Episode 104 — The Non-Standard Naming Ceremony

The air in the living room shifted instantly into "negotiation mode" with Edmon’s arrival. Garam was still huffing and puffing irritably, but Edmon was staring at the blueprints I’d spread out, tapping his chin with a slender finger as he absorbed every detail.

"...Zect. I understand the logic behind this plan. But why start with 'rulers'? For textiles or ironware, I could see the demand, but a ruler is something you buy once and keep for a lifetime. Won't the market hit saturation almost immediately?"

Edmon’s point was valid for a merchant chasing short-term ROI. I leaned my recliner back slightly, spinning my empty Cola glass as I faced him.

"Edmon. Selling rulers to make a profit is just the entry point. What I’m actually aiming for is to overwrite this world's 'length' constant with the Felsen Standard."

"...Overwrite it?"

"Exactly. Think about it. Right now, the width of Garam’s thumb is different from yours, right? In a world where orders are placed in vague terms like 'a hand’s breadth,' the size of the parts you receive is basically a roll of the dice. You order a chair, and the legs are uneven; you build a house, and the walls are crooked. Don't you think doing business based on 'guesstimates' is incredibly inefficient?"

I traced a finger across the table, sketching a virtual blueprint as I continued.

"Right now, there isn't even a single screw in this world that fits perfectly with another by default. That's because craftsmen have to shave and adjust every single piece to fit the specific unit they're working on."

"Hah?! You sayin’ the screws I carve are imperfect?! Don't give me that crap, my work is always perfect!" Garam slammed the table and leaned in.

"Easy there. I know you make the best screws in the world, Garam. But the question is: can a craftsman in another town make one that’s identical?"

"...I see. You’re trying to eliminate the cost of 'manual adjustment,'" Edmon added coldly, hiding his mouth behind his fan.

"Right. Once the Felsen rulers—made from Garam’s jigs—become widespread, we’ll reach a world where a screw made in Town A will fit into a machine made in Town B with a satisfying 'click,' no explanation needed."

"...'Click,' huh? I like the sound of that," Garam muttered, miming the action of snapping two parts together with his thick fingers.

"A ruler isn't just a tool. It’s an 'authentication key' for joining the Felsen economic ecosystem. The more we flood the world with cheap rulers, the more craftsmen everywhere will be forced to follow our standards. ...Doesn't that sound like a dominant position?"

Edmon’s eyes widened. His grip tightened on his fan. I could practically see the gears in his merchant brain spinning, calculating the explosive profits of unified logistics and the terrifying power of owning the "global standard."

"...Every craftsman in the world ordering Felsen parts and working to Felsen criteria. This is a silent invasion—one far more insidious than a game of Chess."

"The first step of that invasion is the 'Genesis Factory,' where we produce the most accurate rulers in the world. We centralize the power of the river to keep dozens of machines running simultaneously with constant precision. ...You can build this waterwheel and shaft system, can’t you, Garam?"

Garam leaned forward, a grin of pure confidence spreading across his face.

"Alright, I’ve got the vision! Zect, I’ll run the floor for this factory. I’ll mobilize all my boys, get the best stone and timber available, and build a fortress that’ll go down in history!"

"Wait just a moment, Garam. I’m the one handling the budget. I won't have you wasting money on unnecessarily extravagant masonry. We will proceed with an efficient, functional design. As for the name of the factory, I shall think of something fitting for the prestige of the Merchant Guild."

"Hah?! A name? It’s gonna be packed with my techniques, so it’s obviously gonna be 'Garam’s Factory'!" Garam barked, his beard bristling.

"Don't be ridiculous. I am the one providing the capital and management. It needs a sense of class. 'Edmon Industrial.' That has the ring of a global standard."

"Edmon Indust-what? No craftsman is gonna follow a pretentious name like that! We need something with the soul of the workshop. 'Garam’s Ironworks and Shipyard,' or even 'Garam’s Ruler Shack' would be better!"

"That sounds even more abysmal. Has your brain completely melted from the heat of your own forge?"

(And here we go. The battle for naming rights—a conflict that has absolutely zero impact on the project's core specs. Truly the peak of resource wastage.)

Their shouting match escalated until it was rattling the living room windows. Garam was slamming his fist on the table while Edmon fanned himself with a cold, haughty expression, peppering his sentences with intellectual venom.

"Mew... (Watching males fight over territory is never productive. It doesn't matter whose name they use; they both have terrible taste...)"

Tama let out a yawn, slid off my lap, and stretched out on the floor. I fought the urge to cover my ears, finished my lukewarm Cola, and intervened with a voice full of bored resignation.

"...Look. The name doesn't matter. If this is going to delay the construction schedule, let's just split the difference and call it the 'Gara-Mon Factory'."

Both of them stopped dead.

"...Gara-Mon?" Garam repeated, looking dazed.

"...Gara and Mon. ...I see. A joint venture representing the union of two great forces," Edmon muttered, stroking his chin as if evaluating a new trade deal.

"Gara-Mon... Hmph, not bad. It’s better than having only his name on it. Plus, it sounds... tough. Powerful."

"Yes, though it is regrettable, it functions as a compromise. Zect, I occasionally find a strange profundity in your suggestions... or perhaps it's just that they're so haphazard that no one can find a reason to disagree with them."

(Well, at least they’re quiet now. Finally, the workflow to build an entire industrial zone without me lifting a single muscle is fully operational. I’ll just try to ignore the fact that the name makes it sound like a giant rubber-suit monster from an old-school Kaiju movie.)

Silence finally returned. The two of them began whispering to each other—"Gara-Mon...""We should start with the foundation budget..."—and though sparks were still flying, they began a concrete discussion on the industrial zone’s layout and personnel planning.

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