My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 49

Chapter : 97

"Liquid… soap?" Milody repeated the alien concept, her gaze shifting immediately towards the elegant bottle Jasmin had set down. The dispenser suddenly made sense. Not just a fancy container, but a necessary delivery system for a non-solid product. Her mind, sharp and attuned to luxury and refinement, instantly grasped the implications. Convenience. Elegance. Cleanliness without harshness. Her eyes lit up with a spark Lloyd hadn't seen directed at him before – genuine, unadulterated commercial interest. "Lloyd," she breathed, "do you realize…?"

Intrigued now beyond mere curiosity, her innate desire for quality and refinement overriding her earlier disgust completely, she turned decisively to Jasmin. "Child," she commanded, her voice regaining some of its usual authority but laced with unconcealed eagerness, "give me some of that… soap." She gestured towards the bottle, then hesitated, mirroring Jasmin’s earlier uncertainty about the pump. "How does this… ingenious device operate?"

Jasmin, startled by the direct address but buoyed by the Duchess’s clear interest and Lloyd’s triumphant demonstration, quickly stepped forward. "Allow me, Your Grace." Showing a confidence born of recent experience, she picked up the bottle and, mimicking Lloyd’s earlier instruction with newfound deftness, carefully pumped a small amount of the creamy soap onto the Duchess’s outstretched, perfectly manicured palm.

Milody examined the pale beige substance curiously, rubbing it between her fingers, noting the smooth texture. She sniffed it appreciatively again – the rosemary scent was clean, undoubtedly appealing to noble sensibilities tired of heavy, cloying perfumes. Then, despite her hands being perfectly clean already, driven by the need to experience it firsthand, she mirrored Lloyd's actions, rubbing her hands together, adding a splash of water Jasmin offered from the dipper. The same rich, luxurious lather appeared, eliciting a soft exclamation of surprise from the Duchess. The scent intensified pleasurably. She rinsed under the stream Jasmin provided, dried her hands meticulously on a fine linen handkerchief produced silently from her sleeve, and then stared at her own hands, marveling, flexing her fingers.

"Remarkable," she murmured again, her voice filled with genuine appreciation. "Truly remarkable. My hands feel… refreshed. Velvety, almost. Cleaner than usual, somehow. And the scent is delightful." She looked directly at Lloyd again, her expression transformed. The disgust was gone, the skepticism vanished, replaced by sharp intelligence assessing potential. "Lloyd," her voice was different now, imbued with the authority of someone recognizing significant value, "this… this is not merely innovative. This is… potentially revolutionary. For personal comfort, for hygiene… for status." The last word hung in the air, vibrating with implication. Owning such a product, such a dispenser, would instantly become a mark of distinction.

Lloyd allowed himself another small, satisfied smile, internally checking off 'Target Audience Approval: Mother - Secured'. He had won over the household's ultimate arbiter of luxury and refinement. He turned his gaze back to the final, most crucial judge.

Arch Duke Roy Ferrum had remained silent throughout the entire performance. His face was an unreadable mask, his eyes missing nothing – the dung, the elegant bottle, the mechanics of the pump, the soap's effectiveness, his wife’s dramatic shift from horror to enthusiastic approval, Rosa's continued silent assessment from the sidelines. He processed it all with intense, silent calculation, the cogs of his powerful mind turning, weighing variables, assessing potential far beyond mere cleanliness. He hadn't commented on the dung incident after his initial silent fury, nor offered any verbal reaction to the soap's success. His focus, Lloyd had correctly surmised, remained fixed on the innovation – both the chemical formulation (implied) and the mechanical delivery system (explicit).

Finally, Roy spoke, his voice utterly flat, devoid of praise or censure, cutting through the Duchess's burgeoning enthusiasm. "The bottle," he stated, gesturing towards the oak and steel object resting on the desk where Lloyd had placed it earlier. "Give it to me."

