32. What a good day
September 17, 1349 — Western Borough, Backlund
The store was named Chris, just as the Diffodil couple had wished. They wanted their brand to carry the same name as their pride and joy.
…I honestly had no idea how to react to that.
Anyway, on opening day, a small celebration was held—complete with a few modest fireworks. It was enough to signal to the neighborhood that a new shop had opened its doors.
There was no line outside, though—not because Mother's work was unappreciated or the store lacked appeal. On the contrary, the shop operated by reservation only. The first few days were fully booked with Mother's most loyal clients and her well-connected acquaintances from the upper circles.
Still, while there wasn't a queue, there was a crowd. Passersby gathered outside, quietly mesmerized by the elegant mannequins posed behind the glass display, each one dressed in a trend-setting masterpiece.
I arrived at the store around noon.
Mother was present today—just for today—because some very important clients, long-time supporters of hers, had made appointments. The store was now being managed by professionals, trained staff handling the day-to-day operations with ease.
Alex and Tear were also assisting for the day, supporting Mother as needed, though they would return to their duties at home afterward.
There were two main reasons I came: first, curiosity. After all, I'd had a large hand in designing the store layout. And second—well, to help Mother, of course. No matter what, I was still her child.
The moment I stepped inside, the subtle hum of refined conversation filled the room. Mother, who had been speaking with two elegantly dressed ladies, noticed me instantly.
"Chris, come here," she called, her tone warm but firm.
She turned to her guests and gestured toward me with a proud smile. "This is Mary Gale, one of the major shareholders of Coim Company."
"That Coim Company?" I feigned surprise, like I had just been introduced to Jeff Bezos or Tony Stark. (Who?) I had no idea who they were, the name just suddenly popped into my mind. Oh—right. My memories were slowly catching up.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Madam Gale," I said politely with a respectful bow.
"And this is her friend, Mrs. Stelyn Sammer," Mother added, continuing the introductions.
"..."
I stood there, momentarily stunned, as if I couldn't believe what I had just heard.
"Mrs. Sammer?" I echoed, staring at her in a daze.
Across from me, Mrs. Sammer began shifting awkwardly. My silence seemed to rattle her.
'Is she trying to remember who I am?' she wondered, her inferiority complex whispering cruel things in her ear.
Snapping back to my senses, I quickly corrected myself.
"Ah, I must apologize, Madam. I didn't mean to be rude. I was just… momentarily taken aback. It's not every day I find myself standing before someone so graceful."
Her expression softened immediately, and she let out a small laugh.
"My, you certainly have a way with words," she said, half-amused and half-flustered.
Mrs. Sammer offered a modest smile.
I decided to ignore how brightly her face was glowing right now. Also, let's pretend I didn't catch Mother's not so amused look from the corner of my eye.
It was undeniable—her mood had clearly lifted off the ground.
After that brief introduction, I quietly excused myself and let them continue their conversation.
Not long after, once her friends and connections had left, Mother entered the back room and found me lounging casually.
"So," she began, wearing a faux frown with all the seriousness of a theatrical act, "care to explain?"
"Well," I replied smoothly, "I figured they might start doubting themselves after standing next to someone as dazzling as you for too long. To prevent any damage to your social connections, I had to step in."
A lie as natural as breathing.
Mother stared at me in silence for a moment, then a knowing smirk curled on her lips.
"Then thank you for your thoughtful assistance," she said with mild amusement. "Is that also why you were staring at the Hall's young miss like you were trying to bore a hole through her skull?"
"Eh?" I blinked, genuinely thrown by the sudden change in topic. But a second later, I caught the sarcasm laced in her words. "Wait, that's not—"
"It's okay, Chris."
Mother gently patted my head with a look of deep understanding. "Mom understands you. With her status, It might not be much, but I'll do whatever I can to help."
And just like that, she released me and cheerfully walked away—no, practically skipped—down the hallway.
"Finally! That seer was right! Everything depends on me now!"
Her triumphant voice echoed from beyond the door.
I let out a long, tired sigh.
You know what? I'll just let her have that moment.
I might need Audrey's help soon… but before that, I really have to find a way to meet that Mushroom King.
Twilight had long passed. Night had settled over the city, with only the warm glow of lamps, shopfronts, and household windows casting light into the streets. Even so, a quiet darkness still lingered in the air.
Today's reservations had ended, and I was just about to head home when I noticed someone still standing outside the store.
It was a man—he looked to be around 28 or 29, with neatly combed black hair swept to the side and striking red eyes. There was a refined air about him, an elegance in the way he carried himself. He was undeniably handsome, though not in a rugged or overtly masculine way—more like someone who, with the right makeup and styling, could easily pass as beautiful.
