"Factor Mueller. With the common sense in your head, this must seem impossible."
I gestured to Aila with my eyes.
From the cart she had kept waiting, she took out three rolls of plain cotton fabric stamped clearly with the Carnoble mark and rolled them onto the podium.
"But machines are different. Machines know no fatigue, and the inputted gear ratios and the meshing of gears permit not even the slightest deviation after ten thousand rotations."
I unfolded a certificate and submitted it to the Chairman.
"These three bolts of cloth produced at our Carnoble factory were made on different days, on different lines, but… all three bolts are exactly ten ja in length and three ja in width, with an error margin of less than half a chi."
"H-half a chi? Nonsense!"
Mueller shrieked, but the moment the Council's inspectors came forward with wooden rulers and spread out the three bolts to measure—
Exclamations of shock burst from the inspectors' mouths.
"Good heavens… Mr. Chairman! The length of all three bolts is exactly the same, without even the difference of a single hair! The width is uniform too, and even the thread density against the light is as even as a single sheet of paper!"
The entire chamber was steeped in astonishment.
The absolute standardization of machines—unreachable even if one devoted an entire lifetime with human hands.
It was the moment that perfect control, which would make even the gods marvel, was proven.
I walked heavily toward Mueller, who was trembling.
"Now, it has been proven that the Carnoble factory can uphold this bill perfectly. If so, then now…"
Right in front of Mueller's nose, I pulled out another roll of cotton fabric I had hidden in my coat and flung it to the floor.
"Shall we confirm the true nature of this 'top-class premium' item that the Mueller Company recently sold at a high price to foreign peddlers?"
"H-how did you get that…!"
It was something Aila had personally purchased with gold coins just yesterday from a Mueller Company retail store.
On the luxurious tag attached to the outside, it was proudly written: "Length 10 ja, Pellua's Finest Handicraft Fabric."
I took out a specially made thin metal tape measure.
Swish! The tape, shooting out with a sharp metallic sound, slid across Mueller's cloth like a blade.
And at the mark I pointed to, the faces of the inspectors and councilmen froze coldly.
"…Nine ja, two chi."
I read the measurement in a cold voice.
"The tag says ten ja, but the actual length is nine ja, two chi. A full eight chi short. The width narrows toward the middle, so much so that it's barely enough to make a single pillow, and the thread density is a mess, letting light through in droves."
I grabbed Mueller by his greasy collar and dragged him before the podium.
"Councilmen. Is this the 'natural variation caused by human hands' that Factor Mueller spoke of earlier?"
Silence.
A suffocating silence filled the room.
I squeezed his collar with all my strength and roared loud enough to shake the chamber.
"No! This is obvious fraud that tarnishes the honor of Pellua commerce, and it is theft—receiving payment for ten ja while stealing the gold equivalent of eight chi from the customer's pocket!"
"N-no! That was the weaver's mistake… I know nothing about it!"
Mueller thrashed about making a sound like a pig being slaughtered, but the eyes of the council members had already turned to ice.
The majority of the council members gathered here were also heavyweight merchants who purchased textiles in bulk and distributed them to other nations.
They had witnessed with their own eyes the terrible truth of how much money they had been extorted by old-era merchants like Mueller under the excuse of the limitations of handicraft work.
To be exact.
'They probably knew all along.'
Even so, they had had to tolerate it.
Why? Because the cotton fabric market had been dominated by the Mueller Company.
In fact, even Mueller Company's figures could be called very conscientious and accurate compared to other companies.
However.
A perfect replacement—me—had appeared. From their perspective, indeed.
'Is there any need to maintain the Mueller Company?'
Is there any reason to use unreliable cotton fabric with unclear specifications?
The veteran merchants grasped the situation in an instant.
"Mueller… you bastard! How dare you sell out Pellua's credibility?!"
"Search that swindler's warehouses immediately!"
"I fully agree with the Chief Factor of Carnoble's proposal! False labeling must be punished at once!"
The angry shouts of the council members rained down.
And finally, bang! Bang! Bang!
The heavy sound of the Chairman's gavel echoed through the chamber like an executioner's blade striking Mueller's neck.
"In the name of the Pellua Commercial Council, I shall immediately introduce the [Mandatory Cotton Fabric Quality and Standard Labeling] Bill! Furthermore, I order the seizure of all Mueller Company inventory and a full audit of their false labeling!"
"N-no… my company… my gold…"
Thud.
Mueller, released from my grip, collapsed on the spot, foaming at the mouth and passing out.
Hoist by his own petard.
It was the moment his own neck was severed by the blade of the very system he had wielded.
From that day on, Pellua's market ecosystem was completely overturned.
