My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 11

Chapter : 21

The sound echoed sharply in the relatively quiet street. Lloyd hadn't held back. His hand connected squarely with the leader's cheek, snapping the youth's head to the side with surprising force. A bright red handprint instantly bloomed on the stunned bully's face.

Silence descended. The two flanking hoodlums gaped, jaws slack. The harassed girls stared, wide-eyed. Even a few passersby stopped, drawn by the sudden violence. The leader slowly turned his head back, eyes wide with disbelief and burgeoning fury, one hand gingerly touching his stinging cheek.

"You… you hit me?" he stammered, incredulous.

Lloyd calmly lowered his hand, flexing his fingers slightly. Adrenaline spiked, but he kept his voice level, adopting the slightly condescending tone of a disappointed teacher addressing unruly students. A tone perfected over decades of dealing with obstinate lab assistants, army juniors and clueless interns on Earth.

"Indeed," Lloyd confirmed coolly. "Consider it a practical lesson in cause and effect. The cause? Your deplorable behaviour towards these young ladies. The effect?" He gestured towards the leader's rapidly swelling cheek. "That."

He took a step closer, ignoring the leader's sputtering rage and the nervous shifting of the other two. "Furthermore," Lloyd continued, launching into the bonus objective with relish, "allow me to elucidate on the fundamental principles of social decorum within a civilized society."

He clasped his hands behind his back, adopting a lecturing posture. "Firstly, impeding the progress of fellow citizens, particularly those clearly weaker or attempting to avoid confrontation, is indicative of poor breeding and a profound lack of character. Secondly, verbal harassment, while perhaps not drawing blood, inflicts wounds upon dignity and safety, marking the perpetrator as little more than a boorish lout."

He fixed his gaze on the stunned leader. "Thirdly, and perhaps most pertinently to your immediate future, choosing to engage in such reprehensible activities directly in front of identifiable members of the Ducal household," he subtly inclined his head towards the stoic Ken Park, whose gaze alone seemed to make the hoodlums shrink, "demonstrates a level of foolishness bordering on the suicidal. Do you comprehend the potential ramifications?"

The three youths stood frozen, mouths opening and closing like stranded fish. The leader's fury was rapidly being replaced by dawning fear as Lloyd's words, coupled with Ken Park's silent menace, sank in. They knew exactly who Lloyd was, and more importantly, who Ken Park was. Retaliation was unthinkable.

Murmurs rippled through the small crowd of onlookers. Shock gave way to hesitant nods, even a few quiet words of approval.

"Served him right!"

"About time someone taught those pests a lesson."

"Young Lord Ferrum? Didn't expect that from him…"

"Did you hear that lecture? Sounded like my old tutor!"

Lloyd surveyed the scene – the terrified girls now slipping away gratefully, the humiliated hoodlums practically vibrating with impotent rage and fear, the surprised but approving onlookers. Mission accomplished.

He gave the leader one last, pitying look. "I suggest you find a more constructive, and considerably less hazardous, way to occupy your time. Good day."

Without waiting for a reply, Lloyd turned crisply and resumed his walk towards Master Elmsworth's establishment, Ken falling into step silently behind him.

As they moved away, the system notification popped up again, confirming his success.

[Task Complete: Public Nuisance Correction]

[Reward Issued: 2 System Coins (SC)]

[Current Balance: 5 SC]

[Note: Eloquent lecturing skills noted. System reminds User that physical correction is often faster.]

Lloyd permitted himself another small, internal chuckle. Five coins. Halfway there. And all it took was feeding a wolf, surviving his wife's wrath, slicing up furniture, and slapping a bully while delivering a pompous lecture. This journey back through his own life was proving stranger, and potentially more lucrative, than he could ever have imagined. Now, about those export duties…

The lecture hall designated for Master Elmsworth’s exclusive tutelage was precisely as Lloyd remembered: oppressively quiet, smelling faintly of old parchment and beeswax polish, and dominated by a large, dark oak table scarred by generations of bored noble youths doodling arcane symbols or insults about their tutors. Sunlight struggled to penetrate the thick, leaded glass windows, casting long, dusty beams across the room.

Master Elmsworth, known colloquially (and never to his face) as Master Elm, stood waiting near a large slate board covered in neat, spidery chalk figures. He was a thin man with thinning grey hair combed severely across his scalp, spectacles perched precariously on the bridge of his sharp nose. He radiated an aura of dry intellectualism and barely concealed impatience, like a walking, talking textbook perpetually annoyed at being opened. A few other young nobles, looking varying degrees of uninterested, were already seated.

Ken Park, ever the silent sentinel, remained stationed outside the heavy oak door, his presence an unspoken reminder of Lloyd’s status, even if that status felt decidedly shaky most days.

