"And you can make it happen? Ensure the Starks remain dead in the eyes of the world?"

  After listening to Maverick's explanation—how he planned to keep future events unchanged while keeping the Stark couple alive—the Sorcerer Supreme asked one more time to be sure.

  Maverick nodded. "You say you keep the timeline in check. So, I'm guessing you have the ability to look into the future..." He paused, carefully choosing his next words. "So, can't you just look and see if anything has changed? Whether my actions were for better or worse?"

  In truth, he was more interested in what exactly the Sorcerer Supreme sees when she looks into the future of this world. He had half the impulse to read her surface thoughts, , to catch a glimpse of what lay ahead—but he quickly pushed the thought aside. This was the Sorcerer Supreme, not some random thug he could pry into without consequences.

  This world was a chaotic blend of Marvel, Harry Potter, and God knows what else. So one thing was certain—magic had always been a part of this world. Witches and wizards had existed throughout history, woven into the fabric of this world.

  Magic had always coexisted alongside the non-magical and the superhuman. This wasn't a case of separate universes suddenly merging. No, they had been intertwined from the very beginning. So whatever future the Ancient One sees, it must include magicals.

  The Sorcerer Supreme was momentarily at a loss for words at his request to look directly into future events. Of course, she wasn't about to admit that she had been blocked by some kind of cosmic firewall whenever she tried to peer into events directly involving him.

  But since he himself had now asked her to do it… perhaps that changed things.

  Silence stretched between them, tension hanging thick in the air. Just as the Sorcerer Supreme was about to ask Maverick if he was certain about looking into the future now, Merlin cut through the moment with a knowing glance in her direction.

  "I believe your reason for meeting the young mage has been resolved, hasn't it, Yao?"

  The Ancient One exhaled softly in resignation. Now was not the time for that. What she truly wanted was to build a better relationship—to foster goodwill early on—with this young wizard, whom she was certain would one day surpass her, far beyond her own power.

  But Merlin had prevented her from making any contact until today—without ever giving a proper reason. And there was nothing she could do about it. Merlin was just as powerful as she was. She and him were two Supremes ruling over their own domains.

  And this boy was a mage, not a Sorcerer like her. Merlin, who stood at the pinnacle of all mages, had the final say on anything concerning them.

  However, it would be a different matter if the boy took the initiative to seek her out. And with this meeting, she believed that moment wasn't far off. It wouldn't be long before they could have a proper conversation.

  With a subtle motion of her hand, golden sparks ignited in the air behind her, swiftly forming into a portal.

  Maverick watched, now visibly confused. That's it? Was that really all there was to this meeting? Just to ask why he saved the Stark couple? And why did it feel like Merlin was dismissing the Ancient One as if she were some mere nuisance?

  Maverick had no idea that the Ancient One's true purpose had been more to just meet him then question why he had saved the Stark couple. And as for the couple themselves, she was no longer concerned. The answers she received tonight assured her that the trajectory of the future would remain unchanged.

  "If you ever find yourself in Nepal," she said, stepping toward the portal, "come to Kamar-Taj. We can have a proper conversation then."

  As the golden portal closed behind the Ancient One, silence settled over the space. Maverick exhaled slowly, then glanced at the legendary man beside him. Now, it was just the two of them—two wizards, standing face to face.

  He had so many questions, yet before he could gather his thoughts, Merlin's voice broke the quiet.

  "You must be wondering why she left just because I suggested her to do so..."

  Maverick gulped. That was exactly what he had been thinking.

  Merlin chuckled, as if amused by his reaction. "It's quite simple," he said. "I am the Supreme Mage. And when it comes to matters of witches and wizards, my word is final."

  Maverick remained silent and let the legendary wizard explain.

  Merlin continued. "It is because of me that the wizarding world has remained untouched for a thousand years... free from outside interference. Otherwise, Sorcerers, or some other powers would have already meddled in its trajectory."

  He paused, and then his expression turned more serious. "And believe me, child—there are many beings in this world capable of stopping a group of Arch-Magi."

  Maverick raised a brow. The old legend didn't seem to be joking, which only made him more curious about the powerful forces he was referring to.

  But, unfortunately, Merlin seemed to think he had said enough.

  "You will learn more in time," he said. "For now, all you need to do is grow stronger."

  He fell silent after that, as if weighing how much he should reveal. Then, after a brief pause, he spoke again.

  "I can tell you one thing before we part ways for now." His eyes gleamed. "There is a prophecy… one that speaks of the magical world finally gaining its freedom. And you, Maverick Caesar, are at the center of that change."

  Great. Just what he needed—to be tangled up in some bloody prophecy. Maverick groaned inwardly but kept his expression neutral.

  Still, he couldn't just ignore it now that he had heard it. Curiosity got the better of him, so he asked, "Prophecy...? Freedom?"

  "Yes, a prophecy about our liberation," Merlin nodded. "For as long as I can remember—probably since the very beginning—magicals have lived in the shadows. Not because they wanted to, but because this world was too small to accommodate them alongside non-magicals."

  "And the prophecy speaks of a great migration. A world will be created where magic can exist freely, a world ruled by magicals."

  Now, Maverick had a pretty good idea of what Merlin was talking about. After all, it aligned with a plan he had only recently set into motion.

  Merlin's gaze locked onto him. "The magical world is waiting for that day. I am waiting for that day," he said simply. "So you must grow stronger, because it will be your hands that shape it."

  Merlin turned slightly, as if preparing to leave. But before he did, he added one final message.

  "Don't worry about anything. Use your Seer abilities as much as you wish... shape events however you see fit. If anyone tries to stop you…" His eyes gleamed with quiet certainty. "I will be the one to back you up..."

  "Until we meet again, young mage."

  With those parting words, Merlin just vanished, not even giving Maverick a chance to question all that he had just revealed.

  Maverick stood there, staring at the now-empty space.

  "...Damn."

  ...

  A day later, at the secluded location where the Stark couple and Bucky Barnes were staying, Maverick sat across from them at the dining table.

  Swishh

  He slid three passports across the table, along with a thick stack of documents.

  "Passports and verification documents for your new identities," he said. "In these papers, I've detailed everything—your backgrounds, what you've been doing up until now. Birth records, family history, schools, universities, past jobs—it's all there. Study them. Memorize every detail until you can answer any question without hesitation."

  The three adults each took their respective passports, flipping them open to inspect their new identities.

  Howard frowned as he stared at his. "Robert Downey Jr.?" He shot Maverick a look, clearly unimpressed. "This is the best name you could come up with for me?"

  He didn't seem too pleased with either the name or the photo staring back at him.

  "Accept it. There's no one in the world—alive or dead—who looks like that," Maverick said, tapping his temple with a finger. "Because it all came from here."

  Maria, flipping through her passport, gave an approving nod. "Gwyneth Paltrow… I like the name. Has a nice ring to it."

  Bucky glanced at his own. "Sebastian Stan… I guess that's who I am now."

  "Alright, the passports and documentation are one thing," Howard said, setting his down and looking at Maverick. By now, he was used to seeing that void-like face, but it didn't make things any less surreal. "But what about us? How exactly are you planning to make us look like these people?"

  "That's taken care of as well." Maverick snapped his fingers.

  Three small boxes appeared in front of them.

  "Open them and put them on," he instructed.

  Howard picked his up with a skeptical look. "This is weird. Can't you just hand us the rings instead of packing them in fancy little boxes?"

  Maverick's brow twitched. He had put a lot of effort into crafting these alchemical rings, so of course, he had packed them nicely for presentation. But now that he thought about it… yeah, it did seem a bit weird and unnecessary.

  As soon as the three put on the rings, they gasped in surprise. The metal briefly shimmered on their fingers before seeming to sink into their skin, disappearing entirely—leaving behind only a thin, tattoo-like marking.

  "What is this?" Howard asked, looking worried. His gaze flickered to his wife, then to Bucky, who also had the same mark on his finger.

  "No need to make a fuss," Maverick said lazily. "It's just alchemy. The rings are now a part of you until I remove them with a spell."

  "Part of us?" Howard repeated, clearly not liking the sound of that.

  "Yes… but that's not the point." Maverick raised a finger and, without warning, fired a thin beam of magic at them. The spell split midair into three separate streams, each striking one of them before they could even react.

  Immediately, all three felt an odd, crawling itch spread across their bodies.

  "What the hell did you do now?" Howard scowled, scratching his arms as if he had suddenly broken out in hives. "At least explain before you abracadabra us out of nowhere!"

  Maverick smirked under his mask but said nothing. He simply watched as the changes took effect.

  A few moments later—

  "Howard… wait, you're Howard, right?" Maria suddenly asked, staring at her husband. Or at least, the man sitting where her husband had been.

  Howard's brow furrowed, confused by the strange question—until he glanced at Maria and froze. His eyes widened as he took in her completely unfamiliar face. "You—you're Maria?" he asked hesitantly.

  Bucky remained more composed but was no less shocked as he silently studied the two unfamiliar faces before him. A sinking feeling told him that if he were to check his own reflection, he'd see a stranger as well.

  Maverick let them stew in confusion for a moment before finally snapping his fingers. Three mirrors materialized in the air and floated toward them.

  "See for yourselves."

  The three grabbed their mirrors and examined their reflections, astonishment clear in their eyes.

  "How is this even possible?" Howard muttered, running a hand over his face. "I don't feel like I'm wearing a mask…"

  "Magic, Stark. It can do miraculous things," Maverick said flatly. "A small bottle of liquid can turn anyone into anyone else—down to the flesh. I used the principles of that potion to craft those rings and apply the same effect."

  Howard set the mirror down and looked at him. "Is that how you made the public think it was us who died?"

  Maverick nodded. "Something like that. But unlike the potion, the rings don't alter your body all the way to the DNA. Just your appearance and vocal cords."

  "I see." Howard leaned back in his chair before raising a brow. "So how do we turn back? Are we supposed to rely on you to magic us back every time?"

  Maverick narrowed his eyes. "Until I can trust you... Yes. You can only revert when I cast the spell."

  Howard frowned. "You talk about trust, but we don't even know who you are behind that black hole of a mask. Even your voice sounds like a machine."

