Episode : 13

Words : 1597 Updated : Sep 12th, 2025

Chapter 14 of "My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!" starts revealing surprises: Chapter : 25 "Public reaction was initially surprise, transitioning to quiet approval among bystanders. The individuals... Read on!

Chapter : 25 "Public reaction was initially surprise, transitioning to quiet approval among bystanders. The individuals subjected to the correction exhibited fear and offered no resistance, presumably due to recognition of status and my presence. The situation de-escalated promptly. We then proceeded to Master Elmsworth's location without further incident." Ken fell silent, awaiting questions. Roy leaned back slightly in his chair, tapping a finger rhythmically on the polished desk. "The strike," he asked, his voice low. "Was it controlled? An act of temper, or calculation?" "Calculated, Your Grace," Ken replied instantly. "Sufficient force to stun and assert dominance, minimal risk of lasting injury. No discernible loss of temper was observed in Lord Ferrum." "His demeanor during the... lecture?" "Confident. Authoritative. Entirely without fear." Roy absorbed this, his expression unreadable. "And at the lesson?" Ken shifted seamlessly to the next point. "Lord Ferrum participated actively in Master Elmsworth's lesson on Whisperwood resource management. He challenged the established methodologies presented." Roy's finger stopped tapping. "Specifically," Ken elaborated, "Lord Ferrum proposed on-site timber processing to reduce transport costs and increase product value, sustainable harvesting practices to ensure long-term yield, and market diversification beyond existing bulk contracts to capitalize on potential niche applications." Ken recited the points accurately, clinically, like listing inventory. "He presented these arguments with logical structure and apparent conviction," Ken added. "Elmsworth's reaction?" Roy prompted, his voice tight. "Initial dismissal, followed by visible agitation and difficulty formulating effective counter-arguments. Master Elmsworth ultimately adhered to the established curriculum but appeared... unsettled. Other students observed Lord Ferrum's contribution with surprise and interest." Ken concluded his report and stood silently, a statue awaiting further commands. Roy stared past Ken, towards the high windows, his gaze distant. "Was Lord Ferrum disrespectful in his tone towards the tutor?" "No, Your Grace. His tone was consistently respectful, though firm. The challenge was directed at the ideas, not the individual." "Did Elmsworth appear incompetent, or merely surprised?" "Surprised and intellectually challenged, Your Grace. Not incompetent." Roy nodded slowly, a curt dismissal. "That will be all, Ken." Ken Park bowed slightly, turned, and exited the room as silently as he had entered, leaving the Arch Duke alone once more with his thoughts and the rhythmic ticking of the clock. The heavy oak door clicked shut, leaving Roy Ferrum enveloped in the weighted silence of his study. He didn’t immediately return to the grain tariffs. His quill lay untouched. His gaze remained fixed on the sunlit window, but he wasn’t seeing the meticulously manicured gardens beyond. He was seeing the events Ken Park had just laid out with such dispassionate clarity. His brow, usually smooth with the calm authority of command, was furrowed in a deep, complex frown. It wasn't the simple frown of annoyance, nor the sharp frown of anger. This was the frown of conflicting data, of disrupted expectations, of a carefully constructed equation suddenly yielding an unexpected, possibly dangerous, result. A public slap. Delivered by his heir. In the middle of the street. Followed by a lecture? Roy’s lips thinned. Unseemly. Undignified. While the outcome – the dispersal of nuisances – was desirable, the method was crude, lacking the subtlety expected of a Ferrum. It smacked of impulsiveness, of drawing unnecessary attention. It courted risk, potential escalation, however minor. This direct, physical assertiveness... it wasn't the quiet, almost passive Lloyd he knew. It was irritatingly... bold. And challenging Master Elmsworth? Publicly? In front of other students? Roy’s frown deepened. Undermining a respected tutor, disrupting the established order of education... that bordered on arrogance. Radical ideas were inherently dangerous, destabilizing. Stability, predictability – these were the cornerstones upon which the Ferrum legacy was built and maintained. Lloyd’s sudden foray into theoretical economics, however logically presented Ken claimed it was, felt like tossing stones into a placid, carefully managed pond. Yet... Beneath the disapproval, confusion swirled. Confidence? Lack of fear when facing down street toughs? Logical structure and conviction when debating resource management with a seasoned academic? Ken Park was not prone to exaggeration or misinterpretation. He reported facts. And the facts painted a picture utterly at odds with the Lloyd Ferrum Roy had been carefully, if perhaps disappointedly, grooming for a quiet, administrative future. The arguments Lloyd presented to Elmsworth... Roy wasn’t a fool. While tradition dictated otherwise, the raw logic of reducing transport costs, of ensuring long-term resource viability... it held a certain undeniable, if inconvenient, merit. Where had the boy acquired such insights? Was he merely parroting some radical text he’d stumbled upon? Or