Slytherin

The entire Great Hall fell into an eerie, deathly silence, as though even breathing had stopped.

Every gaze—suspicion, fear, disbelief—was nailed to the black-haired boy sitting on the four-legged stool, the one the Sorting Hat had declared "Azkaban."

At the professors' table, Professor McGonagall was the first to react. Her face had gone deathly pale,

but her voice still struggled to remain calm, carrying unquestionable authority:

"That's impossible! Hat, you've clearly... made some kind of mistake! Sort him again!"

She stepped forward, practically forcing the words through clenched teeth as she glared sharply at the battered old hat.

The Sorting Hat shifted uneasily atop Skofot's head, seeming to realize its own lapse just now.

A faint voice, audible only to Fotkai, muttered in his mind:

"A mistake? No... this scent... cold, bloody, bearing the mark of death... Though cleverly concealed and restrained, its essence cannot be wrong... This is absolutely not the soul of an ordinary young wizard... Something is deeply wrong..."

He could clearly "see" the nearly invisible but undeniably present aura surrounding him,

as well as the faint ripples of fear spreading from everyone else in the Great Hall because of him—another form of visible "killing intent," or negative emotion?

He had to take control of the situation.

While the hat was still muttering in turmoil, he lowered his voice and spoke quickly and clearly, quietly enough that only the hat could hear. "Gryffindor."

He needed to join the protagonist's House. It was the most convenient route for gathering Emotion Points and advancing the plot.

"What?!" The Sorting Hat let out a shrill screech in his mind, making even the hat itself tremble.

"The hell do you mean, Gryffindor?! With that aura on you, weirder than a Dark Wizard and colder than a Dementor?! If you went into Gryffindor, those upright little lions would probably have nightmares every night! Do you think I'm blind?!"

The hat was clearly furious at his suggestion—or rather, disturbed by the contradiction between his soul and temperament, and by the dense sense that something was profoundly wrong with him.

It seemed eager to get rid of this hot potato, unwilling to probe any deeper into a soul that made it feel danger and chaos.

After a brief silence, the Sorting Hat suddenly raised its voice. With an almost petulant, decisive tone, it announced to the entire Great Hall:

"SLYTHERIN!"

This time, its voice was crystal clear, drowning out all the whispers.

As soon as the words fell, the Great Hall fell silent again for a moment before erupting into even louder discussion than before.

Slytherin?

The boy the hat had called "Azkaban" had ultimately gone to Slytherin?

Somehow... that seemed subtly more reasonable.

Scattered, hesitant applause rose from the Slytherin table.

Complex emotions flickered in Malfoy's gray-blue eyes: surprise, scrutiny, a trace of just as I thought, and the lingering irritation stirred up by their earlier conflict.

Crabbe and Goyle clapped along awkwardly.

Skofot rose without expression, removed the still faintly trembling Sorting Hat from his head, and handed it back to Professor McGonagall, whose expression was still shifting but who was visibly relieved.

Ignoring the fearful, curious, and rejecting gazes coming from all directions, he walked toward the Slytherin table.

He could feel Dumbledore's deep gaze from the professors' table, Snape's probing stare, and the lingeringly shaken scrutiny of the other professors.

[Emotion Points +50]

[Emotion Points: 410/100]

He sat in an empty seat some distance from the head of the table. The other Slytherin first-years instinctively shifted a slight distance away from him.

He lowered his eyes and looked at the gleaming golden plate before him, where his own blurred reflection was visible.

Slytherin... that was fine too.

Here, perhaps some of the Scavenger's traits could be better concealed—or rather, made to seem "reasonable."

Still, his opening had been a little too "spectacular."

He picked up his goblet and took a sip of water. No drinking alcohol—he remembered that.

Life at Hogwarts had officially begun.

In a way no one had expected.

Professor Dumbledore stood up. Beaming at the students, he spread his arms as though he wanted to embrace the entire Great Hall.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to Hogwarts for the start of a new school year! Before the feast begins, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

"Thank you all!"

He sat back down.

Everyone applauded and cheered.

Skofot clapped a few times as well, but his gaze roamed discreetly between the professors' table and the Slytherin table.

The Killing Intent Visualization ability granted by the [Scavenger] card allowed him to see things ordinary people could not perceive.

He needed a stable, high-quality source of Emotion Points—a suitable target to farm.

Malfoy? No.

If that brat got seriously angered, he would definitely complain to his father, Lucius.

He had no backing at the moment. If he fell into Lucius's hands, he would be finished.

Though Lucius Malfoy himself might be a decent source of emotions, distant water could not quench immediate thirst, and frequent contact with an adult wizard was far too risky.

Professor McGonagall? Even less likely.

That meticulous deputy headmistress would report directly to Dumbledore. The most likely outcome would be his expulsion or close surveillance for "abnormal behavior" or "potential danger."

Theodore Nott?

Quiet and unreadable. His emotions probably did not fluctuate much.

His gaze finally settled on the man in black at the professors' table, with greasy hair and a gloomy expression

—Severus Snape.

Right! Snape!

This unfathomable Potions Master, double agent, was best at enduring in silence and accustomed to keeping every emotion and secret buried inside.

Even if Snape noticed something, for some reason—perhaps loyalty to Dumbledore, or the need to protect his own secrets—

he would most likely not make a fuss. Instead, he would choose to observe in secret.

This was simply... the ideal test subject and a potential treasure trove of Emotion Points.

Decided.

A dazzling spread of food appeared on the long tables in an instant.

Skofot picked up his knife and fork. His movements were not elegant, but they were steady as he began cutting a piece of veal steak on his plate.

He kept his head lowered, as though fully focused on his food, but the ability to control killing intent granted by the [Scavenger] card had already begun to gather.

He carefully controlled the intensity. It could not be too strong and trigger a violent reaction, but it could not be too weak to go unnoticed.

A strand of extremely condensed, icy killing intent, carrying an invisible sense of oppression like a poison-dipped needle, silently crossed the noisy crowd and shot precisely toward Snape at the professors' table.

Then he immediately raised his head, a trace of curiosity about his new surroundings on his face—curiosity fitting for someone his age, or at least his apparent age—as his gaze "just happened" to sweep across the professors' table.