  Maverick said nothing. He considered Howard's words carefully. These three had now committed to helping him. And if he truly wanted their trust, he had to give something in return.

  For a while, he remained silent, his gaze unreadable.

  The three exchanged glances. Howard briefly wondered if he had pushed too far. After all, this man, this unknown, had effortlessly taken down a super-soldier spy. It was easy to forget that when he sat calmly across from them.

  But instead of responding to Howard's rebuke, the three of them then saw the figure simply raised his hand, and snapped his fingers.

  The void-like veil covering his face began to dissolve, unraveling like smoke in the wind.

  A moment later, sitting where the faceless enigma once was, they saw a young man.

  A stranger.

  And then, for the first time, they heard his voice—his real voice.

  "Let me introduce myself again," he said. "My name is Maverick Caesar."

  —————————

  Howard stared at the young face sitting across from him, momentarily stunned. He had expected his savior—or kidnapper, depending on how you looked at it—to be some old, shrewd-looking man, not a kid who appeared no older than his own son. The boy's calm expression only made the situation feel more unreal.

  "Let me introduce myself," the boy said, breaking the silence. "My name is Maverick Caesar."

  The room fell into an uncomfortable quiet as the three of them—Howard, his wife Maria, and Bucky—stared at Maverick, unsure how to respond.

  Finally, Howard found his voice. "You're… just a kid?" he couldn't help but ask.

  Maverick's expression didn't waver. "I'm twenty-one, Mr. Stark. That makes me an adult."

  Howard took a moment to collect himself, his initial shock giving way to a more scrutinizing gaze. "So I'm 'Mr. Stark' now, huh? Not just 'Stark'?"

  Maverick sighed, as if he had expected this reaction. "You can't expect me to call you that earlier and not put any pressure on you, can you?"

  "The kid's got a point," Bucky chimed in, though he quickly corrected himself when Maverick's gaze turned his way. "I mean, sir. Apologies."

  Maverick waved a hand dismissively. "No need. I revealed my face to you all for one reason. Trust. You may find this hard to believe, but I genuinely want to form a cooperative relationship. I'm not here to force you into anything."

  Howard crossed his arms, as if finding a new reason for argument. "Cooperation means both sides gain something. This is more like coercion."

  Maverick's tone remained calm but firm and he argued back. "You seem to forget that I saved you and your wife from certain death. In return, I'm asking for twenty years of your assistance. Doesn't saving your lives count as a benefit? I get what I want, and you get to live. That sounds like cooperation to me."

  His voice turned colder as he added, "Erasing your memories of the last few minutes would be as easy as breathing for me. Do you want me to make you forget I ever revealed my face and force you to help me? Is that what you want?"

  Howard tensed uncomfortably at his words as the weight of the threat settled over him. He seemed to have momentarily forgotten who he was dealing with, subconsciously thinking that since it was a young face now, he could adult his way to argue.

  Fortunately, his wife seemed more clear-headed in this situation. She nudged her husband in the side and quickly stepped in to ease the tension. "Please forgive my husband, sir. He often speaks without thinking."

  Howard finally came back to his senses. "Ehem..." He cleared his throat. "I… I'm sorry. I'm still processing all of this."

  He paused, taking a moment to think, then added more firmly, "First, thank you for saving me and my wife." He glanced at Bucky. "And my friend as well."

  Maverick simply nodded. He could see that the man had more to say, so he gestured for him to continue.

  Howard took a deep breath. "Can I ask a few questions first?"

  "Go ahead," Maverick said. "Ask anything. Clear up all your doubts today, because I may not be able to return for the next week or two."

  Howard nodded. "First," he began, "am I correct in understanding that you'll let us live on our own. I mean under new identities, of course.... but not lock us up for the next twenty years?"

  Maverick nodded. "After a week or two, you'll be transferred to your new homes. I'll purchase a house for you and Maria in London." He glanced at Bucky. "And one for you as well. I'll also transfer one million dollars to each of your new bank accounts for you to use freely..."

  The three of them raised their eyebrows, clearly surprised by the offer. Bucky was the first to speak up. "You don't have to give me a million dollars, sir. You've already saved me from hell and given me a new life. If anything, it's me who owes you everything."

  Maverick shook his head. "First, you don't have to call me 'sir.' Call me Caesar, or 'boss' if you prefer. Second, I'll be honest… you may not be as free as Mr. and Mrs. Stark. I'll need you to handle certain tasks for me... your skills are too valuable to waste." He paused, then added, "Of course, I won't ask you to harm innocent people."

  Maverick saw that Bucky actually looked relieved hearing that.

  "I understand," Bucky said, nodding as if he had made the choice with clear determination. "I won't let you down. You've given me a new life, and I intend to repay that."

  Maverick acknowledged his response with a nod, then turned back to the couple. "Is there anything else you'd like to clarify?"

  Howard, however, found himself momentarily distracted by Bucky's resolute declaration. For someone like him, it was strange to see someone willingly offer their life in service to another. And Maria had to nudge him once again to bring him back to the present.

  "Ah, yes," the man said, refocusing. He sat up a little straighter, and gathered his thoughts, then asked his next question. "You said earlier that we could contact our son after three years. Is that really true? And if so, what are the conditions?"

  Maverick nodded, and he was glad that Howard had asked. "Yes, I meant it. You may contact him after three years, but only under your new identities. But-"

  He paused to emphasize the seriousness of his words. "You must never, under any circumstances, reveal your true selves. Not even a hint. And when you do reach out, it has to be for a believable, non-personal reason… and you must never—and I mean never—interfere in his life. You can observe, but you can't meddle in his choices or the events around him."

  His gaze hardened. "Remember… I have chosen to trust you. But if you break that trust, I will not hesitate to erase your son's memories... and even yours."

  Howard and Maria both gulped at the implications. They had no doubt that this boy—no, this man—would follow through on his warning if they ever tried to break his conditions.

  Finally, after a moment for the words to fully sink in, they both nodded in unison.

  "We… we understand," Maria said first, and Howard nodded as well.

  "Good," Maverick said, acknowledging their commitment. And he wasn't just taking their word for it—he had been probing their minds as well, and knew they truly meant what they said.

  "Now, please," he continued. "I'm sure there's more you need to clarify. So ask. Any doubts, anything at all."

  And so, time passed slowly as the couple questioned him about every detail of how they would be spending the next twenty years working under him. Bucky also chimed in from time to time with his own questions. It wasn't until two hours later that they finally gained a clear understanding of Maverick's carefully thought-out arrangements for them.

  And right now, their expressions were much better—less tense, even slightly hopeful, in contrast to before the conversation began. They had finally realized they weren't being caged, and infact had far more freedom than they had initially thought. And perhaps, just perhaps, this could even be a good thing—that thought briefly crossed the couple's minds.

  "Thank you… Mr. Caesar. My husband and I are grateful—for saving us and for everything you have arranged. We will not let you down," Maria said, looking at him with a sincere expression.

  "My wife's words are my own. We swear to abide by the conditions," Howard added.

  "Then let's toast to a cooperative relationship," Maverick said, for the first time showing a smile to the three of them. He snapped his fingers, summoning a bottle of fine liquor along with four glasses.

  "This is something I got from my teacher. It's not a magical drink, but genuine Muggle liquor—at least a century old."

  "Is magical alcohol any different? Do you have some… can I try?" Howard asked, his eyes lighting up with curiosity.

  As the bottle poured itself into the four glasses, Maverick chuckled at the now much more relaxed genius billionaire—well, its millionaire now. "I'm afraid you can't handle magical liquor, Mr. Stark. Besides, when it comes to taste, Muggle wine is far superior, so don't be disappointed."

  They raised their glasses and toasted. In that moment, a cooperative partnership was forged—one that, in time, would grow into a strong bond of friendship between the four adults and Maverick, a bond that would go on to change the world.

  ...

  After some laughs and drinks, Howard finally leaned forward, a smirk playing on his lips as he brought up the real matter at hand.

  "So… let's talk about your insane plan to create a mother-freaking world."

  Just as he brought up the topic, Maria stood from her seat. "I'll go and prepare something to eat. You boys can discuss that among yourselves." Saying that, she left.

  Howard watched his wife walk away before turning back to Maverick and shrugged. "I guess creating a world isn't that interesting to my dear wife."

  Maverick shrugged as well, a small smile playing on his lips. "Let's talk about it then..."

  Howard leaned back in his chair, taking a moment to think. A while later, he nodded to himself and asked, "First of all, do you have a planet in mind?"

  Maverick nodded. "Mars, of course."

  "Yes... any other planet cannot be a choice. Mercury is too bloody hot. Venus, likewise. Anything beyond Mars would be... well impossible. So Mars it is," Howard started murmuring thoughtfully to himself.

  "That's right," he exclaimed, suddenly thinking of something. "First of all, to get anything started, we have to go to Mars itself."

  Maverick raised an eyebrow. "By 'go,' you mean actually set foot on Mars?"

  "That's right," Howard said casually, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "I need a lab. A big one. Materials. And a team." He paused, looking at Maverick expectantly.

  Maverick nodded without hesitation. "Consider it done. Space, manpower, materials—whatever you need."

  Howard grinned. "Great. First, I'll build suits that can handle Mars' conditions. They need to be flexible, easy to move in."

  "Just suits?" Maverick asked. "Did you forget about actually getting there?"

  "Of course not," Howard said, his grin widening. "I'll design a ship... something that can move through space and navigate Mars' atmosphere."

  Maverick tilted his head. "And how exactly do you plan to get to space first?"

  Howard pointed at him. "That part's on you. You can do it, right?"

  Maverick studied him, impressed by his quick thinking and how naturally he factored in his magical abilities.

  "You're awfully confident in what I can do."

  Howard shrugged. "Am I wrong?"

  Maverick smirked. "No. Getting an aircraft into space won't be an issue. "

  Howard clapped his hands together. "Perfect. That saves us a ton of fuel and engineering headaches."

  "If space is what you're worried about, then don't be," Maverick added. "With magic, I can expand interior spaces. I could make this glass hold a space bigger than a football stadium."

  Howard's jaw dropped. "You're joking."