"Um, may I help you, sir?" I asked, since he'd been standing there, staring at the display, completely motionless for quite some time.
When he turned and saw me—likely assuming I was one of the store staff—his eyes narrowed slightly.
"You," he said, pointing to one of the dresses in the display window. "That dress. Can you make it smaller? You don't need to worry about the cost."
He spoke confidently, maybe even a bit arrogantly, as if price was never a question.
It wasn't the first—or even the second—time I'd encountered someone like this. With a polite, well-practiced smile, I responded smoothly:
"Of course, that's certainly possible. May I ask how old your child is? We have pre-prepared dresses available for children of various ages," I explained. "However, we've already closed for today. Would you mind coming back later? I can provide a form to make a reservation—-"
"No."
He cut me off abruptly.
I instinctively raised an eyebrow at the rudeness, though I kept my composure.
"I see. My apologies, sir," I said evenly. "But even so, I'm afraid we're unable to assist you any further today."
"No… that's not what I meant," he said, trailing off for a moment as if wrestling with the words. Then, as if forcing himself, he finally muttered,
"I want it in a smaller size—a child's size."
"...Pardon?"
I blinked, genuinely thrown off. "I'm not sure I follow. What exactly do you mean...?"
"It's this size," he finally said, pulling out a doll—just slightly larger than a newborn baby.
"Ah, I see what you meant now."
I maintained my professional smile. Personal hobbies weren't something I had any right to judge. With a practiced eye, I scanned the doll from head to toe.
"I'll need to check with the original dressmaker first," I said, "but yes—so long as it's not smaller than this, it should be entirely possible."
"Really?"
His face lit up with excitement—so much so that I could almost see stars twinkling in his crimson eyes. It was a complete betrayal of the noble, elegant image he'd given off just moments before.
I cleared my throat lightly, suppressing a chuckle.
"What do you think of this fabric?" I asked, retrieving a neatly folded handkerchief woven from my own threadwork. I held it out to him with both hands, letting the light catch the fine texture.
"Mhm, this is quite excellent," he murmured, examining the fabric with the air of an experienced connoisseur. His fingers traced the texture like someone savoring fine art.
"Chris?"
Mother emerged from the back, because I took quite a time. She blinked at the unfamiliar sight before her.
"Mom, can I borrow your sketchbook for a moment?" I asked, turning to her.
She still looked confused, but handed it over without hesitation. It was just a sketchbook, after all—and this wasn't the first time. Plenty of her creations had been inspired by my ideas before.
While the man continued to inspect the cloth with obsessive intensity, I sat nearby and began sketching. This time, instead of the usual gothic lolita aesthetic, I drafted something different—a magical girl dress. Not the overly frilly kind soaked in pink and sparkles, but something darker. A design that balanced elegance with charm.
"We can definitely tailor a smaller version of the original design," I said, handing him the sketch. "Or… something like this."
The moment his eyes landed on the drawing, it was like a beam of pure energy shot out of them.
"This?!"
His voice trembled, stunned beyond words.
"Well, sir, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but we've already closed for the day," I explained gently. "We'd be glad to serve you if you come again—with a reservation."
I walked him through the reservation system, pointing out the details while casually handing the sketchbook back to Mother.
Still, he looked… hesitant to leave. His eyes darted between me and the sketchbook like a child torn between common sense and pure desire.
"And in the meantime," I added with a thoughtful smile, "perhaps we could try crafting a prototype or two."
I glanced at Mother, silently asking for her confirmation. Only when she gave a nod did I continue, "That way, we'll have something to show you once your appointment is scheduled."
"Deal," he said without a moment's hesitation.
Heh. Hook, line, and sinker. Easy peasy.
"By the way, sir, how should I address you?"
He paused, then answered with a smile that carried more pride than needed.
"It's White. Emlyn White."
"...White?? Emlyn White??" I stopped midway writing his name as a jolt of recognition hit me. I wasn't sure how to process this sudden revelation.
"What? Do you know me?" Emlyn's expression shifted, a hint of wariness flickering in his eyes.
"Ah, no—it's just that I've heard the name 'White' before, but I can't quite place it," I replied, regaining my composure.
Before I could say more, Mother chimed in, "Ah, it's Dr. White. He's well-known among the upper class for his expertise."
"That's it!" I snapped my fingers with a pom of realization.
Emlyn nodded. "Yes, that's my family. Anyway, I'll make this reservation and return as soon as possible." He said this while handing me his card, then turned and left me standing there.
+2,000 Points
What a good day, I thought, glancing at the bright green notification flashing on my screen. I turned around and caught my mother's approving thumbs-up. With her experience, she knew exactly what this meant—they had just hooked a golden goose.