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“Welcome, my lady.”

Lev, his face flushed, greeted Ekaterina as she visited the Murano Workshop for the first time in a long while.

“It’s been a while, Lev. I’m so glad to see you’re doing well.”
“Thanks to you… It’s been a while, Miss Mina.”

As Lev politely greeted Mina, the artisans around him began calling out greetings one after another. Ekaterina returned their greetings with a cheerful smile.

“Good day, everyone. Please don’t stop what you’re doing.”

Timing is crucial in glassmaking. Once a lump of glass is removed from the furnace, it’s a race against time. Even when the duke’s daughter appears, the artisans cannot pause their work.

The Murano workshop was brimming with energy. Not only had the artisans who had been apprentices to the late Master Murano returned, but new artisans had also joined their ranks. They were all busy at work.

One after another, they produced water jugs featuring a variety of color combinations; liqueur glasses with incredibly intricate designs adorned with wing-like ornaments; Vases adorned with delicate patterns resembling white lace.
Beautiful yet simply shaped red and blue glasses and plates were later embellished with gold and silver accents and painted with enamel, transforming them into dazzling, luxurious masterpieces.
Since the Murano workshop resumed operations, orders had been flooding in not only for glass pens but also for these kinds of knick knacks.

.

“I’m sorry to have put you to the trouble of coming all this way.”
“I wanted to come here myself. After all, I had to leave for the estate not long after the workshop had just started up again. I was worried about how everyone was doing.”

As soon as Ekaterina settled into the sofa set in the corner of the workshop, she replied to Lev, who had bowed his head, and Ekaterina felt once again that she was glad she had come. Seeing the artisans working with such vitality firsthand and feeling it for herself gave her a deep sense of relief.
Yep, the Murano Workshop is in top form!

“Everyone is happy to be working here. After all, there’s no other workshop that pays such good wages. Plus, they say it’s great that the reasons behind the pay structure are clearly explained, so they know exactly where to put in the extra effort.”
“That’s wonderful. After all, I wanted to make this workshop a place where the workers could enjoy their jobs.”

Smiling to herself, Ekaterina clenched her fist inwardly, thinking, “Yes!”

After all, in her past life, she’d been a corporate slave who died from overwork. Now that she’d unexpectedly found herself on the management side, she was determined to create a workplace that put the workers first.

She only found this out after she purchased the Murano Workshop, but in the Imperial Capital’s workshops, the treatment of hired artisans is generally poor. To be blunt, they’re worked to the bone for low wages.
Skilled artisans are expected to open their own workshops and become masters. Hired artisans are considered second-rate. That seems to be the prevailing attitude.
But in reality, there are artisans who, despite their skill, can’t raise the necessary funds or, for various reasons, can’t open their own workshops.
Is it really right that artisans with outstanding skills have no choice but to work under conditions where their wages never go up and they can be fired at the whim of their master?

This Brocon Villainess won’t tolerate exploitative labor practices!
With that in mind, Ekaterina put my knowledge from her past life to use and created standards and systems that didn’t exist in the Imperial Capital.

At the Murano Workshop, artisans’ wages consist of a base salary plus piecework pay.
It’s similar to how her salary in her past life was a base pay plus overtime pay, but when the amount was determined by overtime hours, there was a problem: staying late even when there was no work to do actually paid off. With piecework, the amount is determined by how many of which products are made, so wages should be properly linked to contributions to sales.

Ekaterina addressed the issue of varying production times for different products by adjusting the bonus amount for each item. She’s set the bonus rate based on the product’s retail price. If a craftsman creates a high-priced, time-consuming, and intricate product, they’ll receive a bonus commensurate with the time spent on it.

Furthermore, she decided to rank the base salary according to technical skill. Craftsmen who can produce difficult products quickly and beautifully will see their base salary increase. Age and length of service are irrelevant.

Thanks to this system, the craftsmen have started to carefully consider which products offer the best return on their labor. They’re also becoming more motivated to hone their skills so they can create more products that command higher prices.
Everyone was working diligently, envisioning a bright future.

