Chapter Text
Honestly, Cale isn’t entirely sure when exactly all of this began.
If someone were to ask him to recall the moment when he first became aware that fashion existed, he would, of course, remember it — some utterly insignificant incident from middle school in Korea, when one half of his classmates were asking their parents to buy them sneakers from a particular brand, while the other half absolutely had to have either a T-shirt or some other item they had seen on a blogger’s social media.
Kim Rok Soo had merely snorted at the time and buried his nose back in his textbook. By then, he had already figured out how much that fleeting little desire could cost — and considered that more than enough reason to have nothing whatsoever to do with anything of the sort ever again.
If asked about the moment when he decided that none of it mattered to him, the answer would be roughly the same: perhaps with an adjustment for the time Rok Soo witnessed a boy from another class being bullied because his parents couldn’t afford a brand-new school uniform, and for the first time truly understood how absurdly high a price people could be willing to put on someone else’s appearance.
(Or not?..)
Somehow, the events of his life have arranged themselves so that Cale simply isn’t the sort of person who thinks much about trends and cuts, about this endless business of choosing shades and all the other nonsense — neither in this world nor in his old one — and he doesn’t see a problem with that, since ultimately it concerns no one but himself.
Clothes are clothes. To Cale, they are... probably more of a functional necessity; occasionally even a luxury — like that year when he unexpectedly shot up right before winter, growing noticeably taller than the worn jacket that had already served him for more than two seasons. (The neighbor who had given him the jacket was hurriedly moving away by then, and Kim Rok Soo spent a couple of weeks walking the streets just like that, with sleeves that reached almost to his elbows, until he finally came up with a way to get himself something better.)
Something that protected him from bad weather and monsters in situations where agility, weapons, and whatever was at hand could not — and later, something that wouldn’t restrict his movements in battle.
“Young master,” Ron calls.
Something that could be washed easily enough to get blood out of it.
“Mhm,” Cale nods.
Everything else is just excess.
Momentarily distracted, Cale obediently lifts his chin to make it easier for Ron to straighten the stiff, starched collar, and Ron answers him with one of his trademark unnervingly benevolent smiles.
Is this really the best way to get through moments like these?
Clicking his tongue inwardly, Cale steps back from the mirror, making room for On. His hair is pinned high today, which means that (despite it?) the emphasis falls not so much on it as on some silver trinket (a medal, perhaps? If Cale cared about anything at all, it certainly wasn’t some award forced on him...), fastened to the left side of his chest at the level of the second button of his uniform — and he looks away.
Of course, he does have some basic understanding of the popularity of certain elements of clothing and how society reacts to them.
Obviously. His group leader used to complain whenever he looked at the short haircuts that Jung Soo, Cale, and he were sporting, mournfully muttering that they were wasting their talent, their looks, and everything else along those lines. He talked about a lot of things in general: occasionally he would go on about acting education and documentaries, about applying to arts colleges, and he also had stories about his own long hair from before, which he had been forced to cut after being appointed to a managerial position. (By that point, Cale had already started trying not to listen).
Lee Soo Hyuk used to put on full performances during those rare moments of quiet before a raid, propping his cheek up on one hand and pestering everyone around him with long, tedious complaints about how utterly barbarically and pointlessly they were wasting their lives. He also loved dwelling on memories of his own past. Kim Rok Soo had tried his absolute hardest to ignore him back then, burying himself in reports and occasionally exchanging glances with Jung Soo — later it would become clear that the only way to survive this was together — while silently hoping that this stream of fashion-related lamentations would end as soon as possible.
(It doesn’t: when it starts for the first time, none of them have any idea just how long Lee Soo Hyuk is capable of talking.)
It simply ends with Cale coming to the conclusion that, whether in Korea or here, in what was once the Kingdom and is now the Empire of Roan, he prefers simple, as uncomplicated as possible, dark-colored clothes. More accurately, it isn’t even a matter of preference: Cale can wear anything else just as well; it is simply more comfortable and familiar this way. And considering his lifestyle (what the hell is wrong with his lifestyle?), the advantages of dressing this way far outweigh the disadvantages.
Besides, no one ever questions the choice, so Cale decides that it is quite enough for him.
He knows a thing or two — Cale has a basic sense of what goes together, along with a taste for good alcohol and literature — but when it comes to more complicated nuances, such as choosing perfume, figuring out makeup, picking out scarves—or whatever those neck things are called—jeweled hairpins, and everything else, he simply doesn’t bother, and, to be honest, has no intention of starting.
