The Incompetent Emperor Who Changes the World from the Shadows: Iron, Gunpowder, and the Young Maidens of Favor - Chapter 11: Market Logic and the Perspective of Everyday Users

Chapter 11: Market Logic and the Perspective of Everyday Users

“…The issues are fragrance and viscosity.”

My eyes pause on a line in the report Ariel hands me.

The words are written in careful cursive on smooth paper.

Fragrance and viscosity.

In other words, the barrier between the success of “lathering” and creating a “usable product” that people will want.

“The cleaning power and feel are sufficient.

But the appearance and scent don’t give a ‘cleaned’ feeling.

There’s also feedback that the liquid is too runny and spills easily from the bottle.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“From the field, people say it ‘lacks slipperiness,’ ‘has no smell,’ and ‘doesn’t feel like it’s doing anything.’

It lathers, but the visual change is minimal—”

Ariel adds, choosing her words carefully.

“…It doesn’t feel special.”

I let out a small breath.

Technically, it’s almost complete.

It removes oil, is gentle on fabric, and has low skin irritation.

But it’s not yet something that will “sell.”

“What did Schwartz say?”

“He said, ‘Adding fragrance could disrupt the chemical reaction, so I don’t recommend it.’

But he added, ‘If it must be done, add it in small amounts in a near-neutral state.’”

That’s a professional response.

He doesn’t outright reject it but sets practical limits.

That’s good.

Improvement grounded in reality isn’t just “development” anymore—it’s “strategy.”

“Viscosity can probably be handled with existing natural resin additives.

As for…”

I flip through the documents on my desk and open a list of fragrance plants imported from the colonies.

“If we use flower oils from here, some are already refined.

The scent should be something that ‘sticks in people’s memories.’”

“Memories… you say?”

“Yes.

Scent is closely tied to memory.

If a detergent has a distinct fragrance, people will remember, ‘That’s the smell from using it.’

That sets it apart from other products.

In other words, it becomes a ‘reason to choose it.’”

Ariel’s eyes widen slightly.

Then she nods slowly.

“Then… for the next prototype, I’ll suggest some fragrance candidates.

I’ve also looked into scents that are popular on-site.”

She pulls a small stack of papers from her bag.

It’s a list of fragrance samples, noting things like “flower scents trending among commoners” and “the smell of sanitizing solutions used in hospitals.”

“…You prepared all this?”

“Yes.

We’re the ones who ‘use’ the product.

I don’t know much about the ‘selling’ side, but I understand the ‘reasons for choosing’ it.

It’s probably about sensory things, like scent and texture.”

Her words are reserved but clear.

Ariel’s eyes have the unmistakable look of someone who truly knows the field.

I glance at her fingertips.

Those hands, once red, swollen, and cracked, now seem just a little softer.

“That information is incredibly valuable.

You’re no longer just the ‘voice of the field’—you are the field.”

Ariel lowers her eyes for a moment.

But a faint hint of confidence plays at the corners of her mouth.

※

Ariel quietly closes her notebook after finishing her report.

I think our discussion is over for the day, but then she hesitates, adding something with a touch of reluctance.

“…Um, I have one request… or rather, an opinion.”

“Go ahead and say it.”

“This detergent… could you avoid making it too expensive?”

For a moment, I think I misheard her.

The price? At this stage?

“Can I hear your reason?”

Ariel looks down slightly, choosing her words carefully before speaking.

“When I used it, I thought about it.

Washing in that cold water without my hands cracking, getting the stains out cleanly, and leaving a pleasant scent… it made me feel ‘happy.’

But then I started wondering—if this is expensive, who could afford to use it?”

“Who could use it, huh?”

“Yes.

If it’s a luxury item, only a few people can buy it.

Nobles wouldn’t spend a lot of money on a ‘detergent’ for someone like me, a laundry worker.

They’d probably think it’s better to spend on something else.”

“You’re right…

Nobles wouldn’t buy a ‘luxury item’ for laundry maids.”

“That’s why people like me, or women in maternity wards, or workers washing soldiers’ uniforms…

Those are the people who need it most.

But if it’s sold as a ‘luxury item’… if it’s priced out of reach for them…”

She glances at me for just a moment before looking away.

“I… I think I’d feel sad.”

That one sentence lingers in my mind.

I know plenty of economic theories.

Selling at a high price to create an exclusive, luxurious image.

Or distributing it cheaply to dominate the market—I know both approaches.

But the opinion that “I’d feel sad” and therefore don’t do it isn’t found in any economics book.

I look at the sample bottle on the desk.

The new prototype, now with a faint fragrance.

A thin line of bubbles floats in the clear liquid.

It wasn’t created by science or knowledge alone—it came from this country’s cold, its stains, and the hands of its workers.

(Selling something also means delivering it.)

After a brief silence, I say quietly:

“The price hasn’t been set yet.

But your proposal has merit.

‘It should reach the hands of those who need it’—that’s not a bad strategy.”

Ariel looks at me, surprised.

“A product should be made for the ‘users,’ not just the ‘buyers.’

You’re absolutely right.”

She nods slowly.

“…Thank you.

If it can help someone, I can keep working hard.”

Her words, without exaggeration, pierce my heart a little.

Some people need a reason to keep going.

Some people can move forward for the sake of others.

Ariel is that kind of person.

That’s why, for her, a “sad product” is the same as a “unused technology” for this country.

I glance toward Sopina.

She’s swinging her legs by the window as usual, but for once, she doesn’t argue.

She just narrows her eyes slightly and mutters:

A kind emperor… maybe that’s what this world needed.