Allen's joke about that "letter of recognition" being like a quest reward? Yeah, total nonsense. This wasn't so video ga dungeon. There was no way that parchnt granted him access to a hell-tier mission like Orphans of the Mist or Tempest of the Abyss.
In reality, it was just a plain old certificate, nothing fancy. It had a short inscription in an ancient script Allen couldn't even begin to recognize, and a signature at the bottom he definitely couldn't read. But at least it didn't say sothing like "slap forehead three tis, clap hands behind your back, and open the back door", so he counted that as a win.
Still, judging from the professor's expression when handing it over, it was probably sothing valuable. His face had that unmistakable "I just lost money" look, so it was likely sothing Hogwarts needed. Allen tucked the "story prop" away with great care.
With that done, Allen decided to head for the library. Sitting through another class was pointless; no way could he stay focused under the stares of students who looked like they wanted to incinerate him on the spot. Sure, beating up that last bunch had felt incredibly satisfying, but it wasn't like every professor would reward him with a mission letter just because he hospitalized their students.
That said, he stayed sharp and alert on his way. As things stood, his threat level in Ilvermorny had probably reached full-on Hostile. He figured one wrong step could end with him in deep trouble. Even the toughest Auror, like Mad-Eye Moody, had to crawl into a box after getting ambushed by Death Eaters. Allen had no intention of ending up in Ilvermorny's makeshift infirmary because of a lapse in caution.
Unfortunately, the more you try to avoid sothing, the more it seems to find you. Just as he was crossing a hallway intersection, he got blocked off, ambushed.
And strangely, so of the students looked… vaguely familiar. Allen squinted, trying to rember where he'd seen them.
"Hey, Hogwarts brat, rember us?" sneered a skinny blond boy leaning casually against the wall, one cheek slightly swollen. His tone was mocking, but his trembling left hand clutching his wand betrayed his nerves.
Allen still had no clue who these nobodies were, but he knew what was coming. One look at the way they surrounded him told him this wouldn't be a clean, quick fight like last ti. No chance of steamrolling these guys.
"Don't be so quick to grab your wand, kid," the blond sneered. "That'd ruin all the fun."
The boy pushed off the wall and stood tall, well, as tall as he could, while eight other wands imdiately snapped toward Allen.
"Honestly, I don't approve of this kind of thing," he said smoothly. "Ganging up on soone just because you lost on the pitch? It's cowardly. Pathetic, even."
Reasonable words. Calm tone.
And yet… you still brought a gang?
Allen finally rembered who they were, a mash-up squad of students who'd all been knocked off their brooms in the match. There'd been so many of them that they exceeded a full Quidditch lineup. No wonder they were sore.
"It's unfortunate, really," the leader sighed. "I wasn't planning on causing trouble, but you were way out of line. Winning against Wampus House was bad enough… but hospitalizing half our fourth-years? That's crossing the line."
Allen blinked in disbelief.
Ah.
So that's why they're here to jump .
He'd completely demolished this house, no wonder they were out for blood. Honestly, if the roles were reversed, he probably wouldn't forgive himself either.
So that's why the hate levels were through the roof, double buffed from both the Quidditch loss and the classroom beatdown.
He felt a bit sorry for them… but not enough to let them send him to the hospital.
"Uh, my bad. You guys changed outfits, so I really didn't recognize you," Allen said with zero sincerity. "And I swear I didn't know that was your house's class."
Unsurprisingly, his deadpan apology didn't land. None of the boys cracked a smile, much less showed any intention of letting bygones be bygones.
Sheesh, tough crowd, Allen thought, watching the stone-faced Quidditch players. Silently, he began moving his non-wand hand, planting a few seeds behind him while the others blabbered.
Sure, he could overpower them all if he went all-out, but that'd be way too flashy. Instead, he decided to take a smarter approach. After all, taking out a bunch of upperclassn with the help of traps and gadgets was a totally different story than soloing them head-on.
Beating up a few wizards who didn't even get their spells off? That was a funny anecdote, an embarrassnt for them, but not shocking. Probably sothing Hagrid did back in the day when Dumbledore was still teaching Transfiguration.
But ambushing a group of wizards using traps? That'd just make people laugh at how dumb the victims were for not being prepared. Again, not a big deal.
What would raise eyebrows was if he crushed them in a direct fight, spell-for-spell.
Like… if you block a brick or a beer bottle, people say, "Damn, tough guy!"
If you eat a bullet and keep standing, they go, "Wow, you've mastered iron-body kung fu!"
But if you shrug off a Barrett sniper round, tankbuster shell, or a cluster bomb, then it's,
"Open up! Special delivery!"
And that's just the mailman. If you can survive planet-level destruction, you basically get a license to do whatever you want. But sadly, Allen wasn't Voldemort or Dumbledore, not yet.
As he pondered who to take out first to not make the win look too easy, the Quidditch boys finally stopped ranting. Apparently, even schoolyard bullies had their limits when it ca to monologues. Ti to throw hands.
But before anyone could cast the first spell, both Allen and his would-be attackers lifted their heads at the sa ti.
Sothing was coming.
The ground beneath them trembled, a low rumble shaking the stones. And then ca a distinct, chilling roar that wiped the smirk clean off Allen's face.
That was a bear's roar.
And it wasn't just loud, it was angry.
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