My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 14

Chapter : 27

Then came the tedious hours pretending to absorb Master Elmsworth's droning lecture on… something about grain storage logistics. Lloyd spent most of it mentally redesigning the Ducal granaries based on Earth-standard silo technology and calculating potential spoilage reduction percentages. He earned no System Coins for it, sadly. Apparently, internal monologues on agricultural engineering didn't qualify.

Evening descended once more, blanketing the estate in darkness. And once more, Lloyd found himself exiled to the sofa, the oil lamp lit, the same heavy, leather-bound volume open on his lap. The graphite stick was back in action, scratching away in the margins. Same scene, different night.

Across the room, in the shadowed expanse of the bed, Rosa stirred again. Not just a flicker this time, but a distinct shift. He didn't look up, sensing the change in the room's subtle energy field. He kept his eyes fixed on a particularly dense chapter regarding guild membership inheritance laws.

Okay, focus, Lloyd. Don't get distracted by the potentially homicidal Ice Queen noticing your weird study habits.

But he could feel her attention. It wasn't the crushing weight of her Spirit Pressure, thank the gods, but a focused, almost analytical awareness directed his way. He could practically hear the logical gears turning in her mind. Observation: Subject engaged in prolonged study of single text. Variable: Text appears mundane ('Guild Commerce'). Anomaly: Duration and intensity inconsistent with subject's previously observed academic diligence. Hypothesis: Purpose unclear. (It was Lloyd jokes)

The silence stretched, but this time it felt different. Less empty, more… charged. Like the pause before a question is asked.

Then, her voice, cool and crisp, cut through the quiet.

"What is that?"

It wasn't shouted, not laced with the fury of yesterday, nor the sharp impatience of the morning before. Just a direct, almost clinical inquiry. Delivered, he noted with mild amusement, without her even bothering to turn her head fully towards him. Efficiency, even in curiosity.

Lloyd looked up, letting a hint of mild surprise show. An initiation of conversation? Unprecedented. "This?" He tapped the cover of the book. "Business studies. Specifically, local guild structures and established trade theories. Thrilling read, I assure you." His tone was light, deliberately downplaying the intensity of his focus.

He waited, expecting the conversation to end there. A grunt of acknowledgment, perhaps, followed by a return to the usual frosty silence.

Rosa didn't respond immediately. He heard another faint rustle of sheets, perhaps her adjusting her position slightly. Then, her voice again, still cool, still detached.

"Study is necessary."

It was a statement of fact, delivered with the finality of a mathematical proof. A standard platitude, likely offered more to conclude the interaction than to genuinely encourage him. The unspoken assumption hung in the air: he was dutifully absorbing the required knowledge, however dull, like any responsible heir should. Memorizing rules, understanding precedents. The proper, accepted way.

Lloyd felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips, the eighty-year-old cynic enjoying the setup. He resisted the urge to chuckle aloud. Oh, this was too good.

"Necessary, yes," he agreed easily, matching her calm tone. He paused, letting the agreement settle for a beat before gently pulling the rug out from under her assumption. "But I'm not really reading it, Rosa."

He saw her head finally turn fully towards him in the dim light, though her expression remained shrouded in shadow.

"Not in the way you mean," he clarified, his voice dropping slightly, conspiratorially. He tapped a heavily marked section of the page with his graphite stick. "I'm marking where the theories are outdated." He paused again, adding the final, crucial piece. "Or just plain wrong."

Silence. Not the earlier tense silence, nor the merely quiet silence. This was a silence born of pure, unadulterated confusion.

He could see her face more clearly now as she leaned forward slightly, peering at him through the gloom. The usual icy composure was still there, the carefully controlled mask firmly in place. But behind it, something had shifted. Her brows, usually smooth or drawn together in a frown of regal disapproval, were now pinched in a slight, questioning furrow. Her dark eyes, narrowed slightly, weren't conveying anger or disdain, but a look of intense, analytical puzzlement. Like a master mathematician encountering an equation that simply refused to balance, defying all known axioms.

Wrong? Her expression seemed to scream silently. Marking established texts as… wrong? Why? What is the utility in finding fault? One learns accepted principles. One applies them. One does not waste energy dissecting foundational texts for theoretical flaws.