He knows the feeling... though Cale isn’t quite sure what to call it: that characteristic Violan tendency toward an almost imperceptible fussing over every individual detail — something that goes beyond merely knowing how to combine colors, choose clothes that flatter the figure, and dress appropriately for each occasion. Something beyond the basic principles of selecting scents that harmonize with an outfit and placing accents so that the ensemble looks deliberate and expensive even without excessive ornamentation. Violan (and Taylor, as it turns out) are genuinely good at this. Cale, honestly, has never doubted it.
Nevertheless, all of this exists somewhere on the periphery of his interests — on the same level as the occasional invitations from Choi Han and the Heavenly Demon (where the hell does he even come from every time?) to join their training sessions, and the half-forgotten threat of a ministerial position that Alberu, to his credit, hasn’t resorted to in quite some time.
Hmm.
Still, it would be completely illogical to deny that Cale — whether the original Cale, or himself, or the body he now occupies permanently, with the permission of the man who now bears the name Kim Rok Soo and once hurried home from work to his beloved niece — has an undeniable advantage when it comes to appearance.
Hadn’t he thought from the very beginning that he would look good in whatever he put on?
There was, after all, nothing useful to say in response to claims about his own beauty — though it wasn’t as if anyone, apart from Jour and her endless “what a cutie” and “how adorable,” went around showering him with compliments in droves — and arguing with something obvious seemed like a waste of time. Cale really was beautiful, at least from his (Kim Rok Soo’s?) own point of view. But his appearance had come free with the body, and treating it as an accomplishment would be just as strange as taking pride in the color of the sky.
(You get used to good things quickly.)
Cale has never really thought much about what effect his appearance has on other people.
(Has he?)
Of course, he has a general idea of what he looks like — was his appearance really all that remarkable in a world where there were whales, elves of every kind, and dragons? — but the reasons why practically every appearance he makes in public, every careless gesture, every strand of hair brushed back from his forehead, or simply a tired, indifferent look from beneath half-lidded eyes makes the people around him freeze and swallow nervously are entirely beyond him.
Not that he always notices it. Raon, chattering somewhere near his ear with his eternal, “Human! That guy over there is loo—!” doesn’t exactly leave much room for imagination, while all the other... questionable epithets — the ones about half-lowered eyelids and everything of that sort — have been burned into Cale’s memory thanks to Clopeh and those strange books he wrote several years ago. Trying to make sense of any of it is a completely losing battle, so when it comes to those books and everything else, Cale has chosen the strategy of outright denial.
All of this is... somewhat unfamiliar, but not particularly uncomfortable. His public visits to the capital are becoming rarer and rarer, yet for some reason they still constantly attract attention. (Cale feels an instinctive urge to blow something up every time he hears someone exclaim about the Silver Shield, but so far he has managed to restrain himself.) And dealing with the consequences rather than the root of the problem (the root of the problem is wearing an imperial crown and smiling so brightly that it only makes Cale want to blow things up more).
Of course, the commotion is most likely caused by the people accompanying him: Choi Han, the children, or Eruhaben — or, at the very least, Mary and Rosalyn, who appear less often but always make enough of a commotion to be deafening; Hannah and Jack; Lock with his brothers and sisters; or Paseton and Witira.
Surely it isn’t his appearance that’s really occupying anyone’s thoughts on a large scale.
That makes no sense.
Not out of modesty — because if there’s one thing Cale has never possessed, according to pretty much everyone in this world and the others (and according to Cale himself), it’s modesty — but because taking care of his own attractiveness, appearance, and clothing simply isn’t something he considers worth bothering with personally.
Of course, none of this applies to the clothes of the children.
As though nodding along to his words, On spins on her toes in front of the mirror.
Over the past few months, she has been spending more and more time in human form, becoming increasingly involved with the capital’s young social set — although, naturally, Cale and the rest of her family still see her far more often in the form of a young kitten. Hong, true to his principles, is sitting in kitten form right on top of Raon’s head. They used to be almost the same size, but the difference is considerably more noticeable now. Both of them stare wide-eyed from atop the bedside table at their older sister, waiting for Ron to finish fussing over her clothes.
On is wearing a pale yellow dress today — a warm, almost creamy shade, with white ruffles along the edge of the collar and hem and matching pale sleeves. (Is that what people say in situations like this? That it makes the whole look visually lighter?) Combined with the accessories, it emphasizes her appearance remarkably well — although, then again, Cale cannot think of a single outfit that wouldn’t suit On — and makes her look almost delicately ethereal.
