My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 46

Chapter : 91

The level of fine control required was immense, draining his concentration, making sweat bead on his forehead despite the coolness of his Void power. He wasn't just shaping metal; he was engineering a functional machine with moving parts, relying on recalled principles of fluid dynamics and mechanical engineering, translating them into commands his bloodline power could execute. The steel gleamed under his control – not iron, but true, refined steel, harder, more resilient, humming faintly with the contained energy of its creation. It looked less like blacksmithing and more like the work of a celestial watchmaker.

Jasmin stared, breathless, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. She felt small, insignificant, witnessing this casual display of godlike power. It was mesmerizing, terrifying, beautiful. Is this what it means to be truly noble? she wondered fleetingly. To command the very elements, to shape metal like water? He wasn't just the Young Lord; he felt like something ancient, something elemental, disguised in human form.

Once the intricate steel pump mechanism – cylinder, piston, valves, spring, nozzle – hovered complete and perfect in the air before him like a complex silver dragonfly, Lloyd turned his attention to the oak beam. No axe, no saw, no chisel needed. He laid his hands flat against the rough wood, closing his eyes for a moment, feeling the grain, the density. He focused his Void power differently now, infusing it not with heat, but with controlled kinetic force, a precise application of pressure and vibration, guided by his shaping will.

The wood groaned softly, not in protest, but in yielding surrender. Fibers separated cleanly, dust motes rising as the interior of the beam began to hollow out under his invisible, insistent touch. He wasn't cutting; he was persuading the wood to reshape itself according to his mental blueprint. A smooth, cylindrical reservoir formed within the solid oak, perfectly sized to hold a generous quantity of the soft soap. He shaped the exterior simultaneously, the rough grain smoothing, flowing into elegant curves, the neck tapering precisely to match the dimensions of the steel cylinder he had created. With a final surge of focused will, he formed fine, precise threads within the wooden neck and, mirroring them, on the base of the steel pump assembly, ensuring a tight, secure, waterproof seal when joined.

The entire process, steel and wood combined, took perhaps fifteen minutes of intense, silent concentration. The only sounds were the faint hum of Void power, the soft sighing of yielding wood, and Jasmin’s occasional, involuntary gasp of wonder.

Finally, it was done. Lloyd stepped back, letting the shaping power recede. He carefully took the hovering steel pump mechanism and the newly formed oak body. With precise movements, he screwed the steel assembly smoothly into the threaded wooden neck. The fit was perfect.

The resulting object rested heavy and substantial in his hands. It was breathtaking. Functional, undeniably, but also a piece of minimalist art. The warm, rich grain of the smoothly polished oak provided an organic counterpoint to the cool, precise, machine-like gleam of the steel pump and nozzle. It felt balanced, ergonomic. It looked… priceless. Luxurious. Like something one might find on the vanity of an empress, not cobbled together in a disused smokehouse.

Lloyd held the finished pumping bottle aloft, turning it slowly in the dim, dusty light, admiring the fusion of Earth-inspired engineering and Riverio-based power. A surge of pure, unadulterated satisfaction, fiercer even than the successful soap test, coursed through him. This. This was the bridge between his lives. This tangible object, impossible without both his past knowledge and his present power.

He turned to Jasmin, whose face was a mask of stunned reverence. She was staring at the bottle as if it were actively emitting divine light. "Well, Jasmin?" he asked, a triumphant grin lighting up his face, momentarily banishing the shadows and the fatigue. "What do you think? A suitable vessel for our revolutionary product? Fit for purpose? Fit for profit?"

Jasmin could only nod vigorously at first, seemingly incapable of speech. She swallowed hard, finding her voice, which emerged as a trembling whisper. "My lord… it… it is magnificent. Beyond magnificent." She shook her head, eyes still fixed on the bottle. "I have seen the King's treasures on festival days… goblets, crowns… none possessed such… such clean beauty. Such purpose." She looked up at him, her awe palpable. "It’s not just a bottle. It’s… it’s a promise. A promise of what's inside."

"Exactly!" Lloyd confirmed, the grin widening. "Form and function! Luxury isn't just about the product; it's about the entire experience! And soon," he declared, gesturing emphatically with the bottle, "every noble household in this Duchy, maybe every wealthy merchant from here to the Azure Strait, will desperately want one. They just don't know it yet."

