"Very good, Your Highness. Sorry for the trouble, but please stretch out your arm. I need to check again. Hmm, yes, that's it..."
Tales stared blankly ahead and raised his arm with a creak, like a dead fish in a hot pan, following the royal tailor's instructions.
"If this were a welcome banquet, I normally wouldn't lean toward cuffs that were too imposing—sorry for the trouble, please straighten your back and tense your legs. Yes, that's it—but Earl of Caso's requirements are very clear. You need to have 'the royal family's composure and the Prince's fresh style'..."
Immersed in the "Prince's fresh style," Tales expressionlessly arched his back, feeling as though he had lost the last shred of hope worth striving for in life.
This should have been his mathematics lesson. Just look at Scholar Julio standing awkwardly in front of the blackboard, his hands at a loss. But apparently, as the welcome banquet drew nearer, his "schedule" had grown increasingly tight, his timetable increasingly packed, while matters of all sizes kept rushing toward him like moths to a flame. As a result, he had to use the break during his mathematics lesson to be measured for formalwear for the banquet.
Or, in Tales's view, it was a "royal rare-animal exhibition" in the tailoring world.
"I missed your debut six years ago, and then, goodness me, you walked into the Hall of Stars wearing that outfit. Those ignorant dukes and counts who didn't know the immensity of heaven and earth looked down on you. Oh, seeing that nearly broke my heart! Then, when I went back, all my colleagues congratulated me. 'The Prince looks wonderful in the new style!' Tsk, it was hilarious. I spent ages explaining that it wasn't a new design, merely an old style being reused. I