That Was Merely A Mistake

The rain had not yet stopped.

The damp moisture still heavily soaked the night air.

Caesar stood alone on the silent street, the streetlamp casting his elongated shadow across the wet asphalt, gleaming with a faint, dark light.

The long and vivid simulation just now, along with the cold settlement prompt at its end, slipped away from the surface of his active consciousness like an ebbing tide, leaving only something more essential settled within.

He raised his hand, his fingertips making an extremely slight hook in the void.

No incantation was spoken, not even much magic power was summoned. A wisp of silver-blue, thread-thin light trace naturally emerged, winding around his fingers and moving playfully, like a living spirit.

This light-element magic, which previously required his full concentration and a considerable amount of magic power to stabilize and maintain, now felt as effortless and casual as breathing.

"So this is legendary-grade magical talent? It feels amazing!"

Those obscure magical principles that once required him to spend months digging through old papers and pondering long in meditation just to barely glimpse the path were now exceptionally clear and transparent in his perception.

It was a qualitative leap, an instinct and understanding of the essence of magic that had ascended to a new dimension.

"Moreover, all that magical knowledge belonging to the Hogwarts professors is now in my mind. As long as I have enough materials, I can easily use those powerful spells."

Caesar could sense that it wasn't just the talent—the vast, ocean-like magical knowledge accumulated over more than ten years in his past simulations—

Those fragments, conjectures, and contradictory theories scraped from the Hogwarts library, lost ruins, and even the black market and forbidden books—

All of it was retained in his mind.

"But... it feels like my head isn't as sharp."

Caesar's mind stirred slightly, but a hint of joy didn't appear on his lips; instead, they pressed down faintly.

Without the Genius Scholar trait, it seemed a stone had been pressed onto the top of his head. He lacked that intuitive spark of insight from the simulation.

Simply put, he had become dumber.

No, it was more accurate to say he had returned to his true self.

In the original plan, Hermione was meant to compensate for this... She would become Caesar's "brain," his strategist, offering him plans and advice.

But this thought uncontrollably surfaced, carrying the complex impression of that clever, stubborn girl left over from the simulation.

She indeed had that ability, perhaps even better than he had anticipated. But...

Caesar's gaze suddenly turned cold, and he forcefully froze and peeled away that inappropriate softness, born from the simulation's memories.

His heart had softened.

He calmly examined many of his choices in this simulation.

Those extra considerations, those unplanned "interactions," those variables that could ultimately lead to loss of control.

He had invested too much unplanned "attention" and "resources" in Hermione, even marrying her in the simulation's ending... He cut off that train of thought.

Next time, he absolutely could not repeat the same mistake.

Cold resolve once again took the lead.

In the next simulation, he needed a "clever female character," a brain capable of acting as a strategist to assist him in completing complex plans.

But at the same time, she must be easier to control, or at least, not trigger unplanned emotional entanglements.

Fleur Delacour? The standout from Beauxbatons, beautiful and ambitious, perhaps easy to use, but not... cunning enough.

Luna Lovegood? Astonishing intuition, unique perspective, might offer unexpected ideas, but too flighty, hard to fit into a rigorous plan.

Astoria Greengrass? From a pure-blood family, clever and restrained enough, but frail in body, and the family interests involved might be complicated...

Names flashed through his mind, then were quickly set aside.

The specific candidate would need to be considered based on the world background and identity of the next simulation, but the principle was set:

Next time, tools were tools. Absolute rationality and distance must be maintained.

Caesar took one last look at the deep night sky, turned, and began to walk. His figure melted into the fog and shadows of the Hogwarts night.

In the next simulation, he would be colder, more efficient, and go straight for the goal. All warmth and hesitation would be completely abandoned.

As for the occasional flashes in his mind—the illusory image of Butterbeer foam colliding in the sunlight, or a certain smile bright as tears—

That was just a mistake.

Nothing more.

Early the next morning, before the sunlight in the Gryffindor Tower boys' dormitory had fully dispelled the dampness of the morning mist, Harry and Ron appeared at Caesar's bedside with faces full of hesitant anxiety.

"Caesar, uh... good morning."

Ron scratched his fiery red hair, his gaze a bit shifty. "Last night... are you okay? We heard about it later. Hermione didn't mean it, you know? She just gets too serious sometimes..."

Harry nodded vigorously beside him, his green eyes filled with sincere worry. "She just wanted to win too badly, and Malfoy's words were really harsh. She regretted it a lot afterward."

Caesar leaned back against the headboard, still carrying the laziness of just waking up, but his face showed no particular expression. He just nodded faintly. "It's fine."

The morning flying lesson was held on the wide lawn.

The sky was a washed-out blue, with a few fluffy white clouds drifting slowly.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and the students rose into the air on their brooms, some clumsy, some nimble.

Unexpectedly, the atmosphere today wasn't as stiff as anticipated.

Perhaps the intense conflict from the night before had actually released some pent-up emotions.

Caesar handled the school's somewhat worn Comet 260 with movements that weren't graceful but were steady enough.

At least there were no more embarrassing spins in place or sudden drops.

He deliberately held back the near-instinctive insight into flying that came with his talent boost, acting like an average student of decent ability who was still working hard to adapt.

During a slow lap around the field, he steered his broom closer to Hermione, who was carefully maintaining her balance but had clearly improved significantly from earlier.

Looking at the familiar face and unfamiliar eyes, Caesar's voice was low, carried by the wind, his tone calm and unreadable.

"About yesterday... I was too harsh with some of my words. Sorry."

Hermione, fully focused on controlling her broom's pitch, turned her head in surprise, her brown eyes blinking rapidly.

Her expression was complicated, a mix of lingering frustration, a trace of barely noticeable embarrassment, and... perhaps a hint of surprise.

She pressed her lips together and replied quietly, "I... shouldn't have acted that way either. Sorry."

Those two simple sentences were like a silent truce.

No excessive explanations, no deliberate closeness, but the previous tension, sharp as drawn swords, had indeed dissipated considerably.

Harry, not far away, saw this and broke into a relaxed smile. Ron winked at him.