Without a doubt, such words immediately startled Allen—what kind of trick was this? A setup?
There's always someone trying to harm me!
Exactly—that's how it would go. If he agreed, a few big guys would undoubtedly rush out, pin him down, and claim to be the victim's relatives. From there, it would either be settled privately or publicly.
If private, they'd empty his pockets. If public, it could be reported to the school, tarnishing his reputation—and who knows, maybe a few years in Azkaban!
Although he could easily defeat anyone who jumped out, this plan couldn't succeed. But what about the other scheme? Similar to what happened with a certain magical intern in America—not lacking in spells in the wizarding world, and if it was recorded and exposed, it could seriously jeopardize him. Yes, the person in front of him was cunning!
So Allen resorted to a common tactic against scammers—he turned and walked away.
Don't be greedy, and you won't lose anything. This was the summary of over ninety-nine percent of fraud cases.
After Allen turned away, the professor stood there, dazed, relieved that her precious donation box was safe. As for the gods being displeased by his departure, that didn't cross her mind. Instead, she gritted her teeth and made a decision—starting today, she would feign illness to resign and even leave Japan to avoid encountering this "god" again. Maybe the deity had been generous this time, but what about next time?
With differing thoughts, the two left, leaving an awkward silence behind.
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After evading the final "boss," Allen finally returned to his tent, carrying his hard-earned coins. Just as he wanted to open the door, change, and enjoy a proper bath before bed, he realized his plan had failed from the start.
Why?
Simple—his tent was full of people. His dear roommates.
Why?
Even simpler—they had all been eliminated. Quidditch wasn't something that enthusiasm alone could solve.
Though many others had failed as well, this didn't soothe their "traumatized" egos, so they needed an activity to wash away their sorrow—basically, they just wanted an excuse to eat and drink heartily.
Unfortunately, this kind of behavior was strictly prohibited—the prefects' eyes were still on them.
So what to do? Naturally, Allen had to handle the application. After all, he had the best relationships with the prefects. For Marshall's group, it would have been difficult—they managed the girls' camp, which was much trickier to handle.
Allen had no problem with such a request—after all, he was thrilled!
A full 1,000 Galleons, shining and glittering! Allen had already started planning his next purchases. Why? Because money lets you be capricious!
So it was inevitable that Allen and his group woke up late the next day—after all, you can't expect a bunch of people partying until two a.m. to get up early, especially when there's nothing pressing to do the next day.
Unfortunately, their fun came too early—the selection process lasted two days because there were too many applicants.
Compared to the unlucky ones eliminated on the first day, those randomly assigned to the second day were clearly luckier. They wouldn't waste their precious training time—so a group of hungover students was woken at the crack of dawn.
Allen desperately wanted a set of Snape's earplugs or a silent spell—but that book was clearly out of reach. Potion textbooks and the like were all in Snape's cabinet. Even if he knew the spell, replicating it would be as challenging as re-developing a new incantation, and Allen had a full set of inheritances waiting to be absorbed—he couldn't waste that time now.
So, after getting up, rubbing bloodshot eyes, and complaining a bit, Allen and the others reluctantly completed their morning wash routine and headed to the competition field—to watch, mostly, for the mishaps of those who failed.
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Autumn is almost the perfect time of year—a season of harvest—even for wizards.
Though not magical, wizards still need food—it can't just appear from nowhere. Some cultivation work is unavoidable—especially for herbs.
Even with greenhouses, seasonal potions are the most popular—their effects are stronger, especially when brewed into potions.
Why discuss this?
Simple: a batch of potions had matured, and Allen's group ran into their head of house on the way to wander around.
Harvesting potions is an important practical lesson, especially for perennial magical plants. This opportunity was far rarer than cultivation classes. Initially, the Mahoutokoro professor had only brought high-year advanced students, but upon seeing Allen, Professor Sprout locally allowed him and a few others to join.
In other places, this is called special treatment—not everyone gets to handle rare magical herbs.
Remember the other accompanying wizards were top-rated. Each of them, after leaving, would be sought by potion-selling shops—crudely speaking, they could support an entire establishment on their own.
Being with this group, Allen felt one thing—what do I do? I'm clearly not a big shot here…
Normally, wizards with good herbology grades also had decent potion skills (Neville aside). Upon entering the herb fields, Allen heard discussions about growth, properties, and best potion uses. He even overheard a serious conversation between a male and female wizard about love potions—discussed as seriously as ordinary cough syrup.
It was clear these students treated the ordinary herbs casually. They only extracted rare variants; the rest were practiced for fifth-years. Here, it was for the professor's club students. At Hogwarts, it would have been Hufflepuff's top students.
No surprises here—every house did this. Snape's classes were notorious, Flitwick's office was crowded with Ravenclaws on weekends, and as for McGonagall… well, you know how Harry's Firebolt 2000 came about.