My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 138

Chapter: 275

“The core problem, my lords,” (she already addressed Mei Jing with the same respectful, professional title) “is not just managing the queue. It’s managing the expectation.” She tapped a clean sheet of parchment. “The nobles feel their status is being ignored. The merchants feel their wealth is being dismissed. The commoners feel they are being shut out entirely. We need to address all three, while maintaining the brand’s aura of exclusivity.”

She then, to Lloyd and Mei Jing’s astonishment, laid out a plan of such simple, empathetic brilliance that it left them momentarily speechless.

“We create three separate lists,” Tisha explained, her voice quick, confident. “The ‘Patron’s List’ for the high nobility. The ‘Merchant’s Guild List’ for established traders. And the ‘Citizen’s Lottery’ for everyone else.” She outlined the system. The Patron’s list would be handled by appointment only, via discreet missives, preserving their sense of status and avoiding the indignity of a public queue. The Merchant’s list would be a standard, orderly, first-come-first-served queue, respecting their commercial sensibilities.

“And the Lottery,” she said, her eyes sparkling, “is the key to winning the hearts of the common people. Each day, we will draw ten names from those who have registered. They will not have to wait in line. They will be treated like nobility for a day, escorted in, offered a complimentary hard bar of soap (if a perfect bar is made in the future) as a token of our esteem, and given the chance to purchase a single dispenser. It will cost them a significant portion of their savings, yes. But the chance to acquire it, the story they will tell… it will make AURA not just a symbol of noble luxury, but a dream, an aspiration, for everyone. It turns their frustration into hope.”

Lloyd and Mei Jing stared at her. It was brilliant. It addressed every single one of their customer relations problems with a solution that was fair, efficient, and psychologically masterful. It preserved the brand’s exclusivity while simultaneously making it feel… accessible. Democratic, even.

“Tisha,” Lloyd said finally, a slow smile spreading across his face, a profound sense of relief and admiration washing over him. “That is… absolutely, comprehensively, perfect.”

Mei Jing nodded in agreement, her sharp, analytical mind clearly impressed. “She has not just solved our logistical problem, my lord. She has just laid the foundation for our long-term market expansion. She has given the entire Duchy a reason to love us, even while they are desperately waiting to give us their money.”

Tisha simply beamed, her hazel eyes twinkling. “Happy customers make for a healthy business, my lords. It’s the first rule of the Gilded Flagon. And,” she added with a wink, “free honey-cakes never hurt either.”

Lloyd laughed, a genuine, unrestrained sound of pure relief. He had his R&D team. He had his marketing general. And now, he had his diplomatic corps. The empire was no longer just a vision; it was a fully-staffed, well-oiled, and increasingly charismatic, machine. The future, he thought, looked very bright indeed. And thanks to Tisha, considerably less chaotic.

—

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The success of AURA was not a quiet ripple; it was a tidal wave, and its effects were felt far beyond the chaotic, money-drenched gates of the Elixir Manufactory. It sent echoes through the cold, stately corridors of the Ferrum Estate itself, altering perceptions, challenging assumptions, and forcing a fundamental recalibration of one Lloyd Ferrum.

Arch Duke Roy Ferrum, a man who typically viewed commerce as a necessary but slightly distasteful aspect of ruling, found himself uncharacteristically, almost obsessively, invested in the daily operations of his son’s soap venture. The stern ruler who usually demanded reports on troop movements and border disputes now demanded daily financial summaries and production forecasts from a perpetually ecstatic Master Elmsworth.

The old economics tutor had practically taken up residence in the ducal study, his usual dry texts replaced by sprawling charts covered in his spidery, charcoal-smudged script. He would arrive each morning, his face flushed with the fervor of a true believer, and launch into detailed, almost breathless, monologues.

“Your Grace! The cost-per-unit for the hard bars has decreased by three percent this week, thanks to a new bulk tallow contract Ken Park secured! The profit margin is now approaching an astonishing seven hundred percent!”

“The waiting list for the dispensers has grown by another hundred names, Your Grace! At this rate, the pre-order revenue alone will eclipse the annual income from the southern timber concessions by the end of the season!”

“I have taken the liberty of drafting a preliminary proposal for establishing exclusive AURA distribution franchises in the neighboring duchies, Your Grace! The potential for licensing fees is… well, it is a thing of pure, economic beauty!”

