Sharl hadn't even finished speaking before Lis let out an ear-piercing shriek, her voice cracking with excitement.
"Little Master has work for Lis!"
"Little Master needs Lis's help!"
"Lis is needed!"
Sharl quickly cut in—if he didn't stop her, this House-elf might very well stay excited for the next half hour. Under Lis's eager and adoring gaze, Sharl calmly explained what he needed.
"I want you to practice combat with me."
As soon as he said that, Lis's excitement was instantly replaced by panic.
"Combat?"
"No, no, no!"
"How could Lis lay a hand on Little Master?"
But Sharl spoke firmly.
"Lis, this is my command. House-elves cannot disobey their master's orders, correct?"
Then, softening his tone, he added, "Besides, we're not truly fighting. You won't hurt me. Just pretend it's a game. Whoever reacts too slowly will get hung upside down. How about that?"
Lis hesitated, then finally nodded timidly.
"Alright. Yes… Lis must obey Little Master's command."
A moment later, Sharl drew his wand, his expression serious. Having read the Harry Potter books in his past life, he understood one thing clearly—never underestimate a House-elf.
"Then, Lis—begin. Use your full strength. If you don't, I'll fire you and you'll become a disgraced House-elf."
Lis screamed in horror.
"Fired? No, no! Lis cannot lose her job!"
Terrified by the idea, she immediately sprang into action. With a single snap of her fingers—
Before Sharl could react, the world spun upside down. Again.
He was hanging by his ankles, head toward the ground.
Lis gasped and quickly snapped her fingers again to release him, looking like she might cry at any second.
But Sharl took a deep breath, a smile spreading across his face.
"Good job, Lis. That was perfect. You're incredibly loyal—and this is helping me a lot."
"Let's go again."
Lis, finally assured, let out a relieved sigh. And so, the practice continued.
Sharl kept dodging Lis's finger snaps. At the same time, he was trying to follow Professor Snape's teachings—to sense the fluctuations in Magic Perception and react accordingly.
Lis wasn't stronger than Snape, but the magic in her felt more natural—subtle, seamless. It flowed as if part of her very being.
More than once, Sharl found himself hung upside down again before he even sensed the spell. But instead of being frustrated, he grew increasingly excited.
This training, it turned out, was even more effective than sparring with Professor Snape.
If this kept up, he might actually break through in combat ability before the Christmas holidays ended.
Focused intently, Sharl honed his senses, trying to track the Magic Perception after every finger snap.
Only when Lis was panting with exhaustion did he finally call for a break.
"Rest for a while. We'll continue afterward."
To his surprise, Lis didn't look the least bit resentful. In fact, her face was glowing.
House-elves felt honored when given endless work. The busier they were, the happier they felt.
Lis's eyes turned red with emotion as she choked out, "Lis is so lucky to serve Little Master. Little Master will definitely become a wizard whose name goes down in history. Wuwuwu—"
Sharl winced slightly at the tears. House-elves had many strengths, but they were far too emotional—and cried way too much.
"Forget it. Break canceled."
Lis was stunned for a second—then shrieked with joy again.
Meanwhile, in the Sprout family study, Professor Sprout sat with furrowed brows, her quill scratching softly against parchment. For someone of her stature in the Herbology world, publishing in a top journal shouldn't require this much effort.
But this wasn't an ordinary paper.
It was a stepping stone she was preparing for Sharl—a flawless introduction to the academic world.
More focused than when she submitted her very first paper, she scrutinized every word, carefully refining each sentence.
Outside in the greenhouse, the sounds of finger snaps echoed from morning to night. Inside the study, the rustling of parchment followed the same rhythm.
Time in the Sprout family seemed to fly.
A week passed in the blink of an eye.
In the greenhouse, Lis snapped her fingers over and over, filling the space with rapid, loud snaps.
Sharl moved swiftly, dodging invisible spells flying through the air. Time after time, he evaded them.
Finally, on the seventh spell, a wisp of magic grazed him and made him stumble. But he still landed steadily on his feet.
Lis stopped immediately, voice trembling with joy.
"Little Master did it. Lis is so happy. You will go down in history!"
But Sharl showed no joy.
His expression was tight. Disappointed.