  "I'm not," Maverick said. "And I can do more than that. I could even create a teleportation device to shorten the travel time. It may take some research, but I'm confident I could make it work."

  Howard's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Then I'll focus on the aircraft. Something that can fly around Mars."

  Maverick leaned forward slightly. He too was getting excited the more he thought about it. "Alright, but once we get there, what's the first step? What exactly are we going to do?"

  At that question, Howard leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the table as he gathered his thoughts. After a moment of contemplation, he finally spoke.

  "We need to understand the planet first... its geology, atmosphere, composition, everything. We have to study the soil, the radiation levels, and how it all reacts to different conditions." He paused before adding, "I'll be blunt... terraforming Mars with current technology alone is impossible. Not in our lifetime, not even in a hundred years."

  Maverick watched him carefully, waiting for the rest.

  "But," Howard continued, leaning forward, "you said it yourself... this is going to be done with both magic and science. So, I'm assuming that if there's something science alone can't achieve, you can step in with magic to make it possible. Am I right?"

  Maverick nodded. "Within reason, yes. As long as it's not breaking the fundamental laws of reality, I can make it happen."

  Howard exhaled, then broke into a grin. "Good," he said, leaning back. "If you can deliver on that, then I believe we can turn this insane dream of yours into a reality."

  Maverick leaned back as well, smirking in return.

  Meanwhile, Bucky had been watching in silence the entire time, his gaze darting between the older genius and the young man who seemed just as crazy. To him, they looked less like two visionaries and more like a pair of mad scientists plotting something that sounded so ridiculous to him, and yet somehow, he had a feeling they were actually going to pull it off.

  Their discussions carried on even after Maria returned with the dishes she had prepared. The conversation only paused when they sat down to eat, and it wasn't until after the meal that Maverick finally decided to take his leave.

  Before departing, he once again advised the three of them to go through all the books in the small library. Those books contained everything they needed to know about the magical world.

  He had even selected specific ones for Howard, books that would help him understand the full scope of magic's capabilities. That way, when formulating plans for the big project, he could incorporate magic into his ideas rather than just making blind guesses.

  With that, Maverick returned home and spent the remaining days of the third week of December with his family. As the final week of the month began, he set his sights on his next destination—America—where he planned to spend the rest of the holidays with his childhood sweetheart and now fiancée, Isabella.

  —————————

  Georgia, United States.

  A sleek black sedan pulled up to the curb in front of a towering glass building in the heart of Atlanta. The car's engine purred softly before shutting off, and after a quiet moment, the door opened with a gentle click.

  A young man stepped out into the crisp winter air. His polished shoes met the cold pavement with a measured rhythm, each step firm yet unhurried. A faint wisp of breath curled in the air as he adjusted the light jacket draped over his shoulders, its fabric offering little protection against the lingering chill. Not that he needed any.

  The low winter sun reflected off the building's glass facade, casting bright streaks of light across the frosted sidewalk. Around him, passersby huddled into their coats, bracing against the wind, but he remained unfazed. He didn't squint against the light, nor did he shiver at the biting breeze that whispered through the city streets. His expression stayed calm, relaxed—almost as if winter itself bent around him rather than the other way around.

  With a soft thud, he shut the door and moved toward the entrance. The automatic doors slid open with a quiet whoosh, and the cool air of the lobby brushed against his face.

  People moved around him—men in suits, women balancing coffee cups and folders, a janitor pushing a cart—but no one spared him a glance. It wasn't that they were ignoring him. It was as if he wasn't there at all.

  A woman chatting on her phone strode right past him, her conversation uninterrupted. A security guard at the front desk glanced up, but his gaze swept over the young man without registering his presence.

  Unbothered, he walked to the row of elevators and pressed the call button. A moment later, a soft chime announced one's arrival. Stepping inside alone, he hit the button for the upper floors.

  As the doors slid shut, he glanced down at the small box of chocolates in one hand and the single red rose in the other. A faint smile played on his lips.

  ---

  When the elevator doors parted with another soft chime, he stepped out onto a floor lined with glass-walled offices. The hum of voices, the rhythmic clatter of keystrokes, the occasional ring of a phone—this was the heartbeat of a busy newsroom.

  He walked through the maze of workspaces, past reporters hunched over their desks and editors reviewing proofs, but just like before—no one noticed him. It was as if he were a ghost, drifting unseen through the office.

  Then, he reached a particular office and came to a stop.

  A slow, knowing smile crossed his face as he adjusted his shirt, exhaled softly, and reached for the door handle.

  The latch clicked, and he stepped inside.

  ---

  She was too focused to notice.

  Stacks of papers were scattered across her desk, some neatly piled, others spread out in a flurry of notes. Her pen moved swiftly over a page, her brows slightly furrowed in concentration.

  She wore a sleek, high-neck blouse in a soft ivory shade, the fabric smooth and refined, tucked neatly into a dark, form-fitting pencil skirt that stopped just above her knees. The subtle shimmer of her stockings caught the light as she shifted in her seat, legs crossed with effortless poise. A silver watch rested on her wrist, its polished face gleaming with every flick of her pen.

  Her golden hair was gathered into a loose, effortlessly stylish updo—carefully undone yet perfectly arranged. A few strands had slipped free, framing her face in soft waves as she worked, absorbed in thought. The afternoon light streaming through the windows kissed her hair, weaving a subtle glow through the golden strands, making them shimmer with every slight movement.

  He quietly closed the door behind him, but she didn't react. It was as if the sound hadn't reached her ears.

  Stepping closer, he glanced down at the papers in front of her.

  An article about the Stark couple? He raised an eyebrow, amused.

  With deliberate care, he placed the box of chocolates and the rose beside her hand. Then, without a word, he walked over to the side of the room, where two comfortable armchairs sat. Lowering himself into one, he crossed his legs and leaned back.

  Then, finally, he snapped his fingers.

  At first, nothing changed.

  She kept writing, lost in thought, her pen gliding smoothly across the page. Minutes passed until she finally let out a quiet sigh, set her pen down, and stretched, rolling her shoulders to ease the tension.

  Her hand reached for the pen again—but then—

  "Huh?"

  Her fingers brushed against something unexpected. She blinked, glancing down. A neatly wrapped box of chocolates. A single rose.

  Her brow furrowed. That wasn't there before.

  Slowly, she picked up the rose, turning it between her fingers as confusion flickered across her face. Then, as if sensing something, she turned her head. Her eyes widened as she saw him sitting comfortably in the corner, one arm draped over the chair's armrest, a familiar smirk playing on his lips.

  "Ricky!" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of surprise and delight.

  Her face lit up, and in that moment, everything she had been doing faded from her mind. The scattered papers, the half-written article—none of it mattered anymore.

  A rush of excitement took over. She shot up from her chair, sending the papers on her desk fluttering. The only thing on her mind was him.

  Without a second thought, she ran toward him and threw herself into his arms as he sat in the chair. The force of her lunge sent the chair sliding back slightly, but she didn't care.

  "Hey, hey—" he started, laughing, "you'll end up breaking the—"

  His words never finished. She silenced him with a kiss, her hands cradling his face as she melted against him.

  For a long moment, they stayed like that—lost in each other. The warmth of their embrace, the familiar scent, the way their bodies fit together so naturally. It was a feeling neither of them ever got tired of.

  Finally, she pulled away just enough to look into his eyes, her lips curling into a smile. "I thought you were coming tomorrow."

  He chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I wanted to surprise you."

  She smiled, her fingers idly tracing the collar of his shirt. "You did," she said, then paused, deliberately stretching out the moment.

  His brow arched, catching the hesitation. "Didn't it work?"

  She hummed, tapping a finger against her chin as if considering her answer. Then, with a slow, teasing smile, she finally nodded. "It did… but you only get half the marks."

  His smirk faded. "Half?"

  She lifted a shoulder in an easy shrug, her tone light but smug. "You used magic. So no points for effort."

  He inhaled a dramatic breath, placing a hand over his heart as if she had struck him. "You wound me, bella."

  She laughed softly, shaking her head. Then, just as quickly, her expression melted into something gentler. With a quiet sigh, she leaned into him again, resting her head against his shoulder.

  "I missed you," she murmured, her fingers curling lightly into his shirt.

  His arms tightened around her in response, and murmured just as warmly, "Missed you too."

  For a while, she simply listened to the rhythm of his breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her touch. Then, after a brief moment, she spoke again in a more thoughtful tone.

  "I don't know how I would have handled the past half-year if you hadn't given me that mobile phone thing…" Her fingers traced slow, absentminded circles against his chest, as if lost in the memory.

  He chuckled, the warmth of her touch stirring a quiet fondness in him. His hand drifted through her golden hair in a gentle caress. "Well, it is one of a kind... I made it just for us. Not even my company manager, Ali, has a model with as many features as ours."

  Isabella's smile deepened, a quiet warmth in her eyes. She nestled closer, resting her head against his shoulder, letting the steady rhythm of his breath soothe her.

  For a while, they simply held each other, wrapped in the quiet comfort of being together again. The world beyond the glass walls of her office felt distant, unimportant. But then—

  She tensed.

  Her body straightened slightly, and her eyes flicked toward the window separating them from the rest of the office floor.

  Through the glass, she saw the usual bustle—colleagues moving around, deep in conversation, tapping away at keyboards, flipping through documents. The realization hit her like a splash of cold water.

  Had anyone seen them?

  Maverick sensed the change in her expression and chuckled knowingly. "Relax," he said smoothly. "As far as they can see through the glass, you're still working at your desk."

  She turned her head slowly, giving him a pointed look. "You put a spell on them, didn't you?"

  He met her gaze with an innocent expression. "No."

  Her eyes narrowed.

  "…Okay, fine," he muttered. "Only on the people inside the building..."

  She stared at him, momentarily speechless. Then, pressing her fingers to her temple, she let out a sigh. "If your grandmother finds out, she won't be happy."

  He chuckled, entirely unconcerned. "Good thing they don't know I'm a wizard." He smirked. "They don't even know magic exists."

  ...

  For a moment, silence settled between them, comfortable and warm. Then, tilting his head slightly, he asked, "Speaking of… how's my grandmother treating you?"

