The Lion Licking Its Wounds

A recording of a new type of alchemy workbench had leaked out of Hogwarts.

Along with its original name, the Enchanting Table.

Maybe it was a mischievous young wizard using a Memory Orb, maybe it was some other recording magic, or maybe it was a Magic Recorder—in any case, the footage of Kayson enchanting Cedric's wand had slipped out of Hogwarts.

Kayson had nothing to say about it. To be honest, he quite liked fame.

Back when he was doing whole-house customisation in the Muggle World, he'd only taken two orders before his reputation spread across all of London.

The benefits of fame were immediate. For example, from then on, he could choose which orders he wanted to take, and they were high-paying with little hassle—no brain-dead clients with walnut-sized skulls trying to micromanage stupid nonsense.

Translated into the wizarding world, it was like a star that had long since hung in the sky, twinkling brightly over the entire European Wizarding World's alchemy circle.

Although he hadn't seen any of those benefits yet, a few letters had held him hostage for two and a half hours.

Forcing him to go to Dumbledore for emergency help.

Kayson sat on the sofa in the Headmaster's Office. "It's these letters. They all claim to be the most authoritative alchemy circle in all of Europe, but I have absolutely no clue, so..."

"So you want me to help you pick out the reliable ones?" Dumbledore glanced at the signatures on the letters, already having made up his mind.

"No, I want you to give me an idea—how to politely, courteously, and without offending anyone, reject all of them," Kayson added.

"Why?"

"...Don't you think that if I met a real professional, I'd be exposed in under five seconds? Then a rising new star in the alchemy world would instantly turn into a big fraud, and we'd fast-forward straight to me getting kicked out of Hogwarts... That kind of thing... is good?"

"You're overthinking it, really. Don't sell yourself so short. You have to trust your peers' imagination. Plenty of people already know you're an apprentice-trained wizard. It's perfectly normal for your alchemy theory and practice to differ from a school-trained wizard's."

"...I didn't even know I was apprentice-trained. How many backstories have you made up for me?"

"You might not know this, but when I was young, I submitted a few short stories to a Muggle publisher."

"..."

And so, Kaysen was coaxed and bluffed by Dumbledore into replying to the [European Alchemy Exchange Association].

According to the old man Dumbledore, this Alchemy Association's status was basically equivalent to the Wizengamot among wizards—prestigious, its reputation even more valuable than the Order of Merlin.

After all, the Order of Merlin could actually be bought with money.

Leaving the Headmaster's Office, Kayson walked through the castle corridors, wondering if that old codger Dumbledore had tricked him.

But probably not, right? Dumbledore had him join the Alchemy Association, and he wouldn't get a commission from it, so it really was a kind of [for his own good]?

It was just that he wasn't skilled enough, so he was being paranoid?

That must be it.

And so, until a faint sob came from a stairwell, he pulled his mind back from the brainstorming to reality.

He walked toward the stairwell and saw a small figure in Gryffindor robes sitting on the steps.

"Hello?" He tried to make his voice gentle so as not to startle the young wizard, but he still got startled—the kid flinched and nearly tumbled down the stairs. Kayson was quick enough to grab him by the back of his collar.

Only then did he get a clear look at the young wizard. He remembered the name... Neville Longbottom, that should have been the name at the Sorting Ceremony.

"Professor." Neville Longbottom wiped his face with his sleeve, smearing tears and snot all over it in an instant. The sleeve was dirty, but his face was clean of those unwanted things.

But it still left Kayson with half a handkerchief pulled out, frozen in his pocket.

"...Take this. Don't use your sleeve next time." He finally pulled out the handkerchief and placed it in Neville Longbottom's hand.

"Thank you. You're a really good person." Neville's tears flowed again as he spoke uncontrollably.

[Affection from Neville +10]

[Trust from Neville +10]

"Thanks for the compliment. So, now, do you mind telling me why you're hiding here alone... uh... crying?" Kayson asked.

"N-nothing. I just fell down."

"...If you don't want to talk about it, I can take you to Professor McGonagall's office. Don't worry, I'll use a very clever way to let Professor McGonagall know that you... uh... lost a fight by a narrow margin, and then Professor McGonagall will go deal with them herself."

"That way, you'll still be the hero who swallowed your pride and kept your pain to yourself, like... a lion licking its wounds alone. How about that?" Kayson continued.

The moment he finished, Neville's eyes lit up.

"Come on, I'll take you to Professor McGonagall." Kayson held out his hand to Neville.

Neville sat on the steps, head down, thinking for a long time. Finally, perhaps feeling it was rude to keep a professor bent over with his hand out for so long, he hesitantly reached out and took it.

"Oh... God, I should have made this kid wipe his hands first. Fresh snot..."

But to avoid hurting the sensitive self-esteem of this eleven-year-old, he didn't show it. Instead, he gritted his teeth and led the boy by the hand toward Professor McGonagall's office.

After knocking, Kayson walked in with Neville. Professor McGonagall saw Neville's tear-streaked, red little face and roughly understood what had happened.

Then Kayson settled Neville into the chair opposite Professor McGonagall, made sure he was looking down and not watching him, carefully picked up a discarded piece of parchment from the corner, and meticulously wiped his hands.

Witnessing all this, Professor McGonagall shot him an apologetic look, then put on a stern face again.

"Mr. Longbottom, please tell me what happened."

Neville flinched at the sound of Professor McGonagall's voice. Kayson quickly walked over.

"Let me explain. After I left Dumbledore's office, Neville—forgive me, I haven't been at Hogwarts much longer than you—where was that place again?"

"The second-floor south corridor," Neville said quietly.