Chapter 123 – The Giant of Beauty

“Hey, Reiko. How does this work? I’ve been wanting to ask you this forever!”

“Um, it works like this… no, wait, maybe like this?”

“That doesn’t help at all. Couldn’t you lay it out more clearly, like in a diagram?!”

“Ehh?!”

Hello, everyone.
Having survived the surprise showdown with Churchill and cleared all the checkpoints of my trip to Britain, I’ve now crossed the Dover Strait and arrived on the European continent.

Why on earth did Churchill come to see me? Well, that’s in the past now.
Turning over a new leaf, onward to the City of Flowers, Paris.

That was the plan—but before I could even settle down, Coco Chanel stormed in on me.

Yes, that Chanel. From a woman’s perspective, she could practically be called the ultimate heroic spirit, but to me she’s already been downgraded to a noisy old lady.
Deep down, I suspect the day isn’t far off when I’ll just start calling her “hag.”

I almost want to start narrating my monologue, but honestly, I don’t understand any of this.

Somehow, Coco Chanel had gotten hold of a “tiny fragment” of the 21st-century fashion I was trying to spread for myself in Japan. She even had other copies. 

And apparently, she’d been hit with strong inspiration—or culture shock, or something along those lines—because of it.

“Was there such an eccentric designer in Japon?!”

—or so she said, or maybe she didn’t.

I only copied them, but since they’re creations from a different era, I guess it’s not strange if she thought that way.
But still, Japan hasn’t even spread these yet, and some of the clothing designs weren’t even ones I had made yet—so how on earth did Coco Chanel get her hands on them? 

I really can’t make sense of it.

Among the sketches I drew, there were quite a few done half from memory or just casually.
For me, they were only meant to be loose motifs or source ideas, like “something along these lines.” 

But apparently, those very ones struck a chord in Coco Chanel’s heart.

It’s not all of them, so that’s a relief, but now I’m somehow being made to pay the price for the half-baked ones—inside a luxury suite of a Parisian high-class hotel.

And since it’s women’s talk, Kouryuu-sensei made a quick escape.
Yagami’s old man claimed he was there as Kouryuu-sensei’s guard, but he definitely ran away too. 

Wan-san is still there dutifully, but he won’t utter a word, standing like a guardian statue.
Takarazuka-style things hit her heart, but with Coco it’s a no-go, apparently.

I mean, even Shizu is quiet. At least ten times quieter than usual.
She feels more like a mannequin or an ornament than a person right now.

And all of this is because this old lady is just way too noisy.

She’s like, “Now, listen to me, won’t you?!”—and though her words are fluent French, she’s still a super-dreadnought-level loudmouth.
If this were a manga, the panels would be completely filled with speech bubbles.

That made me wonder: why does Coco Chanel know about my designs, sure, but also about my whereabouts? 

I found out later—it was through Churchill.

That old man must have sold me out. I mean, how would a history-nerd girl like me know that Coco Chanel had deep ties with British aristocrats?

All I know of Chanel’s connections is that she was a woman with many lovers, a woman of countless romances.
Even though I’m a history otaku, modern Europe is pretty much outside my area. 

Honestly, the Western upper classes are terrifying.
The way they’re all interconnected—it’s like a den of vipers.

From the kings of America to Churchill, and now to Coco Chanel.
With Germany as my next destination, I can’t help but wonder who will be waiting for me there.

Speaking of Germany, I really just want to see my older brother soon.

While indulging in that bit of escapism, I’m being forced to deal with this Chanel oba-san—er, Coco Chanel.

“Um, Madame Chanel, I’d really like to do some sightseeing in Paris…”

“Huhhh? Instead of wandering around Paris, there are things you ought to be doing for the women of the world. Stay with me a little longer!”

“Ah, yes.”

Her sheer selfishness completely overwhelms me.

And she just keeps going without mercy. I can only marvel that the real deal has a whole different level of energy.

“More importantly, about this dress—I just can’t quite picture the sewing, you see. I’d really like at least a mock-up made. Ah, that’s it, why don’t you come to my atelier? No, you will come. You should come. Better yet, I’ll hire you for life.”

“…Um, actually, I’m quite a bit richer than you are.”

“Oh? Really? Ah, now that you mention it, you’re an acquaintance of Lord Winston, aren’t you. Even if you’re Oriental, you wouldn’t be poor then. Forgive me, I tend to assume anyone from the Orient must be from the colonies.”

“No, I don’t mind. Also, due to security concerns, I can’t go anywhere except sightseeing spots.”

