The Incompetent Emperor Who Changes the World from the Shadows: Iron, Gunpowder, and the Young Maidens of Favor - Chapter 7: Detergents and the Plan to Repurpose Modern Knowledge

Chapter 7: Detergents and the Plan to Repurpose Modern Knowledge

I spent the entire day poring over the ledger, checking for wasteful expenses and listing them all.

Then, through Gerda, I instructed the palace’s financial director to make corrections.

It’s time for dinner, and I enter the dining hall.

Starting today, meal costs are capped at 2 Marks per meal—roughly 2,000 yen in Japanese terms.

The lavish feasts are gone.

But the table is set with dishes that show the chef’s ingenuity.

There’s a tender pork pot-au-feu, freshly baked black bread with herb butter, and a marinated seasonal vegetable salad.

Even with inexpensive ingredients, the care and skill make it so delicious—each bite fills me with rustic flavor and warmth.

Compared to last night’s extravagance, it lacks flair, but there’s something deeply satisfying about the taste.

Feeling the chef’s pride and craftsmanship, I can’t help but express my gratitude.

“…Thank you for the meal. It’s really delicious.”

The server smiles, and a quiet sense of fulfillment washes over me.

With these reforms, the money I can freely use will increase to 2,000 Starks per month—about 20 million yen.

Plus, savings are projected to reach up to 10,000 Starks.

“In this era, manufacturing and distribution are so inefficient.

No matter how much money you have, it’s never enough.”

When are you going to start on nuclear development?

“Are you doing what I asked you to?”

Of course! My chance to “return to my original world” is on the line, so I’m not slacking off.

But so far, I haven’t found any scientists with the right technology or anyone who knows of papers related to it.

For once, Sopina, who’s usually cheerful, looks a bit dejected.

“Well, we just have to take it slow.

If we keep gathering information bit by bit, we’re bound to hit something eventually.

This world is so similar to early 20th-century Europe—some scientist out there has to notice ‘it’ sooner or later.”

But that also means we’re counting down to “doomsday.”

If mishandled, it could lead to civilian massacres… or even humanity’s extinction.

It’s a dangerous “Pandora’s box.”

Still, we can’t avoid opening it.

It’s a technology someone will “eventually develop” anyway.

For Sopina’s wish, and for my own safety.

Precisely because I know its dangers, I have to develop it first to gain the upper hand.

And for peaceful use, nuclear technology must be tightly controlled.

Once it’s discovered, abolishing nuclear technology isn’t something you can just do easily…

※

I wander out to the back of the palace, pondering if there’s any good way to make money.

In the early afternoon, Brunhilde Palace is wrapped in luxurious tranquility.

But one corner—the “washing area” where the servants work—is an exception.

The sound of water, the scrubbing of cloth, and the clatter of buckets used for rinsing echo rhythmically.

On the stone pavement, buckets are lined up, filled with murky water that dimly reflects the winter sunlight.

In the February chill, women crouch at the water’s edge, silently scrubbing cloth.

They can’t light a fire to warm the water, so their hands are red and swollen, with cracked knuckles.

Among them, a girl with chestnut hair tied back with a cloth looks up.

Our eyes meet—or rather, she notices me.

The maids around her stop working all at once, then hurriedly bow their heads.

“T-This is…! Your Majesty…!”

“No need to stop.”

I raise a hand lightly to dismiss their concern, acting regal but not overly arrogant, and keep moving.

I overhear someone whisper, “Is he… incognito?”

That’s fine. A misunderstanding like that is actually convenient.

The chestnut-haired girl I noticed—later identified as Ariel, a laundry maid—catches my eye.

She’s probably 16 or 17.

Compared to the other maids, she’s petite and slender, but her movements are fluid.

Her hands are chapped and red, and steam rises from her wet sleeves.

She’s unremarkable but works diligently.

More than that, she handles her tools skillfully.

The way she uses the washboard, squeezing the cloth without damaging it, isn’t just labor—it’s practiced.

I glance at the white cloth she’s scrubbing.

The soap—no, “stone soap”—isn’t lathering well.

“…This isn’t coming clean, is it?”

The words slip out before I can stop them.

The maids around me look up, startled.

But Ariel doesn’t react.

She pauses her hands and says quietly:

“…Yes, Your Majesty. There’s a lot of grease stains…

This soap doesn’t work well.

Hot water would make a difference, though.”

“Cold water makes it harder for soap to lather.

The hydrophilic and lipophilic groups in soap molecules don’t function as well.”

“Eh…?”

Crap, I think to myself.

“…Or so I read in a paper.”

I backtrack, covering with a vague explanation.

But Ariel doesn’t look accusatory.

She just gives me a slightly curious glance.

I pick up a piece of cloth floating in the water with my bare hand.

It feels stiff, cold, and gritty with oil.

(This era’s soap just isn’t up to the task, is it?)

That’s obvious, coming from my original time.

If this were a medieval fantasy world, I could’ve made a fortune with “soap.”

But soap is already produced here and fairly widespread.

Is there another way to make money… Wait! That’s it!!

This world has petroleum.

Surfactants extracted from it… they don’t exist as “products” yet.

In that case.

“This country still lacks proper ‘cleaning methods.’”

“Yes?”

“…Nothing. I just thought it’d be nice if there were better soap that didn’t rough up your hands.”

She gives a small smile.

“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

I turn away from her and start walking slowly.

The wind is cold, but my thoughts are starting to heat up.

There’s petroleum.

There’s a need for better cleaning methods.

And I have a plan to secure some money.

The stage is set.

The question is, how do I make it happen?