My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 48

Chapter : 95

He turned to the still-trembling Jasmin, who looked as if she might faint from the combined stress of the dung, the Duchess's fury, and the Arch Duke's silent disapproval. "Jasmin," he commanded, his voice sharp, cutting through the tension, pulling her back to her role. "Bring the bottle."

Jasmin jumped, startled back into action. She fumbled for a moment with a smaller, carefully wrapped package she’d held hidden behind her back – the second dispenser, identical to the one Lloyd had gifted Rosa earlier – then presented it to Lloyd with shaking hands.

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The tension in the Arch Duke's study was thick enough to choke on, a palpable pressure distinct from mere political gravity. The pungent aroma of fresh cow dung assaulted the senses, a stark, earthy reality crashing against the polished mahogany, expensive tapestries, and the inherent dignity of the room. It was an olfactory declaration of war against propriety. Milody Austin looked moments away from either summoning the smelling salts or the guard captain, her face a mask of horrified disbelief. Roy Ferrum’s face was a thundercloud of controlled fury and profound confusion, his knuckles white where he gripped the edge of his desk. Rosa, an island of emerald calm near the bookshelves, continued her silent, unnerving observation, her stillness a counterpoint to the rising chaos – perhaps classifying 'dung-handling as performance art' as a new, highly perplexing variable in the ongoing Lloyd Ferrum equation. Only Jasmin, pale and trembling but clutching the beautifully wrapped bottle like a lifeline, seemed focused, awaiting her cue amidst the aristocratic meltdown.

"Now, Father," Lloyd repeated, his voice cutting through the strained silence with startling clarity, holding up his thoroughly dung-covered hands. The contrast between his calm tone and his defiled state was jarring. "The problem. Filth. Grime. Contamination." The universal equalizer, his internal monologue added wryly. Even Arch Dukes get dirty. "How does one achieve true cleanliness in a world often defined by… well, this?" He gestured with his soiled hands, a deliberate, almost theatrical display.

He locked eyes with his father, the challenge clear. You wanted a demonstration? You wanted proof of concept? Fine. Let's start with the fundamental problem this solves.

He then turned his gaze to Jasmin, whose wide eyes darted between the dung, the furious Duchess, the stony Arch Duke, and the bottle she held. "Jasmin," he commanded, his voice sharp, clear, pulling her focus. "The bottle. And water."

Jasmin jumped, startled but obedient. She quickly held up the beautifully crafted oak and steel pumping bottle Lloyd had created, its polished surfaces gleaming softly, a beacon of unexpected elegance amidst the squalor. In her other hand, she held the bucket of clean water they had brought from the smokehouse. She approached Lloyd hesitantly, moving as if navigating a minefield, clearly terrified of drawing the ire of the Duke and Duchess further.

"Hold the bottle steady," Lloyd instructed calmly, his voice a reassuring anchor in her panic. He nodded towards his soiled hands. "Position the nozzle over my hands. Aim carefully." He saw her hand tremble as she raised the exquisite object. "Now," he demonstrated by nudging the gleaming steel pump head with his relatively cleaner forearm, a deliberate action showing the intended ease of use even when contaminated, "press down firmly on this top part. The pump."

Jasmin, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and fascination, positioned the elegant nozzle as directed. She took a shaky breath, her fingers finding the unfamiliar steel mechanism. It looked alien, like something from a dream or a different world. Hesitantly, she pressed down.

Click-hiss.

The sound was clean, precise, cutting through the thick tension. With a smooth, satisfying mechanical action, the pump depressed, and a measured stream of thick, creamy, pale beige liquid dispensed directly onto Lloyd’s soiled hands. The clean, invigorating scent of rosemary instantly blossomed in the air, a startling, welcome counter-offensive against the pervasive earthy stench of the dung. It was like smelling a spring garden after wading through a stable.

Jasmin gasped softly, surprised by the ease of operation and the fragrant liquid emerging from the beautiful object. It worked. This strange device he’d made… it actually did something.

"Again," Lloyd instructed, his voice even. Jasmin pressed the pump again, delivering another precise dose of the soft soap.

While Jasmin held the dispenser, Lloyd turned his attention back to his father, though his words were implicitly for everyone in the room. His internal strategist was analyzing their reactions in real-time. Mother: peak disgust, transitioning to baffled curiosity by the bottle. Father: Fury masked by control, focus shifting to the mechanism's novelty. Rosa: Processing... always processing. Good. Keep them off balance.

