8-7 Camila, The Wolf Little Girl

Camila was a five-year-old wolf little girl.

She was a kid who loved designing things like clothing.

She had beautiful fur—black mixed with silver—and pale crimson eyes.

Her plush, slightly large lips were a soft, light shade.

Her nose had that sharp, perky look often seen in wolf beastfolk.

Her species had slightly prominent canine teeth, so I was already scared of when her rebellious phase would arrive.

Had her first rebellious phase already ended?

I wondered how that worked for kids who were not with their parents.

She was a feisty girl who often got teased by boys—“Nyeh-nyeh, white-hair girl!”—and then promptly sent them flying.

Right now, a small boom was happening among the kids at the Beast-Ear Garden.

It was sewing and clothing-related work—or studying, really.

I made lots of clothes using patterns downloaded online, and all the girls got completely hooked.

When I showed them design sketches, photos of finished outfits, and the patterns, it really grabbed their interest.

Paid ones cost money, but there were sites with bundles that included lots of sizes and variations.

Those started at around a thousand yen, and in a place like ours—with lots of different child sizes—they were a great deal.

Camila, in particular, always carried a sketchbook, and whenever she had free time she scribbled all kinds of things into it.

When I looked, it was pretty impressive—her designs still had a long way to go, but the drawings had real promise and were genuinely skilled.

When she noticed me watching, she pushed me away with her cute ear-topped head, going, “Do not look~!”

Apparently, it was a young maiden’s secret.

Naturally, the models were themselves, and the way she sketched in pencil looked like those “how to draw manga” booklet methods from the bonus inserts in old-grade-school study magazines.

Becoming a manga artist was an option too.

It made me want to put a beret on her.

And in that direction, we also had Aoi-chan as an instructor.

Other kids were interested in cutting and sewing too.

Watching them, I thought this.

All right—then I would work hard for these kids too.

To make a sewing machine.

Anyway, first I decided to make a mechanical model that could reproduce the sewing machine’s structure and movement.

And then I immediately gave up.

Unlike my nephews, I was not an industrial tech type.

So I stopped and sensibly decided to rely on professionals.

I emailed a bunch of sewing-machine businesses, but sadly I did not even get replies.

For a while I nearly gave up, but when I saw Camila working so hard on her designs, I felt like trying a bit more.

I even begged a sewing machine manufacturer, but of course the result was disappointing.

Then, in the middle of all that, I got exactly one reply.

It was from a tiny sewing machine repair business.

“That sounds like an interesting story. Please, let me help.”

A Buddha in hell—no, a Buddha in another world.

I immediately sent back a polite reply and we coordinated by email.

Since he was a kind vendor, I honestly confessed that I was in another world.

I asked him to call the campground, explain the situation, and have the manager tell him what they knew.

I had him check methods to determine whether the photos I posted online had been edited.

Of course, I did not know those methods either—I learned them from the people on that forum.

But he told me, “Let’s believe you without doing anything.”

“I cannot understand why anyone would go to such lengths—paying a fortune—to obtain an old-fashioned treadle sewing machine in that way. I cannot believe a grown adult like you would bother with such an elaborate prank. More than anything, for me, this job is fascinating in a way that matters more than money.”

Eight million gods, thank you.

Let me pray to you.

From an other world beyond distant dimensions, for the miracle of meeting such a wonderful person in Japan.

Apparently, there were no gods in this world.

Even though it was an other world.

If there had been some white goddess like in online novels who gave blessings, that would have been nice—but there was nothing like that at all.

Besides, for someone with “special circumstances” like mine, a white goddess was basically the “White Lady of the Spring” called “Mary of the Spring” in the West.

In interview surveys of people who claimed to have experienced reincarnation, regardless of country, race, or gender, they had not met any goddess-like woman or white-bearded old man in their accounts.

And in the first place, we had not reincarnated.

This other world was oddly realistic, and it made things difficult.

We had not been summoned either; it felt like we had slipped into this other world on our own through some dimensional gap.

Maybe the magic and “blessings” in this world—if Earth’s scientists studied them long enough—would someday be classified as a branch of science.

I had suspected for a while that this world was not actually that fantasy-like.

No wonder there were no gods, demon kings, or heroes.

Even my “cheats” were basically all built on scientific theory.

It just looked wildly illogical because it involved an ultra-physical energy like magic essence and mana.

The sewing machine’s key problem was the core parts—especially the needle, which seemed to require the most technology.

It needed precise—truly precise—data.

But fortunately, metal 3D printers had become widespread these days.

So I had him produce data to manufacture the needle.

If things went well…

In the end, they did.

At the very least, I got something with the exact same shape.

Back in the day, I used to thread sewing machine needles a lot.

My parents’ eyesight was bad, and the thread would not go through easily, so they asked me.

I had handled sewing machine needles, bobbins, and thread plenty, so the feel of them was burned into my body.

Of course, that did not mean I could reproduce it easily.

We would refine the material next.

I had already heard the material composition from the repairman—now it was a matter of how good a result I could make.

Copying was one thing, but manufacturing precision machinery from scratch, part by part, was extremely difficult.

Even tanks—once production stopped—even if the facilities remained, rebuilding production took years, including reconstructing the supply chain.

Assembly precision was not what I worried about.

The parts could be assembled through synthesis inside my item box.

What worried me most was the precision of each individual part.

Especially the sewing needle—apparently, it used to be said that China could not produce them.

I did not know if that was still true now, given how overwhelming and comprehensive their production facilities were these days.

On the other hand, people said that if you removed China from the supply chain, many items became hard to obtain.

Even so, because the nation’s behavior was so bad, it was internationally disliked, and advanced countries were steadily moving away from China.

