Sharath had assumed he'd witnessed all manner of mayhem: dungeon slimes bursting onto tricycles, wolves gnawing airships, nobles stabbing one another with swords and words both. But nothing — nothing — could have prepared him for the complete and utter catastrophe that was the initial week of Unnatirajya's public washing hall.
Initially, it seemed like a success. The prototype machine whirred and spun, producing spick-and-span cleaned shirts and linens. The villagers applauded and gossiped. The mothers cheered, children laughed, and the guards relaxed they wouldn't have to pull more bodies out of rivers.
But soon enough, the abuse started.
"Hey, look at that!" a farmer bellowed loudly, crammed the entire bale of hay into the machine. "If it washes clothes, it'll wash hay!"
The machine groaned, rattled, then exploded in a puff of soggy straw. Villagers screamed, children laughed, and 🐧NeuroBoop — the AI only Sharath could hear — snarked immediately:
"Congratulations. You've invented the world's first magical compost grinder."
By the second day, a fishmonger tried washing her entire catch inside the drum. The machine promptly smelled like rotting mackerel for a week.
On the third day, nobles from a nearby town sent silk robes worth a small fortune. The machine shredded them into ribbons within five minutes. Sharath almost had a heart attack when the noble stormed into his hall, waving the tattered cloth like a battle banner.
"You've ruined garments older than your entire family line!" the noble shrieked.
Sharath pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. "Perhaps don't toss ten-thousand-gold silk robes into a communal washer designed for wool pants."
The villagers, though, found it hilarious. Soon, there spread rumors: "Did you hear? The washing box gnaws nobles like soiled socks!"
That evening over dinner, the Darsha family argued the consequences.
Grandfather Bassana canted forward, his merchant's eyes aglow. "Boy, you wouldn't believe. Nobles all over are angry. Angry nobles equate to desperate nobles. Desperate nobles offer top dollar. Sell 'noble-only washers' — gold-embossed, rune-activated, never will shred their stupid silks. That's where the real money is!
Lord Varundar scowled. "Bassana, not all can be bent into gain. My son is attempting to safeguard villagers. Already, fewer women are bending their backs at the river."
Lady Ishvari spoke up while rocking one of the twins. "But where is fairness? If nobles believe they are shortchanged, they will oppose the tax model. Maybe a compromise?"
Sharath placed his spoon aside. He'd been silent, but now his voice was firm. "This is not for nobles first. This is for living. I will create different models, yes — one for everyday wear, another for noble attire. But the foundation system remains open. Tax-supported. Affordable."
Bassana almost choked on his wine. "Cheap? CHEAP?! You've just monopolized the largest solitary chore market within the empire and you're going to operate it like it's a charity?
Sharath scowled. "Not charity. Infrastructure. You build roads, yes? Wells? Guard posts? This is no different. We'll charge a token fee to pay for repairs and compensate operators. Everyone gives. Everyone gets. Nobles can still pay extra for their delicate clothes. But commoners will not swim in rivers just so we can extract more gold from their palms."
The twins laughed and clapped the table, as though applauding his statements.
"You're really leaning into this 'benevolent laundry lord' aesthetic," 🐧NeuroBoop quipped. "Next stop, free slime-dryers for orphans."
Determined to prevent further chaos, Sharath locked himself in his laboratory for the next week. He improved the machines with runes that automatically refused to spin if the contents weren't cloth. He developed special detergent powders, experimenting late into the night with mixtures of ash, herbs, and slime goo.
Lady Ishvari walked into the lab one morning, carrying the twins and wrinkling her nose. "Sharath… why does the whole estate smell like lavender and charred frog?"
Sharath, black smudges on his cheeks, held up a little jar proudly. "Baby-safe soap! Gentle on their skin, but potent enough for river mud. And—" he waved toward a second jar— "adult detergent for everyday wear. Special formulas.
Bassana, who had followed her in, had a sniff and at once exclaimed, "I smell money."
Sharath exhaled. "It's not money. It's keeping people from getting rashes, skin infections—"
"Money," Bassana insisted forcefully. "Do you have any idea how much nobles pay for foreign perfumes and powders merely to get their linen to smell like that? You've created something superior."
Sharath paid him no mind and gestured to another station where silk cloth whirled softly within an altered washer. "And here — detergent for the nobility. No ripping, no discoloring. A recipe that toughens cloth as it cleans."
Lady Ishvari gazed in wonder. "You created three soaps. in seven days?"
Sharath shrugged. "Either that or stand by and listen to yet another noble yell about torn trousers.
This is it," 🐧NeuroBoop grumbled. "Your fate is not dungeons or politics. Your fate is detergent. One day bards will sing of 'Sharath the Soapmaker.'"
The villagers, on the other hand, just kept playing with the machines.
One woman attempted to wash her goat. The goat, enraged, escaped halfway through the spin and burst through the streets dripping foam. Children raced after it, laughing, crying, "Cleanest goat in the world!
Another fellow believed the devices could "iron" clothing if he filled them with hot stones. That one erupted with great fanfare, flying steaming socks into the air.
In two weeks, rumors dominated every tavern:
"The washing boxes are haunted — they devour goats!"
"Nobles' silk can't withstand but pigskin pants emerge radiant!"
"Lord Sharath is a genius… or insane.
In spite of the pandemonium, the system was a success. The women ceased visiting the rivers. Fewer accidents occurred. The machines were integrated into life, though half the village continued to view them as perilous magical creatures.
But beneath the chuckles existed the stern debate at the estate.
Lord Varundar called Sharath, Bassana, and Ishvari to the council hall. Scrolls of tax ledgers and revenue forecasts covered the table.
"The machines are a hit," Varundar conceded. "But revenue is spotty. Some towns pay, others not. Costs of maintenance are creeping up. How do we bring balance to this?
Bassana leaned forward eagerly. "Simple. Privatize the wash halls. Peddle them as noblesk franchise. Triple the charges. The poor can still bathe in rivers if they're obstinate."
Sharath pounded his fist on the table. "No. That's how we began. That's why women perished. I will not undermine my own creation through greed."
Ishvari scowled, conflicted. "But Sharath, Bassana isn't entirely wrong. We require coin. Expansion cannot be sustained by ideals alone."
Sharath breathed, then explained his idea:
Public wash halls continue in Darsha management, supported by a small communal tax.
Nobles can purchase dainty-fabric washers, but only at premium prices, subsidizing the common halls.
Special-detergent packs — noble, common, child-safe — sold separately, reasonably priced.
Traveling laundry wagons for villages too small to support a hall.
"This way," he said, "everyone receives service. Nobles receive their indulgences. Commoners receive safety. And yes, we still gain. Just… not through taking advantage of desperation."
There was silence. Then, gradually, Lord Varundar nodded. "This is balance."
Bassana sighed. "This boy will be the ruin of my merchant's heart."
Sharath grinned. "Or its rebirth."
The first month closed with profits pouring in — humble compared to direct sale to nobles, but consistent, maintainable, and popular with the common folk.
For once, Unnatirajya hummed not with dungeon spoils or enchanted arms, but with whispers regarding soap, foam, and laundry lines that carried a scent of lavender.
Sharath, though, understood. Each invention was more than convenience. Each advance agitated politics, jealousy, greed. And while villagers giggled about goats in machines, Sharath sat in his workshop, designing protective runes fueled by the same water magic that powered his washers.
Because if soap could transform lives, so too could it protect them.
And the world would learn soon enough that laundry was only the start.