My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 1

Chapter : 1

Lloyd Ferrum, Arch Duke's heir, let out a sigh. Not just any sigh, mind you. This was a sigh that carried the weight of roughly 105 years of existence crammed rather uncomfortably into the body of a 19-year-old. It was his tenth such sigh since waking up on this ridiculously plush, yet undeniably not-a-bed, sofa.

Okay, Lloyd, deep breaths, he thought, mimicking the calming techniques he’d learned during a brief, regrettable yoga phase in his eighties on Earth. In... and out. Just like Mrs. Henderson taught before she tried to sell me that ‘miracle’ kale powder.

He pushed himself up slightly, the unfamiliar (yet horribly familiar) tautness of youthful muscles protesting mildly. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the bedroom, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air like tiny, indifferent fairies. This was his room. His room in the Ferrum Estate, in the capital city of the Arch Duchy, on the planet Riverio.

A planet he had died on at the tender age of twenty-five.

Right, his internal monologue continued, picking up speed like a runaway minecart. So, recap: Born Lloyd Ferrum. Lived 25 years. Died. Cause? Still fuzzy, probably something embarrassing or pointlessly heroic. Reborn on Earth. Lived a full, technologically advanced, magically devoid 80 years. Had coffee, discovered sarcasm, learned about taxes, even had grandkids who thought I was ancient history. Died peacefully in my sleep, surrounded by… well, mostly medical equipment, but the sentiment was there.

He paused his mental rambling. And now…

He glanced around the opulent room again. The heavy velvet curtains, the polished dark wood furniture, the faint scent of expensive potpourri.

…Now I’m back. Nineteen years old. On the sofa.

He risked a peek over the armrest. There, cocooned in a mountain of silken sheets and blankets on the enormous four-poster bed, was the reason for his current seating arrangement. Rosa Siddik. His wife.

Newlywed wife, he corrected himself mentally with another, slightly more pained sigh. Married for precisely one week.

One week. And seven nights spent contemplating the intricate patterns on the ceiling from this very sofa.

The memory of their wedding night resurfaced, unbidden and unwelcome, like a tax audit. He’d been nervous, sure. It was an arranged marriage, a political joining of the powerful Ferrum family and the respectable, if less influential, Viscount Siddik's family. He hadn't expected storybook romance, but maybe… politeness? A shared awkward giggle?

Instead, he’d entered the room, heart thumping a nervous rhythm against his ribs, probably looking like a startled goose.

(Flashback - Wedding Night)

"Rosa…?" he'd ventured, his voice cracking slightly. Nineteen-year-old Lloyd had not been the suave operator his eighty-year-old Earth self occasionally imagined he was.

She was already in bed, sitting bolt upright, clutching the covers like a shield. Her eyes, wide and surprisingly fierce for a seventeen-year-old girl who looked like she might break if the wind blew too hard, fixed on him.

"Don't!" The word was sharp, cutting through the heavy silence of the room. Her voice trembled, but not, he suspected, entirely from fear. There was anger there too. "Don't come near me."

Lloyd froze, halfway between the door and the bed. "But… it's… you know." He gestured vaguely, feeling heat creep up his neck. "Our wedding night." Smooth. Real smooth.

"I know perfectly well what night it is!" she snapped, pulling the covers higher. "Just… stay over there. Please." The 'please' sounded forced, like a last-minute addition taught by a protocol tutor. "The bed is mine."

He blinked. "Mine? But it's… our bed?"

"It's my side," she clarified, gesturing emphatically to the entire mattress. "You… find somewhere else." Her gaze flickered towards the sofa against the far wall. "There."

Nineteen-year-old Lloyd, bless his cotton socks, had been completely flummoxed. Faced with a determined, if slightly teary-eyed, teenage bride barricaded in bed, his repertoire of responses had apparently been limited to stunned silence and retreat.

"Oh," he'd managed. "Right. The sofa. Good idea. Very… spacious." He’d backed away slowly, feeling utterly ridiculous.

(End Flashback)

Spacious, current Lloyd scoffed internally, rubbing a crick in his neck. And lumpy.

He remembered his past self’s rationale: ‘She’s young, probably scared. Give her space. Be a gentleman.’ He snorted softly. Right. A gentleman. Or maybe just a coward who didn’t know what else to do. For three long years in that first timeline, until his untimely demise, the sofa had remained his primary domain within this room. The last three years of his life, however, were spent on the battlefield. He’d never pushed, never demanded. He’d just… coexisted awkwardly with the girl who shared his name but not his bed.

And look where that got me, he thought grimly. Dead at twenty-five. He didn't know the exact cause, the memories around his death were hazy, like a poorly tuned television screen. But he knew it hadn't been from old age or a peaceful surrender. It had been sudden, violent, and likely connected to the turbulent politics and power struggles inherent in this world. Struggles his timidity had left him woefully unprepared for.

