Midtown High School of Science and Technology was, in Lloyd's professional opinion, a fortress of mediocrity disguised as an institute of learning.
He stood across the street, leaning against the grime-streaked brickwork of a bodega, sipping a coffee that tasted like hot water filtered through a burnt sock.
The morning sun was climbing higher, baking the asphalt and amplifying the city's roar.
For a man who had once walked the hallowed, silent corridors of the Department of Mysteries, where the air hummed with the whispers of the dead and the fabric of reality was thin enough to touch, standing outside a Queens high school felt like a demotion to a lower plane of existence.
Ding-ding
The school bell rang—a shrill, electronic shriek that made Lloyd wince.
"Pavlovian," he muttered into his cup. "Ring the bell, the rats scurry."
A flood of teenagers poured out of the main doors for their lunch break.
It was a sea of hormones, anxiety, and terrible fashion choices.
Lloyd watched them with the detached, clinical interest of a biologist observing a colony of particularly noisy beetles.
He wasn't here for the colony, though. He was here for a specific drone.
He checked his watch, a cheap, plastic digital thing he'd bought at a drugstore.
12:15 PM
Right on cue, a sleek, silver Audi R8 pulled up to the curb a block away, far enough to avoid the teachers' gaze but close enough to be seen by the envy-ridden masses. The engine purred with a mechanical precision that annoyed Lloyd.
It was too clean, Too efficient and there was no soul in it, no whimpering spirit trapped in the carburetor to give it character.
The driver's door opened, and out stepped Flash Thompson.
Lloyd had done his research.
Eugene "Flash" Thompson,Star quarterback (or whatever sport Americans obsessed over), rich parents, and an ego that possessed its own gravitational pull.
Flash looked around nervously, adjusting his varsity jacket. He spotted Lloyd and hesitated.
Lloyd didn't wave, he didn't smile.
He simply took another sip of his terrible coffee and waited.
In negotiations, the person who moves first loses.
Flash jogged over, checking over his shoulder to ensure none of his entourage was watching.
He looked exactly as Lloyd expected: handsome in a generic, mass-produced sort of way, with eyes that held a flicker of genuine teenage panic.
"You came," Flash said, stopping three feet away. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
"You're... him? The guy from the reddit?"
"The guy from the reddit" was a handle Lloyd had created on a deep-web message board dedicated to 'Occult Solutions for Modern Problems.' It was a cesspool of conspiracy theorists and role-players, which made it the perfect hunting ground for a desperate wizard.
"Mr. Thompson," Lloyd said, his voice smooth and lacking any New York inflection. He spoke with the clipped, aristocratic diction of a pureblood wizard, which usually confused Americans enough to make them compliant.
"I trust the traffic was agreeable?"
"Uh, yeah. Sure," Flash said, shifting his weight. "Look, do you have it? The... stuff?"
"The 'stuff'," Lloyd repeated, letting the word hang in the air with disdain.
He reached into the inner pocket of his coat.
He didn't pull it out immediately.
He let his hand linger there.
"I must reiterate the terms of our agreement, Mr. Thompson. What I offer is not a miracle. It is a catalyst. It operates on the principle of sympathetic resonance."
Flash blinked. "Sympa-what? Look, dude, will it make Gwen notice me or not?"
Lloyd suppressed the urge to transfigure the boy into a ferret.
It would be satisfying, but ferrets didn't carry cash.
"It creates an opening," Lloyd corrected. "It clears the mental fog.
It makes the subject more... receptive to your natural charms. Assuming, of course, you possess any."
He withdrew the vial.
In the sunlight, the mixture of Gatorade, cough syrup, and the faint Cheering Charm looked surprisingly mystical.
The purple liquid swirled sluggishly, catching the light. Lloyd had glued a piece of parchment to the glass with a sigil drawn in Sharpie.
It meant absolutely nothing, it was a doodle he'd made while on the phone with the cable company but Flash stared at it like it was the Holy Grail.
"Whoa," Flash breathed. "Is that... is that real magic?"
"Chemistry is just magic explained to people who lack imagination," Lloyd lied effortlessly. "This is a pheromone-binding agent derived from..." He paused, searching his brain for something that sounded impressive but legally indistinct. "...rare Amazonian root extracts and energetic resonance charging."
