For many things in life, there is no such thing as "just once." It's either never at all or countless times.
After Tom experienced the extraordinary mode once, he already began plotting when he would use it a second and even a third time. The taste of transcendence was too sweet to resist.
But there was one problem: his wallet—or rather, his system credits—were pathetically empty.
He had been grinding away for over a month, working hard daily inside the awakening system, and yet he had only managed to scrape together a few hundred credits.
It wasn't because he lacked diligence. Quite the opposite—Tom was studying harder than anyone. His problem was that he spent three to six hours every day in the study space with Andros, absorbing lessons that didn't directly translate into credits.
Spells learned and small achievements earned trickled in here and there, but credits? Slow. Painfully slow.
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The Temptation of a New Teacher
Still, when Tom saw his achievement points creeping past one hundred, a dangerous idea sparked in his mind.
"Should I hire another teacher?"
The system promised that with 100 achievement points, he could summon a great wizard to become his mentor.
Andros was invaluable, yes. But he was an ancient relic who knew nothing about modern magical systems. Everything he taught Tom, he had to first relearn himself by cross-referencing old principles with modern magic theory.
What Andros truly excelled at was ancient magic—spells so archaic they were nearly lost to history. They required mastery not only of advanced magical theory but also of dead languages: Cretan, Mycenaean, Ionian dialects—the very tongues in which The Iliad and The Odyssey were first sung.
Andros could teach Tom how to wield such spells, but learning them demanded years of linguistic and magical study that Tom simply didn't have time for.
At present, Tom's arsenal was modest:
The Patronus Charm, drilled into him by Andros.
The Impact Charm, which he had used against Zabini and his cronies.
Two defensive wards Andros had just shared with him.
Useful, but still far too basic.
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The Forbidden Temptation
The thought of the Hogwarts restricted section teased him. Surely the shelves there contained the kind of advanced knowledge he craved.
But then reality crashed in.
His name? Mudblood. His House? Slytherin. His reputation? Suspicious at best.
If he were caught sneaking into the restricted section so early, it would be like waving a red flag in front of "Old Deng"—Dumbledore.
Tom exhaled sharply.
"Forget it. No sense poking the old man's nerves already."
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The Sorting Hat's Secret
He couldn't deny the truth anymore: Andros had been the reason he was sorted into Slytherin.
The Sorting Hat's whisper still rang in his ears: "It has purer and more ancient magic than Salazar."
That wasn't Tom's bloodline talking. That was Andros's magical talent, grafted onto him through the system.
In Slytherin, bloodline meant everything. And Tom—if measured by the purity of his inherited magical essence—was practically the ancestor of them all. Even Salazar Slytherin himself would have to tip his hat.
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The Decision
The idea of summoning another teacher lingered.
But Tom's ambition kicked in. There was no point wasting points on another ordinary great wizard when he could save for someone greater.
One thousand points could summon a King of the Century—a figure whose power dwarfed ordinary wizards.
The Immortal Legends, on the other hand, were still far beyond his reach.
His only regret was that the system had spoiled him from the start by letting him draw Andros, raising his expectations sky-high.
"Tch. Too early to settle. I'll save up."
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The Morning Disaster
Tom drifted to sleep eventually, only to be woken by a cacophony of laughter.
The three Zabinis had risen before him and were cackling like hyenas all morning.
Tom's eyes snapped open, and his temper flared. Without hesitation, he leapt up, snatched his wand, and delivered swift justice: three whippings each.
Then, for good measure, he kicked them out of the dormitory. Only then did he return to bed for a nap.
The three stood outside, fuming. Their pride as purebloods stung like an open wound. Just as they were about to shout curses, the door of the neighboring dorm creaked open.
Out stumbled Malfoy, rubbing his eyes. He froze when he saw the trio hovering outside.
"What are you doing here?"
Zabini's jaw clenched. The curse perched on his tongue shriveled. The other two also swallowed their pride.
It wasn't that "family disgrace should not be aired publicly," as the old saying went. It was worse—they didn't want anyone, especially Malfoy, to know that three proud purebloods had been beaten up by a mudblood and thrown out of their own dormitory.
That humiliation would spread through Slytherin faster than a Basilisk through the pipes.
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Malfoy's Arrogance
Zabini scrambled for an excuse.
"It's the first day of school. We were too excited to sleep, so we thought we'd take a walk."
Malfoy, half asleep, merely sneered.
"Pathetic. Can't even handle the first day without acting like fools."
He strutted off to wash up, tossing them a few more sarcastic remarks over his shoulder.
Zabini glared daggers at his back.
"He's even more annoying than Riddle."
And that was saying something.
The three shared the same thought: Malfoy was insufferable. Purebloods all, from the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and yet he acted as though his pedigree was somehow superior.
"Just because your father sits on the fence doesn't make you royalty," Nott spat in disgust.
They might have despised Tom, but Malfoy had just earned himself a spot on their hit list.
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The Conspiracy
The three slipped into a quiet corner of the common room, voices lowered to conspiratorial whispers.
"Let's deal with Riddle first," Nott muttered darkly.
Zabini and Rosier nodded grimly. Beaten twice in less than twenty-four hours, their shared humiliation had forged a bitter alliance.
Ideas tumbled out:
"We can sneak attack him. Hide in a classroom, strike from behind. He'll never see it coming." —Nott.
"No. Too risky. If we miss even once, he'll whip us raw again." —Rosier, shaking his head.
"He fights like a pureblood. His skill with spells puts us to shame."
The room went silent. None of them wanted to admit it, but they all knew: Tom Riddle fought like he belonged.
"Then we use props," Zabini suggested, his voice sharp. "I have a cursed object at home. One touch, and he'll be hexed."
Nott nearly choked.
"Are you mad? This is Hogwarts—Dumbledore's castle! If he finds out, Riddle might walk away unscathed, but you will be expelled!"
Zabini fell silent. His scowl deepened.
They all knew the truth: Dumbledore was revered and hated in equal measure by pureblood families. To them, he was a meddling old fool who played favorites with mudbloods and half-bloods. Their parents had whispered it for years.
If they were caught, Dumbledore would shield Riddle and punish them. The injustice burned like bile in their throats.
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Rosier's Plan
Finally, Rosier broke the silence, rubbing the bruise Tom had left on his arm. His voice was calm, calculated.
"We don't need cursed trinkets. We have something better—connections. My parents were… close with Professor Snape. If I go to him, he'll take care of this."
Zabini's face twisted.
"Go to a teacher? That's humiliating! What if he tells my mother?"
But Rosier was confident. A sly grin crept across his lips.
"No chance. My parents are in Azkaban. Who's he going to send a letter to? Dementors?"
The other two stared at him in speechless horror.
Zabini and Nott: "....."
And just like that, the plot thickened.
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🔑 Highlighted Insights from This Chapter:
Tom begins craving the extraordinary mode again but lacks credits.
Considers hiring a new teacher, but decides to save for a King of the Century.
Andros's presence influenced his Sorting into Slytherin—Tom's magical essence is more ancient than Salazar's.
Zabini, Nott, and Rosier form an alliance of resentment after repeated humiliation.
Malfoy enters as another source of irritation—his arrogance infuriates fellow purebloods.
The trio plan revenge but reject cursed objects for fear of Dumbledore.
Rosier proposes turning to Snape, using family ties as leverage.
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