was this... genuine? The frown wasn’t just disapproval; it was the physical manifestation of cognitive dissonance. The Lloyd he knew – quiet, mediocre, compliant – simply did not fit these new data points. This sudden emergence of confidence, assertiveness, and sharp intellect felt... unnatural. Unsettling. Chapter : 26 An unpredictable variable was dangerous. Especially in an heir. Roy preferred known quantities, manageable assets. This new, perplexing Lloyd was an unknown, a deviation from the meticulously planned trajectory. He finally picked up his quill, but instead of returning to the tariffs, he tapped it rhythmically against the desk blotter, the frown etched deep between his brows. He needed more information. More observation. This wasn't a situation for immediate reaction, for praise or reprimand. It was a situation demanding vigilance. Something, Roy Ferrum concluded grimly, the frown tightening almost painfully, has changed. And he needed to understand precisely what that change entailed, before it disrupted more than just a business lesson or a quiet street. The stability of his house, the future he envisioned, might depend on it. (Roy was happy inside to see his son's action as a father.) Night pressed against the tall, leaded glass windows of the shared suite, muffling the distant sounds of the Ferrum estate settling into slumber. Within the room, a fragile truce of silence reigned, punctuated only by the soft whisper of turning pages and the occasional faint crackle from the single oil lamp burning steadily on a small table beside the sofa. Lloyd Ferrum was ensconced on that familiar, lumpy piece of furniture, legs tucked beneath him, seemingly lost in the dense text of a thick, leather-bound volume propped against his knees. The lamplight cast his face in sharp relief, highlighting the frown of concentration etched between his brows. He wasn't just reading; he was dissecting. Every so often, his hand, holding a slender piece of graphite, would dart out to make a sharp, decisive mark in the wide margins – a line, a question mark, sometimes a brief, cryptic symbol only he understood. Gods, this is dry, his internal eighty-year-old monologue complained, even as his nineteen-year-old eyes scanned the densely packed script. 'Established Principles of Inter-Provincial Guild Commerce, Third Edition.' Sounds like a guaranteed cure for insomnia. Which, ironically, is useful considering my current sleeping arrangements. He stifled a yawn, shifting slightly on the unforgiving cushions. The sofa. His domain. His kingdom of itchy velvet and questionable lumbar support. Across the room, shrouded in the shadows beyond the lamp's reach, lay the vast, imposing territory of the four-poster bed. Her territory. Rosa. He risked a quick glance towards the shadowed fortress of silk and pillows. He couldn't see her clearly, just a vague shape beneath the covers. Was she asleep? Meditating? Plotting new ways to spiritually flatten him if he dared breathe too loudly? Impossible to tell. Since their... encounter... yesterday, an even thicker layer of ice seemed to coat the air between them. Not active hostility, but a watchful, assessing silence. Like two wary predators sharing a den, acutely aware of the other's presence but choosing, for now, to maintain their distance. He saw a flicker of movement from the bed, just a subtle shift. A head turning slightly? He quickly dropped his gaze back to the book, focusing intently on a particularly convoluted paragraph regarding taxation reciprocity between the Azure Strait shipping consortiums and the inland weaving guilds. Riveting stuff. Truly. Did she see me looking? Probably. His internal voice sighed. Paranoid? Maybe. But when your wife can literally crush you with her mind-vibes, a little paranoia seems healthy. He made another sharp mark in the margin, underlining a sentence that stated, with unwavering certainty, a principle he knew from eighty years of vastly different economic realities on Earth to be fundamentally flawed. 'Intrinsic value stability guaranteed through Guild Charter Mandates...' Absolute rubbish. Value was fluid, driven by supply, demand, perception, technological disruption... things this dusty tome clearly hadn't considered. The silence stretched, broken only by the rustle of the page as he turned it. He assumed Rosa had dismissed his activity, filed it away under 'irrelevant husband doings', and returned to whatever occupied her own inscrutable thoughts. He continued his work, the graphite stick scratching faintly, methodically deconstructing centuries of accepted wisdom, one flawed premise at a time. This felt more productive than staring at the ceiling, anyway. And who knew? Maybe 'identifying archaic economic fallacies' counted as a System task? Unlikely, but a man could dream. The next day passed in a blur of routine that felt both familiar and jarringly new. Morning: Operation Canine Cuisine Upgrade, Day Three. Fang, the wolf-spirit, now looked almost... filled out? Less 'starving stray', more 'respectably lean predator'. Progress. Five coins closer. He could practically smell the shop interface. Breakfast was another tense affair under his father's assessing gaze. No outbursts today, just quiet consumption and a mental review of Master Elmsworth’s outdated theories. He wondered if the tutor had dared peek into those dusty ledgers yet.

Episode : 13

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