The sudden presence of the voice—crisp, synthesized, and female—sent a jolt of raw, primal fear through Allen. He felt instantly vulnerable. It was the crushing realization that his deepest, most private thoughts, his refuge in this strange new world, had been utterly exposed.
Someone is in my head. A cold, mechanical intelligence just read my existential panic. For a terrifying moment, the academic overlord felt utterly defenseless, like a naked statue on a public pedestal.
But the voice was still talking, and the content was surprisingly relevant. At least the invasion comes with perks. Allen ruthlessly suppressed both his visceral dread and his burgeoning, academic delight. He quickly scanned the bewildered faces in the crowd: Ron, Malfoy, the shop steward.
"Looks like the others can't hear me."
"Please note: The first official task is now available. Please win the grand prize in the Quidditch Boutique event."
The System's tone was undeniably mechanical, but the ethereal, otherworldly calm of the voice paradoxically served to soothe the ragged edges of Allen's nerves. It was a bizarre, unexpected sonic balm.
"So, what's the downside? What kind of horrific punishment will I face if the mission fails?"
There was a slight, almost comical pause, as if the System had to access a forgotten subroutine. "Is there such a setting? Well… If you fail the first mission, the System will simply cease to serve you. There will be no additional punishment."
"Wait, seriously? No penalty if I just choose not to bother?" The System's threat was issued with zero emotional leverage, yet Allen instantly bristled. The sheer lack of real consequence somehow made the System's presence feel more jarring. It was like being threatened by a powerful entity that simply couldn't be bothered with petty revenge.
"...Fine. Unreliable, but useful. Do I have any immediate field support, or am I winging it with my three remembered spells?"
"To assist the Host in better adapting to the Academic Superstar System, a special Beginner's Gift Package has been prepared. Please access the Storage Area and keep up the good work!"
"How do I access the Storage?"
As Allen merely thought the question with profound intent, a sudden, entirely mental shift occurred. A separate spatial dimension, vast yet contained, similar to the pocket reality created by the ancient Undetectable Extension Charm, shimmered into existence within his consciousness.
Inside this mental space were only three objects, hanging suspended in the black void.
One was an ancient-looking scroll, secured tightly with brittle, red string. The second was a crisp, neatly folded wizard's robe—not a student's uniform, but something richer, more professional. The third was a plain, leather-bound book.
Allen's teacher instincts kicked in: knowledge first. He focused on the scroll. The red string instantly disintegrated, and the parchment unrolled, revealing the ornate title: "Fifteen-Minute Academic Aura."
He instantly devoured the function description:
Function: Before activation, the casting duration must be clearly specified. During the Aura's timeframe, the Host obtains an increased effect on both Luck and Magical Power stronger than that of the legendary Felix Felicis. Furthermore, the Host will temporarily possess the distilled wisdom of an ancient, powerful wizard and the accumulated knowledge of three major magical libraries.
Oh, bloody brilliant! Allen's excitement was immense. While he found the magical acquisition suspicious—knowledge should be earned, damn it—this feature was absolutely perfect for the current challenge. With the wisdom of the ages literally running through his veins, there was zero chance of failing this absurdly easy first mission.
"Use Aura for three minutes," Allen commanded in his mind. Three minutes was overkill, but precision was the key to academic success.
A searing, sharp pressure instantly flooded Allen's skull. It hurt, certainly, but the pain was quickly overwhelmed by the exhilarating, impossible rush of information. His mind was instantaneously filled with the detailed memory of ancient magical texts, complex formulas, celestial charts, and spell theories. He felt an almost dizzying, intoxicating illusion of being omniscient, omnipotent, and utterly in control of the universe.
"Are you ready to proceed, young man?" the shop clerk asked, oblivious to the cognitive apocalypse occurring behind Allen's eyes.
"We can begin now," Allen replied, his voice dangerously smooth, his patience gone. He was eager to unleash the knowledge.
The clerk rattled off the questions, the pace quickening dramatically:
"What spell is cast to light a fire?"
"What does the conjunction of Jupiter and Venus signify in modern divination?"