  Isabella's face lit up. "Chief is a wonderful person," she said without hesitation. "I don't get why people think she's so strict."

  Maverick chuckled, shaking his head. "That's because you're my fiancée." He shot her a knowing look. "She has a soft spot for in-laws. Mom told me she was the first one in the family to approve of her and Dad getting married—way before anyone else even came around."

  Isabella just smiled at that, then nestled even closer, enjoying the quiet comfort between them.

  "So, what about your internship? Learned anything interesting so far?"

  "It's been going great," Isabella answered without missing a beat. "There's so much more to Muggle journalism than what we have in the wizarding world. Their methods, their approach to storytelling—it's on a completely different level."

  Maverick listened attentively, a pleased look crossing his face as he took in her enthusiasm.

  She lifted her head from his chest, her voice turning softer. "I'm really glad you suggested I start with the Muggle side first."

  He studied her for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. Then, in a more serious tone, he asked, "Are you... truly sure this is what you want?"

  A small huff escaped her as she poked him lightly in the chest. "Yes, I'm sure. I want to be a journalist." Her eyes gleamed with determination. "Especially now that you've introduced Magic Vision to the wizarding world... I want to be the first to bring video journalism to our kind."

  She sat up a little straighter. "Besides…" Her lips curved into a soft smile as her eyes met his. "I want to be a part of your big plans, Ricky. And this… this is my way of helping."

  Maverick's amusement faded, replaced by something quieter, more thoughtful. He studied her, and the emotions radiating from her felt more sincere than anything he had ever sensed from anyone before.

  "In the future, when you start changing the magical world, I want to be your voice," Her voice was filled with quiet determination. "I want to be the one who tells your story, who helps people understand what you're doing and why it matters."

  A moment of silence stretched between them, not awkward, but full of unspoken understanding. Maverick held her gaze, and his admiration for her grew even more.

  —————————

  For a while, the young couple simply sat together, saying nothing, just holding each other. After months apart without seeing each other in person, words felt unnecessary to them, and this quiet moment was enough.

  And outside their quiet embrace, the news company continued running as usual. Beyond the large glass window, Isabella's colleagues moved about completely unaware that someone else was now with her in her private office. To them, it simply looked like she was at her desk, immersed in her tasks just as always.

  Eventually, with a shared glance and a silent understanding, Maverick and Isabella pulled apart. Then, without drawing any attention to themselves, they slipped out of the World News Network building and stepped into the cold city streets.

  There were still a few hours before sunset, so they spent the rest of the day weaving through the city streets, hand in hand, laughing and slipping into quiet conversations.

  Isabella had grown unexpectedly fond of the street food in this area, so she eagerly shared her experiences with Maverick. From stall to stall, she introduced him to many messy, yet flavorful dishes crafted by the locals, and with each new bite, the experience felt all the more special.

  By the time they finally decided to leave, the sun had long since slipped below the horizon. The couple then Apparated away, crossing several states in an instant before arriving at the Garling residence in New York, as if they had simply taken a couple of casual steps.

  ...

  The moment they stepped inside, the warmth of the house embraced them like a soothing escape from the crisp evening air.

  In the living room, Silvia sat curled up on the sofa with a book in her lap, while Edward lounged nearby, eyes closed and fingers tapping absently against the armrest.

  At the sound of the front door opening, both of them turned their heads.

  Silvia's eyes widened in brief surprise before lighting up with recognition. "Maverick! When did you return to America?"

  "Just today," he said, shrugging off his jacket.

  "Wow… Not even a 'hello, daughter, you're back too?'" Isabella mused, folding her arms.

  Silvia chuckled, as did Maverick. "Oh, don't be dramatic, Bella," her mother teased before turning back to Maverick.

  Meanwhile, Edward cracked open one eye, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. He had, of course, sensed their arrival the moment they Apparated nearby.

  Maverick met his gaze and nodded respectfully. "Teacher."

  Edward gave a small nod in return before shifting into a more comfortable position.

  Silvia, walking over, offered Maverick a warm smile. "It's been a while. How's life as a professor treating you?"

  Maverick let out a small chuckle. "Surprisingly enjoyable."

  Silvia nodded approvingly before turning to Isabella. "And you, sweetheart? How's your apprenticeship going with WNN?"

  Isabella exhaled, then smiled. "Great. Grandma is tougher than I expected, but brilliant."

  Edward, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, his sharp gaze settling on Isabella. "Of course, she is. She's one of the best journalists in the world. Not to mention, her news agency is one of the most respected. If you pay attention, you'll learn a lot from her."

  Isabella gave a small nod. "I already am."

  Edward leaned back against the sofa and turned to Maverick. "And you? That old man hasn't worn you down yet, has he?"

  Maverick smirked. "Not really... Headmaster is… well, the Headmaster. He's actually much better than I thought."

  Silvia clapped her hands lightly, bringing the conversation back. "I was just about to start dinner. I'll make enough for all of us."

  Maverick and Isabella exchanged a brief glance. After spending the day indulging in street food, they weren't exactly hungry, but neither had the heart to turn down Silvia's cooking.

  "That sounds perfect," Maverick said with a smile.

  Silvia beamed and disappeared into the kitchen. And soon, the house was filled with the rich aroma of home-cooked food, wrapping them all in a sense of warmth and familiarity.

  An hour later, they gathered around the dinner table, plates filled with Silvia's hearty cooking. The familiar comfort of the Garling home settled over them, and conversation flowed easily between bites.

  Edward set down his fork and turned to Maverick. "The inter-school Quidditch competition you started has been making waves."

  Maverick nodded as he swallowed his bite. "It's going better than I expected. But I think most of the credit goes to Magic Vision. The broadcasts made it reach a much wider audience."

  Edward waved a dismissive hand. "Perhaps. But the idea was yours. You made it happen."

  Maverick offered a small, appreciative nod but didn't argue.

  Edward took a sip of his drink before continuing. "And how's business?"

  Maverick leaned back slightly. "Steady. Our products are selling well, and we're seeing more and more bulk orders. It's spreading beyond Europe and America now. Demand is picking up in other regions too."

  Silvia and Isabella occasionally joined in, asking about the growing influence of Magitech and how he was handling the rapid expansion. The conversation wove effortlessly through topics—Hogwarts, work, and recent events about Maverick and Isabella.

  Then, Maverick's tone changed. He set down his glass, straightened in his seat, and met Edward's gaze. "Teacher, I have something to tell you."

  Edward, catching the change in his demeanor, raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

  Silvia and Isabella also turned their attention to him, sensing the change.

  Maverick hesitated for just a moment before a small smile formed. "I have ranked up to Arch-Magus."

  Edward, mid-sip, choked on his drink, coughing as he stared at his student. Isabella's eyes widened, and even Silvia—who was the only non-magical person there—showed a flicker of shock, lifting her brows in clear surprise. She understood exactly what that meant. After all, her husband was one of the most powerful wizards in the world, and now Maverick had reached that same level, and at such a young age.

  Edward gulped down another sip of his drink to clear his throat, then asked once more just in case he had misheard. "Say that again?"

  Maverick chuckled and let his magic hum faintly in the air, allowing his Archmagus-level mana signature to pulse just enough for Edward to sense it.

  Edward's mouth fell slightly open. He stared for a long moment before finally managing, "When?"

  "Last month," Maverick replied, clearly enjoying his teacher's reaction.

  Edward let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over his face. "I shouldn't be surprised," he muttered. "But this… this is really—"

  "Ricky... how come you never told me?" Isabella cut in, staring at Maverick.

  Maverick turned to her with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Bella. I wanted to tell Teacher first…"

  Edward, still processing the sudden revelation, needed a moment to gather his thoughts. "Does anyone else know?" he asked finally.

  Maverick hesitated before answering. "Well… about that." He scratched his head, thinking about the other two Arch-Magi who already knew. He had intended for his teacher to be the first to know, but things doesn't always go according to plan.

  "Headmaster Dumbledore knows… and Speaker Maxime as well," he finally admitted.

  Edward raised a brow, tilting his head. "Dumbledore, I understand. But Maxime? What in the world made you tell her before me?"

  Maverick let out sigh. "I was kind of… in a tight spot, Teacher."

  Edward narrowed his eyes. "Tight? Did they gave you any trouble?"

  Maverick quickly waved a hand. "No. The Headmaster took it surprisingly well. He just… accepted it."

  "That doesn't sound like him," Edward muttered. "Ok then. What about the French woman?"

  Maverick sighed, then launched into an explanation, recounting how Maxime had discovered his Bloodraven identity during the Quidditch match and how, from there, she had pressured him into revealing if he had any secret training methods. In the heat of the moment, with Dumbledore present, he had ended up revealing his rank.

  Edward listened with a frown, then let out a scoff. "The audacity of that woman." He shook his head, then, after a moment, suddenly burst into laughter.

  "I heard her school got eliminated first… how did she take it?"

  Maverick grinned. "She wasn't very happy." He leaned back in his chair, recalling her expression. "She had no choice but to accept the results..." He shrugged. "Her team played terribly compared to the others."

  Edward smirked, shaking his head. "That must've stung. She takes more pride in Beauxbatons than her students do."

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  "She hid it well," Maverick admitted. "But I could tell it bothered her."

  Edward chuckled, then lifted his glass. "Well, serves her right for poking her nose into other people's business."

  Maverick smirked but said nothing, letting the conversation drift naturally.

  Their discussions continued naturally, changing from one topic to another as they enjoyed each other's company. Between sips of wine and shared laughter, they talked about work, family, and the little things that made life interesting.

  After dinner, Maverick and Isabella stayed together some more while catching up in the quiet comfort of their home. But as the night deepened, eventually, the couple decided to call it a day.

  Maverick of course didn't sleep with Isabella—not while staying at her parents' house. It wasn't about being old-fashioned or anything, but more about respect. Other places, though? Well, they were adults. It was only natural that they couldn't always keep their hands off each other.

  The next day, Isabella took the day off, wanting to spend every moment with her fiancée while he was in town. They wandered the city and made more fresh memories while being lost in each other's company, and the hours slipped by.

  Just like that, another day passed.

