My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 19

Chapter : 37

The confrontation replayed in his mind: Rubel's smooth, reptilian concern; the five terrified puppets mouthing their rehearsed lines; his own calculated, almost manic laughter that had momentarily shattered the room's gravity. And his father… Roy’s reaction had been the most telling. The flicker of surprise, the visible disturbance at Lloyd’s unexpected response, the final, almost reluctant granting of time. Roy suspected something wasn't right. He didn't trust Rubel implicitly, despite the power dynamics. That hesitation, that willingness to grant Lloyd a chance against the apparent evidence, was a crucial foothold.

Now, leverage it, Lloyd thought, his stride lengthening as he moved through the grand, silent halls of the Ferrum Estate. Portraits of stern-faced ancestors watched his passage, their painted eyes seeming to hold judgment. Sorry, Great-Aunt Minerva, he mentally addressed a particularly formidable-looking woman clutching a scroll, no time for tea and existential dread today. Got a minor political coup to dismantle.

He reached the door to his suite – their suite, the mental correction automatic now, though no less ironic given the sofa-centric reality. Pushing it open, he found the internal atmosphere subtly altered. The air still carried that cloying lavender-citrus scent, a fragrance he was beginning to loathe with unreasonable intensity, and the inherent chill of Rosa’s presence remained. But the static charge of hostility from the previous day had dissipated, replaced by something less aggressive, more… watchful. Like the quiet hum of a machine analyzing new data.

Rosa was seated in the plush velvet armchair near the fireplace, which remained conspicuously empty and cold despite the evening drawing in. A thick tome lay open on her lap, but her gaze wasn't directed at the pages. It was fixed on the middle distance, lost in thought, or perhaps simply observing the dust motes dancing in the lamplight with more interest than her surroundings usually warranted. The lamplight carved sharp angles on her face, emphasizing the severe beauty, the almost sculptural stillness she maintained.

She didn't look up immediately as he entered, but he felt the shift in her awareness, the slight re-focusing of her attention, subtle as the change in air pressure before a storm. He closed the door softly behind him, leaning back against the cool wood for a moment, observing her observation.

"Long day at the office?" he quipped mildly, breaking the silence.

Her head turned then, slowly, deliberately. Her dark eyes, shadowed in the dim light, fixed on him. They held no discernible emotion, no welcome, no curiosity, just that unnerving, analytical steadiness.

"The walls are thick," she stated, her voice a cool, level murmur, "but sound carries when voices are raised in anger." A slight pause. "Or… surprise."

He raised an eyebrow. "Surprise? Was someone surprised?"

"Your laughter," she replied flatly. "It was… unexpected. And loud."

"Ah," Lloyd acknowledged, pushing off the door and walking further into the room, stopping a safe distance from her chair. The invisible boundary between his sofa-territory and her bed-and-armchair domain felt particularly distinct tonight. "Apologies if I disturbed your reading. Family discussions can get a bit… operatic sometimes."

"I heard the substance," she clarified, dismissing his attempt at deflection. Her gaze didn't waver. "The accusations. The Viscount. The witnesses." She recited the elements like items on a checklist. "Your promise of proof."

"Gets around fast, doesn't it?" Lloyd mused, running a hand through his hair. "Estate gossip network working overtime, I suppose."

"Sound carries," she repeated, unimpressed by his nonchalance. Then, the direct question, delivered with the precision of a striking clock: "What will you do?"

He noted it again – the subtle shift. Not 'Can you?' or 'How could you?' but 'What will you do?' A pragmatist's inquiry. It assumed capability, or at least intent. Interesting. Had slicing her cabinet earned him that much grudging credit? Or was she simply assessing the potential fallout on her own position, shackled as she was to this suddenly unpredictable variable named Lloyd Ferrum?

"Do?" He echoed the word lightly, pacing a few steps towards the window, then back, deliberately projecting restless energy rather than concern. "The usual, I suppose. Expose the liars, discredit the testimony, make my esteemed uncle regret his rather pathetic attempt at manipulation."

He stopped, turning to face her more directly, letting a harder edge creep into his voice. "Honestly, Rosa, it's amateur hour. Rubel thinks he's playing chess, but he's using checkers pieces and telegraphing every move."

"Checkers?" The word sounded foreign on her lips, her brow furrowing slightly in incomprehension.

"A game," Lloyd waved it away. "Simple strategy. My point is, this isn't complex. It's just tedious." He shrugged. "Gathering evidence against coerced witnesses? Cross-referencing alibis? Demonstrating motive? It's the sort of thing even children playing make-believe investigators could sort out."

