Chapter 9
After applying the ointment, Scarlett said,
“I want to lie down for a bit.”
“Sure.”
Isaac scooted closer to the wall, making room.
When Scarlett lay beside him, Isaac asked,
“How’s the watch shop?”
“So-so. At least the watches I made are being sold.”
“That’s amazing. I’m proud of you.”
Isaac said kindly, then immediately looked regretful.
“I wish I could visit the shop too…”
“I’ll show you around soon once things settle down.”
“No.”
Isaac shook his head, then spoke in a brighter tone.
“When I can see again, I’ll go. I’ll take a look at the watches you made.”
“Yeah. Once you can see, let’s ask them to suspend the guardianship. Then we’ll head to the Crimson factory.”
“Sounds good.”
“Let’s take back all your factories.”
“They’re our factories.”
“Why ours? Titles and factories are inherited by the successor.”
“If Mother and Father were alive, they might have made you the heir.”
Isaac, who never insisted on anything, was stubborn only when it came to the factory.
Scarlett sighed and said,
“Fine.”
“Once the guardianship is suspended, I’ll visit your shop alone. I’ve memorized the address perfectly.”
“Ah, just thinking about it excites me.”
Scarlett said with a hint of excitement.
After chatting a little longer, she got up. Since Isaac couldn’t see her waving, she always made a sound whenever she moved.
“Ah, I should get going.”
“Be careful on your way.”
Isaac smiled and waved. But before Scarlett left, he groped around, caught her arm, and said,
“By the way, Scarlett. I don’t think that way. You know, right?”
“Think what way?”
“That you abandoned me. Not once have I ever thought that.”
Others might react differently, but Scarlett was the kind of person who would torment herself, believing she had left behind her blind brother to get married. Of course, Isaac’s words wouldn’t erase her guilt entirely, but it was still better than silence.
Scarlett smiled and nodded.
“Mm-hm.”
Answering like that, she left the room.
Once the door closed, Isaac raised both hands to the cloth wrapped over his eyes.
When Scarlett married into the Dumfelt family, he thought he would no longer be a burden. But then she poured most of her divorce settlement into this uncertain medicine.
“…I want to see again.”
He recalled the time he stood up to his uncle for hitting his little sister.
Evil Crimson had comforted Isaac then, saying:
“You’re not like Scarlett. That girl is nothing, but you—though you won’t inherit the Crimson title—you are different. You’re a good boy, so don’t compare yourself to her.”
Then he had placed Isaac’s hand on Scarlett’s cheek—trying to make him “one of them.” Isaac struck her cheek until his uncle was satisfied.
That night, Scarlett whispered beside him:
“It’s a secret from Uncle, but honestly, it didn’t hurt at all.”
And then she had laughed.
From that day, Isaac never stood up to his uncle again, and he never trusted Scarlett’s smile.
Scarlett once again pedaled her bicycle toward the watch shop. On the glass wall of the shop she parked at, bold letters read: Scarlett Crimson’s Watch Shop. Below, in smaller writing, it said: Custom Orders Available.
The Crimsons were a family of great watchmakers. Five generations ago, their craftsmanship was recognized with the granting of a count’s title.
“Crimson” was not only the family name but also the name of a watch component. Using it in the shop’s name implied the ability to make watches with that component.
When Scarlett first said she’d use the name, the Crimson artisans had opposed it furiously. But when she successfully crafted a Crimson component, they had no choice but to swallow their words.
Entering, she asked Andrei,
“No orders today?”
“There were. But let me warn you beforehand—don’t overreact.”
Andrei said primly, then held up an empty box.
“This one sold again. And the next customer even placed a reservation.”
Scarlett narrowed her wine-colored eyes, which usually curved happily, at his calm report.
Setting the box down, Andrei said,
“Go on, say it. ‘I told you so.’”
“I did tell you. I said it would sell well.”
“Yes, yes. Who would’ve thought something smothered in sapphires would keep selling? My one mistake.”