  On the following morning, Maverick, without revealing too much, took Isabella by the hand, and in the blink of an eye, came halfway across the world to the warm, golden sun above Indonesia.

  —————————

  December in Indonesia was nothing like the snowy streets of Europe. The air was warm and heavy with humidity, carrying the fresh scent of rain-soaked soil and blooming plumeria.

  Motor scooters rumbled down narrow roads, their noisy engines competing with the occasional honk of passing cars. Buses, their paint faded from years under the sun, rattled as they stopped to pick up passengers. Street vendors stood by their wooden carts, fanning the smoke from sizzling satay skewers while the smell of peanut sauce, frying bananas, and fresh fruit filled the air.

  Children played barefoot on the sidewalks, laughing as they chased each other past rows of warungs where people sat on wooden benches, sipping sweet tea and chatting about the day. As dusk settled, oil lamps and dim streetlights cast long shadows over the worn pavement, their glow reflecting off puddles left behind by the afternoon rain.

  Yet beyond these ordinary streets lay another world, one teeming with even more activity, hidden from the unsuspecting eyes of those who passed by. This was the magical heart of Indonesia, a place unlike any other—even among wizarding communities. Where Diagon Alley stood firm with its twisting cobbled streets and tightly packed shops, this place seemed shaped by nature itself, pulsing with energy and adapting as if it were alive.

  Shops weren't inside regular buildings but stood in open pavilions made from the roots of giant banyan trees. Their entrances moved and changed, like doorways that were alive. Torches floated in the air, casting flickering light, while colorful batik tapestries swayed gently, their patterns coming to life as they revealed old stories.

  The entire place pulsed with an energy that made it feel less like a marketplace and more like a living, breathing world of its own.

  ...

  High above this land rich with magic and tradition, a sharp hum suddenly sliced through the night. And in that instant, out of nowhere, a young man and woman appeared holding each other close.

  Isabella held onto Maverick's arm tightly as he kept a secure grip around her waist while they hovered in the open sky. For a moment, they simply took in the view as the cool night breeze passed them and the distant hum of life below filled their ears.

  "Ricky, where are we?" Isabella asked just as Maverick conjured a magical platform beneath their feet.

  "Indonesia," Maverick replied, setting her down as they both steadied themselves atop the floating construct.

  Slowly, they descended toward a quiet corner. As they landed, Maverick lifted the enchantment hiding them from sight and stepped into the bustling streets.

  The first thing they noticed were the many Merchants calling out in different languages, advertising their exotic goods. Just one glance can see the difference in goods in contrast to what one would find from a typical stall in Diagon Alley.

  One wizard sold bottled monsoon clouds, swirling with tiny bolts of lightning inside. Another showcased enchanted batik robes that shifted between day and night patterns with a flick of the wrist. A group of witches haggled over a crate of Durian-looking potion ingredients, and their scent was so overwhelming that the couple smelled them from a good distance away.

  Isabella's eyes sparkled as she took it all in. "This place is so lively," she said, squeezing Maverick's hand. "And look… some of them surely aren't locals. They must be from all over the world."

  Maverick nodded, guiding her through the crowd. "That's because the International Dueling Tournament final is about to begin. That's why it's so packed."

  Isabella turned to him, eyes filled with curiosity. "Are you taking me to see a duel?"

  "Uh..." Maverick suddenly realized that Isabella might not be too impressed by a bunch of Magus level wizards throwing spells at each other.

  But he quickly smoothed it over. "Well, it may not be as flashy as you'd expect, but think of it like a date... kind of like watching a Muggle movie, like we did last night."

  Isabella smiled, tightening her grip on his arm. "Hey, I wasn't complaining... Besides, I'm also curious to see the level of the duelists who made it to the finals."

  Maverick grinned. "Professor Flitwick, my colleague and Hogwarts' Charms professor is on the judging panel. He was the one who gave me the invite. I accepted and thought… why not turn this into a little getaway for us?"

  Isabella smile sweetly at his words, and then leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked. "Thank you, Ricky," she murmured.

  As they strolled through the bustling street, they occasionally stopped by various stalls. At one, they sipped steaming cups of Teh Talua, a rich, egg-based tea, enjoying its warm, frothy texture while watching a group of young witches test out miniature broomsticks that zipped around like hummingbirds.

  At another stall, Isabella picked up a delicate bracelet carved from dragon bone. The faintly glowing runes etched into it caught her attention, and she traced them with her fingers, intrigued by the craftsmanship.

  "Here, let me," Maverick said, gently taking her wrist. He cast a quick scan to ensure it was safe before fastening the bracelet with a murmured spell. As soon as it touched her skin, the runes glowed softly, and the bracelet adjusted itself, fitting perfectly as if made just for her.

  She smiled, running her fingers over the smooth surface. "It's nice. What kind of enchantment is it?"

  He chuckled. "Nothing fancy, just a simple enchantment to adjust the size… and a little glowing effect during the process for show."

  "Well… I like it either way," Isabella smiled and slipped her arm through his once more.

  As they continued down the street, the crowd thickened, and the buzz of excitement grew with it. Soon, they stepped into a wide-open plaza filled with witches and wizards dressed in robes and garments from many different cultures. It was clear that they had come from all corners of the world.

  They saw some waving colorful banners, cheering out unfamiliar names, while others huddled in eager groups, deep in discussion about the duelists competing tonight.

  Further ahead, they saw long lines snaking toward a massive coliseum-like structure. Its towering walls were draped with banners displaying shifting images—two duelists locked in combat, sparks flying from their wands, their names glowing in enchanted script.

  As they moved closer to the entrance, they saw stern-looking wizards in dark uniforms stationed at each gate, carefully checking everyone before allowing them through the enchanted barriers.

  Isabella let out a low whistle, her eyes scanning the massive crowd. "So many people..."

  Maverick nodded, his eyes scanning the sea of faces. "There must be a few thousand people outside alone. And a lot more must already be inside..."

  Just then, a sharp voice cut through the noise. "Final match starts in less than an hour! If you don't have a ticket, get in line now!" A floating parchment hovered above the speaker, listing the names of the duelists and the event schedule.

  Maverick turned to Isabella. "Come on. The professor said he would arrange seats for us." He led her toward a separate entrance marked V.I.P Guests, where another set of guards stood watch.

  As they approached, a tall wizard with a clipboard glanced at them. "Names?"

  "Maverick Caesar. Plus one," Maverick answered smoothly.

  The wizard's eyes flicked to the list before nodding. "You're clear to enter." With a flick of his wand, the entrance shimmered open, revealing a grand corridor leading inside the coliseum.

  They walked through a short tunnel-like passage, and the muffled roar of the crowd from the other side grew louder with their every step.

  At the passages end, a wizard in the same attire as those stationed outside waited for them. His sharp eyes flicked toward them as they approached, and without a word, Maverick retrieved his ticket and held it up. The wizard studied it for a moment, gave a short nod, then gestured for them to follow.

  They climbed a flight of stairs and emerged into an expansive, elegantly furnished viewing area. Plush seats were arranged in neat rows, each offering a perfect view of the grand arena below. Crystal chandeliers floated above, casting a warm glow, while a lavish buffet was set at the back, offering an array of fine dishes for the VIP guests.

  Many witches and wizards were already seated, engaged in quiet conversation or sipping wine as they waited for the event to begin. The attendant led them to two empty seats in the front row on the right edge. To their left, a middle-aged couple dressed in traditional wizarding attire sat comfortably, observing the growing crowd below.

  Maverick settled into his seat beside the man, while Isabella took the one closest to the wall. The moment he sat down, he heard the man next to him speak.

  "What a coincidence to find a Hogwarts professor here," the man said, turning slightly toward him.

  Maverick glanced at him, noting the unfamiliar face. "Do we know each other?" he asked, keeping his tone polite but curious.

  The man offered a courteous smile. "Not personally, but I have heard of you. Daniel Greengrass," he introduced himself, and then gestured to the woman beside him. "And this is my wife, Winifred Greengrass."

  Maverick returned the smile and gave a respectful nod. "Ah, you must be Daphne's parents." He paused briefly before extending a handshake. "Pleasure, Lord Greengrass."

  The older man shook his head with a quick wave of his hand. "Please, just call me Daniel, Master Caesar. The pleasure is all mine." He firmly shook Maverick's hand, then added, "And yes, indeed. Our daughter speaks very highly of her professor."

  Maverick acknowledged the courtesy but didn't dwell on it. Instead, he settled comfortably into his seat.

  "She's a bright witch," he said. "Sharp, hardworking. You should be proud."

  Lord Greengrass's expression softened with a hint of pride before his gaze flicked to Isabella. He studied her for a moment before speaking again. "And this must be your fiancée."

  Maverick inclined his head. "Yes, Isabella."

  Lady Greengrass's lips curved slightly. "We had heard about your engagement to Edward Garling's daughter. A pleasure to meet you, Miss Garling."

  Isabella returned their greeting with practiced ease—not overly polite, nor distant. She was, after all, the daughter of a Speaker and carried herself with the dignity befitting her station.

  Lord Greengrass then turned his attention back to Maverick. "Are you interested in such competitions?"

  Maverick shook his head lightly. "Not particularly. I came at Professor Flitwick's invitation and thought it'd be a good chance to do some sightseeing with my fiancée."

  A comfortable silence settled between them as the anticipation in the air thickened. Guests occasionally rose to help themselves to the buffet, where golden platters held everything from roasted meats to delicate pastries, while fine goblets of wine floated through the air, serving themselves to those who beckoned.

  And just then, Maverick's Magical-Sense picked up a powerful magical presence enter the area. He showed no outward reaction, keeping his expression relaxed as he continued chatting casually with Isabella, but half of his senses remained locked onto the newcomer.

  A man and a young wizard walked towards the front row, taking seats just a few spots away from them. The older man had a short beard and equally short blond hair, dressed in the refined elegance of a gentleman. The younger one, no older than Maverick, carried himself with unmistakable arrogance. His formal attire was pristine, and a smug, self-assured smile rested on his lips.

  As they passed each row, the other guests subtly inclined their heads in acknowledgment. Yet the pair strode forward without even a glance at those offering respect, as if the others were mere air.

