Before entering the Inter School Magic Tournament, Professor Flitwick had told Wade to keep a low profile. Only that way could he avoid becoming a target too soon. Only by hiding his strength would he have a real chance at ultimate victory.
Grindelwald, on the other hand, wanted him to show off his power. Of course, winning the championship was the real goal—the process along the way didn't matter nearly as much.
Wade's original plan had indeed been to stay low-key, to quietly make it all the way to the end. For the final victor, "lying low" midway through could easily be called nothing more than strategic wisdom.
But from the moment he was the first to pass the dragon, and then later when he saw how the others performed in the dungeon, a single phrase kept surfacing in his mind:
—That's it? Really? Is this all there is?
These were supposed to be the prodigies of every wizarding school! Thirty-three gathered together to compete for the crown. It sounded like a grand assembly of brilliance, teeming with talent.
In Wade's imagination, at least half of them would be on par with the Marauders from the past—or with the young Severus Snape.
He even thought there might be youthful versions of Grindelwald, Dumbledore, or Voldemort hidden among them—wizards of that caliber.
—Otherwise, how could they be called geniuses?
Not only gifted, but hardworking too. Before coming to Hogwarts, they must have received rigorous special training from their schools. Surely, they should have mastered some truly formidable spells.
Spells like Flame God for instance—if cast by someone else, Wade wasn't confident he could even survive it.
In terms of sheer years of study, Wade had worked hard, yes—but he had started far too late. Students at the Mahoutokoro began their education at the age of seven.
Not to mention children of pure-blood families, some of whom unconsciously used magic while still infants. If their parents were intentional about it, they could easily be taught magical knowledge from the very beginning.
Take Professor Snape, for example. It was said that before he even set foot in school, he already knew more spells than some fifth-years.
So when Wade decided to enter the tournament, he was brimming with confidence in himself—yet at the same time cautious, cautious, and cautious again.
For a whole month, he had patiently observed his opponents. After entering the dungeon, the first thing he did was to secure the best possible hiding place.
But as he watched the others, Wade gradually realized that his opponents this time were nowhere near as formidable as he had imagined.
Or rather—their performances made it clear why, in all these years, only a single Grindelwald had risen to plunge the world into war…
And why a twisted, arrogant, and merciless dark wizard like Voldemort could make the entire British magical community tremble, to the point that they dared not even speak his name.
That was why, when Voldemort returned, Britain had no one to rely on except a centenarian Dumbledore. And when Grindelwald broke out of prison, swaggering about and openly recruiting Alliance across countries, the international wizarding community remained as quiet as chickens.
So it turned out… not just in Britain—most wizards worldwide were of this level.
And these were the so-called "outstanding students" who had undergone special training. As for those who hadn't been chosen at all… their level could easily be imagined.
Suddenly Wade's thoughts cleared. The fog that had long clouded his mind dispersed all at once. He was surprised—then found it almost funny.
He realized that all along, he had only ever interacted with the very best the wizarding world had to offer. That had unconsciously raised his standards and skewed his perception, leading him to misjudge not only his own strength, but everyone else's as well.
He had once personally witnessed the battle between Grindelwald and Dumbledore, and had seen the raw combat strength of the Alliance during their attacks.
Unconsciously, he had equated this tournament to those scenes of the past—treating it with extreme caution, terrified of making a fatal misstep.
But figures of that caliber… even across decades, or a century, only one or two might appear. How could they possibly all pop up together in a single tournament?
What's more, the current students of these wizarding schools had all grown up in peacetime. They had never experienced war, never faced the pressure of "fight with your life or die."
For most of them, passing exams was far more important than mastering combat, and falling in love mattered more to them than writing essays.
Wade let out a long breath, and quietly adjusted his strategy for the tournament.
His trump cards still had to be hidden—Animagus, Apparition, Flame God, and the like—those absolutely could not be used in front of the cameras. But wordless spells, the Patronus Charm, and a few of his stronger spells could gradually be revealed in the later stages.
Still, he needed to prove that his victories weren't luck, nor were they the product of his advantage in alchemy, nor gained through any underhanded tricks. No—he had to make it undeniable that he was simply stronger than everyone else.
Wade wiped his wand carefully, making sure he wouldn't accidentally fling it away because of sweaty palms. Then he lifted his gaze toward the tunnel ahead, where the sound of footsteps and voices was slowly approaching.
…
Even for the wizards of Alliance, the Streaming Mirror was one of their few sources of joy.
Grindelwald had always been generous with his own people. In places where Alliance wizards liked to gather—whether restaurants, halls, taverns, or even grassy fields—he had set up massive Streaming Mirrors.
A grand event like the Inter-School Magic Tournament naturally drew everyone's attention. The moment the broadcast began, some wizards were already clutching bottles of liquor, rushing to grab the best seats.
"I didn't miss Fleur's shot, did I?" one man asked anxiously.
"What's so good about that little girl?" another shouted. "Switch the view to Krum for me!"
"I'd rather see what that British kid is going to do—if he loses the golden egg, that'll cost him dearly!"
"Bah, isn't it more fun to watch a champion roasted by a dragon? Show me dragon versus wizard!"
"Dream on. The British Ministry of Magic isn't going to just sit back and let that happen!"
But the control of what the Streaming Mirrors displayed lay in the hands of Britain's SMC company. No matter how much they shouted here, it changed nothing.
Grindelwald himself was also watching the broadcast in his room. He sat in an armchair, resting his chin on one hand. Split logs of pine burned in the nearby fireplace, occasionally crackling.
When his glass was nearly empty, Delaine didn't use magic. Instead, he rose to refill a measure of gin himself. As he set down the bottle, he heard Grindelwald suddenly chuckle.
Delaine glanced first at the Streaming Mirror. The scene had shifted from the dim dungeon to the arena above ground. An enraged dragon was unleashing torrents of flame, while Harry Potter, wand raised high, streaked toward it astride a broomstick with a piercing rush of wind.
He then looked at Grindelwald. The old man wore a faintly expectant smile, and his gray-blue eyes betrayed little emotion.
After a moment's thought, Delaine commented, "So the boy's planning to fly past the dragon? Clever enough… though rather dangerous."
For a dragon, a fast-moving target was all the more enticing. And the Hungarian Horntail wasn't slow in the air, not to mention its long-reaching flames.
Grindelwald sneered, "Well, he is Dumbledore's precious little savior—just like him, full of that so-called adventurous spirit."
—So that wasn't why he laughed?
The thought crossed Delaine's mind, but he didn't press further. Instead, he flicked his wand to add two more logs to the fire, then returned his attention to the Streaming Mirror.
Harry Potter was now taunting the Horntail dragon from above, and the dragon gave a furious chase. Suddenly Harry dropped sharply, executing a hair-raising dive beneath the dragon's belly. The Horntail whipped around, belching flame—but Harry just barely evaded it.
A minute and a half later, Bagman's voice thundered across the arena:
"Look! Harry Potter has passed the dragon's obstacle in record time! Absolutely brilliant! Incredible that Viktor Krum didn't think of this approach—he was even injured trying to push through… Oh, Merlin! What are they doing now?!"
The fiery scene abruptly shifted again, back to the dark underground dungeon—where several champions had come face to face with one figure. A clash was about to erupt!
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