A lot of people were already saying that it’d be nice if we did music one way or another, so if I put forward the idea, it’d likely be approved.
For my peace of mind, I’d rather we do something different from the game.
I wondered if Olga would agree to be our soloist. Was there any rule that said people who’d been summoned by the God of Music couldn’t perform willy-nilly in random events?
I supposed there was no point worrying over the details when my idea of a choir hadn’t even been accepted yet. I could ask her later, after discussing it with the class.
Phew! That’s one big worry out of the way!
Just as I reached a conclusion within myself, Mina spoke up. “My lady.”
“Ah... Um, yes?”
“The dorm mother called for me and gave me a letter for you. It’s from Lev,” she said. Her expression was flat, like usual.
“My! Thank you for fetching it, Mina,” I replied with a big smile as I took the letter from her.
Lev, my genius glass artisan, devoted his days to crafting more glass pens. The ones he’d made for the empress at the emperor’s request had already been delivered to her, and she apparently adored them.
According to what had been reported to me, the empress and emperor had even had the following conversation upon her receiving them:
“With such gorgeous pens, I have a feeling I’ll write nothing but beautiful words. Perhaps they’ll even make my heart beautiful.”
“You’re already more than beautiful enough. Although I must confess I’m interested in those beautiful words you speak of. Might I ask for a love letter from your hand?”
“Wouldn’t you rather hear such words directly from my lips?”
Thank you so much for your inspired words, Your Majesty. Our resident merchant intends to use them almost as is for advertisement purposes.
Also, wow, the empress and emperor are still so in love!
Our popular Lev, who’d now earned himself a reputation as a first-rate artisan thanks to the praise of the imperial family, was currently working on the duke of Yulsein’s order. Last I’d heard from Lev, he’d been poring over how to represent the Goddess of Beauty that the duke had asked for.
I quickly read through the letter and let out an excited squeal. “He finished the order for the duke of Yulsein!”
“Is that so?”
“Yes! I’m visiting the workshop next weekend,” I declared. “I shall write Lev a reply at once. Could you deliver it for me, Mina?”
“Of course, my lady,” she answered. Her tone was nonchalant, but I could see she was happy by the slight curve of the edge of her lips.
“Welcome, my lady.” Lev seemed to be in good spirits as he welcomed me into the Murano Workshop.
“It’s been a while, Lev. I’m glad to find you in good health.”
“It’s all thanks to you, my lady. Hello to you too, Miss Mina.”
After Lev politely greeted Mina, the rest of the artisans greeted us too, and I waved hello in response with a smile.
“Good morning, everyone. Please, do not pause your work on our behalf.”
Timing was key for glasswork. The moment you took the glass out of the kiln, a battle against time started. They couldn’t stop just because a noble girl had walked into the workshop.
The atmosphere of the Murano Workshop was incredibly lively. Not only had the disciples of the late Master Murano returned, but new artisans had joined them. They were all hard at work.
One after the other, beautiful works of art were being created. Some made colorful pitchers, some worked on elaborate liqueur glasses with wing decorations, while others made white vases covered with patterns so fine and delicate they resembled lace. There were also those who crafted blue and red plates and glasses with rather ordinary shapes. These would later be decorated with gold and silver paint or illustrated with enamel paint. In the end, every last piece of glassware produced here would be a dazzling masterpiece of the finest quality.
Ever since the Murano Workshop had reopened its doors, it’d been flooded with orders, not only for glass pens but also for fine tableware.
“I’m sorry you had to come all this way,” Lev said, bowing apologetically after inviting me to sit on the sofa in the corner of the workshop.
“I wanted to. I left the capital soon after the workshop became operational again, so I was curious to see how things were going.”
I was genuinely happy to be there. Seeing the artisans working with such ardor convinced me this place was headed in the right direction.
Yup. The Murano Workshop is doing great!
“Everyone loves working here,” Lev said. “Well, that’s no wonder considering no other workshop offers wages remotely as good. Everyone also appreciates that you’re so transparent about how the wages are calculated. It makes them feel like their efforts are valued.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I wanted this workshop to be a good workplace—one people are happy to go to every morning,” I answered out loud. In my heart, I held up a fist in victory and screamed, YES!!! I did it!
