Evening Gala

This was the modpack I was playing, and this was its Conversion Table crafting recipe. Emmm, there was something I wasn't sure I should say.

"Since that's the case, let them do as they please."

Kayson left the Headmaster's Office, and that had been Dumbledore's answer.

In response, he discreetly gave Dumbledore a slowly raised middle finger.

Let them do as they pleased—it did sound like Dumbledore's style, going with the flow. He had no objection to that.

No objection was no objection, but he had his own little thoughts, his own little plans.

Dumbledore could handle the grand strategy. Kayson respected the wisdom of someone who had lived for over a hundred years, so he would not argue.

But Dumbledore should also allow him to make a few harmless little moves within reasonable limits.

And they could put a few more stumbling blocks in Quirrell's path while he was up to no good. Why not?

Even Dumbledore could not stop this!

Last time, he had used a physical attack and dealt Quirrell devastating damage. Under Madam Pomfrey's treatment, Quirrell had been discharged after just one week.

This time, he decided to get a little creative.

Unfortunately, not now.

Because he was busy organizing his seventh-year students' trip to the European Alchemy Exchange Association's gala. Their paper on Iron Golems had produced results even sooner than the fourth-years' paper on Enchanting Tables.

Every wizard whose name appeared on the paper had been invited to tonight's gala—an awards gala held specifically for them.

By the Black Lake at dusk, Kayson wore an aqua-blue wizard's robe, its surface truly shimmering with magical ripples like water.

He was critically inspecting the dozen or so seventh-year students before him, even though they were no longer that young.

"Cassidy, where's your brooch? And your sleeve—there's a loose thread. Please pull it off! After this gala, you'll be taking a group photo with me. That photo will appear in the next issue of the Alchemy journal and the Daily Prophet, so put some effort into it."

As he spoke, Kayson handed Cassidy an exquisite, elegant brooch that had appeared in his hand at some unknown point.

"Ah, yes, Professor!" Cassidy hurriedly pulled off the loose thread, then accepted the brooch with both hands and pinned it to her chest.

"Mars, your shoes. Look at your leather shoes—dull as can be. Is that acceptable?"

"...Your collar, Wright. If you think wearing it like that is uncomfortable, just turn it out. Your shirt and jacket can indeed be styled that way. Has nobody ever seen you before?"

After adjusting the students' attire, he checked his watch, raised his head, and continued.

"Unfortunately, you're already in your seventh year. If your schedule weren't so tight, I would have had you research subjects with greater academic value. But you don't have enough time."

"I could only give you something as relatively basic as an Iron Golem, an alchemical construct, as your seventh-year gift. Yet the names you signed onto this paper with your own hands may make your futures far smoother."

"Because I can only teach you for one year, I can only make it up to you in such ways. Now, take deep breaths. In one minute, you'll be heading to the Ministry of Magic's banquet hall. The foremost scholars of alchemy, reporters from the Daily Prophet, and senior officials of the Ministry of Magic will all be waiting for you there."

"Pull yourselves together, ladies and gentlemen. For your own futures," Kayson said in a low voice.

"We will, Professor." It was unclear which sentimental wizard had spoken. Perhaps they had heard how Kayson had agonized over their futures, or perhaps they were lamenting why they had only met a professor like him in their seventh year.

In any case, the student's voice carried an unusual trace of tears.

"Cassidy, please control your emotions. To make a good impression later, do you need to touch up your makeup?" Kayson walked over to the witch named Cassidy and handed her a handkerchief.

Cassidy shook her head as she wiped away her tears, then quietly slipped the handkerchief into her pocket.

"...As long as you're happy." Kayson watched the scene and shrugged helplessly.

Soon, the time came. Kayson took out a pouch containing a stack of Portkeys that had been mailed to him well in advance.

"One each, everyone. Mind your manners. This term is about to end, and I can no longer teach you much more. But fortunately, I can still help you at this gala—um... escort you safely, perhaps."

Kayson handed out the Portkeys one by one. When he reached Cassidy, the sentimental little witch took the Portkey, then suddenly threw her arms around him without warning.

"Alright, alright. I hope this makes you happy." Kayson patted the little witch's back in comfort.

"I will, Professor."

Soon, every Portkey had been placed into someone's hand. The instant the time reached that precise mark, all of them—including Kayson—felt a strange spatial force seize them.

It carried them into an enormous, luxurious venue.

Kayson had previously enchanted the power of an Ender Pearl into his body. In those few short minutes, he had teleported around his office more times than most people did in a lifetime, so after appearing at the venue, he regained his composure almost instantly.

The students who had followed him did not possess his level of composure, but they all remembered what Kayson had said.

Keep your poise. Stay elegant.

Fortunately, none of them embarrassed themselves. They had all done well.

Soon, Kayson noticed several reporters with magical cameras hanging from their chests approaching. He naturally gestured to the students standing behind him.

Before long, a neat group photo appeared in one reporter's camera.

"Excellent photography." Kayson looked over the animated photograph the reporter had taken. After confirming that everyone in it was maintaining proper decorum, without anyone closing their eyes, yawning, looking dazed, or making any other little movements, he sincerely extended his hand and shook the reporter's.

"Professor, what should we do next?" A student quietly appeared behind Kayson's right shoulder and asked in a low voice.

"Remain calm, observe the situation, and watch your teacher tame them!"

The next day...

Kayson looked at the headline of the new issue of the Daily Prophet. A photograph of him with his students was displayed prominently on the front page.

The headline used polished, elegant language to praise both him and the students in the photograph.

Even Kayson blushed at the lavishly complimentary wording.

"Ah... this is a little embarrassing."