Compared to a week ago, his combat ability had clearly improved. He could now sense Magic Perception more sharply, and his reactions had quickened.
Yet he knew deep down—this wasn't a breakthrough.
It was familiarity. Repetition. Muscle memory.
Like preparing for an exam by doing the same problem a hundred times—eventually, even the dullest student would get it right.
But change the question even slightly? Game over.
True understanding meant being able to solve any version of the problem.
And Sharl wasn't there yet.
He could dodge Lis's magic only because he had grown used to it. But facing a different opponent? He'd likely perform only slightly better than before.
It was frustrating.
He frowned deeper, then stopped practicing and began reflecting on his sessions.
Especially Snape's advice:
"Too slow. You're still far too slow. You must turn your reaction to magic into instinct."
But Sharl hadn't cracked it yet. He felt like something still separated him from that breakthrough. A veil he couldn't lift.
After much thought, he still hadn't figured it out.
So he turned to Lis.
In his previous life, he'd learned something important: when you hit a wall, it's okay to ask for help.
Maybe what was hard for him could be easy for someone else.
"Lis," he asked, "why is my Magic Perception always half a beat late? I focus all my attention on sensing and calculating, but I still can't predict where your spell is coming from. Yet you always dodge mine so easily. How do you do it? Is there a trick?"
Lis blinked at him.
"Huh?"
"Lis doesn't know."
"Does it need any special skill?"
"To Lis, it's like breathing. Or a heartbeat."
She tilted her head at Sharl.
"Why does Little Master think so hard about something so simple?"
"If you're thinking, wouldn't you be slow?"
Sharl was stunned.
"Don't think? But how will I know what kind of magic is coming? Where it's coming from? How fast?"
Lis looked even more confused.
"Lis never thinks about that."
"Isn't that what magic does by itself?"
Those words hit Sharl like a bolt of lightning.
"Something magic itself should do—"
That was it.
He had forgotten something fundamental.
Magic was not just a tool. It was part of him—as much as his hands, his heartbeat, his breath.
Why was he trying to control it with thought?
A boxer doesn't consciously think about how to step, how to punch, or how to move. They rely on instinct, letting the body respond naturally.
That's what he was missing.
He'd spent a week trying to use rational thought to micromanage what should be instinctual—interrupting the magic's natural flow.
"Foolish. Utterly foolish!"
Sharl's eyes lit up with understanding.
"What I need to do is embrace magic. Let it move on its own. Just like breathing."
He emptied his mind.
Magic flowed freely through him—unrestrained, alive.
He turned to Lis. "Again."
Lis snapped her fingers.
This time, Sharl didn't try to track it. He didn't think.
He let the magic within him respond.
Thump.
Thump.
His heart beat in rhythm with the energy around him.
And suddenly, he knew—magic was aimed at his abdomen.
He twisted, instinctively.
And dodged it.
A bright joy lit up Sharl's face.
He understood!
For the first time, magic felt like part of him. And he was dancing in tune with it.
"Faster, Lis! Don't hold back!"
Lis, feeling his excitement, danced too.
Snap after snap, spell after spell, she fired them at Sharl.
And he dodged them all.
At that moment, Professor Sprout walked toward the greenhouse, her face tired but glowing.
She carried good news.
She opened the greenhouse door—and stood stunned.
Invisible magic streaked through the air like rain.
And Sharl?
He danced in it.
Like a joyful child playing in a storm.
One spell hit him, but he flipped mid-air and landed firmly on his feet.
Professor Sprout's eyes gleamed with admiration.
As someone who had seen real battles, she could tell—this was no ordinary first-year.
He had touched the very threshold of combat.
A genius.
She clenched her fists.
She had to hurry with the Talent Enhancement Potion. Once his natural shortcomings were resolved, Sharl would become a legend.
At that moment, Sharl turned to her and smiled.
"Auntie. You've been buried in your study for days. Any results?"
Professor Sprout snapped back to reality, nodding with a rare smile.
"The paper on Piranha Algae and the Frequency Light Spell was submitted this morning. Because of my connection with the journal, the review will be fast—even during the holiday."
She looked toward the sky.
"And if I'm right…"
Just then, the flapping of owl wings echoed above the Sprout estate.
Letters had arrived.
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