The Nani Fashion Issue By:Kinoshita Nakui 4.8/5 Ratings 2.3 K Reads 3.6 M Words Tags Synopsis: Chapter 57: The Hat Shop
This was probably the main street of the small town. On both sides of the road, which couldn’t be considered wide, several hat shops were scattered about in uneven order.
The storefronts, made of wood or brick, mostly looked old and worn. The windows displayed similar-looking formal suits, shirts, and hats. The flow of people was sparse, with hardly any custors in sight.
However, in front of one particular shop, a crowd had gathered that far outnumbered the others. They weren’t lined up; they seed more like they were wandering aimlessly, hesitating in their steps, their gazes occasionally darting past the threshold into the depths of the store before quickly snapping back.
Falson’s footsteps unconsciously slowed. His instincts were stirred; he felt a subconscious urge that entering this shop might lead to so unexpected turn of events.
This feeling made him want to instinctively veer away, to go into any other shop nearby that looked ordinary, one that wouldn’t have any “surprises.”
Since becoming a Law Seeker, his innate talent had been enhanced, and that included his intuition.
Moreover, being able to clearly sense which places were safe to enter and which were not was one of the abilities his Navigator Law Mark granted him in terms of intuition.
Just as he was about to turn around, he rembered that Mr. Samuel had always emphasized they were playing a “detective ga” now, saying that their trip downstairs was ant to search for clues.
Falson’s inner scales began to tip violently.
Avoiding the current “abnormality” would indeed bring temporary peace, and it certainly matched his lifelong principles for dealing with the world.
But that peace might an missing crucial clues, or even betraying Samuel’s expectations and his own determination to imrse himself in this “ga.”
After hesitating for several seconds, taking a deep breath, and analyzing the pros and cons over and over again, Falson finally decided he couldn’t keep running away.
“System, I feel like that shop is a bit strange. I feel like…” Falson muttered in a voice so low only he could hear, as if talking to himself.
“Go if you want to,” Samuel’s voice answered from inside his head. “What’s the matter? Don’t you trust an ability you’ve used for over twenty years?”
“True,” Falson felt the System was right. “It’s just that I feel like it’s been strengthened now. I’m afraid I can’t control the force well, you know?”
He had no idea how much his ability had been amplified. It would be hilarious if one day he accidentally attracted a teorite to smash down on him.
He just hoped he wouldn’t be chased by lightning on a rainy day.
For a mont, Samuel suddenly felt an instinctive sense that he had been sohow offended.
Not giving himself another chance to hesitate, Falson steadied his nerves, stopped looking at the other shops, and walked toward that hat shop.
He carefully skirted around the n still lingering outside the door, their gazes wandering. Their attention seed completely captivated by sothing inside the shop, making their reactions to the outside world sowhat sluggish.
Pushing open the slightly heavy wooden door, accompanied by a crisp sound of a brass bell, the interior of the shop ca into view.
The decor was quite common, fitting the practical style of middle-class shops in this era.
The lighting was a bit dim, relying mainly on the street-facing window and a few kerosene lamps hanging from the ceiling. On the left wall, a row of dark wooden racks held shirts, pants, vests, and ties in the center. On the right, against the wall, stood several glass cabinets displaying leather shoes and boots.
“Sir, what would you like to buy?” A male clerk wearing a white shirt and a red vest approached, a perfectly appropriate smile on his face as he asked politely.
In Liastan, the color of one’s attire often represented social status. Gentlen with status, power, and wealth typically preferred white shirts, black vests, black pants, and black suits—colors that were rather monotonous. They showed off their status through fine tailoring and expensive fabrics, not through color. Therefore, male servants, clerks, and service staff were required to wear brightly colored or even highly contrasting outfits to distinguish between master and servant, or rich and poor.
In contrast, ladies pursued colorful, elaborately decorated dresses, while their maids were strictly confined to black and white tones—either a pure black skirt with a white apron and white cap, or a pure white skirt with a black apron and black cap.
Take, for example, the maid Falson saw in the hat shop, dressed in a black-and-white checkered uniform.
Since the maid had her back to him, Falson couldn’t see her face. He could only make out a tall, slender silhouette and a pair of long legs hidden in the shadows.
“I need a shirt, a vest, a pair of pants, and so new underwear.”
“Mm… the total price should be within 5 sien.”
There was no hint of disdain or mockery as he had expected. No cliché “judging a book by its cover” plot like in novels. The clerk’s expression didn’t change at all. He didn’t put on a strange face just because Falson had quoted a low price or because his clothes, worn for two days, had a slight sll.
His deanor remained unchanged—still humble, his tone still polite.
It seed this clerk fully understood his job was in the service industry. He hadn’t let catching sight of a few wealthy people trick him into thinking he was one of them.
“Alright, please follow .” The clerk turned slightly and made a clear guiding gesture, signaling for Falson to follow him to an area near the back of the store.
The clothes displayed there were clearly more basic, with simpler fabrics and styles.
The clerk turned to lead the way, guiding Falson deeper into the shop until they reached a row of shelves, not far from where the maid was.
When they arrived, Falson’s footsteps suddenly paused almost imperceptibly for a beat.
He finally got a clear look at the maid he had seen outside the shop.
And in an instant, he understood why so many people had gathered in front of this place.
It was perfectly normal. As a fellow man, Falson understood.
In this era, maids were not the gentle, adorable girls with delicate lace aprons that shut-ins fantasized about.
The vast majority of them were heavy manual laborers. They might co from the city’s slums, daughters of the lower-class workers who had to help support the family from a young age. Or they might have traveled from remote villages to the city to make a living, carrying with them the earthy scent and raw strength of the countryside.
They typically had rough hands, muscular arms, shoulders that were slightly broad from years of labor, and a steady, grounded stance.
Not many were good-looking; on the contrary, their muscles were packed on one after another. When they scowled, the wrinkles on their faces could crush a fly. The calluses on their hands could strike a match if rubbed hard enough.
They didn’t just do simple cleaning; they also had to wash clothes, cook, run errands, and move heavy objects.
Don’t let the fact that Falson was now a Law Seeker fool you. If it really ca down to a fight, so of these rough-working maids could lay him flat with one punch, showing him what true bear-like strength was.
Compared to the maids in shut-ins’ fantasies, these won were more like Lu Bu.
But the maid standing before Falson was completely different.
Author's Note
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