  Maverick noticed the Greengrass couple tensing beside him. They, too, bowed their heads ever so slightly.

  Just as the pair took their seats, the younger man suddenly turned his head in Maverick's direction. His eyes widened abruptly. He even stopped mid-motion, halfway into his seat, as if frozen in place.

  Maverick didn't need to follow his gaze to know the source of his reaction. The young man wasn't looking at him—he was staring at Isabella.

  She, however, didn't notice a thing. She hadn't even glanced his way, instead focused on picking small bites from a platter of sliced fruit.

  Maverick's eyes narrowed slightly. The young man's stare wasn't just one of surprise—it was intrusive, scrutinizing in a way that made his instincts flare. Without hesitation, Maverick met his gaze with a sharp, cutting look.

  The young man visibly recoiled in that instant and shrank into his seat.

  But moments later, his expression twisted as though insulted. His shoulders squared as if trying to shake off whatever had unnerved him. A disciple of a Great-Magus cowering from a single glance? The very thought seemed to enrage him.

  Meanwhile, the older man beside him had taken notice. His eyes flicked toward Maverick, his frown deepening.

  Maverick could tell exactly what the man was thinking. This old wizard—whoever he was—was trying to assess him, to gauge his presence. Yet he would find nothing. He was only a Great-Magus, and Maverick's magic was too well-controlled for that.

  But that very absence of presence seemed to unsettle the older man even more.

  The young wizard leaned toward him, whispering in a foreign language. "Who is he? Do you know him? Or is he someone in disguise?"

  The older wizard didn't answer right away. His sharp eyes flickered over Maverick again, then eventually faced forward. After a long pause, he muttered, "I don't know. But it's not a disguise."

  The younger man scowled. "I want to sit next to her."

  The old wizard glanced at him, then after a moment, sighed. "Do whatever you want."

  Maverick, who had been following their exchange through his Magical-Sense, sighed inwardly. Is this one of those young master and apprentice types?

  It was clear that this master and apprentice were used to getting whatever they wanted, forgetting that there were always greater powers beyond their reach. But that was a given—after all, a Great-Magus was still no ordinary wizard. To the average magical, they were undoubtedly untouchable figures of power, as there were only about a hundred of them in the entire world.

  He watched as the young man stood, but just as he did, the older wizard's entire posture tensed. His pupils shrank.

  Then, in one swift motion, without a care for how it might appear to others, he grabbed the younger wizard's shirt and forced him back into his seat.

  "Arh..." the younger man grunted, then looked at him in confusion. "Master… what's the matter?"

  The man said something in their language —low, firm, and absolute. "Do not provoke that man."

  The young wizard's brows furrowed. "Why—"

  The latter said nothing else. He simply kept his hand firmly on the young man's shoulder.

  Maverick smirked internally.

  Just moments ago, he had sent a silent, telepathic warning to the old man—a precise, directed sound wave only he could hear.

  "If you don't want to die, you'd better get your dog under control."

  And just to drive the point home, he had briefly let his dominant spirit envelope the old wizard, a pressure so precise and controlled that it left no room for doubt.

  And the old wizard hadn't just heard the warning. He had felt it.

  And in that moment, unbeknownst to everyone else, an execution was quietly averted.

  For now, that is.

  Maverick leaned back in his seat, perfectly at ease, as if nothing had happened at all. Around them, the atmosphere remained unchanged—cheers, laughter, and the excited hum of conversation filling the air.

  Then, the arena lights dimmed slightly, and a hush rippled through the crowd.

  The duels were about to begin.

  —————————

  Swish. Swoosh. Boom.

  Spells streaked through the air in bursts of vibrant colors as they collided mid-flight with sharp cracks and bright flashes. Each impact sent waves of energy across a grand stadium where two wizards moved effortlessly with precision, locked in a heated battle showcasing their skill and power.

  ROAAAAR!

  Watching their clash of spells was an arena packed with an energetic audience. They roared thunderously with excitement as one duelist twisted away from a piercing blue hex, then erupted in cheers when his opponent sent a spiral of golden flames arcing through the air, followed by waves of heat.

  ...

  Inside the VIP stand, Maverick watched this chaotic dance of power unfold before him with the ease of someone long accustomed to such displays. While others gasped and cheered at every close call, to him, it was nothing more than a routine exchange of spells—hardly worth any excitement.

  Most of his attention rested on Isabella as he listened to her insights about the duel. She claimed she could best them, and Maverick half-agreed. She was now at the Magus rank, a feat not easily achieved by some one her age. Of course he him self is the exception.

  Nonetheless, even when she had been a mere Mage Apprentice, he had known she was no pushover, easily capable of taking on several at her rank. Edward Garling had raised and trained her well, and it showed in her skill and confidence. Even now, as she watched the duel, there was no admiration in her gaze—only quiet judgment.

  Aside from their discussion, Maverick also traded a few words with Lord and Lady Greengrass, but beyond that, there was nothing there that held his interest.

  As for the pair who so foolishly thought themselves important, they had not bothered him since—nor anyone else for that matter—and simply sat watching like any other spectator.

  Yet, their stiff expressions and lack of enthusiasm made it clear they were not enjoying the match. The only reason they remained was perhaps, only for the sake of appearances, not wanting to lose face by leaving early.

  Maverick had taken the time to find out exactly who they were.

  A simple inquiry to Lord Greengrass had done the trick. At first, the man had almost choked on his drink at Maverick's blunt question. But after Maverick assured him that they wouldn't hear a thing—demonstrating by cursing at them loudly without so much as a flicker of reaction—Greengrass finally relaxed and explained.

  As it turned out, they were quite the pair of characters.

  The arrogant prick happened to be last year's dueling champion and, in a way, the old man's student. As for the old wizard himself, he owned several magical creature farms, monopolizing many rare materials within his circle and supplying them to various countries worldwide. That alone made him a powerful figure with connections everywhere, even without considering that he was a Great-Magus rank wizard.

  But then Lord Greengrass added something else—something that wasn't exactly a big secret, yet remained out of public knowledge.

  This old man, Tarhan ?zdemir, was a major player in the underground magical trade. He was perhaps the one who controlled the circulation of everything—from rare, highly illegal magical materials to forbidden spells found in the shady markets of every country's magical community.

  Maverick glanced back at the man, who still sat there, seemingly engrossed in the duel. Then, a plan began to take shape in his mind. He had been in need of a Marquis-level wizard for quite some time, and as luck would have it, this trip had presented him with the perfect target.

  But for now though, he returned his attention to the match.

  ...

  The clash of spells reached its peak when two Disarming Charms met in midair. Both casters struggled to overpower each other and sparks crackled around them sending small shockwaves rippling through the arena. The tension held for a moment until finally, one spell broke through, then a wand flew from its owner's grasp and spun high into the air before landing on the ground.

  The match was decided, and the crowd erupted in cheers. The victor stood tall and enjoyed the applause, while the defeated drew in slow breaths and tried to keep himself calm. Excited voices filled the arena as the audience reacted to the outcome.

  In contrast to the loud celebrations in the general stands, the VIP box was much quieter. The occupants still cheered for the side they supported and engaged in animated discussions, but their voices were softer than the rest.

  And amid the celebrations happening, two figures silently rose from their seats just moments after the commentator announced the winner. It was the old wizard and his student, and they quickly strode away without a word or glance toward anyone.

  Maverick caught their movements from the corner of his eye but showed no reaction. On the surface, he appeared indifferent, blending into the celebratory atmosphere around him. However, without anyone noticing, he had already marked them with tracking magic before they hurriedly left.

  As the excitement in the arena began to settle, others in the VIP box started making their way out. Among them were the Greengrass couple, preparing to leave. Before they could step away, Maverick spoke.

  "Lord Greengrass, if you have some time over the holidays, I'd like to arrange a meeting with you," Maverick said.

  Lord Greengrass raised a brow, intrigued but not pressing for details. He considered for a moment before replying, "I'd be happy to host you, Master Caesar. Why don't you join us for dinner at our estate the day after tomorrow?"

  Maverick gave a small nod. "That works for me. I'll see you then."

  With that, the Greengrasses shared their address before taking their leave, leaving only a few lingering guests in the VIP stand. Before heading out himself, Maverick took Isabella to meet with Flitwick. The small professor greeted them warmly, and they chatted for a bit—mostly polite conversation and a few thoughts on the duel.

  By the time everything wound down, it was nearing midnight.

  Having no need to stay longer, Maverick and Isabella left the arena—and the country itself. In just a few seconds and a space rift later, they reappeared in America, where the sun was still high in the sky. The cool night air they had left behind was replaced by the warmth of the afternoon.

  Keeping a steady pace, Maverick walked Isabella to the door of the Garling residence. As they reached the entrance, he stopped and told her he had something to take care of first and might not return that night.

  Isabella gave him a curious look but did not ask any questions. She simply nodded before stepping inside, leaving him to his business.

  —

  In an opulent chamber lined with velvet drapes and golden fixtures, the sharp sound of shattering porcelain broke the silence.

  A vase lay in shards across the marble floor.

  "How dare he humiliate me!" a young man snarled. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. His face twisted in fury, and his hands clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

  Across from him, Tarhan ?zdemir sat calmly with his hands pressed together, seemingly deep in thought. At the same time, he kept part of his attention on his fuming student showing an unreadable expression.

  "I'm going to find out who that English bastard is and put a bounty on his head—"

  "Enough, boy!" Tarhan interrupted sharply, visibly irritated by the outburst in front of him. His tone was cold and carried undeniable authority. "You will do nothing until I find out exactly who he is."

  "But, Master, he—"

  "I said enough." The old wizard's gaze darkened. He understood the boy's frustration and allowed it to a degree, but there were limits. One of the reasons he had taken him in as a student was because the boy reminded him of himself in his younger years—impulsive, prideful, and a strong unwillingness to accept defeat.

  His brows furrowed slightly before he adjusted his tone. "I do not tolerate humiliation either, but I will not act blindly. That man was no ordinary wizard."

  The young man scowled but held his tongue in the end. His frustration was clear, but he knew better than to challenge his master's decision.

