Episode : 2

Words : 2146 Updated : Sep 10th, 2025

Chapter 3 of "My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!" starts unfolding: Lloyd Ferrum, temporarily displaced soul and current occupant of a body that felt suspiciously like... Discover more!

Lloyd Ferrum, temporarily displaced soul and current occupant of a body that felt suspiciously like it still owed library fines from its previous run, ambled through the grand, sunlit corridors of the Ferrum Estate. He sighed. Again. He was pretty sure his sigh-count was approaching double digits before breakfast, which had to be some kind of record, even for someone juggling memories from two separate lifetimes. At least I can walk without my knees sounding like bubble wrap, he conceded internally, flexing his fingers. Being nineteen again had its perks. No mysterious aches that appeared after sleeping funny, no need for reading glasses perched precariously on his nose, no existential dread triggered by daytime television commercials selling walk-in bathtubs. Just the regular, run-of-the-mill existential dread of waking up six years in the past in a world with magic, political marriages, and a distinct lack of decent pizza delivery. He passed another ancestral portrait. This one featured a grim-faced Ferrum ancestor with an improbably large moustache and armor that looked as if it weighed more than Lloyd currently did. The painted eyes seemed to follow him, silently judging his posture or perhaps his choice of sleepwear (which, thankfully, he'd swapped for presentable day clothes before venturing out). Alright, Great-Uncle Theron the Belligerent, Lloyd thought, giving the portrait a mock salute. Don't worry, I'll try not to pawn the family silver. Unless the System gives me a really good exchange rate. The thought of the System, his 'Shopping Tree', brought a flicker of excitement that quickly warred with the sheer weirdness of it all. A cosmic shop interface only he could see, offering superpowers in exchange for... well, he wasn't sure yet. Tasks? Shiny rocks? Fulfilling his father's expectations? The possibilities were disturbingly vague. He reached the imposing double doors of the main family dining room. Carved with intricate scenes of heroic Ferrums doing heroic things (mostly involving pointy objects and mythical beasts), they felt heavier than they looked. He pushed them open. Sunlight streamed through arched windows, illuminating a scene of quiet domesticity – albeit a very wealthy, aristocratic version of it. The long mahogany table, polished to a mirror shine, could comfortably seat thirty, but currently hosted only two. At the far end, his father, Arch Duke Roy Ferrum, sat ramrod straight, engrossed in a stack of official-looking documents bound in leather. His dark hair showed no hint of grey (unlike the distinguished silver Lloyd remembered him having later in the first timeline), and his jaw was set in a permanently determined line. He radiated 'Do Not Disturb Unless the Castle is Actively on Fire' energy. Across from him, nursing a delicate porcelain cup, was his mother, Milody Austin. Duchess Ferrum. She was the picture of refined grace, her silver-blonde hair swept up elegantly, her morning gown immaculate. She looked serene, but Lloyd knew from past experience that her calm exterior hid a will as strong as her husband's, just wielded with more subtlety and significantly less yelling. "Lloyd, dear," Milody's voice was calm, carrying easily across the vast space. She offered him a small, practiced smile as he entered. "You decided to join the living. Come, sit. Cook made those honey-glazed sausages you profess to enjoy." Profess to enjoy? Lloyd mentally raised an eyebrow. Okay, maybe nineteen-year-old me was a bit dramatic about sausages. "Morning, Mother. Father," he said, sliding into his customary seat – strategically placed far enough from his father to avoid accidental document-spillage, but close enough to reach the salt. A servant materialized silently, placing a steaming plate before him. Eggs, fluffy and yellow. Sausages, glistening under their glaze. Thick slices of warm bread, accompanied by butter sculpted into the shape of a Ferrum family crest – a roaring lion that looked vaguely constipated. Aristocracy, Lloyd thought, it's all about the details. He picked up his fork, the familiar weight grounding him slightly. Food. Glorious, non-rehydrated food. He took a bite of sausage. Sweet, savory, definitely better than the protein bars he practically lived on during crunch time back on Earth. The peaceful chewing lasted approximately fifteen seconds. "Your business tutelage," Roy Ferrum stated, the words dropping into the quiet room like stones. He still hadn’t looked up from his