Chapter: 276

Roy would listen to it all in his usual stoic silence, his face an unreadable mask of granite. He would offer only curt nods, ask sharp, probing questions about logistical bottlenecks or potential guild interference, and betray no overt emotion. But Lloyd, who had been summoned to several of these meetings to provide operational context, saw the truth in his father’s eyes. He saw the keen, intense interest, the subtle, almost invisible, gleam of satisfaction as Elmsworth detailed another record-breaking day of sales. The Arch Duke’s approval was silent, unspoken, but it was absolute. His son, the boy he had worried over, the heir he had thought a disappointment, was not just building a business; he was building an asset, a new pillar of Ferrum prosperity. And Roy Ferrum, the pragmatist, the ruler, understood and respected that above all else.

The echoes reached even the hallowed, competitive halls of the Bathelham Royal Academy. Jothi Ferrum, trying to focus on her advanced Void manipulation studies and the intricate political maneuvering of the student council, found herself besieged by whispers. Her brother, the one whose academic disgrace she had worked so tirelessly to overcome, was suddenly… a topic of conversation. A topic of bizarre, almost mythical, conversation.

“Jothi, is it true?” a fellow noblewoman, the daughter of a Northern Baron, had asked her over lunch. “My mother wrote to me. She says your brother has invented some kind of… liquid silk? A cleansing elixir that has the entire capital in a frenzy?”

“I heard,” another chimed in, “that he fought in the Summit tournament and defeated your Cousin Rayan with a single, contemptuous push! And that his spirit is a lightning wolf that sings like a thousand birds!”

“My father’s man-at-arms swears he saw Lord Lloyd walking back from Galla Forest, covered in grime but looking completely unconcerned, and that the very next day, the legendary Guardian Serpent of Galla was reported… missing. Presumed vaporized.”

Jothi listened to the swirling, increasingly fantastical rumors with a profound, deep, and utterly bewildering sense of confusion. Lloyd. Her brother. The quiet, awkward, sausage-obsessed boy who she had last seen looking utterly terrified at the prospect of fighting in a simple tournament. Now he was a genius inventor? A legendary warrior? A monster-slayer?

It didn’t make sense. The data points refused to align. She had witnessed his surprising competence in the tournament, yes. The Steel Blood, the lightning wolf… they were undeniable, shocking revelations. But to have leveraged that into this… this commercial and social phenomenon? To have the capital’s most powerful noblewomen whispering his name with a mixture of awe and desperate envy? It defied all her preconceived notions, her entire lifetime of observing him as the family’s resident disappointment. Her perception of him, once a solid, unshakeable pillar of disdainful pity, was now a fractured, crumbling ruin, and she didn’t know what to build in its place. She found herself thinking of him more and more, not with anger, but with a strange, unsettling, almost frustrating, curiosity. Who was this new brother? And where had he been all her life?

But perhaps the most significant, and certainly the most subtle, echo of AURA’s success resonated within the quiet, icy confines of Lloyd’s own suite.

He had made a habit of leaving a fresh dispenser of the Royal Rosemary elixir on her side of the room each week, a silent, unspoken offering. He never commented on it. She never acknowledged it. It was just… there. A fragrant, rosemary-scented diplomat in their domestic cold war. He had no idea if she even used it, or if she simply had her own handmaiden dispose of it with a disdainful sniff.

Then, one evening, several weeks after the launch, as Lloyd was reviewing some of Alaric’s meticulous production logs, there was a soft, hesitant knock on his study door (he had commandeered a small antechamber for his personal work, a space blessedly free of potpourri and sofas).

It was Jasmin. She looked pale, nervous, her hands twisting the corner of her clean apron.

“My lord,” she began, her voice barely a whisper, her eyes wide with a mixture of terror and awe. “Apologies for the intrusion. But… a message. From… from Lady Rosa’s personal handmaiden.”

Lloyd’s eyebrow arched in surprise. A message from Rosa’s staff? This was new. “What is it, Jasmin?”

Jasmin swallowed hard, as if the words themselves were heavy. “The handmaiden, my lord… she… she discreetly informed me that… that Lady Rosa’s personal dispenser… the one in her private washroom… is empty.”

Lloyd stared at her, his mind momentarily blank. Empty?