"Five hundred, right?" Flash reached for his back pocket.
"Cash," Lloyd reminded him. "Small bills preferred. I am allergic to paper trails."
Flash pulled out a thick envelope.
He looked at the money, then at the vial, then back at Lloyd. A shadow of doubt crossed his face.
"How do I know this isn't just, like, purple water?"
Lloyd smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.
It was the smile of a man who had negotiated treaties with Goblins.
He tapped into his mana reserve.
It was a shallow pool, barely enough to light a candle, but he didn't need a fireball.
He needed theatrics.
He focused on the vial in his hand.
Confundus minoris
It wasn't even a full spell.
It was a pulse of intent.
Just a tiny flicker of magic pushed into the glass.
The liquid inside glowed.
It wasn't a reflection of the sun. For exactly two seconds, the purple sludge emitted a faint, unearthly hum and a soft, violet luminescence.
The air around them grew cold, and the hair on Flash's arms stood up.
Then, Lloyd cut the connection.
The glow faded.
Lloyd leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"Do I look like I sell water, Mr. Thompson?"
Flash swallowed hard. His skepticism evaporated, replaced by a mixture of fear and awe. He shoved the envelope into Lloyd's chest.
"Here. Take it. Just... give me the bottle."
Lloyd took the envelope, feeling the satisfying thickness of the currency. He handed over the vial.
"Three drops in her drink," Lloyd instructed, inventing the rules on the fly. "No more, no less. If you use four, she might vomit. If you use five, she might grow a tail, I accept no liability for misuse."
"Right. Three drops. Got it." Flash clutched the vial like it was a live grenade. "Thanks, man. Seriously."
"Do not thank me," Lloyd said, turning away. "And lose my number."
Flash didn't need telling twice.
He sprinted back to his Audi, eager to escape the weird man in the trench coat.
Lloyd watched him go, sliding the envelope into his jacket. Five hundred dollars.
It was a fortune to a broke man, and pocket change to a Thompson.
The balance of the universe was maintained.
He was about to walk away when a sensation prickled the back of his neck.
It wasn't magic. It was... instinct.
The same instinct that used to warn him when a creature was stalking him in the forbidden forests of Albania.
Lloyd froze. He slowly turned his head toward the school entrance.
A boy was walking up the steps.
He was skinny, clutching a camera, with messy brown hair and a skateboard tucked under his arm.
He looked entirely unremarkable.
But to Lloyd's eyes—eyes that had spent decades categorizing the magical properties of living things,the boy was a beacon.
The System window popped up, glowing blue in his peripheral vision.
> [Passive Skill Triggered: Predator's Eye]
> Target: Homo Sapiens (?)
> Analysis:
> * Genetic Structure: Highly unstable
> * Energy Signature: Radiant Bio-Luminescence (Mutation Level: High)
> * Note: Target smells like a spider. A very large, radioactive spider
Lloyd narrowed his eyes. "Well, well."
The boy,Peter Parker, presumably paused at the top of the stairs. He looked around, rubbing the back of his neck as if he felt eyes on him. He looked directly at Lloyd across the street.
For a second, their gazes locked. The predator and the... whatever that was.
Peter frowned, confused, then shook his head and hurried inside.
Lloyd let out a low whistle.
"Mutations," he whispered to himself. "Walking around in broad daylight.
This city is a petri dish."
The System chimed again.
> [New Quest Available]
> Mission: The Collector's Eye
> Objective: Obtain a biological sample from the target [Peter Parker]
> Reward: 100 XP, [Basic Trap Construction Skill]
> Failure Penalty: Continued poverty
Lloyd dismissed the notification with a scoff. "Hunt a mutant teenager in a public school? I think not. I have rent to pay."
He turned his back on Midtown High.
The hunt could wait. The Niffler was probably hungry, and Lloyd had promised himself a sandwich that didn't come from a dumpster.
He began the long walk back to the subway, the envelope of cash warm against his chest. It wasn't much , But for today, it was enough.
"One step at a time," Lloyd murmured, stepping over a puddle of questionable liquid.
"First, we pay the rent. Then... we buy a bigger cage."
Authors Note:
Hope everyone likes it.
Power stones and collections help niffler grow 🪴.