“My, my, just like a princess. Still, for an Oriental, you really are quite a beauty. Your skin is fair and lovely, and if your facial features were just a bit deeper, you could have been a success even in Europe. What a pity.”

“Thank you very much.”

I thank her with a composed face, but this woman casually blurts out things that are pretty much natural-born insults.
It’s probably just a normal white person’s reaction in this era, but precisely because there’s no malice, it leaves me a bit at a loss about how to process my feelings.

Even so, the way she throws her raw emotions at me without any games is a little refreshing.

The only people who treat me normally are my cousins and a few others.
Among adults outside the clan, she might be the very first.

So I decided to go along with this slightly selfish, free-spirited giant of beauty.

That’s what I thought—but I was naive.

For a whole week after arriving in Paris, we weren’t allowed to move a step from the suite of the hotel we checked into.

And after doing everything through to the end, we both collapsed onto long sofas.

“Reiko, you’re something else. You’re the first Oriental to ever complain this much to me.”

“Coco, you’re also the first to ever work me this hard.”

“Ah, that’s right, you’re rich, aren’t you. Fine then, if you’ll sell them, I’ll give you the distribution rights in the Orient. No, not the Orient—in Japan. Make the women of Japan beautiful.”

“We have a trading company in the family, so I’ll have them handle it.”

“Right, talk it over with my staff later about that side of things. And next time—yes, when you’re grown up—come visit me again. I’ll make you even more beautiful.”

“Yes, I’ll look forward to it.”

The reason we’re both completely exhausted is that I finally snapped and cut off the time, which turned the last two days into nearly all-nighters in sheer stupidity.
With dark circles under our eyes, dressed in ways that had nothing to do with fashion, our bodies worn to the bone, we praised each other’s hard work, and with that, that incomprehensible stretch—no, that incomprehensible week—finally came to an end.

(Well, it’s Chanel, so history isn’t going to change just because of a little inspiration or a few motifs.)

And the fact that I could think that right before sinking into sleep—I want to believe it means I’ve grown a little stronger.

After that, I slept like the dead for a full day, soaked in a hot bathtub, indulged in Japanese food, and finally headed out for sightseeing in Paris.

“I’ve already seen all of Paris and the Palace of Versailles. Since you didn’t move for several days, I even went to Mont Saint-Michel Abbey and the town of Orléans.”

For some reason, Kouryuu-sensei, who had spent the past week fully enjoying northwestern France, also tagged along.

“So, did you get to meet La Pucelle?”

“Hm? I went to the places connected to her. It was quite a nice town.”

“And the rest?”

“So basically sightseeing in Paris. I’m honestly sick of it.”

“Don’t say that—you were dropping by Moulin Rouge and such, weren’t you?”

“T-that much is fine, isn’t it? I’m an adult here!”

“Why are you blushing? It’s fine. Besides, men need that kind of change of pace sometimes, right?”

“…Hey, couldn’t you have put that a little differently?”

“I thought I’d already phrased it pretty indirectly, though?”

“Really? But still, is that how it comes across? Reiko, sometimes you act like my mother or my aunt. Knowledge aside, don’t show that kind of attitude anywhere else. Adults would, as you’d put it, be totally creeped out.”

“W-what, like your mother? Isn’t that way too harsh?! I-I mean, sure, maybe I said it a bit too bluntly…”

Since I really trust Kouryuu-sensei, the aura of my previous life as a woman in her forties slips out now and then.
And besides, I’ve already been to Paris twice in my past life, so this makes it the third time for me. 

On top of that, most of the sightseeing spots in Paris still exist—very few disappeared by the 21st century—so the cityscape doesn’t look much different.

The cars driving along the streets might look a bit old-fashioned, but what struck me most was that everyone really was French.
That phrasing may be misleading, but walking through Paris where only white people were visible really made me feel the change of the times.

With that odd mix of impressions and acceptance, we left Paris after about two days and headed straight for Germany.

In Germany, I was scheduled to meet my older brother—Ootori Tatsuya—who was studying abroad.

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Coco Chanel:
A fashion designer who represents the 20th century.

There’s hardly any need to elaborate, but she is apparently the only fashion designer listed in Time magazine’s “100 Most Important People of the 20th Century.”

Mont Saint-Michel Abbey:
Somewhere I’d like to go at least once…

Orléans / La Pucelle:
The Maid of Orléans, Jeanne d’Arc.
Orléans is close to Paris.

Moulin Rouge:
A world-famous cabaret in Montmartre, Paris.
Still operating even today.