My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 18

Chapter : 35

Roy didn't waste time on formalities. His voice was flat, sharp as honed steel. "This morning, Lloyd. Weaver's Alley. Three individuals were severely injured. Burns consistent with extreme heat, possibly… specialized application." He let the implication hang heavy in the air. "Reports indicate you were present immediately prior to their… incapacitation."

He paused, his eyes boring into Lloyd's. "Were you responsible for injuring three employees loyal to this family, Lloyd?"

Employees loyal to the family? The phrasing struck Lloyd instantly. Not 'street thugs', not 'local nuisances'. Employees. Whose employees? He glanced briefly at Rubel, whose expression remained one of polite concern, utterly devoid of connection to the injured parties. The pieces clicked into place with chilling speed.

Ah. A cold understanding dawned. Not random bullies seeking revenge for a slap. Rubel's pawns. Sent specifically to provoke me, to test me, perhaps to lure Ken Park into revealing himself or even to create an incident that could be spun against me, against Father. Their bravery wasn't stupidity; it was obedience. And their 'loyalty' wasn't to the family as a whole, but to Rubel's faction.

This changed everything. It wasn't just pest control anymore; it was disrupting his uncle's machinations. A grim smile touched Lloyd's lips internally. Good.

He met his father's gaze directly, his voice calm and firm. "Yes, Father. I incapacitated them." No denial, no equivocation.

Roy’s expression didn’t change, but Lloyd saw a flicker deep in his eyes. Confirmation.

"And why," Roy pressed, his voice dangerously quiet, "did you deem such extreme measures necessary?"

"Because," Lloyd stated clearly, "they were harassing young women yesterday. Because today, despite my warning and intervention, they ambushed me in an alley with clear intent to cause harm. They chose confrontation. They received consequence." He paused, letting the weight of his next words sink in. "And should they, or anyone else, engage in such behaviour again, be it harassing innocents or attempting to assault me, I will deliver the same consequence without hesitation."

Before Roy could respond, Rubel Ferrum stepped forward slightly, his expression shifting to one of grave concern, smoothly interjecting himself into the conversation. "My dear brother, nephew," he began, his voice dripping with false sympathy, "perhaps there has been a misunderstanding?"

He turned his 'concerned' gaze on Lloyd. "Nephew, are you certain of their intentions? My sources," he gestured vaguely, implying a network of reliable informants, "suggest these young men were merely… assisting the young ladies day before yesterday. Offering directions, perhaps ensuring their safety in a rough area. A misunderstanding, easily misinterpreted by an outsider."

Lloyd nearly choked on the audacity. Assisting? By cornering them and sneering?

Rubel pressed on smoothly. "And today? Perhaps they merely wished to speak with you, nephew. To clarify yesterday's unfortunate incident. And in your… haste? Your understandable apprehension? You lashed out without proper judgment, inflicting grievous harm." He shook his head sadly. "A tragic overreaction."

He turned back to Roy, his expression earnest. "Brother, I took the liberty of locating witnesses. Individuals present nearby during that day's initial encounter. Perhaps their testimony can shed light, clear up this unfortunate confusion." He gestured towards the door. "With your permission?"

Roy hesitated for only a fraction of a second before giving a curt nod. Rubel opened the study door, and five figures shuffled nervously into the imposing room. Lloyd recognized them instantly. They had been among the onlookers yesterday, lurking near the edges of the small crowd that had gathered after the slap. Their faces were pale, their eyes darting nervously between Roy, Rubel, and Lloyd. They looked like what they were: low-level informants or easily intimidated citizens, bought or coerced.

"Please," Rubel addressed them gently, his tone reassuring, coaxing. "Tell the Arch Duke what you witnessed yesterday near Weaver's Alley. Did you see these young men," he subtly indicated the direction of the alley, "harassing those young ladies?"

The first witness, a thin man with shifty eyes, shook his head vigorously. "N-no, Your Excellency, Your Grace! They was just talkin' to 'em! Friendly like!"

"Helping them, I think!" added a stout woman beside him, twisting her apron nervously. "Looked like they was just offerin' help!"

The other three mumbled agreement, painting a picture of innocent interaction, of helpful youths tragically misunderstood by the aggressive young lord. They avoided Lloyd’s gaze entirely.

Rubel turned back to Roy, his expression a mask of vindicated sorrow. "You see, brother? A simple misunderstanding, escalated tragically. Lloyd, nephew," he fixed his gaze on Lloyd again, the underlying message clear: I have witnesses. I have control. Your word against theirs. "Surely now you see your error?"

And then, Lloyd started to laugh.

