Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 278

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

Episode 48.
Not All Children Are Angels (48)
5. The Leo Girl
Those born under the constellation of the Sun believe with such innocent conviction that they are the center of the universe—it’s better not to teach them otherwise.
After all, if we command the Sun not to burn, it’s we who suffer the loss.
Five years later.
At the Mirangette Atelier, a prestigious dressmaking house renowned throughout the Haiacan Kingdom, a bundle of sketches for newly commissioned garments had just arrived. The first person to unfold them gazed in wonder, eyes widening. The second person to receive them copied several sections into her own sketchbook, offering unstinting praise.
Yet for all the brilliance of those sketches, the reception changed entirely when they reached the hands of the third person.
“Seven garments? Seven?! Damn it, this isn’t a joke!”
Riche Avril’s expression as she held the sketches was so sharp that even the older staff members fell silent and exchanged wary glances. Customers on the second floor held their breath in unison.
“I won’t do it! Let that cursed Cardi or whoever come and try it themselves! The man can’t even thread a needle, and this is the garbage he sends?!”
Riche hurled the sketches to the floor and stormed downstairs, her footsteps heavy with fury. Simultaneously, a voice rang out—exactly as expected.
“Where are you going, Riche Avril?”
Jacqueline Mirangette stood waiting at the entrance. The staff members upstairs began to stifle their laughter.
“Ah, well… I…”
Her stammering reply and the barely suppressed anger in her breathing carried clearly to the upper floor. Though Jacqueline Mirangette surely knew Riche was furious, she continued speaking as though she hadn’t noticed at all.
“You seem to be in a foul mood. Are you feeling unwell?”
“…No, of course not.”
“Good, you’re healthy then. Shall we go back upstairs and finish reviewing today’s orders?”
Jacqueline Mirangette’s purring tone—elegant as a cat—made her intentions transparent, and the staff upstairs had to clap their hands over their mouths to stifle their laughter. Jacqueline Mirangette knew exactly how to handle Riche. When one asked with such gentle obliviousness, even the hot-tempered girl couldn’t bring herself to explode.
“The orders are… far too complex, so I simply cannot…”
“Ah, difficult? Then we should ask the client to extend the deadline, shouldn’t we?”
She dangled the carrot subtly. Riche nodded her head eagerly, then spoke again.
“But we have no stock of materials like Debrain silver thread…”
“Is that so? We’ll place a special order. As you know, it arrives in three and a half days.”
“…Yes.”
When the sound of Riche trudging back upstairs was heard, those who had been laughing quickly resumed their neutral expressions. Back at her work table, Riche picked up the sketches she had thrown to the floor, her lips pressed firmly together. She laid them on the table, pulled her chair close, and buried her face in her arms. Her rose-colored hair, which fell to her waist, tumbled down across her shoulders.
Those who knew better left Riche alone when she was like this, though they stole glances at her while returning to their work. They all understood why she was so angry. At fifteen years old, Riche was the youngest at the Mirangette Atelier. Yet despite her youth, she handled nearly all the most difficult sewing. Her eagerness to excel had led her to button the first button correctly, and now the difficult commissions never ceased.
Because she was talented and somehow managed to complete everything, unreasonable orders kept coming. They all remembered that last year, before Riche joined, whenever schedules grew tight, the atelier had simply refused from the start. Though no one dared speak openly—they were all bound to this establishment—there was a shared understanding that Jacqueline Mirangette was pushing the young Riche too hard.
Shortly after, Millar Jusitant returned from an errand and placed a surprised hand on Riche’s shoulder.
“Riche, what’s wrong? Did Jacqueline Mirangette scold you?”
When no answer came quickly, Millar tilted her head and picked up the sketches lying before Riche. An exclamation burst from her lips immediately.
“Oh, this is Max Cardi’s order! How can the sketches be so perfect? She’s someone who knows exactly what her clothes should look like. These garments suit her perfectly, don’t they?”
The surrounding staff members began to quietly withdraw their heads. When would Millar’s obliviousness finally return?
Millar examined each of the other sketches one by one, exclaiming in admiration and grating on Riche’s nerves.
“Look at the color work. How can it be both so elegant and so vibrant? So bold! Who but Cardi could possibly pull off these clothes? Did she really draw and send all of these herself? Isn’t she an artist? Hey, Riche, come on, get up and look at this. You’re going to make these, right? I’m so envious. If I had the skill to make clothes for Cardi, I’d have no other wishes. Just thinking about Cardi wearing something I made would keep me awake from sheer excitement. I don’t understand why you hate making her clothes. I saw you from the front row at last year’s ‘Violin Recital’ performance, and Max wearing the clothes you made was…”