Chapter : 92

He looked at the bottle, then back towards the pot of cooling, rosemary-scented proto-liquid soap. The vision snapped into sharp focus. The product, the unique and elegant packaging, the untapped market… it wasn't just a plan anymore; it felt like destiny. A slightly greasy, rosemary-scented destiny, but destiny nonetheless.

The soap empire wasn't just viable; it was going to be beautiful. And incredibly profitable, he fervently hoped. Now, his internal pragmatist reminded him sharply, you just need to make about five hundred more of these masterpieces. And perfect the liquid soap recipe. And source olive oil. And figure out distribution, pricing, branding, guild negotiations… Small details. But for the first time, the path to accumulating those desperately needed System Coins felt clear, tangible, and surprisingly elegant. Even if it started with cow fat and wood ash.

----

The following morning dawned crisp and clear, sunlight slanting through the tall windows of the suite, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air like tiny, indifferent diamonds. For once, Lloyd Ferrum didn't wake up on the sofa feeling like he'd gone ten rounds with a poorly upholstered opponent. He’d slept deeply, the profound satisfaction of creation – the successful lye extraction, the promising soft soap, the exquisitely crafted dispenser bottle – outweighing the physical discomfort of his sleeping arrangements. The soap empire felt real now, tangible, a viable path towards the System Coins he desperately needed.

He rose quickly, energy thrumming beneath his skin. Today was presentation day. Time to convince his skeptical, powerful father that investing a small fortune in 'luxury soap' wasn't the act of a lunatic heir, but a stroke of strategic genius. He dressed with care, choosing a well-cut but understated tunic and trousers – projecting quiet confidence, not ostentatious display.

As he finished adjusting his collar, he turned towards the figure seated perfectly still in the velvet armchair near the cold fireplace. Rosa. She wasn't reading this morning, simply gazing out the window, her profile serene, inscrutable, bathed in the morning light. An Ice Queen contemplating her frozen domain. The air around her felt, as always, several degrees cooler than the rest of the room.

Lloyd hesitated for only a fraction of a second. Protocol dictated leaving her undisturbed unless absolutely necessary. Their interactions were usually limited to strained silences or curt dismissals (mostly from her side). But today… today required a deviation. His plan needed her presence, not for support, obviously, but for… witness. For the subtle political weight her attendance would lend, intended or not. And perhaps, just perhaps, a tiny, perverse part of him wanted to see her reaction to his unorthodox presentation. Disrupting her icy calm, even momentarily, was becoming a fascinating side quest.

"Rosa," he began, his voice calm, carefully neutral, breaking the comfortable silence she seemed to cultivate.

Her head turned slowly, deliberately. Those dark, obsidian eyes fixed on him, holding no discernible emotion, just cool, penetrating awareness. The silent question – What disturbance warrants this intrusion? – hung heavy in the air between them.

"I am going to see Father now," Lloyd stated simply. "To present the prototype I promised him." He paused, then took the plunge. "I request your presence."

A delicate eyebrow, perfectly sculpted, arched almost imperceptibly. It was the only outward sign of surprise, quickly suppressed. "My presence?" Her voice was a low murmur, devoid of inflection. "For what purpose? My attendance at your… business discussions… is neither required nor, I would assume, desired." The implication was clear: We barely tolerate sharing a room; why would you voluntarily seek my company in front of your father?

"Desired?" Lloyd allowed a faint, wry smile to touch his lips. "Perhaps not in the conventional sense." He met her cool gaze directly. "However, Father agreed to consider my proposal – the one requiring significant investment. He set a deadline, which is today. Having you present as I demonstrate the viability of my venture lends… weight. Credibility." He deliberately framed it in logical, almost political terms he thought she might appreciate. "It demonstrates unity, however nominal, within the immediate family regarding a potential Ferrum enterprise."

He saw her consider this, her eyes holding that familiar flicker of sharp assessment. His reasoning holds a certain political logic, she likely concluded internally. Presence implies cohesion, potentially advantageous depending on the outcome. The personal cost – merely time – is negligible.

"Furthermore," Lloyd added, unable to resist pushing slightly, adding a touch of intrigue, "I believe you might find the demonstration… interesting. Unexpected, perhaps."