Chapter : 38

He saw the flicker again, deep in her eyes. Confusion. That delightful, logic-defying confusion that seemed to be his only effective weapon against her icy composure. Why was he dismissing a Viscount's scheme, backed by witnesses and targeting the Arch Duke's heir, as 'child's play'? It didn't align with the data she had on him – the previously timid, easily intimidated version.

"You seem… confident," she observed, her voice carefully neutral, giving nothing away.

"Shouldn't I be?" Lloyd countered, raising an eyebrow. "The truth is on my side. Facts are stubborn things."

"Witness testimony is also considered fact in legal proceedings," she pointed out coolly. "Five accounts against one."

"Manufactured accounts," Lloyd shot back instantly. "Worthless under scrutiny. Easily dismantled."

"How?" The question was sharp, quick. Genuine curiosity breaking through the frost?

He smirked. "Trade secrets, Rosa. Can't give away the whole game plan." He gestured vaguely. "Suffice it to say, people under duress tend to make mistakes. People motivated by greed leave trails. Rubel's mistake wasn't using witnesses; it was using these witnesses. Sloppy."

She processed this, her expression unreadable. Then, a single, sharp nod. "I see." The shutters came down again. The conversation, apparently, was over. She looked back towards her book, though Lloyd doubted she was actually reading it. The analytical engine behind her eyes was likely still processing the anomaly he presented.

He watched her for another moment, feeling the familiar internal conflict. The urge to retreat to his sofa kingdom warred with the impulse to push further, to crack that icy facade just a little more. But he had work to do. Proving his point to Rosa was a side quest; exonerating himself and undermining Rubel was the main objective.

As he turned towards the wardrobe, needing a fresh tunic free from the lingering miasma of political maneuvering, he felt her gaze follow him again. He imagined her internal monologue, a whirlwind of conflicting data points.

Startled cat one week, laughing predator the next. Mediocre student suddenly dissecting established theory. Dismisses Viscount’s plot as trivial. Possesses hidden, lethal power. Acts with unnerving confidence. Data inconsistent. Logic circuits overloaded. Requires further observation. Subject Lloyd Ferrum remains… unpredictable.

A small, almost invisible smile touched Lloyd’s lips. Good, he thought. Let her wonder. Let them all wonder. Unpredictability was a weapon in itself. Right now, however, he needed tools more concrete than confusion. He needed information.

Leaving the strained silence of the suite behind felt like stepping into clearer air. Lloyd moved with renewed purpose through the quieter, less opulent corridors leading towards the estate's nerve center – the servant hubs, the stable yards, the places where whispers traveled faster and truths were often less guarded than in the formal halls. He needed Ken Park.

He didn't have to wait long. As he rounded a corner near the entrance to the sprawling kitchens, a section currently quiet as evening duties wound down, a shadow detached itself from a deeper alcove. Ken Park materialized beside him, silent as ever, his presence instantly solid and reassuringly dangerous.

"Ken," Lloyd greeted him without preamble, nodding slightly.

"Young Lord," Ken acknowledged, falling into step instantly. His gaze swept the empty corridor, assessing, ensuring privacy.

"The report to my father?" Lloyd confirmed again, needing absolute clarity. "Every detail of this morning?"

Ken was surprised and thought how did he know that he was reporting to his father. But didn’t show it in his face.

"Affirmative, Young Lord," Ken replied, his voice a flat baritone. "The ambush, the aggressors' clear intent, your defensive measures, the nature and extent of the injuries inflicted. A full, factual account."

"My instructions not to intervene?"

"Explicitly included in the report."

"Excellent." Lloyd paused, glancing at the impassive bodyguard. "Then you grasp the current situation? The accusations? The so-called 'witnesses'?"

"I was briefed by the Arch Duke's aide following your departure from the study," Ken confirmed. "Viscount Rubel's narrative has been disseminated."

"His narrative is a lie," Lloyd stated baldly.

"My observations concur with that assessment, Young Lord," Ken replied without hesitation.

"Good," Lloyd nodded again, appreciating the bodyguard's directness. "Now, about tomorrow…"

Ken spoke before Lloyd could continue, his voice still level but carrying that subtle weight Lloyd had noticed earlier. "Young Lord, if I may? Your innocence requires no further proof beyond my testimony. As the Arch Duke's sworn retainer and sole direct witness to the incident in Weaver's Alley, my word carries sufficient authority to invalidate the claims of those five individuals. The matter can be resolved cleanly, efficiently."

Lloyd stopped abruptly, turning to face Ken fully under the flickering light of a wall sconce. He saw the logic, the appeal of the easy path Ken offered. Rely on established authority. Let Ken's unimpeachable reputation settle the matter. Avoid the messy business of public refutation.