Chapter : 36

It wasn't a chuckle. It wasn't a wry smile. It started low, a rumbling in his chest, then erupted – a full-throated, almost uncontrollable peal of laughter, echoing strangely in the heavy silence of the study. It wasn't mirthful; it was manic, bordering on hysterical, laced with a chilling, absolute certainty that bordered on madness.

He laughed until tears pricked the corners of his eyes, until his shoulders shook, ignoring the stunned, bewildered expressions on the faces of his father, his uncle, and the five terrified witnesses.

Roy Ferrum stared, his usual stern composure visibly rattled for the first time since Lloyd could remember. This reaction was so utterly unexpected, so wildly inappropriate to the gravity of the situation, that it momentarily short-circuited his analytical mind.

Rubel’s smooth facade finally cracked. His eyes narrowed, suspicion replacing the feigned concern. A deep frown creased his brow. "Nephew!" he snapped, his voice sharp with annoyance and dawning unease. "What is the meaning of this display? Are you attempting to deflect blame? To hide behind the Arch Duke's authority with this… this madness?"

Lloyd’s laughter subsided gradually, replaced by a wide, unnerving grin that held no warmth, only cold, sharp amusement. He wiped a tear from his eye with the back of his hand, his gaze locking onto his uncle’s narrowing eyes.

Who do you think I am? The thought screamed silently in his mind, fueled by eighty years of experience crammed into this nineteen-year-old body. You think I’m just some naive boy you can manipulate with cheap tricks and terrified witnesses? You think you’re dealing with the same weakling you sidelined and plotted against before?

He remembered staff meetings that felt like shark tanks, interrogations under pressure simulators, battlefield command where a single wrong assessment meant catastrophic failure. He remembered sorting truth from lies based on micro-expressions, inconsistencies, the subtle tells of deception honed over decades of high-stakes interaction. Rubel’s game was transparent, amateurish by comparison.

I was a Major General, you scheming bastard, his internal voice spat with cold fury. I commanded divisions. I analyzed intelligence reports that would make your head spin. I broke men far tougher and smarter than these pathetic puppets you dragged in here.

He took a deep, calming breath, pushing the rage back down, letting the cold amusement surface again. He turned his gaze from Rubel to his father, his expression sobering, becoming serious, earnest.

"Father," Lloyd said, his voice clear, steady, devoid of the earlier manic energy but ringing with absolute confidence. "This is a fabrication. A poorly constructed one." He gestured dismissively towards the five trembling witnesses. "These people are either bought or threatened. Their testimony is worthless."

He met his father's intense, searching gaze. "Give me one day, Father. Twenty-four hours." He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping but losing none of its conviction. "Tomorrow, at this same time, I will return to this study. And I will prove my innocence and expose the truth behind this entire incident. Unequivocally."

Before Rubel could sputter a protest, before he could argue against granting such leeway, Roy Ferrum acted. He raised a hand, silencing his brother instantly. He studied Lloyd for a long, intense moment, his gaze probing, assessing the unexpected confidence, the unwavering certainty in his son’s eyes. Was it bluff? Arrogance? Or something else entirely? Something… real?

Against all established precedent, against the weight of the 'evidence' presented, Roy Ferrum made his decision.

"One day," Roy stated, his voice flat, betraying nothing. "Twenty-four hours. You will present your proof here, tomorrow. Until then, this matter is suspended." He turned his gaze pointedly towards Rubel, a silent command to drop the issue. "Viscount. Witnesses. You are dismissed."

Rubel Ferrum stared, momentarily speechless, thwarted by Roy’s unexpected ruling. He shot Lloyd a look brimming with frustration and suspicion before schooling his features back into a mask of polite acquiescence. He bowed stiffly to Roy, ushered the terrified witnesses out, and departed, the slam of the study door echoing slightly louder than necessary.

Lloyd remained seated, meeting his father's impenetrable gaze across the desk. He had bought himself time. Now, he had twenty-four hours to dismantle his uncle's scheme and deliver the proof he'd promised. The game, he thought with a surge of cold, fierce determination, was truly afoot.

----

The heavy oak door of the Arch Duke's study clicked shut behind Lloyd, the sound echoing slightly in the sudden quiet of the corridor. It felt like emerging from a high-pressure chamber, the air outside thick but breathable compared to the condensed tension within. He stood for a moment, letting the adrenaline hum fade, replaced by the cold, clear focus of tactical necessity. One day. Twenty-four hours. Rubel had overplayed his hand, relying on flimsy testimony and the assumption of Lloyd’s continued incompetence. A fatal miscalculation.