"What is the name of the daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw, one of the founders of Hogwarts?"
…
Allen did not simply answer; he executed the answers. Thirty complex questions, ranging across Magical History, Ancient Runes, Astronomy, Arithmancy, and Divination, were dispatched in under two minutes. He wasn't just accurate; he was fluid, displaying a grasp of ancient magic that far surpassed his knowledge of modern charms.
The sheer speed of his delivery was astonishing. The answers flowed from him without a second thought, his voice crisp and confident. Ron's face, already bright red from excitement, seemed to intensify in color—his cheeks, sprinkled with freckles, and even his ears glowed crimson.
"C-C-Congratulations! You have won the grand prize!" The steward was practically vibrating with shock. "A custom-made flying broom, the legendary Neptune!"
The shop assistant triumphantly produced a magnificent, starry silver broom. It was indescribable, a thing of pure, mysterious artistry.
In his predecessor's memory, Allen had only vaguely registered his older brother Albert's basic broom model. But even a novice could tell this prize was of an entirely different, luxurious caliber. The silver sheen, the embossed, stylized Kraken tentacles carved into the wooden handle, the sleek, comfortable curve of the tail plate—it screamed value. The handle was wrapped in soft, tanned lambskin, looking almost alive, waiting to be grasped.
"It's… it's the ultimate broomstick," Ron stammered, his eyes wide and wet. "A concept product! Not mass-produced like the Nimbus series! Its performance is literally several levels higher than anything they sell! Allen, could I… could I please just touch it?"
"Sure, knock yourself out." Allen tossed the broom—an ancient, priceless artifact—carelessly toward Ron.
Ron let out a startled yelp, catching the Neptune with a panicked, jerky motion, clutching it to his chest as if it were a fragile newborn baby. He began to stroke the handle with a delirious reverence, his voice hushed and reverent. "Oh, your treasure… it is truly a magnificent specimen of magical craftmanship."
"Ron, if you don't stop talking in that weird, hushed voice, I might let you play with it longer," Allen muttered, slightly weirded out by the intensity of Ron's worship. He took a few steps back from the ginger-haired boy, whose adoration bordered on the intimate, and walked toward the still-stunned shop clerk.
"Excuse me, but could you possibly send someone to the Leaky Cauldron? My father, Mr. Owen Harris, is there. I think we need an adult to manage the paperwork for this rather large prize."
The clerk snapped out of his daze, clearly impressed by Allen's professionalism. "My pleasure, young champion!"
He quickly issued orders to a thin, wiry junior officer, who instantly darted off toward the Leaky Cauldron like a monkey on a mission.
Ron had meticulously caressed the Neptune at least a dozen times, murmuring endless praises, when his worship ritual was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of Owen Harris and Arthur Weasley.
The shop assistant, using careful, exaggerated gestures, quickly detailed the entire event and Allen's instantaneous, shocking performance.
"Merlin's actual beard, I don't believe it," Owen mumbled, staring at his youngest son with a look of utter, bewildered disbelief.
Arthur Weasley shook his head, a mixture of pride and profound envy twisting his face. "Owen, you've raised a phenomenal child. Ron, quickly, hand the broom back to Allen. We'll be leaving shortly." Arthur glanced at his colleague, concerned by the worshipful, almost glazed-over look Ron wore while stroking the broom's handle. He was suddenly worried about the impression Allen's genius might leave on his easily discouraged son.
"You've got some successful children yourself, Arthur," Owen replied distractedly, his gaze still fixed on Allen. He turned to his son, his voice still low with shock. "Son, I—I had no idea you possessed talents like this."
"Dad, maybe we should discuss this a little later?" Allen rubbed his temples, a genuine headache threatening to erupt. How was he possibly going to explain this massive, illogical leap in skill to his entire family? The body's original owner had been defined by his modesty and average skill, only occasionally spiced up by harmless mischief.
Explaining the Academy Superstar System is definitely not on the agenda for Christmas dinner. Allen knew the System had solved his survival problem, but it had instantly created a massive Family Dynamics Crisis that he was absolutely unprepared to manage.