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Chapter 262 - Chapter 263: Shafiq: I Have No Idea

"Professor Shafiq, forgive the intrusion, but does your school currently tailor its curriculum to the specific traits and progress of every individual student?"

Seated next to Laurent Rosier, Professor Shafiq—who had pulled her curly black hair into a tight, severe bun for the public occasion—froze for a moment at the sudden question from her French colleague. She didn't react immediately.

But seeing Laurent eyeing Lucien with such keen interest, Shafiq instantly understood the source of his confusion. A hint of barely detectable awkwardness flashed through her pale gray eyes.

"Um, well... Lucien's alchemy... he didn't learn that from me."

Professor Rosier's eyes widened in surprise. "Does Hogwarts have another Alchemy professor?"

Before she could answer, a look of realization dawned on Rosier's face.

"Oh, I see. I understand now. Is it your Headmaster, Dumbledore? Did he spot the boy's talent and decide to mentor him personally? If that's the case, it wouldn't be surprising at all..."

He felt he had found the logical explanation.

On one hand, based on the perfect scores in the written exams and the technique he was witnessing now, Laurent was convinced Lucien possessed extraordinary talent in alchemy.

On the other hand, everyone knew that the Headmaster of Hogwarts—recognized as the greatest wizard of the century, Albus Dumbledore—was also a titan in the field of alchemy. After all, he had once collaborated with the legendary Nicolas Flamel on groundbreaking research.

Putting those two facts together, it made perfect sense that Dumbledore could cultivate a student like Lucien.

As expected, Laurent mused, Dumbledore himself remains Hogwarts' greatest asset and calling card.

He sighed inwardly with a touch of admiration. With a figure like that at the helm, Hogwarts did indeed hold an edge over other magic schools in certain areas.

Of course, wizards from different countries rarely said such things out loud—they usually stuck to praising their own institutions. French wizards would insist Beauxbatons was the finest in the world, while American wizards would undoubtedly claim Ilvermorny was number one...

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Watching the "I completely understand" expression settle onto Professor Rosier's face, Professor Shafiq opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated. She wasn't sure how to respond.

She realized he had misunderstood the situation, but the problem was... she honestly didn't know who Lucien had learned his alchemy from either.

Shafiq was used to coasting through her job—or, as she preferred to call it, "strategic energy allocation."

While she had been surprised that Lucien possessed such skill at such a young age, she had been too lazy to investigate. It was the magical world, after all; weird and wonderful things happened all the time. It wasn't worth stressing over.

Besides, Lucien wouldn't be old enough to enroll in her Alchemy elective for another few years. She figured she would deal with it then.

Right now, her only priority was for Lucien to win this exchange tournament so she could take the trophy back to Hogwarts and leverage it to haggle with Dumbledore for a few extra days of vacation. That was the real goal.

Suddenly, a stray thought popped into Shafiq's head:

Wait a minute. If I'm here leading the team for the tournament... who is teaching the Alchemy students back at Hogwarts right now?

She recalled Dumbledore smiling as he entrusted the team to her care, but regarding a substitute teacher...

Did he mention one?

I don't think he did.

Professor Shafiq blinked, then decided she was too lazy to dwell on that problem. She shifted quietly in her seat, finding a position that looked dignified enough for the public but allowed her to relax her back muscles. She turned her attention back to the arena.

Her pale gray eyes swept over the competitors—some looking anxious, others calm—before finally resting on the area in front of Lucien.

To her senses, the flow of magic and the balance of elements there was incredibly orderly. It was stable and obedient—hardly the work of a teenager in a high-pressure competition.

My, she thought, that kid really is fast.

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