In the midst of modernization in Britain, it was fashionable among noblemen to express their individuality through suits, accessories, and a perfect fit.

The higher the status, the more serious they were about their attire, often keeping private boutiques or exclusive tailors. Among them were three brothers, renowned tailors throughout Britain. Hugh, Henry, and Ed. These three were master craftsmen, so exceptional that they were summoned by the Royal Family to cut garments at a young age. Nobles paid premiums to get clothes made by them, but reservations were backed up for years, and any customer the brothers disliked was ruthlessly rejected, no matter how wealthy. Having come from the slums, the three brothers detested arrogant and picky aristocrats and were eccentrics who found the act of working itself quite bothersome.

A three-story red brick building on a quiet street. That was the boutique run by the three brothers. Opening the glass door would trigger a bell's chime, and the air was filled with the faint scent of coffee and newspapers, the sound of sewing machines and steam irons, and the snip of tailoring shears cutting through fabric.

One night, after closing, Hugh came out to turn off the lamp in front of the shop and found a beggar huddling on the ground. The beggar was staring at a torn scrap of a garment pattern drawn by the three brothers.

After staring at the scrap for a moment, the beggar picked up a stone rolling on the ground and began drawing a blueprint on the pavement.

"Hmm... this would be better like this than that. Why did they do it this way?"

Hugh was angry at having his pattern criticized for the first time, but he was soon struck with awe upon seeing the drawing the beggar had made. Lines as precise as if measured with a ruler and perfect curves. With just a single stone, the beggar had created a pattern far superior to the original.

Hugh felt his pride wounded, but at the same time, he felt an unusual surge of greed. How incredible would this child become if properly taught and raised under his wing?

"Hey... kid."

Hugh approached the beggar and snatched off the old, tattered bucket hat.

And in that moment, he froze.

An undersized frame that didn't match the soot-stained face and shabby clothes, soft skin, large eyes, and a slightly parted mouth. Even the peek of front teeth—it was an appearance so strangely captivating that it was hard to believe they were a beggar.

Hugh stared at the beggar in disbelief and muttered,

"What is this... where on earth did a little stray like you crawl out from?"