“And thank you for taking care of the missus and her daughter as well. I’m truly happy that I no longer have to worry about their livelihood.”

With a smile, Lev was referring to the family of the late Master Murano.

Although he was hailed as the finest craftsman in the Empire, the master was not good at business; contrary to his fame, he had reportedly struggled with debt. A major factor was likely that he spent too much money on equipment investments to create his magnificent works.
After his death, the family had their workshop taken away to settle the debt. Although Ekaterina—or rather, the Duke’s family of Jurnova—purchased the workshop and decided to give it a fresh start, the master’s surviving family continued to live in hardship.
When Ekaterina heard Lev—who had become a high earner thanks to the workshop’s new wage system—say, “Now I can help the missus who took such good care of me,” she took him to task, asked him to explain the situation, and thought, “This won’t do.”

Then, she had an idea.

“The late master’s reputation holds great value, after all. Since we’re using the Murano Workshop’s name, it’s only natural that we pay a fee in return.”

Workshops in the Empire are named after their master. It’s customary for a workshop without a Murano master to be called by the name of another representative.
However, Ekaterina deliberately decided to continue using the name “Murano Workshop.”
And she decided to pay a “usage fee” for that name to the master’s widow, who was his surviving family member.
In terms of her past life, it would be something like a trademark licensing fee.

……Actually, Ekaterina struggled to establish this one a bit.

In my personal view, if you’re allowed to use someone’s name, you’re supposed to pay a licensing fee. It’s only natural that the person whose name it is—or their family—holds the rights. But in this world and this era, that concept doesn’t exist. It’s money I don’t actually have to pay.

To those around me, it must seem nonsensical—I’m trying to spend money I didn’t even earn myself… It’s just like how I’d felt uneasy about the class system of the Seleznyov family; perhaps I’d become an outsider in this world, unable to accept its norms as normal.
I need to recoup the initial investment—the cost of purchasing the workshop—as soon as possible so I can properly contribute to the Duke of Jurnova’s household. Wasn’t that what I’d been thinking—that I wanted to be of use to Onii-sama?

When I confided these worries to a certain person—something unexpected happened.

*“My lady. Regarding the name usage fee you spoke of the other day, why don’t we give it a try?”*

The person I confided in, who looked strangely haggard at the time, was Daniil Rygal. He is the legal advisor to the House of Jurnova.

With gray hair, jade-colored eyes, and striking silver-rimmed glasses, he had the quintessential appearance of an intellectual. A thoroughbred of the legal world—his father was the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court—he was a sharp-witted man who had ruthlessly cut down Count Novadine, who had attempted to arrange a betrothal between Aleksei and his daughter, Kira, in the Jurnova domain. Yet at that moment, for some reason, even his silver-rimmed glasses seemed to be fogged up.

*“Lord Daniil, is something the matter?”*
*“My father has inadvertently found out about this matter. It might be a matter that requires legal reform for the sake of the people’s livelihood, and he’s been nagging me to have the Jurnova family pilot the program to assess its practicality and necessity… Though there isn’t a shred of common sense in my father’s head, it’s crammed full of laws and precedents from every country throughout history… He went on and on about every relevant law and precedent, and I’m at my wits’ end wondering what to do this time…”*
*“……”*

Speaking of Daniil’s father, he’s supposed to be the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court—the highest authority in the Imperial legal community.
Did you just say, “He doesn’t have a shred of common sense”?

Noticing that the young lady was at a loss for words, Daniil cleared his throat and cited various precedents his father had discussed at length, thereby providing a solid theoretical foundation for the name usage fee.
By the way, I hear that Kira Novadine, who works as a maid at his house, is doing well.

*“She’s lively and quick on her feet, and it’s a big load off my back that my father never gets tired of teasing her.”*

I wondered what exactly he meant by “a big load of his back,” but I decided not to press the issue.

