The Special Contribution Award was, in Alan's hierarchy of values, far from the top.
To him, it was merely a public symbol—an "excellent" label stamped by authority.
Compared to such recognition that depended on the judgment of others, what truly satisfied him was the kind of reward that served only his own needs—
A pure, tangible personal gain.
Madam Pomfrey's diagnosis still echoed in his ears—"severe mental exhaustion."
It wasn't an exaggeration.
Even now, the chill of the Forbidden Forest and the dying hiss of the Ash Serpent still lingered faintly in his senses.
And so, Hogwarts' kitchen had become the perfect antidote—
a warm fortress against those cold memories.
Unlike the solemn grandeur of the Great Hall, the kitchens brimmed with lively chaos and vibrant energy.
The air was warm and heavy with the mingled aromas of roasted meat, butter, and spice—
a comforting blend that seemed to reach deep into one's bones.
Dozens of house-elves, each clad in clean tea towels embroidered with the Hogwarts crest, scurried about in hurried steps, their large tennis-ball-like eyes glimmering with awe and gratitude.
"Mr. Scott must replenish his strength!"
"The great Mr. Scott!"
"A feast for the hero!"
Their high, squeaky voices overlapped in excitement as they presented dish after dish—culinary masterpieces crafted with reverent enthusiasm.
These were far from the mass-produced meals of the Great Hall.
Every dish here bore the mark of personal devotion and craftsmanship.
A whole roast suckling pig gleamed with a perfect amber sheen, its fat rendered into a thin, crisp crust.
When Alan tapped it lightly with a silver fork, it broke with a satisfying crack, revealing tender, juicy meat beneath.
Beside it lay racks of lamb, roasted to perfection—the edges seared with just the right char, the flesh still blushing pink and drizzled with fresh mint sauce, releasing a refreshing aroma that cut through the richness.
And at the center of the table—a towering bowl of golden pudding, drenched in honey, steaming and sweet enough to fill the room.
Alan did not stand on ceremony.
He enjoyed the rare tranquility and indulgence, slicing his food leisurely while letting most of his consciousness sink deep into his Mind Palace.
The warmth and noise of the outside world fell away.
In their place came absolute silence and cold precision.
At the center of his mental realm, a black, obsidian-like interface shimmered with cascading data—streams of information updating at a dizzying speed, forming what looked like a waterfall of code.
Then came a series of emotionless, synthetic tones—
cold, mechanical, yet to Alan's mind, as harmonious as music.
[Main Quest: "Rescue in the Forbidden Forest" — Completed.]
[Mission Rating: Perfect.]
A perfect rating—meaning no flaws, no wasted motion.
Every decision, every step had followed the optimal logical path.
[Reward: +20,000 experience points.]
A vast, unseen torrent of data surged into the core of Alan's consciousness.
He could see the number representing his current level rising sharply, climbing several tiers in rapid succession.
The progress bars of his foundational skills all leapt forward at once—
each one pushing him closer toward a new threshold of power.
everything.
A stable, invulnerable operating system was far more important than any application software.
"I choose to perform Code Refactoring on the in-progress program — 'Fortress of Thought.'"
His will echoed through the Mind Palace like a precise system command.
The golden prompt pulsed brighter, as if responding to his decision.
[Choice Confirmed.]
[Fortress of Thought — Core Optimization Initiated. Estimated Completion Time: 24 hours.]
As the final notification sounded, the golden interface exploded into countless streams of code,
flowing like a river of light into the mental core —
merging with the rough, unstable framework of the Fortress of Thought program, riddled with logical breaks and inefficiencies.
Alan exited the Mind Palace, returning to the warmth of the Hogwarts kitchen.
The house-elves were still bustling happily around him,
and his plate of food had already gone a little cold.
But in his eyes burned a fierce, blazing light —
the sign of an oncoming storm.
He knew that in twenty-four hours, when the System's own reconstruction was complete,
his once fragile, imperfect mental defense architecture would undergo a transformation —
a true, world-shaking leap in essence.
~~----------------------
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