Chapter : 28

It wasn't shock like seeing the cabinet sliced in two. It wasn't anger like hearing his ill-advised compliment. This was different. This was a disruption of her core logic, her understanding of how the world, how knowledge, was supposed to function. It simply did not compute. The mediocre, unimpressive Lloyd Ferrum, spending hours meticulously finding errors in established economic theory? It was inefficient. It was illogical. It was… baffling.

Lloyd held her confused gaze, the faint smile lingering on his lips. He offered no further explanation, letting her grapple with the anomaly. He had tossed another pebble into the still, icy pond of their relationship, and the ripples were spreading in ways he hadn't entirely predicted.

He watched the confusion war with the ingrained coldness on her face, wondering which would win out. He didn't know what errors he was truly looking for beyond satisfying his own intellectual curiosity and maybe, just maybe, finding exploitable loopholes or hidden opportunities this backward world hadn't considered. But confusing Rosa Siddik? That, he decided, might be a worthwhile pursuit in itself.

He returned his gaze to the book, leaving her adrift in her silent, logical bewilderment. The scratching of his graphite stick resumed, a small, persistent sound challenging the foundations of her ordered world.

The pre-dawn chill clung to the opulent fabrics of the sofa, a familiar unwelcome companion to Lloyd Ferrum as consciousness reluctantly returned. He blinked, the intricate patterns on the high ceiling slowly swimming into focus. Day four. Sofa: still lumpy. Potpourri scent: still vaguely offensive. Status quo: depressingly stable, at least regarding his sleeping arrangements.

With a sigh that was becoming as routine as breathing – sigh number… who was even counting anymore? – he swung his legs over the side. The floor was cold beneath his bare feet. First order of business, before facing tutors, potentially grumpy fathers, or the lingering ghost of yesterday’s intellectual sparring: Operation Canine Cuisine Upgrade.

He reached for the small, smooth Spirit Stone tucked securely within his tunic, channeling the now-familiar trickle of energy. The air beside the sofa shimmered, coalesced, and Fang materialized.

Lloyd paused mid-reach for the waiting platter of chicken. He stared.

Okay, hold on.

This wasn't just better. This was… transformation. The scrawny, hesitant wolf-dog hybrid of three days ago was gone, replaced by something sleek, powerful, and radiating vitality. Fang’s grey coat wasn't just clean; it possessed a deep, healthy lustre, hinting at silver highlights in the dim pre-dawn light. Muscles rippled subtly beneath the fur as he stretched, a fluid movement full of latent power. His ribs were a distant memory, replaced by a lean, well-defined torso. The slight droop to his ears was gone, replaced by alert, attentive points that swiveled slightly, tracking the faintest sounds. He carried himself with a quiet confidence, a predator’s awareness.

And his eyes… those large, intelligent brown eyes fixed on Lloyd, no longer held bewildered confusion, but a sharp, unnerving focus. There was a depth there, a flicker of something ancient and knowing that sent a faint shiver down Lloyd’s spine.

Four days of chicken did this? Lloyd’s internal eighty-year-old scientist scoffed. Impossible. The protein uptake, the cellular regeneration… the rate is exponential. This isn't just good nutrition; this is like… injecting him with concentrated wolf growth hormone laced with unicorn tears.

He crouched down, cautiously extending a hand. Fang leaned into the touch, accepting the scratch behind his ears with a low rumble that vibrated with surprising power. It wasn’t the pathetic whine of a starved pup; it was the contented purr of a well-fed predator.

What was driving this? Was it simply the activation of his Spirit bond, jump-started by consistent attention and decent food, finally allowing Fang’s true potential to surface? Or was the System involved beyond the task itself? Lloyd quickly checked his mental interface. Still 6 SC. The task was still listed as ongoing: 'Feed the wolf chicken for 7 days'. No mention of passive buffs or accelerated growth.

Maybe it’s innate, Lloyd mused, scratching Fang’s surprisingly thick neck ruff. Maybe he wasn't just a 'weak wolf' Spirit after all. Maybe he's something… more? Just suppressed? And the consistent energy flow, even my pathetic trickle, combined with actual food, is unlocking it? The thought was both exciting and slightly terrifying. If Fang was capable of this kind of hidden potential, what else in this world wasn't as it seemed? What other assumptions was he making based on his flawed first life?

He tried to subtly gauge Fang's power signature. It felt… dense. Solid. Far more potent than he remembered any newly Manifested spirit feeling. Still firmly in the Manifestation stage, yes, but pushing right up against the upper limits, humming with contained energy.