papers. His focus remained absolute, multitasking disapproval and ducal duties with practiced ease. "Report." Lloyd froze mid-chew, the delicious sausage suddenly feeling like sawdust in his mouth. Aaaand here we go. Business studies. The consolation prize for the genetically underwhelming heir. In his first life, he’d resented it, slacked off, scraped by with mediocre grades, much to his father’s barely concealed disappointment. "Progress?" Roy prompted, his pen scratching across a document. The sound grated on Lloyd's nerves. Right. Business. What did nineteen-year-old him even know? Supply curves? Profit margins? How to look busy while secretly reading forbidden novels under the desk? His Earth life knowledge, however, was a different story. Decades spent navigating corporate structures, understanding market fluctuations (even if they were for things like holographic projectors and self-lacing shoes, not enchanted textiles and griffin eggs), and dealing with personalities far more challenging than a stuffy Riverian economics tutor. Chapter : 4 Wait, who was the tutor again? Lloyd searched his hazy nineteen-year-old memories. Professor Abernathy? Grumbles? Something vaguely Dickensian. He decided to invent. "It's proceeding adequately, Father," Lloyd began, choosing his words carefully. He swallowed the sausage lump. "Professor Quentin Grumbaldi seems pleased with my grasp of foundational principles." Yeah, Grumbaldi. Sounds legit. He decided to embellish, drawing on faint recollections of Earth-based economics lectures he’d occasionally absorbed via osmosis while working on physics problems. "We were just reviewing trade tariffs and commodity valuation concerning the southern provinces. Grumbaldi noted my..." he paused, searching for a suitably impressive but vague term, "...innovative perspective on cross-border arbitrage." Nailed it. Probably. Roy’s pen stopped scratching. He finally looked up, his dark eyes fixing on Lloyd with unnerving intensity. It wasn't disbelief, exactly, but sharp assessment. Like a hawk spotting a slightly unusual rabbit. "Grumbaldi?" Roy frowned slightly. "Wasn't your tutor Master Elmsworth?" Blast. Lloyd scrambled internally. Abort! Abort the Grumbaldi Gambit! "Ah, yes, Master Elmsworth, of course," he corrected smoothly, hoping the slight flush rising on his neck wasn't too obvious. "My apologies, Father. Thinking of... a character in a book. Elmsworth. He seems... satisfied." Satisfied that I show up, mostly. Roy's gaze lingered for a moment longer before he returned to his papers, apparently accepting the flimsy excuse. Or perhaps just filing it away for later interrogation. "Satisfied is insufficient, Lloyd," he stated, his tone flat. "Adequate is unacceptable." He tapped the document in front of him with a decisive finger. "These numbers," he said, his voice resonating with authority, "represent the lifeblood of thousands. Our shipping concerns in the Azure Strait. The timber resources from the Whisperwood. The mining concessions near Dragon's Tooth Peak." He looked up again, his expression stern. "Generations of Ferrums bled to secure these holdings. Through strength of arms, through shrewd alliances, through unwavering will. That legacy is maintained not just by warriors, but by astute minds capable of managing and expanding our interests." "This family demands excellence," Roy continued, his voice lowering slightly but losing none of its intensity. "Whether it's commanding troops on a battlefield, negotiating treaties in the Royal Court, or balancing ledgers in a counting house. A Ferrum does not merely participate. A Ferrum excels." The implication hung heavy in the air. Excel in something, Lloyd, because you clearly aren't excelling in the traditional Ferrum way. Lloyd felt a familiar prickle of resentment, the ghost of his nineteen-year-old self chafing under the weight of expectation. But the eighty-year-old within him, the one who had been a science student, an engineer, and an army officer on Earth, saw it differently now. He saw the immense pressure on Roy Ferrum, the Arch Duke holding together vast territories, navigating treacherous political currents, and worrying about an heir who, by all conventional measures, was... lacking. He remembered brief, awkward moments from before. His father trying to teach him the basic sword stances, his own clumsy fumbling, yet the flicker of something – not quite pride, maybe hope? – in Roy’s eyes when Lloyd accidentally managed a parry that wasn't immediately suicidal. He remembered the endless stream of tutors, the expensive equipment, the subtle inquiries about his progress, all delivered with the same gruff formality. It wasn’t disdain, Lloyd realized with sudden clarity. It