It seemed she had been far more confused than necessary. The only thing that had happened was that more artisans had gathered than expected—a cause for celebration, not distress.
In this matter, Tahlan and Douve’s reactions had been the correct ones.
“This Blois,” Blois declared, lifting her chin, “shall act as a lady—and as a bride—and make her demands with proper pride.”
“Yes,” Douve said, smiling faintly. “Do that. And make sure you leave no regrets behind.”
A few days after the Shirokuro family arrived in the region, three artisans—the ones most highly praised by the townspeople—were invited to the estate. Normally, they might have welcomed all the craftsmen who had gathered, but there were simply too many; a selection had to be made.
Including the many who had come of their own accord from across the kingdom, the three who earned the right to stand on the field of competition were: a female artisan from the Disaea domain, a young rising talent from Sepaeda, and a seasoned craftsman from the royal demesne.
To be summoned by Douve—and to be called forth personally, at that—was not, for these three, a surprise.
Confident in their exceptional skill, none of them had even considered the possibility of being eliminated in the preliminary round. As such, they didn’t enter the Sepaeda estate weeping with joy, but rather with the calm air of people attending a routine appointment.
The true contest began here: which of the three artisans could surpass the other two.
For clothing artisans, this was a match of utmost seriousness. Winning here would not only make one the best in the kingdom but also ensure one’s name would be recorded in the history of Arcana’s fashion.
Even as the fierce determination radiating from the three caused the Shirokuro family to feel a twinge of intimidation, they began explaining the selection process.
Normally, Douve’s presence would have been reassuring—but she had graciously said, “This much, you should decide for yourselves.” And so, excluding little Fanne, the Shirokuro family would conduct the judging.
Lain’s role was mainly to offer her impressions, so in practice, the decision rested on Blois and Sansui.
“Ahem... First of all,” Sansui began, “allow me to thank you for stepping forward to create my wife’s bridal gown.”
He felt uneasy speaking with such authority toward people of a completely different craft. No matter how politely he phrased it, what he was really saying was I grant you the right to make my wife’s wedding dress. And that, inevitably, sounded lofty.
“Before we begin the selection,” he continued, “I would like you to examine this.”
With that, Sansui brought out the cloth he had received from the kingdom of Magyan and, without hesitation, passed it to the three artisans.
In that instant, their eyes truly changed. As professionals, they knew exactly what they were holding—the foreign fabric they had longed for with all their hearts was now resting in their own hands.
An overwhelming impulse seized them—the irresistible desire to put scissors to that fabric, to craft the most beautiful bridal gown from it.
“To the artisan who passes the selection,” Sansui said, “we will entrust this cloth. You will use it to create a Magyan-style bridal gown. Lady Douve’s own wedding dress will serve as your reference.”
The three artisans, still transfixed by the sight of the fabric, barely seemed to hear him—but Sansui made sure to drive his point home clearly.
There would be no withholding the Magyan cloth, nor any claim that it was of lesser quality than rumored. They were free to confirm for themselves that it was indeed of the finest make—but they were not free to do whatever they pleased with it.
“If you cannot accept these terms,” he said firmly, “please withdraw from the competition.”
Recreating an existing design wasn’t, honestly, a thrilling challenge. But the client’s wishes came first, and these conditions had been stated from the start.
Thus, the three artisans held their tongues and accepted the terms without protest.
“Very well,” Sansui continued. “With that agreement in place, let us proceed to the selection. Each of you, please present the bridal gown you would recommend for my wife.”
It sounded like something out of a storybook—a king summoning artisans from across the land and declaring, “Bring forth the wedding gown that best suits my bride.” Not even Douve herself had gone that far.
It was an event so rare it might never happen again in history. Still, Sansui resolved to see it through. It might have looked ostentatious to outsiders, but none of them were acting in bad faith. If nothing else, they could laugh about it later—after handling it properly now.
With that determination in mind, Sansui began the proceedings.
“Then, if I may begin,” said the first contestant.
The woman from the Disaea domain—stern and dignified in demeanor—brought in a model wearing her own handcrafted bridal gown.
In fact, this was the very same artisan whose model had paraded through the streets with a ship perched on her head during the fashion show. But this time, the gown she presented was truly—undeniably—beautiful.
“Oh...”
The word escaped Blois before she could stop it. She hadn’t expected such a design—and yet, she was moved. In this country, bridal gowns were almost always white, but the model before her wore a dress woven with many colors.
“In Disaea, we receive goods from all manner of foreign lands,” the artisan explained. “Among them is a bird from the southern tropics, and it was from that creature that I drew inspiration for this dress.”
“Hmph,” the young Sepaeda artisan grunted softly.
To be blunt, the design strayed from convention. Yet at the same time, there was nothing inappropriate about it as a bridal gown for a wedding ceremony.
And more importantly, it did not pale in comparison to what would later be called a Magyan-style bridal gown.
To choose such a daring motif for a decisive competition like this—she’s good, the young artisan thought.
At least for Blois and Lain, the dress stirred genuine excitement. It was utterly unlike the bridal gowns they knew—brighter, more exotic, and delightfully bold.
There was a charm to it, something that made one think, I’d love to try wearing that.
“Next, please.”
“Yes, of course.”
The young Sepaeda craftsman stepped forward and summoned his model.
To everyone’s surprise, the bridal attire she wore was a pants style. Yet it was so radiant that the lack of a skirt did not feel strange—it didn’t even read as particularly masculine.
“Lady Blois,” the artisan said, “is a woman strong enough to be invited into the ranks of the royal guard, and so I have prepared a bridal gown that would suit her strength while still embracing her grace.”
It wasn’t a masculine outfit, nor one that tried to hide femininity. Rather, it skillfully blended a touch of masculine design into a distinctly feminine form.
The model wore it perfectly. With a hairstyle similar to Blois’s, she made it easy to picture how Blois herself would look in it—and even before trying it on, everyone could see it would suit her beautifully.