More than that, it made me realize once again—history is interconnected.
In a past life, there was a historical incident similar to this one, where the concept of licensing fees was born and developed until everyone took it for granted.
So, in this world and this era as well, there must be fertile ground for that idea to take root.
Someday, it will sprout and grow, becoming the norm.
I’m not an outsider in this world either.

.

Ekaterina, who had been lost in thought with a distant look in her eyes, caught Lev’s puzzled gaze and hurriedly forced a smile.

“I’ve been looking forward to today. Would you show me Duke Jursein’s glass pen?”
“Yes, please take a look.”

The velvet box Lev handed her was blue-green. Duke Jursein, whom Ekaterina had never met, likely had hair the same color as his sister, Empress Magdalena’s—the color of a coral reef.

She opened the box. Once again, three glass pens lay side by side, gleaming.
Just like the Empress’s glass pens, the dominant color was blue-green. Yet, the impression was vastly different.

The first one featured a twist of blue-green and jet black. The wife of Duke Jursein—who was said to have been a princess from the land beyond the Summit of Gods—must be a beautiful woman with black hair.
Even so, the lustrous beauty of the black glass was striking. The deep black seemed almost enough to swallow her whole.

The next one gave a more opulent impression than any of the glass pens she’d seen before. Most of the grip was covered in gold leaf, and plant motifs were depicted in vivid enamel. Ekaterina couldn’t help but stare at the impeccably symmetrical geometric pattern, where blue vines traced graceful arcs around a stylized white lily. It’s astonishing that such perfect lines could be created by human hands on a curved pen.
This opulent, golden pen might have been crafted to match the aesthetic sensibilities beyond the Summit of Gods. It would certainly be the perfect design for the purpose Duke Jursein reportedly stated: to show it off to the merchants there.

And the third pen: the Goddess of Beauty’s pen.
Its shape features a thick grip that tapers toward the rear. Inside the thicker section, the Goddess of Beauty was depicted.

In the Greek mythology of a past age, the Goddess of Beauty was said to have been born from the foam of the sea. In Botticelli’s famous painting, she was depicted as a nude beauty standing atop a seashell.
In fact, even in this world, ever since the days of the ancient Astra Empire, the myth that the Goddess of Beauty was born from the foam of the sea has been widely believed.

The thick part of the pen was meant to represent the foam that nurtured the goddess of beauty. More than foam, it resembled a transparent pearl.
Blue-green waves lapping ashore enveloped about half of it like a membrane. The white foam churning violently at the edge of the waves, painted in enamel, looked like a drape protecting the goddess.
The goddess had black hair. That was the request from Duke Jursein—to depict her that way. Her voluptuous white form is draped in a sheer white fabric and long black hair; she lies languidly with her arm as a pillow, appearing to be asleep.
As the painting is no larger than a fingertip and her face is obscured by the waves, her features are unclear. Yet her beauty is evident. The contours of her cheeks, her full lips, and her figure all radiate a subtle, elegant feminine beauty.
Perhaps it is precisely because the details are obscured that each viewer can see in this goddess the image of the most beautiful woman they hold in their own hearts.

A sleeping goddess, enveloped by the blue-green sea and protected within a pearl. An innocent beauty, not yet born.
The one holding this pen grips the thick part that encases the goddess. They “hold” the goddess of beauty—a beauty no one else can touch.

“…Another wonderful piece you’ve made, Lev.”

Ekaterina lets out a soft sigh.

There’s a saying: “Seeing Less is More.” It refers to situations where a woman appears beautiful—the idea being that because she isn’t clearly visible, one perceives her as a beauty out of anticipation.
Lev, you were struggling with how to portray the goddess of beauty, and to have arrived at this artistic blurring technique—you really are amazing.

“Duke Jursein must surely love his wife deeply. He would be overjoyed if he could hold a goddess in his own hands. Actually, I met His Majesty the Former Emperor the other day. He learned about the glass pen and said he’d like to try one himself. I’m sure he’ll place an order. When he does, please take care of it for me.”
“His Majesty the Former Emperor…! Thank you so much!”

Her face flushed bright red, and Lev bowed her head.