Chapter : 96

"Observe, Father, Mother," Lloyd announced, his voice carrying clearly. "No need to touch the container itself when one's hands are soiled. No messy scooping from a communal pot, risking further contamination." Hygiene 101, people. Seems obvious, but apparently isn't. "A precise, clean delivery of the cleansing agent. Every single time." He began rubbing his hands together vigorously, working the rosemary-scented cream into the thick layer of dung with practiced motions.

Roy Ferrum watched, his expression unreadable granite, but Lloyd saw it – the minute shift in his father’s gaze, lingering now on the bottle. The pump mechanism. The elegant fusion of wood and steel. The sheer intelligence of the design. It was novel, efficient, undeniably clever. A flicker of something – grudging respect? Engineering appreciation? – warred visibly with the ingrained anger over the dung incident. He sees it, Lloyd thought with satisfaction. He sees the innovation beyond the shock value.

Milody, meanwhile, was undergoing her own rapid transition. The initial wave of horrified offense at the dung was being challenged by the undeniable elegance of the dispenser and the surprisingly pleasant rosemary fragrance cutting through the stench. Her eyes, wide with disgust moments ago, now narrowed slightly, curiosity battling revulsion. "That… device, Lloyd," she managed, her voice tight but intrigued. "What is it?"

"Form and function, Mother," Lloyd replied smoothly, continuing to lather his hands. "A necessary evolution."

"Now, Jasmin," Lloyd commanded, interrupting any further questions about the bottle for the moment, focusing back on the primary demonstration. "The water."

Jasmin quickly, almost relieved to have a clear task, set the precious bottle down carefully on a nearby side table (on the protective cloth Lloyd had foresightedly tucked into his tunic earlier) and picked up the dipper from the water bucket. She poured a stream of cool water over Lloyd’s hands as he continued rubbing them together briskly.

The effect, even knowing it was coming, was still dramatic. The rich, creamy lather exploded, white and thick against the dark muck, instantly emulsifying the dung. It wasn't just cleaning; it felt like the soap was actively attacking the filth. The brown sludge dissolved, lifted away by the potent combination of the soap's surfactant action and the flowing water. Within moments, the dung was completely gone, swirling away into the bucket Jasmin now held strategically below his hands to catch the runoff. The pungent barnyard smell was fading rapidly, almost entirely replaced by the fresh, clean scent of rosemary that now seemed to permeate the air around them.

Lloyd rinsed his hands thoroughly one last time under the stream of water, shaking off the excess droplets. He held them up, turning them slowly in the sunlight slanting through the windows. Immaculately clean. Not a speck of dung remained. Not even under his fingernails. The skin looked smooth, healthy, utterly untouched by the earlier contamination.

"Clean," Lloyd stated simply, the word resonating in the suddenly quiet study. "Completely clean." He flexed his fingers. "Achieved quickly, with minimal water compared to scrubbing with harsh agents." Efficiency, Father, efficiency. "Without abrasion. And," he added, gesturing again towards the dispenser bottle resting elegantly on the side table, "delivered hygienically and elegantly."

Milody Austin stared, speechless for a moment. Her logical mind warred with the visual evidence. Dung, foul and pervasive one minute, vanished the next, replaced by clean skin and a pleasant scent? It defied her experience. "How…?" she breathed again, unconsciously moving closer, drawn by a force stronger than her lingering disgust. "That… that dreadful mess… it simply vanished! And your hands…" Her ingrained aristocratic reserve cracked completely. "Let me see them!"

Forgetting the layers of protocol that usually governed their interactions, she reached out impulsively and took Lloyd’s hand, turning it over, examining the skin with the intensity of a jeweler inspecting a gemstone. "They aren't red! They aren't chapped or rough!" she exclaimed, genuine astonishment making her voice higher pitched than usual. "My own hands feel drier after just using the standard household soap! Yours feel… smooth! Almost soft!" She brought his hand closer to her face, inhaling cautiously. "And the smell… definitely rosemary! Clean. Not perfumed, but… fresh." She looked up at him, her eyes wide with bewildered inquiry, the formidable Duchess momentarily replaced by a woman confronting a domestic miracle. "Lloyd, what is this miracle liquid?"

"It's soap, Mother," Lloyd replied calmly, gently retrieving his hand, meeting her astonished gaze with a steady one of his own. "As I explained to Father a few days ago. But fundamentally different. Crafted from finer ingredients," (he conveniently omitted the tallow base for now), "balanced, scented naturally." He paused, letting the impact land. "Liquid soap. Or rather," he corrected himself slightly, aiming for accuracy, "a highly effective soft soap, the precursor to a true liquid form I intend to perfect."