was fear. Fear for Lloyd's future in a world that preyed on the weak. Fear for the legacy he was supposed to carry. The business studies weren't a punishment; they were a lifeline, thrown by a man who didn't know how else to protect his strangely un-Ferrum-like son. The stern lectures weren't about disappointment in Lloyd's lack of Void Power; they were about instilling some kind of strength, any kind, that might help him survive. The revelation settled over him, replacing the old resentment with a strange mix of empathy and determination. "I understand, Father," Lloyd said, his voice steady and clear. He met his father's gaze directly, holding it. "You demand results. I will provide them. In my studies, and in managing any responsibilities you see fit to give me." And, he added silently, a spark igniting within him as he thought of the shimmering System interface, I'll provide results you haven't even conceived of. He pictured the Shop screen in his mind. Spirits. Void Powers. Upgrades. Could ‘acing Master Elmsworth’s stuffy economics class’ count as a ‘normal work’ task? How many System Coins for ‘demonstrating innovative cross-border arbitrage perspectives’ (even if accidentally attributed to the non-existent Professor Grumbaldi)? A small, almost undetectable smile touched Lloyd's lips as he returned his attention to the rapidly cooling, crest-shaped butter. Maybe this business track wouldn't be so bad after all. Especially if it funded his ascent from 'mediocre heir' to 'potentially overpowered protagonist'. First step: figure out where the library was. He had some "studying" to do. And maybe find out if Great-Uncle Theron had any loose jewels on his portrait frame. Just in case. Earth Biodata: Lloyd Ferrum ● Name: KM Evan ● Lifespan: 80 years (Lived: 2021 - 2101 AD, Earth Standard Calendar) ● Height: 6.4 ft (Approx. 195 cm) ● Education: ○ Advanced Degrees in Engineering (Mechatronics Focus). This specialized field, combining mechanical, electrical, computer, and control engineering, provided the foundation for his greatest achievement. ○ Advanced Military Education: Graduate of relevant Command & Staff Colleges, War College (necessary for achieving Major General rank). ● Occupation / Career: ○ Primary Role: Commissioned Officer, United States Army. ○ Early Career Impact: Primarily focused on advanced Research & Development (R&D) within military and associated high-tech sectors. ○ Greatest Achievement (Age 27, circa 2048): Designed and created the world's first functional Flying Mechanical Battle Suit. This groundbreaking invention revolutionized warfare and technology. ○ Later Collaboration & Recognition: The suit's capabilities were significantly enhanced through AI integration by a scientist colleague. This combined achievement earned KM Evan and his colleague the Nobel Prize (in physics) approximately 20 years after the initial invention (circa 2068). ○ Military Progression: Leveraged his unparalleled technical expertise, the strategic importance of his invention, and demonstrated leadership to rise through the ranks. ○ Peak Rank Achieved: Major General (O-8). Held senior commands in advanced weaponry divisions and technological strategy. ○ Legacy: Revered as the "Father of the Mechanical Battle Suit", acknowledging his pioneering role even as subsequent generations developed more advanced iterations of the technology. ● Key Skills & Expertise: ○ Mechatronics Engineering (Expert Level) ○ Robotics & Advanced Automation ○ Aerospace/Flight Systems Design (related to flying suit) ○ AI Integration Principles (Collaborative understanding) ○ Advanced Weapons Systems Design & Integration ○ Materials Science (Implied for suit construction) ○ Complex Systems Analysis & Problem-Solving ○ Strategic Military Planning & Leadership ○ Logistics & High-Tech Resource Management ○ High Resilience & Mental Fortitude ○ Fluent English ○ Unique: Conceptual/Linguistic understanding of the "System" interface. ● Family: Wife – 2: His first wife, an army officer like himself, passed away when he was 30. They had one child together. At age 35, he married his colleague, a scientist (both of them won the Nobel Prize), largely because of the strong bond she had formed with his first child. She is still living. Together, they have two children, and he has a total of eight grandchildren. ● Personality (Developed on Earth): Had a disciplined life due to his military life. Possessed a cynical/world-weary perspective and a dry, sarcastic sense of humor developed over a long and impactful life. ● Circumstances of Death: Died peacefully in his sleep in 2101 at age 80, likely from natural causes associated with old age.

Episode : 2

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