The old "carrot and stick" approach—simple, brutal, and yet most effective—worked even in the wizarding world.
Under such measures, the previously tense atmosphere caused by the student uprising had completely vanished. Instead, students were now eagerly discussing team formations. Quidditch was, after all, a wizarding national pastime—there wasn't much else to do anyway.
After dinner, more details came to light. This time, team formation wasn't limited to a single house—or even a single school. As long as you could gather seven people, you were eligible to compete.
The next two days were simple team selection exercises. Your squad had to maintain formation on the pitch for a few laps to qualify for the official competition. Fail to do so, and in front of all those spectators, you'd be the laughingstock.
Excellent—this was shaping up to be the Super Quidditch Cup Preliminary Rounds—let's just call it Super Quid.
On the surface, it was merely a competition between three schools. But in reality, it was an important event across three countries. Fame could be made overnight.
The entire school became delightfully chaotic. Players like Harry and others from house teams were now the most sought-after recruits—everyone wanted a seasoned player to lead them.
Unfortunately, current team members trusted the teammates they had trained with for years. During this "friendship—or even love—poaching" process, only two teams were broken apart due to suspensions. The remaining team, though missing some players, still found substitutes.
It's worth noting that Japan's local wizarding academy didn't have house teams. Instead, they had four major Quidditch clubs. These teams were composed of internal club members, though their skill level was unknown.
As an excellent Quidditch player who had previously participated in official competitions but hadn't joined a house team, Allen naturally received invitations—but he rejected them all. Not because he didn't care about the prize money, but because handling it would be too difficult, and he couldn't attend tryouts due to other matters.
All his best training partners were already on house teams. He couldn't push one aside, and even if he brought in others, he didn't think he could lead them. Quidditch wasn't a solo game; it wasn't about taking on seven opponents with a wand. Who would dare touch his prize money in survival mode anyway?
By the end, the three schools had over 150 registered teams, and the number was still slowly growing. The sheer scale was enough to shock anyone—but it had nothing to do with Allen.
The only silver lining was that his free time would now be quieter. All four of his roommates had signed up, splitting across three teams.
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The next morning, Saturday, a perfect day to sleep in.
Normally, anyone shouting in the dorm this early would quickly be silenced by fellow roommates with a well-placed curse. Saturdays officially began at noon—an unspoken rule of survival.
But today was different. As soon as the first light appeared, the school was already buzzing. Perhaps a few camps had started the trend, but soon little wizards of all shapes and sizes were racing across the campus on broomsticks, claiming the best spots as if it were a massive cleaning operation.
The variety of brooms alone could fill an exhibition. Even antiques were brought out. Selection trials began at 10 a.m., and most students wanted a few hours of practice beforehand—or at least to dust off their rarely used brooms.
Most participants were just there for fun. If their skills were genuinely good, they'd already be on a house team.
Allen rolled his eyes. His morning sleep had been completely ruined.
At this point, visiting someone's tent was purely for breakfast, not for hospitality. Allen didn't have the nerve to go to the fox's place to grab breakfast. Unable to sleep, he tried to pass the morning quietly. Studying was impossible—the camp was too noisy, and he hadn't discovered any spell to block surrounding sound. Attempting to study under these conditions was just self-torture.
And then, trouble arrived.
Not small trouble—but the kind Allen couldn't possibly fend off.
A Quidditch team composed entirely of girls appeared before him. Allen's instinct was to run in a cold sweat.
"Stop!"
A crisp voice called out. Allen pretended not to see or hear, but the voice rang again: "Keep running, and I'll call you a harasser!"
Did intimidation work?
Yes—Allen obediently turned, smiling. Though he couldn't name all seven, he really couldn't mess with them.
When one side had a numerical advantage, they naturally dominated the psychological edge—and that was the situation now.
"Don't even think about running. If you dare, I'll call!" The leader's confident expression left Allen helpless.
"Relax, I'm not interested in you personally—I like girls. That day I was just called to help. Now we just want you, an excellent Quidditch player, to help train us. Nothing else." The girl smiled, pointing to another teammate, leaving Allen both exasperated and embarrassed.
"You're all like this?" Allen asked, confused.
"Of course not—Martha's a soloist, Rae just couldn't refuse helping, Mary enjoys adventure…"
After the introductions, all but one girl had explained they were just playing around while helping—leaving Allen's mental state increasingly crushed.
Finally, the last girl stepped forward.
"And you?"
"To beat you—I'm from Slytherin. Back in third year, you knocked me down with a spell and threw me into a corner, so when I had a free choice, I came to help this time."
Allen's mental shadow began to expand in three dimensions. Please, make it stop…