What followed was Dumbledore handing out a story quest, making a particular point of warning them that the right-hand corridor on the fourth floor was dangerous.
John could only think, Aren't you practically telling the curious lions to hurry over and take a look?
Then came the Sorting Ceremony, with Hannah Abbott going first, as invariably as ever.
The Sorting Hat assigned her to Hufflepuff.
By the time John's turn came, Hermione had already been sorted into Gryffindor and was looking at him expectantly.
Nobody wanted to be separated from their friends.
"John Wick."
Professor McGonagall called John's name, and he walked up.
His sleek black hair complemented his refined features, and his wizard robes fit him perfectly.
Girls abroad matured earlier than those back in China. They blushed and whispered among themselves about the handsome boy.
When he reached the Sorting Hat, John spotted a spider busily working on its brim and nearly recoiled in disgust.
He had already gotten the impression that wizards were rather unkempt, but this was just filthy.
Didn't Professor McGonagall feel disgusted holding it?
The Sorting Hat was placed on his head, and its indignant voice rang out.
"What a rude Little Wizard! Just as arrogant as Slytherin!"
John felt awkward. He hadn't expected the Sorting Hat to know what he was thinking.
Curiosity prompted him to ask, "Is this Legilimency?"
"Legilimency? So this Little Wizard knows about advanced magic. Unfortunately, no."
As the hat of Gryffindor, one of the original Founders, the Sorting Hat certainly wasn't using Legilimency. More precisely, it used something even more advanced.
"What a difficult choice. You have courage and a spirit of exploration, diligence and perseverance, tolerance and compassion, cunning and ambition, and a dedication to honor... That last quality does fit Slytherin quite well."
The Sorting Hat muttered to itself in considerable difficulty, leaving John momentarily stunned.
Wait, you haven't mentioned intelligence at all. Are you implying I'm stupid?
That's going too far.
No, the real question is, how do I have anything to do with Slytherin?
He wasn't a pure-blood, and everyone in Slytherin was obsessed with blood purity. They were practically his natural enemies.
As for ambition, John felt quite innocent. He only wanted to become the next wizard on Dumbledore's level. What was wrong with that?
Can you honestly say you never claimed you wanted to become Superman when you were little?
At most, he also wanted to dominate a house. Wasn't that just like becoming class president? How the hell did that count as ambition?
Slander. Absolute slander!
Unfortunately, no matter how furiously his thoughts raced, the Sorting Hat finally announced its decision after much hesitation.
"Slytherin!"
"What?"
John was dumbfounded. I'm Muggle-born, and you're sending me to Slytherin?
Everyone knew Slytherin was obsessed with blood purity. He wasn't even a half-blood. At best, they would call him a Mudblood.
Sending him there was practically asking for him to be bullied.
"Don't worry, Little Wizard," the Sorting Hat said calmly. "Your honor will make Slytherin acknowledge you."
"I suspect you're getting back at me for bad-mouthing you," John said doubtfully.
The Sorting Hat's decision was final. Even Dumbledore couldn't change it.
Unable to do anything about it, he trudged toward Slytherin.
Two worried gazes followed him from Gryffindor.
Hermione and Neville were both concerned for their friend.
"Ah... Life isn't easy."
As luck would have it, the only remaining seat at Slytherin was beside Malfoy.
When John sat down, Malfoy took his handsome appearance and courteous manner as signs that he was some pure-blood family's child.
After all, in Malfoy's mind, only pure-bloods possessed such elegance. Muggles never even crossed his mind.
As a child of the Malfoy family, he had no intention of settling for mediocrity. Another ally could only benefit him.
So he proudly extended his hand in friendship. "Draco Malfoy. The pure-blood Malfoys of the Sacred Twenty-Eight."
He raised his head proudly, looking down his nose at John.
He looked like a male peacock eagerly showing off to attract a mate.
John glanced at him and politely shook his hand. "John Wick," he said calmly.
Malfoy appreciated his sensible behavior. He was nothing like that Harry Potter.
Although John wasn't from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight pure-blood families, Malfoy decided to treat this classmate well on the strength of his agreeable attitude alone.
So he asked proudly, "Are you a pure-blood or a half-blood?"
John glanced at his arrogant expression. "Neither," he said flatly.
Malfoy's expression froze. Neither?
Didn't that mean his family were all Muggles?
"You're a Mudblood."
The word sprang into Malfoy's mind, and he blurted it out without thinking.
The next second.
Something slammed into his chin, and the scene before his eyes abruptly shifted.
Crabbe's shriek and Goyle's scream of pain reached his ears.
Then came an uproar throughout the hall, followed by Professor McGonagall's reprimands.
Malfoy spent his first night at school in the Hospital Wing.
The first Thursday of term.
"Ah, life. Always so full of surprises."
"Ah, life, life is short, so why rush through it?"
In the Trophy Room, John held a cleaning cloth with all the elegance of a waiter holding a spotless white napkin, polishing a medal bearing James Potter's name.
Filch, who was supervising him, turned his head away, unable to bear watching.
John had beaten up a School Governor's son on his very first day. Being allowed to stay and polish medals was already an act of extraordinary leniency.
Not to mention that he had stabbed a fork into the back of Goyle's hand and pressed the Little Wizard's head into intimate contact with the table.
Even if Malfoy had insulted him first, he had been far too brutal.
Slytherin had lost more than half its points right at the start of term, and Snape's face had been black as thunder.
If Dumbledore hadn't pleaded on his behalf, John would probably have been expelled.
As punishment, John had to polish trophies in the Trophy Room for two months.
Because of this, John's name had spread throughout Hogwarts as soon as term began.
He was the most notorious student in this year's intake.
Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris, licked the fur on her paw. Although the Maine Coon was large, she was absurdly thin.
Having finished his work for the day, John waved to Mrs. Norris.
"Bye, Mrs. Norris. I'll bring you some cat food tomorrow. Just look how skinny you are."
After saying goodbye, John left the Trophy Room before Filch could lose his temper.
When he returned to the Slytherin Common Room, the young wizards inside fell silent the moment he entered.
They were all frightened by his brutal display at the start of term. Some had even begun calling him the "Night Demon," or "boogeyman."
His hair and his ruthless moves that day had earned him the nickname.
It meant much the same as an evil spirit, which showed how afraid they were of John.
John didn't take it to heart. He had fought that battle with a purpose.
As a wizard from a Muggle family, his best chance of avoiding becoming Slytherin's collective punching bag was to establish his authority with his fists.
Clearly, he had succeeded.
The price was that he had no friends in Slytherin, though it wasn't without benefits.
He had unlocked a quest chain called "Night Demon." Once he accumulated a hundred hours of nighttime wandering, he could complete it and receive a "Night Demon" enhancement.
He returned to his room.
For fear that John might clash with someone again, he had been given a room of his own.
He was very pleased with this. It made keeping a dog and exercising much easier.
At three months old, Tom was full of energy, bounding around the room and occasionally provoking Basil the snowy owl.
Usually, this earned him a smack from Basil's wing. After behaving himself for a little while, he would go right back for another beating.
The first thing John did after returning was start exercising.
It was his daily routine, as well as his method of building up magical power.
[Strengthen the Body: Improve compatibility with magical power through exercise, absorbing magical power during the process.]
"Wasn't I supposed to be a magic apprentice? Why does it feel like I'm about to become a berserker?"
After finishing his workout, John felt his noticeably larger muscles. Was it really all right for a first-year to have eight-pack abs?
Who built up magical power by working out? Still, he had been doing it this way for years, and it had become a habit.
He took a shower and brought the day to an end.
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