A simple approach—but tailored perfectly to the client. To design it before even meeting me... Impressive, thought Blois, quietly admiring the young artisan’s discernment.
The female artisan from Disaea quietly nodded in appreciation of the young Sepaeda craftsman’s research skills.
No matter that he was born in Sepaeda—it was no simple task to study the traits of a woman who had served merely as a bodyguard to Lady Douve, and even harder to translate that understanding into a finished design.
And indeed, the reaction from the Shirokuro family was excellent. They could all see that the outfit would suit Blois perfectly.
“Well then,” said Sansui, clearing his throat, “the last entrant, please...”
“Yes,” came the confident reply. “Leave it to me.”
At last, the seasoned artisan from the royal demesne called in his model.
When the woman entered, everyone—including the other two craftsmen and the Shirokuro family—was taken aback.
The model bore almost no resemblance to Blois. She was small and delicate, and the gown she wore—while exquisitely made—was simply a traditional bridal dress.
“I have prepared a gown that follows the royal tradition of the bridal form,” the artisan announced.
His presentation was short, almost curt. It was indeed traditional, but perhaps a little too much so.
The model herself had the air of a young noblewoman about to be wed: graceful, pure, and serene. Her hands were pale as whitefish, her demeanor gentle and composed.
It looked less like a gown for Blois and more like a gown made for this model—a perfectly ordinary bride.
Why? Why this design? I can’t read his intent... I don’t understand!
Had this not been a competition, such a piece might have made sense—a safe, standard design to keep as an option. But this was a contest. To offer something so plain seemed like surrender. Surely there was no way it could win—
“Sansui,” Blois said softly, interrupting the silence. “I think...I like this one.”
The words came with calm certainty. The bride herself had chosen.
And with that, the other two artisans’ chances vanished in an instant.
“Then the decision is made,” Sansui declared.
“This can’t be... Impossible!” cried the young Sepaeda craftsman, disbelief written across his face.
“Why...? I can’t accept this!”
Just as Sansui tried to bring the matter to a close, the two defeated artisans protested loudly. They couldn’t accept their loss.
“Why was that chosen? What were the criteria?”
“Yes, exactly! Why that gown and not ours? We demand to know!”
Ignoring the Shirokuro family completely, the two turned on the veteran craftsman, voices sharp with frustration.
“Oh?” he said calmly. “Then allow me to ask in return—why does my gown’s victory displease you so?”
The seasoned man’s tone was composed, even smug, a faint smile tugging at his lips as if to say, You still have much to learn.
“Because that gown doesn’t suit Lady Blois!” one of them snapped.
“That’s right! It clearly clashes with her image!”
Their words were harsh—a barrage of blunt professional criticism. The “orthodox bridal gown,” they declared, simply didn’t match the bride’s aura.
Hearing this, Blois’s expression faltered slightly, her shoulders dipping.
The veteran artisan, however, raised his voice, firm and unwavering—as though brushing aside her momentary doubt.
“Even if you’ve lost, such talk before the client is disgraceful,” he said. “And in any case—Lady Blois does suit this gown.”
He paused, letting his confidence fill the room.
“I understand your thinking,” he went on evenly. “If we speak only of outward appearance, then yes—your designs may complement her more naturally.”
“Exactly!” one of them cried, seizing on his words.
“My gown was made for Lady Blois! Crafted to match her strength, her bearing! How could such a thing possibly lose?”
It was true—Blois’s looks and stature made her easy to dress. In almost any design, she would shine. By ordinary reckoning, the two bolder gowns—colorful or tailored—would better showcase her charm.
If this were a simple competition of visual harmony, either of those two would surely have won.
But the old master only smiled faintly and said:
“That’s where you’re mistaken. A wedding is indeed the bride’s grand stage—her dream come true. But that dream,” he said, lowering his voice, “comes in three kinds.”
The veteran artisan began to explain why he had deliberately chosen a gown—and even a model—that did not resemble Blois in the slightest.
“There are,” he said calmly, “three kinds of bridal dreams. Some wish for a wedding more splendid than anyone else’s. Some dream of a ceremony that is utterly unique, one that no one else could ever replicate. And then there are those who long for the wedding everyone dreams of—the timeless ideal.”
He paused, looking directly at Blois.
“I do not rank one dream above another,” he continued. “But Lady Blois belongs to that last kind.”
His reasoning was precise, almost clinical, yet filled with quiet empathy.
“To her,” he said, “a wedding is not about extravagance or originality. It is the moment when a warrior is reborn as a lady—a ritual of transformation. She yearns for that classic, graceful image of a bride that everyone envisions.”
At that, the other two artisans fell silent. The truth of their defeat dawned on them all at once.
They realized how thoroughly competition had clouded their judgment. After so many days of fashion shows and rivalry, they had begun to design with victory in mind—not the bride herself.
“We were obsessed,” murmured one. “Trying to outshine the bridal gowns of Magyan, trying to make something that fit her perfectly—but we were only thinking like professionals.”
“Right,” said the other quietly. “We forgot that a bride doesn’t care whether the gown matches her image. She just wants to feel like a bride.”
The veteran gave a firm nod.
“Exactly. We say that ‘God dwells in the details,’ and that is true—but that belief exists for our discipline, not for our clients. Not every customer seeks perfect balance, subtle harmony, or artistic restraint. Those are the vanities of artisans who have forgotten who they serve.”
He let his words hang heavy in the air before delivering the final blow:
“You two lost your footing in the excitement of competition. You forgot the first rule of craft—to honor the client’s dream.”
“Ugh...”
“We’ve lost...”
The woman from Disaea and the young man from Sepaeda both bowed their heads and knelt, humbled before the veteran’s calm mastery.
“You should have thought more carefully about whose moment this really is!”
The veteran craftsman declared his victory with pride, his voice ringing with both satisfaction and authority.
Viewing his triumphant pose, the Shirokuro family couldn’t help but share a collective thought.
It feels like he’s making the moment a little about himself now, though...
The atmosphere had shifted so dramatically it was as if they’d wandered into the climax of a cooking manga—where the cooks, not the patrons, held the spotlight.
Indeed, while the bride and groom were the stars of the wedding itself, during the preparations, it was the people behind the scenes—the creators and craftsmen—who truly took center stage.