Chapter : 22

"Ah, Young Lord Ferrum," Master Elm greeted, his voice as dry as autumn leaves. There was a faint emphasis on the 'Young' that hinted at condescension. "Punctual. Commendable. Please, take your seat. Today, we continue our examination of estate resource management – specifically, maximizing yields from the Ducal holdings in the Whisperwood."

Lloyd slid into his usual chair, nodding politely. Whisperwood timber. Right. He remembered his father mentioning it just yesterday morning. He settled in, projecting an air of attentiveness he didn't entirely feel, but his mind was already working, connecting the dots.

Master Elm tapped the slate board with a long, bony finger. "As we've established," he began, his voice droning slightly, "the primary driver of profit from timber resources is calculated thusly: Total volume of timber extracted," he wrote Vt on the board, "multiplied by the prevailing market price per cubic measure," he added Pm, "minus the combined costs of logging labour and transportation to the nearest trade hub," finishing with - (Cl + Ct). He underlined the equation: Profit = (Vt * Pm) - (Cl + Ct).

"The key," Master Elm continued, peering over his spectacles at the assembled youths, "is twofold. Firstly, maximizing Vt – efficient extraction. Clear-felling designated sectors provides the highest immediate volume. Secondly, securing stability through long-term contracts with major timber guilds or consortiums. This guarantees a fixed Pm, insulating the estate from minor market fluctuations and ensuring predictable revenue streams. Predictability," he emphasized, rapping the board again, "is the bedrock of sound financial management."

He droned on about established contracts with the Royal Shipwrights Guild and the Southern Provinces Construction Consortium, locked in for the next ten years at a price Lloyd suspected, even without seeing the figures, was probably mediocre at best. It was the epitome of safe, traditional, unimaginative thinking. Maximize immediate extraction, lock in a guaranteed (if low) price, rinse, repeat. It was the economic equivalent of driving with the handbrake firmly engaged.

Lloyd listened, years of Earth-based economics, resource management theory, and technological advancement bubbling up inside him. He saw the flaws, the missed opportunities, glaringly obvious from his perspective. He saw the 'predictability' Elm prized as stagnation, a slow bleed of potential profit sacrificed on the altar of 'how things have always been done'.

He waited for a suitable pause, then raised his hand politely.

Master Elm stopped mid-sentence, blinking owlishly. "Yes, Lord Ferrum? A question?" His tone implied questions were interruptions to the smooth flow of established wisdom.

"Indeed, Master Elmsworth," Lloyd began, keeping his voice respectful but clear. "Regarding the profit calculation… it seems to focus solely on the value of the raw timber at the point of extraction."

Elm frowned slightly. "Naturally. That is the commodity being sold."

"But," Lloyd pressed gently, "is the raw log the only potential product? Consider the transportation cost, Ct. We are paying to transport the entire log – bark, sapwood, unusable knots, branches – only for much of it to be discarded or used as cheap firewood at the destination."

Elm adjusted his spectacles. "That is the nature of the trade, young lord. Waste is inevitable."

"Perhaps," Lloyd conceded mildly. "But what if we reduced that waste before transport? What if sawmills were established within or adjacent to the Whisperwood?"

A few of the other students stirred, looking mildly interested. This was slightly less boring than contract law.

Elm sniffed dismissively. "Sawmills? An unnecessary expense! Infrastructure, specialized labour… complexity! We are timber merchants, not carpenters."

"Are we?" Lloyd countered, leaning forward slightly. "Or are we resource managers? Establishing basic sawmills near the source allows us to transport processed lumber – planks, beams, standardized sizes – instead of raw logs. This drastically reduces the weight and volume being transported, significantly lowering Ct. Furthermore, the 'waste' – the sawdust, the offcuts – could potentially fuel the mills themselves, or be processed into charcoal briquettes, another potential revenue stream, however minor."

Elm’s frown deepened. "Preposterous theorizing! The upfront investment…"

"An investment," Lloyd interjected smoothly, "that could yield higher net profits within a few years by selling a higher value product – processed lumber demands a better price than raw logs – while simultaneously reducing transportation costs. We shift from merely selling volume to selling utility."

He warmed to his theme, the eighty-year-old engineer and strategist surfacing. "And what about Vt, the volume extracted? Clear-felling provides immediate volume, yes, but devastates the forest floor, hinders regrowth, and depletes the resource entirely within decades. What then, Master Elmsworth? Do we simply move on to the next forest until the entire Duchy is barren?"

Elm sputtered, colour rising in his thin cheeks. "Resource management dictates maximizing current yield! Future generations will manage future resources!"