In reality, of course, this could not be further from the truth. (Unless, naturally, one considers the ease with which she kicked a group of wolf cubs across the arena the other day to be a form of elegance.)
Of course it suits her.
Liquid gold flows through On’s eyes, and for a second Cale thinks the entire look was created specifically for her.
Pressing her lips together, she lightly touches the sleeves with her fingers, occasionally fiddling with the trim as she studies her reflection. (There must be some use to having such a large mirror, after all.) She looks almost as though she is trying to determine whether she actually likes it or not.
Cale doesn’t think it is right to decide for her what she should wear or how she should look, much less what things she ought to consider beautiful simply because they conform to someone else’s idea of good manners. If On decides tomorrow that she no longer likes pale yellow, then so be it. If one day she decides that trousers and training clothes suit her much better than skirts, Cale will agree. What matters far more to him is that her clothes are comfortable, don’t restrict her movements, and, so to speak, don’t cause her any discomfort.
Well, since they do occasionally have to appear in public, it should also be appropriate enough that they can still destroy a palace and run if necessary. As far as social rules are concerned, Cale rejects the concept of “appropriateness” for as long as those rules can be broken without remorse.
The fact that his people wanted it was justification enough, as far as he was concerned. They were good people, after all. Unlike Cale, none of them would ever destroy a castle for no reason.
Even so, there are still some doubts left in all of this.
After all, On herself has developed an interest in the capital’s fashions. Not specifically in the dresses, of which there are plenty lying around somewhere in her wardrobe, nor in the trousers, jackets, and shirts, of which there are no fewer — but in the process of choosing itself. And Cale thinks — though he has absolutely no idea whether he is right about this — that the process matters much more than the question of whether a particular cut was chosen well or poorly.
On is gradually developing a taste of her own, after all, and Cale thinks it would be better to let her arrive at all these decisions herself, one small step at a time.
Besides... it isn’t as though he could actually be much help.
When Ron first announces that On needs a new wardrobe (this happened quite some time ago, and the question of new clothes concerns not only her but Hong, Raon and Eden, the wolf children, the tiger cubs, and everyone else), Cale, of course, has no objection. But when the question arises of what would suit her specifically, he realizes that he has absolutely no idea how to determine any of it — especially when it comes to what a teenage girl might like.
Maybe On would be happy with any gift, but Cale doesn’t particularly want to settle for the bare minimum.
So Cale does the first thing that occurs to him: he decides to consult Rosalyn about it.
The decision seems reasonable for all of two or three seconds — when he is knocking on the door of her laboratory. Rosalyn leans halfway out of it and looks him up and down before bursting into laughter. She looks as though she has just crawled out of the epicenter of a magical explosion.
Then again, she looks like she’s just crawled out of a magical explosion half the time: her hair is in complete disarray, and her clothes are covered in fresh stains from some kind of potion. (Cale thinks she could put up a shield during her magical experiments, but according to her, that would, firstly, ruin the mood and, secondly, doesn’t always have a positive effect on artifacts.) Naturally, Rosalyn is talking about something — first the progress of her experiment, and only afterward the finer points of choosing clothes. (She sounds so convincing, incidentally, that Cale can barely find an argument against her.)
Noticing his stare, she grins cheerfully and deliberately holds up the scorched sleeve of her robe, which suffered during the testing of yet another weapon of mass destruction. Mary waves to Cale from behind her shoulder.
Indeed. And why exactly did Cale think Rosalyn would be a sensible person to ask for fashion advice?
Despite all this, some of her advice really does prove useful. Rosalyn, naturally, does not transform into the very model of courtly elegance in a matter of seconds, but she genuinely is excellent at putting outfits together. She knows how to look at the whole picture and immediately notices details Cale might overlook simply because he doesn’t know enough about them. All those things he was thinking about earlier—how fabric sits on the shoulders, how a color works with someone’s eyes, where the light falls, apparently even how all of it interacts with the wearer’s movement (apparently, such things can be calculated in advance, too), and various other little details.
There turn out to be so many nuances that Cale isn’t sure he would have noticed all of them even if he used the Record to read a couple of books. Several times, Rosalyn even manages to get into arguments with Ron.
In those conflicts, Cale diplomatically chooses not to participate. (The villa might survive, perhaps, but his desire for a peaceful life almost certainly wouldn’t. Still, the happiness in On’s eyes is worth all of it.)
Rosalyn is, after all, a former crown princess. If Cale said that aloud, would she ask Cage to curse him?
Turning his gaze away from the pleased-looking On, Cale once again finds himself looking at his own reflection. His own outfit today is relatively simple compared to most of the things worn by other nobles, yet it still looks almost frighteningly expensive.