Chapter : 98

Lloyd retrieved the dispenser and placed it carefully back on the desk directly before his father. Roy picked it up, his large, capable hands examining it with surprising care, turning it over, feeling the weight, the balance. He tested the pump mechanism again, pressing it slowly, observing the smooth travel of the piston, the precise ejection of another small dollop of soap onto the desk blotter (which he ignored), the clean return of the spring. He observed the seamless join between the warm wood and the cool steel, the elegant yet robust functionality of the design. This wasn't just a soap dispenser. This was thoughtful engineering. This was problem-solving. This was innovation applied to a mundane aspect of life, resulting in a product that was undeniably practical, aesthetically pleasing, and inherently desirable in its novelty. It spoke of a mind capable of seeing beyond the obvious, of creating tangible value where none existed before. This, Roy thought, the assessment clicking into place with cold clarity, is not the work of the unfocused boy I worried about. This is… different.

He placed the bottle back down deliberately, the faint click echoing in the quiet study. He looked at Lloyd, his gaze sharp, penetrating, appraising. "You have demonstrated… potential," Roy conceded finally, the words carefully chosen, measured, delivered with glacial reserve. It was the closest thing to direct praise Lloyd could recall receiving from his father, perhaps ever, and it landed with the weight of a royal decree. "The product," he nodded towards the soap smear on his blotter, "appears effective, as my wife has enthusiastically confirmed." A flicker of dry humor touched his eyes for a fraction of a second. "The delivery mechanism," he tapped the bottle firmly, "is novel. Efficient. Intriguing."

He leaned back in his chair, the stern mask of the Arch Duke firmly back in place, the brief moment of potential paternal approval vanishing. "However," his voice hardened, becoming the ruler again, "viability in the marketplace requires far more than a single successful demonstration in controlled, albeit… unconventional, circumstances." His gaze flickered pointedly towards the lingering scent of dung. "I will have this product, and more importantly, this dispenser mechanism, thoroughly assessed by my own household experts."

He ticked them off mentally, his gaze distant for a moment. "Master Elmsworth must evaluate the economic potential, the cost of production versus projected pricing, the market saturation possibilities. The Alchemist's Guild, perhaps Master Grimaldi himself, should analyze the formulation – ensure its safety, its stability, identify potential improvements or cost-saving ingredient substitutions. Our finest artisans," his eyes returned to the bottle, "must assess the reproducibility of this dispenser. Can it be manufactured consistently, reliably, affordably enough to be profitable yet exclusive? What materials are truly required? Can the mechanism be simplified without losing function?"

He held up a hand, forestalling any potential argument or impatient question from Lloyd. "The investment decision – the one thousand Gold Coins you requested – is therefore suspended pending the outcome of these assessments." He wasn't saying no. The potential was clearly recognized. But he needed data, verification, independent analysis conducted under his direct authority. He was intrigued, perhaps even impressed, but he remained a pragmatist. Hope was not a substitute for due diligence.

He then shifted gears abruptly, the calculating potential investor replaced instantly by the Arch Duke issuing commands. "For now, your… experimentation… has served its purpose." His eyes narrowed. "You have, however, neglected your formal studies this morning. Master Elmsworth awaits. That," his voice regained its familiar, sharp edge of absolute command, "is unacceptable, regardless of the potential merits of your nascent soap enterprise. Your education, your grounding in the established principles that govern this Duchy, remains paramount."

He fixed Lloyd with a commanding stare, leaving no room for negotiation. "You will proceed there immediately. Offer Master Elmsworth your sincere apologies for your absence. Apply yourself diligently to his instruction." The unspoken addendum was clear: Prove you can manage both innovation and duty, or this venture dies before it begins.

Lloyd felt a flicker of disappointment – no immediate influx of desperately needed Gold Coins – but quickly suppressed it, recognizing the strategic victory beneath the delayed gratification. His father hadn't dismissed the idea; he was taking it seriously. Seriously enough for expert review. That was huge. The assessment phase was logical, even necessary. And he had undeniably impressed his mother, potentially securing a powerful internal advocate for the product's refinement and eventual launch. Progress. Significant progress.

"Yes, Father," Lloyd replied immediately, bowing respectfully, accepting the command without a hint of argument. Demonstrating obedience and diligence in his formal studies now was absolutely crucial to maintaining the fragile, newly forming perception of competence and responsibility. "I understand completely. The assessments are prudent. I will go to Master Elmsworth at once and redouble my efforts."