they were, he wouldn’t even be able to consider leaving the territory.

At last, he fixed Cosette with a fierce glare.

“Do you really think that kind of threat will work on me?”

“What?”

“You say we might lose our tenant land? Then we’ll just leave.”

“Are you saying you’ll turn your back on Count Asrno’s grace?”

“I never received any grace to begin with, so what are you talking about? And watch your language.”

“Ha! You’ve finally gone mad, you bastard.”

“Don’t call me names. I’m no longer your apprentice tailor, am I?”

“Heh! ‘Your side,’ you say?”

Perhaps finding it utterly absurd, Cosette let out a hollow laugh.

Then her expression hardened, and she shot him a cold, menacing glare.

“I’ll show you what I can—”

“That’s enough. What could a mere tailor possibly do?”

Cosette was left speechless.

When you thought about it, wasn’t that the truth?

A tailor was nothing more than someone who made clothes.

Not a highborn individual.

There was no reason for a noble to sew their own garments.

“Don’t come here again. And let me tell you one last thing.”

“Is it even worth hearing?”

“It’ll probably help you a great deal.”

“Then say it.”

Martin took a brief breath, clenched his teeth, and snarled.

“After coming here, I finally realized something. Your skills as a tailor are absolutely terrible.”

“You insane—!”

“I’ve said everything I needed to. Goodbye.”

Martin sprang to his feet and walked straight out.

Left alone in the reception room, Cosette kicked the chair in fury.

“How dare you betray me? Just you wait, you piece of trash.”

A stream of curses poured from her mouth.

With a vicious look in her eyes, Cosette turned to leave.

But she couldn’t move her body.

A cold, blue blade hovered before her eyes.

“Hu—huh!”

She gasped sharply, sucking in air, when a hard, emotionless voice reached her ears.

“You’re being hasty. Our conversation isn’t over yet.”

“W-who are you? And what do you mean?”

“You’ll be recounting, in detail, the conversation you just had with Mr. Martin. In front of Duke Carius.”

The figure who emerged from the shadows was Cordell McNeil.

Cosette’s face drained of color, turning deathly pale.

Martin’s odd behavior had been noticed long ago.

I had been keeping a close eye on him through the employee management window.

He had been accepted because of his ‘Designer’ skill, but early on, words like espionage and misconduct had appeared.

They disappeared quickly, but still.

That’s unexpected. I didn’t think he’d make that choice.

I’d heard people say the Duke of Carius’s territory was practically heaven.

It was that good a place to live.

And since not just anyone could enter, its value was even higher.

That must have had a major influence on Martin’s decision.

After all, he now had much to lose.

“So, what was that bastard after?”

“He was trying to steal information from Midias and use it somewhere else!”

“Martin doesn’t really know anything that important, does he?”

“It seems he wanted to copy Your Grace’s party style.”

“What?”

What kind of idiotic plan was that?

I didn’t even host parties, let alone attend them.

Seeing my baffled expression, Cordell McNeil continued his explanation.

“He likely intended to show something to Count Asrno under the pretense of it being ‘the Duke of Carius’s style.’”

“And why would he do that?”

“Cosette would gain trust, and Count Asrno would gain popularity in high society.”

“You planted a spy for something that trivial?”

“There are other benefits as well. Gathering bits of information can always prove useful someday.”

“In that case…”

I let my words trail off.

In the end, the conclusion of this incident would look like this.

Count Asrno planted a spy in the House of Carius.

It was a sensational claim, and one that could easily spiral into something serious.

Of course, if I chose not to make an issue of it, it would be quietly buried.

Perhaps sensing what I had swallowed back, Cordell immediately shook his head.

“It doesn’t seem Count Asrno was involved. For someone of his stature to have ordered it, the plan was far too sloppy.”

“So this Cosette acted alone?”

“After checking multiple routes, she doesn’t appear to be an important figure. Of course, we’ll need to dig deeper to be sure.”

Count Asrno was a prominent noble of the Emperor’s faction.

I was the type to smash every faction equally, but I had no desire to clash over something like this.

Besides, Martin had ceased to be a spy altogether.

“No actual harm was done, so let’s just let it go.”

“Even so, Cosette should be punished. And Count Asrno should be informed.”

“I’ll handle that myself.”

We weren’t so distant that we couldn’t resolve this through dialogue rather than conflict.

I readily nodded at Cordell McNeil’s suggestion.

Still, one question lingered.

“There’s something I’m curious about.”

“Ask whatever you like.”

“Let’s say I actually did have a ‘party style,’ even though I don’t.”

“Yes.”

“How would copying that first somehow earn them popularity?”

Didn’t people say fashion was completed by the face?

If someone looked terrible, no outfit would save them.

Of course, that wasn’t a jab at Count Asrno.

He was actually a fairly handsome middle-aged man.

I was genuinely curious.

Cordell McNeil smiled meaningfully.

“It seems Your Grace doesn’t realize it yet.”

“Realize what?”

“Just how popular you are in imperial high society.”

“What?”

I had no interactions with the nobility to speak of.

There was no need to, and I was absurdly busy with court work and business.

To be honest, I thought it was all pointless anyway.

Why did nobles throw parties and attend social gatherings?

To flaunt wealth and further solidify power, obviously.

And to search for good marriage prospects as well.

Marriage was the most basic form of alliance, after all.

But for someone like me, none of that was necessary.

The authority of the Chief Justice ranked within the top five in the Empire.

And my status itself was on an entirely different level.

Wasn’t I the Emperor’s cousin and a duke to boot?

If I tried to climb any higher, I’d probably lose my head.

Avoiding any attempt to build a power base was the wiser choice.

I slowly shook my head.

“I didn’t know that was the public perception.”

“Perhaps this would be a good opportunity to plan a party—”

“No.”

“Do you have no intention of marrying? As a duke, you could dream of true love.”

Naturally, that was true.

There wasn’t a single person who opposed my dating or marriage.

Still, I didn’t feel like it yet.

“I have no plans to marry.”

“You’re in the prime of your youth. Surely not.”

“Are you the one boiling over, Sir McNeil?”

“K-khm! O-of course not!”

I had thought it strange how insistently he suggested hosting a party.

Turns out he was looking for a lady to serve himself.

When I stared at him with a dumbfounded expression, Cordell McNeil hurriedly averted his gaze.

Looks like I hit the mark.

In any case, that wrapped things up for now.

It was about time the results came in.

I lightly tapped the desk and waited with pleasant anticipation.

Soon, cautious footsteps approached.

“Duke, it’s Martin.”

“Ah, come in.”

Martin entered with a trembling voice.

He was holding a set of clothes.

The silhouette of a slim, tailored suit immediately caught my eye.

Farewell to the Empire’s style, which was nothing but excessive, dangling flamboyance.

I would finally be wearing clean, stylish clothing—

Swish!

“Huh?”

I removed the cloth with high expectations, only to be met with a truly shocking sight.

The shape itself passed muster.

I had measured him properly and explained the construction method in detail.

Martin was a remarkably dexterous worker, so it made sense he could produce it quickly.

The problem was this damned Empire aesthetic sense of his.

Stunned beyond belief, I blurted it out without thinking.

“Take off the glitter, you Imperial bastard!”