Perhaps it is because the uniform is white instead of the black he usually wears — with only a couple of dark details and silver (damn it!) embroidery — but the changes are enough that Cale is forced to admit that it looks... probably rather striking.
What a blessing that they have Ron.
“Don’t move, young master,” Ron says calmly as he adds a small brooch to Cale’s uniform. “And you as well, young miss.”
Both of them dutifully freeze in place, and On giggles, a purr escaping her despite herself, when she has to bend slightly so Ron can put a hairpin into her hair.
She is growing quickly. Another year or two, perhaps, and she will already be taller than Cale — just like her brother, who is currently fidgeting with his little paws on top of Raon’s head.
Finished, Ron looks them over once more and takes a step back. Cale could swear he gives an approving nod as he begins his usual, “This old man was pleased to take care of you.”
“You look like a princess from a fairy tale!” Raon immediately declares the moment he decides the preparations are complete.
Raon carefully slides down from the bedside table and begins circling her older sister cautiously — on the ground, without taking to the air, apparently afraid of messing up her hairstyle. Hong’s tail and ears are twitching as he nods enthusiastically, clinging to Raon at the same time so he can get a better look at both of them.
“Even better!”
“Much better!”
Narrowing her eyes slightly, On accepts the compliments with the dignity of someone who has never once considered the possibility of a different outcome — and something about her confidence, that of course I deserve to be admired, strikes Cale as desperately familiar.
By candlelight, supplemented by the magical spheres Raon has set glowing around them, she tilts her head.
“You look quite nice today, too,” she adds, giving Raon a sly look. The hairpin in her hair gleams charmingly in the glow of the spheres.
“I am always magnificent!”
“That’s true,” Hong confirms seriously.
Cale decides not to tell Raon that his sworn brother is adding a pair of extra horns to him at this very moment.
Who are they to prevent one child from having a perfectly wonderful time at the expense of another?
Ron snorts as he sets aside the comb and unused ornaments, and as he looks around their shared room, Cale finds himself unhappily contemplating the passage of time.
When did his children become like this?
After whispering something to On one last time and waiting for her confident nod, Ron finally releases them.
Cale gives Raon and Hong a quick glance.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?”
Lucky for them — or perhaps not — both of them have entered a rather pronounced rebellious phase at almost exactly the same time, and now firmly reject practically every suggestion that could, even theoretically, appeal to them.
Sometimes Cale suspects that if he offered them exactly what they had been dreaming about all week, the answer would still be no — simply on principle. Unfortunately, the right opportunity to test this theory has never presented itself.
“I promised to play with Eden in the Forest of Darkness,” Raon grumbles.
“And I volunteered to look after both of them, nya! Dodori promised to come, too!”
If Raon’s tail is sweeping restlessly over the carpet, the tip of Hong’s tail, wrapped around himself, twitches almost imperceptibly.
After a moment’s thought, On tilts her head questioningly.
“That’s not true!” Raon immediately protests. “It’s just that you want to stay here because you fancy that girl from the tiger tri—”
“Fancy? I was talking about fancy clothes!” Hong interrupts him instantly.
Turning human, he hurriedly pulls Raon against his chest, allowing him to bury his face in his shirt. Even like this, they are practically the same size, and Raon, remaining in dragon form, flaps his wings as he tries to wriggle free. (In a clearly unserious manner: dragons are, after all, much stronger than cats.)
“Mmph!”
Hong is clearly holding him tightly enough — though obviously not tightly enough to hurt him, presumably counting on Raon’s vigorous resistance to wear him out quickly.
Raon falls silent almost immediately, undoubtedly waiting cunningly for the perfect moment to launch a counterattack and hoping that Hong won’t be able to keep this up for long.
Unable to contain herself, On bursts into outright laughter.
Even Ron eventually smiles — and this time his smile is so openly benevolent that Cale feels slightly uneasy.
“Listen to Lady Sheritt,” Cale says over their heads. (The children haven’t quite escalated into an outright brawl yet, but he feels that they are very close.)
This is probably the only sensible piece of advice he can give them.
Raon makes an indignant noise into Hong’s shirt.
“Mmmph!”
Glancing briefly at the clock, Cale turns toward On.
He almost wants to stay home a little longer, but they absolutely cannot afford to be late.
“All right. Let’s go.”
Cale tears open the teleportation scroll, and the familiar shimmer envelops the space around them.
Although Cale is not particularly interested in fashion, for some reason his and On’s clothes look strangely well coordinated today.