He sighed again. That made eleven. A new record.

Chapter : 2

Wait a minute, a different thought sparked, pushing aside the marital woes and existential dread for a moment. If I’m back… does that mean…?

He closed his eyes, concentrating. In his first life here, the System had been gibberish – screens full of an alien language (English, as he later learned on Earth) that meant nothing to his Riveriyan-speaking self. On Earth, he’d finally understood it, tinkering with it idly, like a strange mobile game he couldn't quite uninstall. But Earth had no Void Power, no Spirits. The System had been a curiosity, nothing more.

Come on, you overgrown plant-themed shopping list… show yourself.

He focused, picturing the interface he remembered from Earth.

Flicker.

A translucent screen shimmered into existence in his vision, unseen by the outside world.

[Welcome Back, User Lloyd Ferrum!]

[System: The Shopping Tree - Fully Operational]

[Current System Coins: 0]

[Shop Access Cost: 10 System Coins]

Hah! A genuine grin, the first since waking up, touched Lloyd's lips. It worked. It was here. And thanks to eighty years spent learning English on Earth, he could actually read it this time.

"Zero coins," he muttered under his breath, the grin fading slightly. "Stingy as ever, I see." He remembered the grind on Earth – trying to figure out what counted as a 'task'. Apparently, 'successfully adulting' didn't offer many coin rewards.

But here? In Riverio? This changed everything.

This world ran on Spirit Power and Void Power. Inherited abilities, summoned spirits, complex power rankings from F to SSS and beyond. His family, the Ferrums, were an Arch Duke household – powerful, influential, but always teetering on the edge of political machinations. His father, Roy Ferrum, was strong. His mother, Milody Austin, equally so. Even his younger sister, Jothi, showed promise.

And him? Lloyd Ferrum, the first time around? He'd been… average. Pathetically average for an Arch Duke's heir. One Spirit Core, yes, but mediocre compatibility. A decent enough inherited Void Power from his father, but nothing spectacular. He hadn't even reached the Ascension stage with his Spirit before his death. And that spirit was a dog who could not even use magic.

But now…

He looked at the flickering System interface again. Buy Spirits. Customize abilities. Buy Void Powers. Rank them up.

This wasn't just a second chance at life. This was a chance to potentially rewrite his entire destiny. To not die face-down in some ditch at twenty-five. To maybe, just maybe, figure out what the hell was actually going on.

And perhaps, eventually, graduate from the sofa.

First things first. He needed System Coins. Ten just to open the shop. How did he get them again? Tasks. Missions. Trading valuables.

He eyed the opulent room. There had to be something he could trade. A loose gem? A decorative silver button? He mentally scanned his own meager possessions from back then. Probably nothing worth 10 System Coins.

Okay, tasks it is. What counted as a task? Getting off the sofa without waking the sleeping dragoness in the bed? Seemed like a high-difficulty mission right now.

He carefully, slowly, swung his legs off the sofa, his movements measured and silent, honed by decades of practice (both the original sofa years and the Earth years of trying not to wake up his wife when getting up for a midnight snack). His feet touched the plush carpet.

So far, so good.

He stood up, stretching cautiously. His back popped. Definitely nineteen.

He needed information. What exactly was the date? How long after the wedding was it really? Had anything significant happened in the week since the wedding that his past self had blithely ignored?

He glanced back at the bed. Rosa hadn't stirred. Her breathing was deep and even. For a moment, seeing her like this, unguarded, young, he felt a pang of something other than awkwardness. She was trapped in this political marriage just as much as he was. Maybe even more so. In his first life, he’d never really tried to understand her side of things.

Another thing to potentially change, he mused. But that was a problem for later. Much later. After coffee. And preferably, after acquiring god-like powers via a cosmic shopping catalogue.

Right now? Operation: Escape the Bedroom and Find Coins was a go. He tiptoed towards the door, his bare feet sinking into the expensive rug. Each step felt like navigating a minefield.

He reached the door, his hand hovering over the ornate brass handle.

Just gotta... turn it... slowly...

The click of the latch sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room. He froze, glancing back at the bed.

Rosa shifted, murmuring something in her sleep, then settled again.

Lloyd let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He slipped out of the room, closing the door with painstaking care behind him. Freedom. And the faint, lingering scent of expensive potpourri.

Now, for the real challenge: navigating the Ferrum Estate as a 19-year-old nobody with the memories of an 80-year-old Earthling and a desperate need for magical game currency.

This, he thought, a strange mix of dread and exhilaration bubbling within him, is going to be interesting.