  With the outburst finally silenced, the old wizard returned back to his thoughts.

  The feeling Maverick had exuded earlier—that suffocating feeling—was not foreign to him. And yet, he found it difficult to believe that the young man was truly an Arch-Magus, or even a Great-Magus for that matter.

  He had lived for a century and knew the face of every Great-Magus alive today, not to mention the seven monsters who stood above them. He had memorized every name and face that held significance in the world of magic, and the face he had seen earlier today belonged to none of them.

  "Perhaps it was some kind of artifact," Tarhan mused. "A tool that allowed him to project dominance..."

  The thought settled, and a possibility came to mind. In the East, there were artifacts said to store a portion of one's power. Heirs of ancient families carried them as a last resort—not to strike down an opponent, but to intimidate and force them to retreat.

  The more he thought about it, the more the idea made sense. It seemed like the most plausible explanation.

  But even if he was wrong, he would not let the matter rest. He would at least find out who the young man was.

  Rising from his seat, he strode across the room to a large desk in the corner, and pulled open a wide drawer, revealing rows of neatly arranged small mirrors. Each one had a name inscribed beneath it.

  His finger moved down the labels until it stopped at a familiar name—one of his information brokers. If the young man had a name worth knowing, he would have it soon.

  Behind him, his student continued to seethe, muttering curses under his breath. His anger had not faded—it had merely found another target. A slow, twisted smile crept across his face as his thoughts turned to Isabella.

  "When I find him," he muttered, "I'll take that woman of his and—"

  The lights flickered.

  The flames in the fireplace wavered, their glow fading as if something unseen had drained the warmth from the room. The chandelier above swayed, its light pulsing weakly before dimming further. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the walls, shifting like living things.

  The room darkened.

  Both men went still. The air thickened, pressing down with an oppressive weight. A silence heavier than stone swallowed the space, smothering even the crackling of the fire.

  —————————

  The lights flickered again.

  Tarhan ?zdemir, who had been about to activate the two-way mirror, hesitated. His wrinkled fingers grabbed the artifact, but after a moment, he slowly set it down and furrowed his brows.

  Something was not right.

  Meanwhile, across the room, his student scowled at the dimming chandeliers. His frustration had not faded in the slightest, and now it had found another target. "Rubbish. These so-called luxury gadgets from Caesar's Magitech are worthless. It has not even been a month since they were installed..."

  Tarhan paid the fool no mind and quickly spread his Magical Sense, searching for anything out of place. His intuition had never failed him before, and right now, every fiber of his being told him that something dangerous was about to descend upon him.

  Another flicker. The light pulsed unnaturally, as if the very air itself had become unstable.

  Then suddenly, the old wizard's pupils contracted. His first instinct was to Apparate away, but he dismissed the thought just as quickly. Trying to escape by using space magic against a being that could tear space itself would be a foolish decision.

  And right now, that was exactly what he was seeing.

  A jagged crack split the space before him. This was no trick of the light, no mere illusion. The very fabric of reality had been torn open.

  Step.

  Step.

  A shiver tore through his spine. He knew this power. Only the most powerful of his kind wielded it.

  It meant one thing.

  A king had arrived.

  The young wizard, still oblivious to the danger, turned to voice another complaint but stopped mid-sentence.

  Step.

  Step.

  From the fractured gap in space, a figure stepped through. His movements were unhurried, his hands resting casually in the pockets of a long, dark coat. He did not announce himself, nor did he need to. His presence alone was enough. It filled the room like an immovable force, pressing down on everything and everyone within it.

  Gulp.

  The young wizard's breath hitched as he felt the oppressive weight in the air. But then, recognition dawned when he glanced at the figure's face, and realized this was no stranger at all.

  His impulsive character got the better of him.

  "You—"

  But Before he could mutter anything, an agonizing scream tore from his throat.

  Arrh.

  His body jerked, and his eyes rolled back as his mind was torn open with brutal force. It was not a slow unraveling but a violent assault that left no room for resistance.

  Every barrier in his consciousness shattered as Maverick tore through his memories without hesitation or warning. His thoughts, secrets, and fears were laid bare in an instant.

  The brutal assault on his mind was nothing more than payback for daring to harbor vile thoughts about Isabella. But what came next—what Maverick had just uncovered in this young scumbag's mind—demanded something far worse.

  It took only a moment for him to decide.

  The screaming stopped, cut off as if a switch had been flipped, and the young man collapsed to his knees.

  Mind arts could inflict damage far worse than any physical injury, capable of tearing apart a person's very spirit. The brutal intrusion had not only left him with a gruesome headache but had also drained his stamina almost completely.

  For a brief moment, there was silence.

  And then, all of a sudden, under Tarhan's disbelieving eyes, black flames surged from beneath the young man, slithering up his legs and torso like a serpent in the most unnatural manner.

  Only a strangled gasp escaped the young man's lips as the flames visibly devoured him from the inside out. His skin blackened, cracked, and then crumbled, leaving not even a trace of flesh or bone except only dust.

  Tarhan stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat as the ash then just spiraled upward and vanished. There was no body left. No sign that the young man had ever existed. Only the lingering heat in the air and the oppressive weight of the one who had wielded such merciless power.

  Silence.

  Words failed the century old wizard, or perhaps, he was too afraid to speak them.

  And yet, there was no grief in his expression. No outrage. Only a quiet, layered contemplation—thoughts twisting and turning behind his unreadable gaze.

  Maverick finally turned to him. He tilted his head slightly, studying the old wizard with detached interest. Then, in a voice as calm as ever, he said, "Turns out you didn't care for him as much as I thought."

  The old wizard exhaled slowly. "It was my mistake," he admitted. His voice held no sorrow, only acceptance. "I failed to discipline him. The boy did not realize who he had offended, and paid the price."

  Maverick raised an eyebrow. "You don't seem particularly concerned."

  Tarhan met his gaze for the first time.

  He saw indifference. There was no malice, no arrogance—only the quiet certainty of someone who stood above.

  This was not the first time he, a Great-Magus, had been looked down upon. And there were only seven people—no, it should be eight now—who had the qualification to do so.

  He gathered his thoughts and took a steady inhale, trying to calm his mind. "He was just a student," he finally said. "Talented, but replaceable. I was using him."

  Maverick gave a small nod, as if unsurprised.

  He snapped his fingers, and a high-backed chair materialized behind him. He lowered himself into it effortlessly, crossing one leg over the other. There was no need for words, and it was clear who was in control.

  Tarhan remained standing.

  "I hear you have some very rare materials," Maverick said, glancing at the man standing as still as a statue. "I'm interested."

  "Whatever you need, I can get," the old wizard responded without hesitation. "Name it."

  Maverick tilted his head. He brought his hands together and interlocked his fingers with deliberate ease.

  "What I want... is everything you have."

  For the first time, Tarhan showed reluctance in his demeanor. His eyes narrowed slightly, but whether it was from fear or sheer audacity, Maverick could not tell—nor did he care.

  The old wizard, after a moment of hesitation, asked in a voice laced with visible anger, "Are you threatening me?"

  "Yes," Maverick answered bluntly, completely unbothered by his tone.

  And his bluntness extinguished the flicker of boldness Tarhan had managed to muster.

  A long pause. Then, Tarhan sighed. "I need time."

  Maverick's expression didn't change. "Show me what you have."

  Tarhan straightened his back, holding on to the last vestiges of his pride. "I need time," he repeated, his tone steady but not without strain.

  The room darkened.

  A force unlike anything before pressed down on the space itself. It was not a gust of wind, nor a visible wave of power, but an unrelenting pressure that seemed to bend reality around it.

  Tarhan's breath hitched. His knees buckled, and before he even realized what was happening, they struck the floor with a jarring crack. Pain barely registered—his mind was too overwhelmed by the crushing force weighing on him.

  It was not physical, yet it bore down on his very being. His bones groaned, his limbs trembled, and for the first time in a long while, he felt truly powerless.

  This was not mere magic. This was the sheer force of a King's Spirit.

  The old wizard clenched his fists and tried to resist, straining against the invisible weight pressing him down even as he knelt. But it was futile.

  Then, Maverick raised a hand and pointed a single finger at him.

  "Legilimens."

  This time, he did not hold back. He focused. He invoked the spell with precision and intent. After all, this man was a Great-Magus, and his mental defenses would not be as fragile as the scattered ash now dispersed in the air.

  And he was right.

  Tarhan's Occlumency was formidable, layers upon layers of mental walls forged over decades of mastery. But against the overwhelming power that crashed into his mind, his defenses splintered and crumbled within moments.

  Memories were unraveled. He moved through the old wizard's thoughts with ruthless efficiency, extracting every detail of importance. Locations, wards, safeguards—everything.

  Fortunately, most of Tarhan's valuables were not in Gringotts. They were hidden in secured locations, well-guarded, but it did not matter. Maverick now knew where they were.

  For fifteen minutes, he scoured every corner of the old wizard's mind, seizing everything he needed.

  Then, without a word, he released his hold. With that, the suffocating pressure was also lifted from the room like a passing storm.

  Tarhan gasped for air, his body trembling as he attempted to rise.

  "Stay down," Maverick ordered just as the old wizard tried to stumble back on his feet.

  A muscle twitched in Tarhan's jaw, his fingers curling into fists, but he obeyed. He lifted his head and met the indifferent gaze of the monster who had reduced him to an animal.

  Maverick felt no remorse under the glare that burned into him. From his earlier probing, he had already understood the depth of the twisted man before him. While Tarhan might not reach the levels of someone like Morvain, he was still high on the scale of how evil.

  Without a second thought, Maverick turned his attention to his dimensional space and retrieved a ring. It wasn't just any ring. This was Victor Morvain's storage ring, a relic that he, with his vast knowledge of alchemy, had yet to unseal. The protective measures around it were so formidable that Maverick has no doubt that it was the work of a grandmaster alchemist.

  And that was why he had bothered to mark Tarhan and take action tonight. It wasn't the rare materials this old wizard may or may not possess that interested him. No, it was Tarhan himself—the Great-Magus.

  He had tried before—countless times, in fact—to disarm its defenses, but each attempt had failed. The most troublesome part was the curse placed on it. A curse of demonological origin. As powerful as he was, he knew his limitations.

