episode_0008

Episode 8 – Became a Stuffed Toy

Erica was more of a perfectionist than one might expect.

A woman who excelled in both academics and the arts, distinguished in every field.

Especially in whatever she did, she was both swift and meticulous to the point of perfection.

It was as if she whipped herself to maintain this perfectionism.

Even her habit of wearing only comfortable cotton clothes—while half of it was for convenience, the other half was a performance.

A show proclaiming to the common folk, “See how frugally I live!”

She drove herself relentlessly, to the point where one couldn’t help but call her ruthless.

However, there was one thing Erica couldn’t be proud of…

Her immense love for sweet treats and food.

I thought it was cute, but she seemed embarrassed by it.

The moment she got caught, she pleaded with me in the most serious tone imaginable.

“Don’t you dare tell a soul.”

“If you do, I’ll have you dismissed…”

“I see. If I cut off your head, then no one will know…”

“I’ll take this secret to the grave.”

Sweet treats were a luxury.

When commoners had to pay exorbitant prices for hard stone bread, how could she indulge in sweets as snacks?

There was a chance all her performances so far would go up in smoke.

Of course, the bigger reason seemed to be that eating sweets made her—someone already short—look even more childlike…

But why did *I* know all this?

“Baron.”

“‘My Lord.’”

“…My Lord, why am I even here…?”

Because I was sitting in Erica’s office, helping with work.

“Didn’t I say I’d take you around as my stuffed toy?”

“…But I don’t know the first thing about this kind of work.”

“Nonsense. Just being by my side is enough. Well, if you *really* need something to do…”

Oh crap, I should’ve stayed quiet!!

I forgot the golden rule I learned in the army and society: “Stay still, and you’re halfway there.”

Cursing my own stupidity, I accepted the documents Erica handed me with trembling hands.

*Sniff… Huh?*

But something was off about those documents.

They dealt with heating filaments, pencils, and the printing type we’d just developed.

More precisely, they were reports detailing factories and production processes.

“Ah… This isn’t how it’s supposed to be done. The building specs should be bigger too….”

Maybe it hit close to home because I started the project?

Like a person hypnotized, I blankly stared at the documents before grabbing a papyrus and scribbling notes.

Since the concept of a factory didn’t exist, the initial size estimations were way too small—and seriously, why is the casting volume so low?! You planning to sell these to the military instead of civilians?!

“Honestly… How do you mess up something this basic…?”

Before I knew it, I was fully immersed in revising the documents.

Unaware of Erica snickering behind me the whole time…

How long had passed?

There was so much to fix that I couldn’t stop writing.

Just as my stomach began to growl, Erica placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Take a break for now.”

“Huh? It’s only been an hour…”

“It’s been five.”

Oh dear…

*How long* was I at this?!

I pushed aside the monstrous paperwork that had devoured my precious time.

Just as I followed Erica out for dinner, a memory flashed across my prefrontal cortex.

Something Erica had said to me yesterday…

*’From now on, I’ll take you everywhere like a stuffed toy. You’ll even attend dinners with the Grace family!’*

I’m screwed.

I know *nothing* about noble etiquette.

And my first opponents just *had* to be the Grace family?!

Why was I shaking?

Well, since she *is* my boss, I asked around about the Graces.

Originally dukes—yes, *just* below the emperor.

But due to some incident, they were demoted to counts. Still, their wealth and influence remain intact.

Erica and Vivian are oddly friendly with me, so that’s fine…

But if I act rude in front of *real* nobles, I’ll lose my head *and* my body.

“Oh, now that I think about it, the factory documents aren’t done yet…”

“Tsk tsk.”

My towering 190cm frame, muscles honed through farming—

Yet somehow, Erica, smaller than me, grabbed my forearm and *dragged* me forward effortlessly.

“Relax. I’m the head of this family—who would dare harm you?”

“A-ah…”

*What kind of monstrous strength is this?!*

And so, I was dragged kicking and screaming to dine with a high-ranking noble family.

Where did things go wrong?

I was supposed to be peacefully farming in the countryside, enjoying my hobbies…

With a grimace, I followed Erica into a massive dining hall.

“Extravagant…”

The hall was enormous.

A long table, fit for 20, draped in pristine white linen.

Luxurious silver candlesticks adorned the table—an impossibly high-class setting.

The checkered marble floor gleamed under the light, and lavish ornaments filled every corner.

“My father—the former lord—loved extravagance, you see.”

“I see…”

Was that all?

The women seated at the table—

All beauties with hair similar to Erica’s.

Vivian was there too, so these *had* to be the Graces.

There *were* a few men, but women outnumbered them.

“Here, sit beside me.”

“…Eh?”

Erica was seated at the table’s center—the head seat.

And she wanted me *beside* her?!

*Excuse me, I’m just an engineer?!*

As I froze in confusion, a woman—was it Runa, the warrior who’d attended my portable heater demo?

Erica’s cousin—shouted at her.

“Have you gone mad?! The administrators and minor nobles *despise* that guy—?!”

“It’s true… *I* like him, but you *know* how they want to gut Cain for being a commoner!”

Excuse me?

I couldn’t believe my ears at Vivian’s words.

They *hate* me? *Want me dead?* Why?!

“Relax. Within a month, I’ll shut them all up.”

Erica—my lord—winked at me as if to say, *Right?*

I have *no* idea what’s happening in a month…

Still baffled, she forced me into the seat beside her.

Ignoring Runa’s protests, she began the meal.

A brief prayer, then dinner commenced.

“Wait, fork… no, the knife’s on the left, right?”

I vaguely recalled noble dining etiquette from a passing glance online.

The table was decked out in fancy silverware.

Though no elderly figures were present, I scrambled to remember manners—

“Sis, this is *so* good! What *is* this?!”

“Erica, about the military provisions and food shortage…”

“Gah—! Pour me another!!”

…

Did I time-travel to the Viking Age instead of the Middle Ages?

The Grace women ate boisterously—far from what one expected of nobility.

A few, including Erica, ate with some decorum, but even they stuck to just a knife and fork.

Erica chuckled at my bewildered face.

“Sorry to disappoint your expectations.”

“N-no…”

“Most of my cousins and family are battle-hardened women—they despise formal dining. Maybe it’s because we lack a strict father figure.”

Unexpected…

Come to think of it, didn’t Erica seize control of the Grace family at a young age?

*Why* is someone so exceptional clinging to *me* like this…?

Erica smirked and handed me a knife.

“Besides, isn’t it more practical to just use a fork and knife instead of a dozen utensils?”

“Wise words.”

*This* I can get behind.

And so, I comfortably dug in with just a fork and knife.

The Graces—laughing, chattering, and drinking like Vikings—were nothing like highborn ladies.

Even the maids seemed used to this, watching them expressionlessly.

Meanwhile, Erica multitasked—eating while reviewing documents.

“Right, a perfectionist indeed…”

All in all, an amusing family.

Part of me thinks if *they* ruled, things wouldn’t be as disastrous as under the late emperor.

Maybe that’s why Erica insists on being called “my lord” instead of “baroness”?

Lost in thought…

A month passed.

Before I knew it, two months had gone by since joining the Grace household.

How busy were we?

Erica threw so much money at the factory that mages finished construction in *a week*.

Naturally, trial runs and troubleshooting kept me running around.

I even had to personally train the workers…

Still, seeing their joy over new jobs warmed my heart.

When not working or sleeping, I was Erica’s stuffed toy.

Then came rare moments of freedom—when Erica was stuck in meetings with nobles and officials.

“Join me in the war.”

“Excuse me?”

Here we go again—another chore.