As someone who’d quite literally died of overwork in my previous life, this was important to me. While I was in a position to manage others now, I wanted to do so while thinking of the workers first.
I’d only come to know these things after getting my brother to buy this workshop for me, but the great majority of workshops in the capital didn’t treat their artisans very well. To put it bluntly, they forced them to work long hours for terrible wages.
The most talented artisans usually established their own workshops that did well for themselves, but those who were hired were basically treated as untalented and replaceable. Even though that couldn’t have been further from the truth! There were tons of reasons, such as failing to secure funding, that could lead to incredibly talented artisans being unable to start their own shops.
I didn’t think it was right for such talented people to be at the whim of capricious masters ready to fire them for the slightest reason.
This villainess loves her brother and hates exploitative companies!
Anyway, that was why I’d made use of the knowledge from my past life to set things up in a brand new way—while still functioning as per the standards of the empire.
At the Murano Workshop, every artisan earned base pay plus a bonus per completed piece.
It was quite similar to the basic system at most companies in my past world, where workers were paid a salary and then extra for overtime. However, awarding extra pay on a time basis meant risking that some people would stay longer even when they had nothing to do, just to rake in the extra pay. By giving bonuses based on the pieces made, wages were directly linked to how much each artisan contributed to the profit of the workshop.
Naturally, different pieces required different amounts of time to produce, so the reward for completing one varied according to its nature. To keep things fair, we calculated bonuses as a percentage of the item’s final price. This way, even if someone spent a very long time on a particularly complex piece, they’d still get rewarded for their time and efforts accordingly.
As for each artisan’s base pay, it depended on their skill level and not on the length of their employment or age. The quicker one worked, and the more difficult the pieces they could make, the higher their base pay would be.
This way of doing things prompted the artisans to give some serious thought to which pieces were more profitable for them to craft, depending on their respective skill levels, while also motivating them to learn how to make items that sold for high prices so they could get their cuts. As a result, they were all motivated to work hard, and I had high hopes for the future of the workshop.
“I’m also thankful for what you’ve done for the mistress and her daughter. I’m relieved that I don’t need to be concerned for them now,” Lev said.
He was referring to the late Master Murano’s family. Despite being known as the greatest glass artisan in the empire, Master Murano had been a poor salesman, and he’d been in debt his entire life. The investments he’d made to produce his masterpieces had been simply too expensive for him to keep up.
After his death, the workshop had been taken away from his family as collateral for their debt. While I’d bought the workshop and reopened it, Murano’s bereaved family had continued to live in poverty.
When I’d revamped the wage system and Lev had started making good money, he’d told me how glad he was that he could finally afford to help his master’s family. When I’d heard about the problem, I’d instantly thought it wouldn’t do—and gotten an idea.
“Your late master’s name and fame have great value. Since they’re allowing us to use the name of his workshop, I should compensate them as a token of my gratitude.”
In the empire, workshops were named after the master who’d founded them. Since Master Murano wasn’t there anymore, we should have renamed it. However, I’d decided to keep the name on purpose. I’d figured it was only fair for me to pay a rental fee to his wife and child for that name. I was more or less licensing a trademark, after all!
While this sounded completely natural to me, I’d still agonized over it.
In my eyes, paying for a trademarked name made sense, and it was logical for the rights to someone’s name to belong to the person and their family. However, this concept didn’t exist in the empire. It was a fee I didn’t need to pay.
In other words, from the outside, it looked like I was using money I hadn’t even earned myself for something completely illogical. Just like the rules of the Selesnoa Marquessate had sounded illogical to me, my beliefs didn’t match the common sense of the people of this world. It made me wonder if I was becoming more and more of an outlier here. Besides, I’d sworn to quickly recover the initial investment I’d asked my brother to make and to start contributing to the House of Yulnova. Would my idea be a waste of money? I wanted to be of assistance to my brother!