Astronomical punitive fines were levied against the Mueller Company for its fraudulent specifications.
Wholesale merchants across the continent clamored to return their goods, crying, "It wasn't ten ja!" and Mueller was forced to sell off his remaining warehouses, mansions, and even the silk clothes on his back at rock-bottom prices to pay his debts.
The pot-bellied pig, half-ruined and driven into Pellua's back alleys, was no longer of any interest to me.
What truly mattered was the massive butterfly effect created by the bill I had passed.
"Hey, how do I know the measurements stamped on this cloth are accurate?"
"Oh, customer! Doesn't this bear the Carnoble mark! It's the machine-made fabric that the Council itself guaranteed to be without error!"
"Ah, really? If it has the Carnoble mark, well, no need to measure. Give me ten rolls!"
Pellua's de facto 'standard.'
Cotton fabric without the Carnoble mark began to be treated as worthless trash with untrustworthy specifications.
All wholesalers and distributors brandished the Carnoble factory's specifications as the standard for trade.
The ten ja we made, the density we set, the shrinkage rate we presented.
That became the common sense and the law of the continent.
Now the competing companies, unable to overcome our factory's overwhelming production costs and suffering the double hardship of having to match absolute specifications mandated by law through manual labor, smashed their own looms and declared surrender.
The Carnoble factory literally monopolized the cotton fabric market of the entire continent, beyond just Pellua.
*
Clink.
Two top-class crystal glasses filled with ice clinked cheerfully in mid-air.
The top floor of the Golden Fleece Company, the Factor's office.
Aila had piled up the mountain of incoming gold certificates and was rolling atop them, screaming with delight.
"This is insane! Elpanso! We're really the richest people on the continent! Ever since the Council passed the bill, foreign peddlers won't even set foot in Pellua if there isn't a Carnoble mark!"
'We're definitely not number one yet.'
Since she's happy, there's no need to contradict her.
She raised her glass toward me, her emerald eyes sparkling.
"Tell me honestly. You planned everything from the start, right? From when Mueller stupidly came at you with fire inspections and tax audits, you already had this bill in your head to destroy him in one blow!"
I buried myself deep in a plush leather sofa, took a sip of amber-colored liquor, and smirked.
"Well. I didn't know Mueller would be stupid enough to dig his own grave like that. But Aila, whether it's commerce or engineering, there's only one truth."
"A guy who stabs with a knife is just a back-alley thug. Do you know what kind of person truly devours the market?"
At my question, Aila held her breath and listened intently.
"It's someone who first reads the essence of the rules, then builds their own massive castle atop those rules. Competitors climb those walls and legally suffocate to death."
All the regulations and audits Mueller threw at me became, in the end, a nationally certified endorsement of my factory's perfection.
And the single regulation I threw sent the old era to the guillotine, perfectly.
"Ha… you're really a scary bastard."
Aila shook her head in disbelief, yet wore a blissful smile she couldn't hide.
"So, great Chief Factor of Carnoble. You've swept up all the continent's money with cotton fabric, so what's next? Isn't it about time to start that 'steam engine' you talked about?"
At her provocative question, my gaze shifted to an old wooden box sitting in one corner of the office.
The box where the pendant that had worked miracles lay dormant.
And in my mind, the massive blueprints of steam engines and steel blast furnaces churned.
Cotton fabric was only the beginning.
Because the snowball of the true Industrial Revolution that would change the world's paradigm had just begun to roll.
"Get ready, Aila, my partner."
I tossed back the remaining drink in one gulp and smiled like a beast.
"This time, I'm going to redraw the map of the continent."
A pleasant silence hung in the office for a moment at my declaration, full of certainty.
The moonlight seeping through the window and the soft manastone lighting inside gently illuminated Aila's red hair.
Whether it was due to the strong liquor, or the elation brought by this massive success—
Aila's white cheeks were flushed lightly like a peach.
She rattled the ice remaining in her glass, rolling it around, then tossed out words in a small, languid voice unlike her usual sharp and spirited tone as a Factor—a voice one might have used as a snot-nosed childhood friend.
"Hey, Elpanso."
"What."
"We've seen every embarrassing thing there is since we were kids. When you were that crazy delinquent, I was by your side, and now that you've become a monster devouring the continent, you're still right in front of me after all."
Thinking it was some random emotional outburst, I turned my head, and Aila was staring intently at me with emerald eyes.
Her gaze was strangely sticky.
"So what I'm saying is."
"Yeah."
"If… if both of us don't have a partner by the time we're twenty-five."
"If we don't?"
Aila cleared her throat with a soft cough, then averted her gaze slightly and mumbled.
"Just… will you marry me?"
"…Huh?"