Those who had withdrawn their heads were counting down. Three, two, one—explosion!
“Sister, please stop saying things you don’t understand!”
Riche shot to her feet, snatching the sketches away and crying out, and Millar’s eyes widened in shock.
“Hey, what’s wrong with you? What did I do to make you yell like that?”
“If you want it made that way, why don’t you make it yourself! I absolutely despise people who bring such absurd designs!”
“What’s absurd about this design? It’s just a bit intricate—how beautiful it is!”
“Does someone who orders seven of these ridiculous pieces have a conscience in their head? My fingertips bleed from the delicate embroidery on this irritating fabric. Just thinking about it makes me want to die! If you simplified it even a little, wouldn’t the workers have an easier time? Are you the only perfectionist in the world?”
There was only one person who could intervene in moments like this.
“Riche Avril, Millar Jusitant. Where do you think you are?”
Matilde Bermer, the disciplinarian supervisor, had arrived. An original employee of the Mirangette Atelier, she had transitioned to management early on when the atelier gained popularity, though she had earned a notorious reputation for tormenting the seamstresses.
Among them, Matilde despised Riche most of all. She firmly believed that because the youngest possessed the greatest skill, Mirangette showed favoritism toward her.
“Tell me. Is this a marketplace? Speak up—where exactly are we?”
Millar answered quickly.
“This is the Mirangette Atelier, which creates the finest garments in Hyacan.”
“If you know that, why are you making such a racket? What will the customers think if they hear you?”
By now there wasn’t a single customer on the second floor, but Millar bowed her head in apology several times regardless. Soon Matilde turned her gaze toward Riche.
“Riche Avril, why aren’t you saying anything? Are you saying you did nothing wrong?”
Riche answered quickly, her eyes downcast.
“I apologize—I did nothing well.”
“Is that what you call an answer?”
“Then what should I say?”
When Matilde met those defiant eyes, she bellowed.
“Are you talking back to me right now? I should break your fingers so you can’t even hold a needle until you come to your senses!”
“Stop just talking about it and try! Then I won’t make these insane garments anymore and can rest easy for a whole month!”
But Riche was in no position to rest comfortably. She supported her helpless mother and younger brother on her wages alone, so she couldn’t afford to lose even a day’s pay.
“You still haven’t learned your lesson!”
The atmosphere suggested a slap was coming, but suddenly the surroundings grew quiet and everyone straightened their posture. Mirangette herself had come upstairs.
“Matilde, why are you bothering the seamstresses? Go do your own work.”
This was precisely why Matilde hated the seamstresses all the more. From Mirangette’s perspective, the seamstresses were the lifeblood of her atelier and therefore irreplaceable.
“Riche Avril, Millar Jusitant, both of you return to your stations and work.”
Mirangette had a habit of calling people by both given name and surname, though this applied only to the seamstresses. In the past, she had called Matilde “Matilde Bermer” as well.
“…Understood.”
As Matilde withdrew, suppressing her anger, Mirangette spoke to Riche in a warm voice.
“Riche Avril, I sent word to the messenger earlier to extend the deadline. So today you can simply select the fabrics and leave early. You look exhausted—get some rest.”
Riche was well aware that she received favoritism. Yet the price of that favoritism was merely an overwhelming flood of work, which brought her no joy whatsoever. She would gladly forgo those affectionate glances if only her wages would increase, but in that regard, the teacher stubbornly adhered to principles of equality.
“Then I’ll go select the fabrics.”
Riche answered quickly and fled the uncomfortable situation. After Mirangette left, Millar whispered to another employee.
“Riche is so young that she doesn’t understand how the world works. If I were her, I’d stick to the teacher like strawberry jam and never let go. When the teacher grows old and weary, she’ll choose a favored employee to inherit the atelier, won’t she? Of course she’d teach them design. Riche has such a pretty face that customers specifically request her, and she’s so young—she’d be perfect to teach. Why doesn’t she see that?”
The employee listening shook her head and spoke.
“I don’t know. Customers who seek out Riche do so for her skill, not her face, don’t they? And the teacher is only forty—I doubt she’s thinking about that yet. From what I can see, the teacher is trying to squeeze every last drop out of Riche while her skills are sharp. Once she’s worn down from being dragged around and her fingers grow dull, she’ll be cast aside without hesitation.”
Children of Ron – Winterer
Author: Jeon Min-hee
Publisher: 14 Months of Books
The publishing rights to this book belong to the author and 14 Months of Books.
All or part of the contents of this book may not be reused without written consent from both parties.

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————