Dinner was uneventful — for a precise three minutes.
Lady Ishvari had just finished giving one of the twins his supper when her face contorted. "Sharath… what does that smell?"
Sharath, in mid-stew, replied without raising his head. "Soap. Been experimenting with the detergent mixture again. Attempting to eliminate the frog tinge."
The family nodded. It was normal by now for Sharath to have the scent of a weird combination of lavender, slime goo, and the occasional smoke.
But then Ishvari leaned in closer, sniffing barely. "No, not soap. Something else. It's light but… strange and pleasant. Sharath, can you create something that makes someone themselves smell good?"
Sharath stiffened, spoon in mid-air. His eyes went wide as the idea struck him like a thunderbolt. Perfume.
"Huzzah," said 🐧NeuroBoop dryly in his head. "You've just invented a whole new industry because your mother didn't approve of how you smelled at dinner."
He leapt from the table, stew abandoned, and disappeared into his lab.
By morning, the estate reeked like a florist's hellhole. Bottles clinked, smoke billowed from beakers, and hapless servants coughed uncontrollably as Sharath experimented with oils, herbs, and magical essences.
One maid staggered out of the lab red-eyed, muttering, "He mixed mint with garlic… my nose will never forgive me."
Finally, after three sleepless nights, Sharath stumbled into the dining hall holding a small glass vial.
He presented it to Lady Ishvari with a dramatic bow. "Mother. Perfume. For nobles only. Expensive. Delicate. One drop… and you'll never need lavender baths again."
Ishvari dabbed a little on her wrist, sniffed — and her eyes sparkled. "Oh! This is… divine. Fresh roses and spring wind. Sharath, it's wonderful."
Lord Varundar raised an eyebrow. "So, soap wasn't enough? Now you'll make the nobles smell better than the gods themselves?"
Before Sharath could reply, Bassana snatched the vial and took a deep whiff. His merchant instincts lit up like a bonfire.
"By the twelve markets…" Bassana took a deep breath. "Do you catch that? I smell—" he spread his arms wide "—MONEY!"
Sharath winced. "Grandpa, not everything has to be—"
"Wrong!" Bassana pointed a finger at him. "Everything has to be. Soap rescued villagers. Okay. Washing machines preserved women. Well. But perfume? Perfume will empty noble treasuries like ale at a banquet! They will kill for exclusivity!"
Oh, here we go," 🐧NeuroBoop grumbled. "Bassana's going to sell rights to perfume to seven kingdoms before you've even sealed the second bottle."
And Bassana wasn't alone.
Within a week, rumors spread like wildfire. A noblewoman visiting the estate caught a whiff of Ishvari's new scent and practically begged to buy a vial. When told it wasn't for sale, she threw a pouch of gold coins at the servant and screamed, "TAKE IT, JUST GIVE ME THE BOTTLE!"
By the second week, three noble households sent missives requesting "sole perfume contracts." One attempted to sneak a servant into Sharath's laboratory to pilfer formulas — only to discover the hapless spy unconscious, face-first in a vat of slime-filled peppermint.
The villagers, meanwhile, had their own vision.
"Lord Sharath, can you make us smell like roses too?" asked a farmer's wife shyly.
Sharath smiled. "This line is only for nobles, but I'll make lighter scents for everyday use."
The villagers cheered — until they realized nobles were paying ten times their annual wages for a single vial. Then they started spreading wild gossip:
"Perfume is made from dragon blood!"
"One drop and nobles become irresistible!"
"Lord Sharath is bottling heaven itself!"
At the following family dinner, Ishvari was thrilled with her new scents. The twins had a faintly chamomile scent from his "baby perfume" test batch.
Lord Varundar was not as pleased. "Perfume is innocent, but do you have any idea how much trouble this will bring about? Nobles will fight for monopoly. Already, letters come on a daily basis.
Bassana sat back smugly. "And I personally respond to every letter. With one sentence: 'Production will be done solely through Bassana's channels.'"
Sharath's head jerked up. "You did WHAT?!"
Bassana shrugged. "Calm down, boy. I didn't offer to sell yet. I offered to negotiate. And nobles pay a premium for negotiation."
Sharath facepalmed. Ishvari slapped Bassana's shoulder. "Stop making everything into gold before the ink has dried!"
Bassana smiled. "I can't help it. I was born smelling coin, and now Sharath makes bottles of it."
The melodrama reached its peak when Ishvari brought up the subject of naming the perfumes.
"The nobles will demand exclusivity. Each one should have a story to tell," she said. "Something noble, poetic."
Sharath grumbled, "I just wanted to make soap less itchy…"
Bassana was quick to pipe in: "We'll call them after victories! 'Glory of Darsha!' 'Unnatirajya's Dawn!'"
Ishvari shook her head. "Too martial. Perfume must whisper, not shout. 'Rose of Spring.' 'Twilight Velvet.' Something elegant."
Lord Varundar sighed. "As long as none are called 'Goat Washer No. 5,' I'll allow it."
"Please make Goat Washer No. 5," 🐧NeuroBoop snorted in Sharath's mind. "I beg you."
In a month's time, the initial supply of noble perfumes was exhausted even before leaving the warehouse. Nobles dispatched carts of gold, jewels, and even deeds of land just for a bottle.
Villagers, on the other hand, grumbled nonstop. "Why do nobles get to smell like roses while we still stink like goats?"
To calm the restlessness, Sharath introduced "Everyday Fragrance Powder" — inexpensive sachets that villagers could wear in garments. They were easy but efficient. Soon even farmers strolled around with the slightest whiff of mint or chamomile.
The Darsha estate was filled with laughter, confusion, and the overwhelming scent of fifty vying fragrances.
But the actual storm was brewing in the capital city. News of Sharath's perfumes had reached the Emperor and Empress. Letters came commanding samples "for imperial assessment."
Bassana rubbed his hands together excitedly. "Finally! The royal nostrils! Once they smell, we dominate the empire's high-end market!"
Sharath leaned back, weary, grumbling, "Why does every innovation end with me bound to nobles?"
"Because," replied 🐧NeuroBoop smugly, "you're an economic disaster in a prodigy's body. Congratulations, Laundry Lord — you now own the very air nobles breathe."
And secretly, Sharath knew 🐧NeuroBoop wasn't far from the truth.
Because in Unnatirajya, soap revolution had begun.But perfume? Perfume could begin a war.