Someday, a completed supply chain without China would be born.

Because of cost, it would be a difficult road.

And if that happened, Japan’s economy—which had benefited from being geographically close to China—would take a hit.

But if you factored in security, it would still be a net positive with plenty of change left over.

Water and safety were not free.

Even super-precise perfect spheres like pachinko balls showed it—sometimes the simpler something looked, the harder it was.

So, inside my item box, I tried producing parts by combining metal materials and 3D data.

Since I could transfer photo data onto an object like printing or paint, I suspected this might work.

I had more parts turned into data one after another.

I had sewing machine oil.

I had kept it in the car for a mountain bike, after all.

I managed to analyze the structure of sewing thread from the clothes I was wearing and make it too.

And anyway, I could copy it.

Objects I had touched or used before were relatively easier to reproduce.

As for a treadle sewing machine—if a household one was fine—I had played with it so much as a kid that my mom constantly scolded me.

It was not like I understood the structure.

When I “played,” I just pushed the treadle hard with my hands instead of my feet.

It was fun watching the belt spin around and around.

And I would open the cover to look at the mechanism inside.

Not because I understood it—just because I wanted to see it.

I only looked, though.

Watching Touya and the like reminded me of myself as a kid.

Even so, I had not taken apart big machines like that.

If you took one apart and could not put it back, calling a repairman would cost a fortune.

With the repairman’s immense help, the main metal components—the sewing machine’s core—were completed.

For the woodworking parts, he introduced me to a vendor favored by the royal household.

From tiny pieces to large ones, professionals examined everything, and all parts reached a basic state of completion.

Then the sewing machine was assembled inside my item box.

The main metal body worked out because it was made based on ultra-precise measurements taken in Japan and recreated by me in the item box—but the wooden table fitting was a failure.

Probably because it was not standardized, and each craftsman made it by personal “feel.”

The workmanship itself was excellent, but sadly it did not match JIS standards.

They were not building in inches or centimeters, but in “their own standards.”

So, regrettably, I shaved it down myself and forced it to fit.

I copied it first so it was safe to fail, then shaved and adjusted it inside the item box until it matched.

I could have made it in the item box from the start, but I did not trust my artistic sense.

Old sewing machines—even if the internal mechanism broke—sometimes had the inside removed and were displayed as antiques in shops, because their design was that dignified.

While I was working, the kids kept crowding in, endlessly.

“What is that?”

“Show me!”

“Let me touch it!”

“I want to dismantle it!”

—so noisy.

Touya, dismantling is not allowed!

Do you have any idea how much trouble it took to assemble this thing?

Just fixing the fitting took a whole day.

Then I put the rubber belt on.

This was not some flimsy Earth-made item.

It was monster leather, and on top of that I infused it with plenty of reinforcement mana.

A dragon could pull on this and it would not snap.

And yet it still had the softness not to put excessive strain on machine parts.

Yes.

No need to hide it—this was made from that slick hydra leather.

At the very least, it was far better material than rubber.

The only difference was the joining method—it was not the same as the original sewing machine.

The material was too tough to punch holes easily, so I could not fasten it with staple-like hardware.

On the other hand, durability was outstanding, so it probably would not need replacing often.

First, I made a copy of the completed result.

Then I ran a test operation.

Oh—this felt pretty good.

But the kids could not hold back anymore.

They all started pumping the treadle together.

“Hey, Touya. Do not even think about dismantling it.”

Since there was no helping it, I produced another completed unit, and used that one for test sewing.

A lot of adjustments did not go smoothly, so while exchanging emails with the repairman, it took two hours before we finished the test stitching.

As a test, I called Erin over and had her try it, and she neatly stitched with a machine she had never handled before.

This girl was seriously dexterous!

An old man who embodied clumsiness could not keep up.

Still, it was incredible we managed it all for just ten-thousand yen.

Because we had fully disassembled the unit in Japan and had every part precisely measured.

I was deeply grateful—they were doing it unbelievably cheaply.

If possible, I also wanted a professional treadle sewing machine, but I was not in a position to be that selfish.

Those were not personal-use items, so they were probably mostly commercial tools and got thrown out when shops upgraded or closed.

Personal ones were probably still sitting unused in homes somewhere, though.

And besides—money poured in over here, but Japanese yen on the other side was not so simple.

Camila was also intensely interested in the sewing machine.

It seemed to be stirring up her imagination.

Then I gave her books on dressmaking and design—downloaded from the internet, composited onto paper, assembled, and bound.

Her eyes went wide as plates as she read.

The other kids joined in too, and it looked like a clothing-focused group aiming for design and dressmaking had formed.

I uploaded that scene online so the repairman could see it too.

Including Touya’s reaction—since I gave him one copy machine unit as a disassembly model, he was happily tearing it apart like crazy.

And eventually, he would be called the father of sewing machines in this world…?

Right now, he was just the Demon King of Disassembly.

Anyway, as long as he was here, I could not leave random things lying around.

The other staff were terrified.

Right now, he was unquestionably the biggest problem child in the Beast-Ear Garden.

(“Says you…”)

I felt like I heard Mari’s voice, but it was probably just the whisper of a wind spirit.

It must have been drawn in by my massive natural mana radiation.

After a while, I received a cheerful email from the sewing machine repairman.

“Everyone looks like they’re having a wonderful time, and I couldn’t be happier. For Touya-kun, I’ll gift a download set of data for a full range of tools, along with technical books about sewing machines in data form. I have no child who would inherit my work, so this sewing repair shop ends with my generation. It’s simply not that era anymore—my children all go to regular companies now. If the soul of a craftsman can be carried on in another world, there’s nothing more wonderful for me. Please tell Touya-kun that I’m cheering him on.”