He muttered with mild irritation, set the box aside, and quickly added with a teasing tone,
“Well? Hurry and make another sapphire mess.”
“It’s called ‘Eye of the Sea Goddess.’ It has a proper name. Why do you keep calling it a sapphire mess?”
“You’re the only one who thinks Eye of the Sea Goddess sounds fancy. I actually call it something else.”
“What? What do you call it?”
Andrei pulled out a hidden nameplate.
“A navy-style watch with sapphires.”
At the word “navy,” Scarlett tensed unconsciously.
“Why a navy watch?”
“Because it looks like something sailors would wear. Who do the people of this capital admire most? Captain Victor Dumfelt and the elite navy crew of the Rubid. This is called marketing.”
Using her ex-husband for marketing so casually—Scarlett could only admit Andrei was a natural-born businessman.
Though she disliked how he treated her, he was unmatched at selling to nobles, handled shop operations with skill far beyond his meager pay, and kept everything running smoothly.
Andrei said coolly,
“You just focus on making watches. When will you finish the one for the exhibition?”
“I’ll do it now.”
With that, Scarlett climbed upstairs to the second floor, which doubled as her home and workshop.
Aside from a bed and a wardrobe, there was little sign of a lived-in space.
Her workshop was filled with drawers of watch parts. Many tasks required delicate, bare-handed work, so within less than a year after her divorce, the soft hands she had kept during her two years of married life as a noblewoman had grown rough and worn.
She removed the headscarf she wore against the cold, letting golden waves tumble down to her waist. Tying her hair into one firm braid, she sat at her workbench.
The watch mockingly dubbed “sapphire mess” contained twelve tiny sapphires.
Scarlett began carving delicate grooves to set the stones. Her work continued until evening, when city guards went out to light the gas lamps on the streets.
At some point, two neighborhood children burst into the shop. Andrei, displeased, jerked his chin toward the stairs.
Having been scolded by him many times before, the kids ascended with exaggeratedly careful steps.
At the top was another locked wooden lattice door. Knowing Scarlett lost herself in work and wouldn’t notice them otherwise, the two children called out loudly.
“Scarlett! Fix it!”
“The tram broke down again!”
Even after their loud cries, there was no reply, and the children frowned.
So they shouted together, with all their strength,
“Scarlett!”
This time she seemed to hear them and put down her tools.
Charlie and Susan, the tram union leader’s two children, immediately chattered when their eyes met hers.
“The tram broke down again.”
“It’s old, so it breaks all the time. You have to fix it, Scarlett.”
Scarlett hesitated, looking troubled, then shook her head.
“I told you—once a tram breaks down, that’s it. Repairing them is illegal.”
Last July, the king and the high priest had agreed to ban repairs of trams and bicycles.
Their reasoning: people used them to travel out of the city on weekends, which they claimed was against the will of Reskia, their god.
The nomads who founded Salantie were indeed a people attuned to nature, with a tendency to resist technological development. But they weren’t foolish enough to accept such an absurd law.
At first, citizens had dismissed it as nonsense. But when harsh punishments began, fear made them comply.
Recently, radical zealots, citing the king and high priest, had even murdered some engineers.
Since then, no one dared repair trams. Yet no one suspected someone like Scarlett—a young, frail noblewoman—could fix them, so she was able to do so secretly without drawing suspicion.
The siblings, unaware of the danger, whined,
“If the tram stays broken, our dad will lose his job.”
“Then we’ll have nothing to eat.”
The last time, and the time before that, those words had forced her to help, albeit reluctantly.
She never should’ve started in the first place. If only that tram she’d been riding hadn’t broken down…
Scarlett sighed, meeting their pleading eyes that sparkled like glass beads, and finally stood.
“You little rascals.”
“We’re not rascals!”
“Yeah! The one who says we’re rascals is the real rascal!”
The seven-year-old siblings had learned to argue so well that they never lost a single exchange. Annoying as they were, letting them go hungry was unthinkable.