  He could handle many things, but curses tied to demonology were beyond his expertise—something he had little knowledge of and something he dared not tread carelessly around.

  The first time he had tried to lift the curse, he had placed the ring on someone else. Evil wizards, witches—he didn't care who they were, as long as they were expendable. But every time, the result was the same.

  The curse was so potent that it literally withered them away in mere seconds, reducing them to lifeless husks. The curse didn't transfer to the person, when the person died, it reset and returned back to the ring.

  Maverick had learned something crucial from those failures, that a typical Magus wouldn't work. The curse was too potent for that little power.

  Any Magus would perish in just moments, leaving no time to even attempt to deal with it using counter curse magic. He needed someone more powerful, someone whose resilience could hold for a while against it. Someone like a Great-Magus.

  And Tarhan… Tarhan was exactly that. A Great-Magus, with a power that would withstand the curse long enough for Maverick to strike at it. The curse would latch onto Tarhan, poisoning him or whatever, but it would provide Maverick with the necessary window to launch his attack. And Tarhan's "sacrifice," would be the key to unlocking the ring.

  The old wizard, his eyes filled with unrestrained loathing, glanced at the ring rotating slowly as it drifted toward him. Just from a single look, he knew it was no ordinary artifact. It was on par with the heirloom of an ancient family's main bloodline.

  "Put it on," he heard the cold command.

  —————————

  Tarhan stared at the ring hovering before him. His intuition, honed by over a century of life had already told him everything he needed to know.

  This was no ordinary ring. The intricate carvings and the rich, almost unnatural shine made it clear that it held old magic—powerful enough to deny anyone except the one it was meant for.

  He turned his gaze to the man who had given the order. "May I ask… if this artifect is enchanted?"

  He already knew the answer, but the words left his lips anyway.

  "Yes."

  The confirmation came, and his expression darkened.

  A chill of unease crept into his chest as he considered the consequences of going through with it. There was no doubt that it would be protected by powerful, old magic. Otherwise, why would an Archmage make him the guinea pig to test its defenses?

  Yes, he had no doubt now—this was exactly his situation. A dignified Great-Magus, reduced to a test subject.

  "Wear it."

  He heard the order again, this time, without patience, and no room for resistance.

  There was no other choice.

  Breathing out deeply, he finally reached for the ring. The metal was icy cold against his fingertips, as if it had been left in the snow for hours. Even so, he tightened his grip, steadied himself, and braced for whatever might come.

  Slowly, he slid the ring onto his finger, and for the briefest of moments, nothing happened.

  Maverick watched in silence, his sharp eyes taking in every detail.

  Then, he saw it. Black smoke surged out from the ring like a living shadow, wrapping around its target with terrifying speed. It was not the first time he had seen this happen. The same thing had occurred when others wore it, so it came as no surprise to him.

  The dark tendrils coiled tightly, constricting around Tarhan's body as if a predator had struck, trying to swallow him whole. And the rate at which the demonic curse attacked Tarhan's body was no slower than those he had tested before.

  Fortunately, unlike Magus-rank wizards, those at the Great-Magus rank had sharper instincts and the ability to manipulate pure magic. The moment the curse enveloped him, Tarhan had reacted within seconds, pushing back against it with his magical energy.

  And yet, that wasn't enough. The curse was only pushed back a short distance, and now, unable to entangle its target, the sinister smoke began to gather, grow thicker and stronger. It wouldn't be long before his magic could no longer hold it back.

  Unless.

  Tarhan then began to conjure shield charms, pouring all his magic into them and tried to push back the curse or whatever dark force lay within the ring.

  And it worked. His spells, powered by his Marquis-level magic, prevented the curse from enveloping him instantly.

  Maverick watched quietly as everything happened, more or less as he had expected.

  Tarhan's magic was strong—strong enough to resist the worst effects of the curse.

  But the situation would not remain like that for long. Tarhan's stamina was finite, and the curse showed no signs of weakening. If anything, it was growing stronger.

  More importantly, the curse was still bound to the ring. Resisting it was not enough—it had to be dealt with.

  Maverick lifted a hand and focused. A wave of counter-curse magic burst from his palm, striking the black smoke like a blade of light.

  Screech!

  A howling, eerie wail filled the air, like a creature in agony. The smoke trembled, recoiling under his attack, pulling back as if it had been wounded.

  Maverick's eyes lit up. It was working.

  But then, without warning, the curse changed it's target. Instead of attacking Tarhan, it lunged towards him.

  Maverick's eyes narrowed. The curse… it was as if it were sentient, as if it was aware.

  But he wasn't going to stand by and let it attack him unscrupulously. Rising from the high-backed chair he had conjured, he swiftly waved his hand, and a powerful shield spell flared to life just in time.

  Bam!

  The black smoke crashed against his magic shield, sending ripples through its surface. Despite the strength of his magic—magic at the level of an Archmagus—the force of the curse's assault was powerful enough to shake the barrier's structure.

  Maverick's brows furrowed deeper. If this continued, he might have to retreat. He was confident he could escape, or even defend, but engaging this curse of demonic origin was a risk he had to consider carefully.

  But then—just as the thought of retreat crossed his mind—a sudden warmth washed over him.

  It was unlike anything he had felt before, yet in some ways, it reminded him of the overwhelming, fulfilling sensation of a Patronus.

  But this was not his doing, and it certainly was not the work of the struggling man in front of him.

  Keeping the sheild charm firm with his magic, he quickly spread his senses to search for the cause of this sudden abnormally. It wasn't doing anything bad, infact, he felt his magic becoming more stable. But an unknown was still an unknown.

  He searched with both his magic and his sight but found nothing. It took him only a second to scan the area, and just as he thought his search was in vain, a blinding white light suddenly surged from his body.

  "What the..."

  He murmured in astonishment, eyes locked on his chest, where his heart would be. That was the source. Like a beacon, white glowing smoke seeped out enveloping his body, with more gathering above his head.

  He raised his head and watched as the smoke of white light swirled and shifted until it finally took shape—a phantom of a unicorn's head hovering above him.

  Its form radiated pure, brilliant light, and the moment it emerged, the darkness recoiled, pulling away from his shield as if burned by its presence.

  Then, the phantom attacked.

  The construct let out a cry, a sound so pure and soothing that it made the very air tremble. It charged forward, slamming into the curse with unrelenting force.

  Kneiihhh!

  Screech!

  The moment light clashed with darkness, it was like water meeting fire. The curse hissed and twisted, its form writhing in agony before it began to wither, dissolve, and finally evaporate into nothingness.

  Maverick watched in shock. It was almost instantaneous.

  What his Archmage-level magic could not accomplish, this unknown force—this magic that had somehow emerged from within him—had done so effortlessly.

  The curse that had prevented him from accessing Morvain's ring's contents was wiped away, erased without a trace.

  For a moment, he could not comprehend what had just happened. But then, a memory surfaced—an event from months ago, something he had nearly dismissed as mere superstition.

  "Is this… what it means to be blessed by a unicorn?" he murmured to himself.

  The curse had been destroyed, and Tarhan… well, he was alive. But in just that short span of time, he had been drained heavily, his stamina nearly depleted from fighting against the curse magic.

  Even Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful Arch-Magus, had been powerless against such a curse and was now counting his days, so it was no surprise that Tarhan, a Great-Magus, had fared any better.

  It goes to show how truly ruthless and effective curse magic could be compared to straightforward spellcasting. Unless one was prepared and possessed the proper knowledge to counter it, curse magic did not seem to care about the rank of a wizard. It was simply... super effective.

  Maverick exhaled deeply but kept his vigilance high as he turned his gaze back to the ring still on Tarhan's finger. The ominous aura that had once surrounded it... he no longer felt it.

  To confirm, he flicked his finger and used magic to pull the ring off Tarhan's finger. After a moment, he placed it back on. Nothing happened—no curse, no black smoke, no resistance.

  The ring was now clean of any nasty curses.

  Without hesitation, he used magic to grab Tarhan's hand and yank the ring from his finger. The moment it was off, he unleashed a concentrated blast of magic in the same instant.

  Tarhan's eyes snapped open at the last second as his instincts flared, warning him of the imminent danger. He tried to resist, but exhaustion had left him powerless against Maverick's ruthless attack.

  All he managed was a hoarse, furious scream before his body was reduced to dust—just like his student before him.

  Maverick did not stop there. He flared his Magical-Sense to the extreme, scanning the surroundings for any signs of life once more. Finding none, he vanished from the spot and reappeared high above the old wizard's mansion, nearly half a kilometer in the air.

  Raising his hand, he began to conjure a sphere of concentrated Fiendfire. A flicker of black flame emerged in his palm, writhing and twisting unnaturally, as if alive. It pulsed with raw destruction, growing larger with each passing moment. The sphere expanded, the heat distorting the air around it, until it reached a massive size—dozens of meters in diameter, a miniature black sun of all-consuming fire.

  Without hesitation, he released it, lowering his hand slowly as if commanding the inferno to take action. The inferno plummeted toward the mansion, its descent accompanied by a deep, ominous roar. As it fell, the sphere stretched and expanded, engulfing everything in its path. The moment it made contact, the entire estate was swallowed whole. Walls, stone, wood, and magic alike were devoured in an instant, reduced to nothing but ash.

  Maverick did not linger. The destruction he had wrought was anything but subtle, and soon enough, people would come. But by then, they would find nothing. No bodies. No evidence. No trace of him.

  And before they could even begin searching, Maverick had already vanished—not just from the scene, but from the country itself.

  ...

  Moments later, he stepped through the shimmering distortion of a teleportation spell and emerged in a dimly lit underground chamber. The air was dry and thick with the scent of ancient stone, a stark contrast to the destruction he had left behind.

  This was one of his hidden bases—deep beneath the sands of Egypt, far from prying eyes. The chamber's walls were lined with intricate runes, their faint glow pulsing as they recognized his presence. Powerful wards ensured that no one, not even the most skilled trackers, could find him here.

  He took a slow breath, letting the silence settle around him. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he conjured a seat and sank into it. The ring he had taken from Tarhan still rested in his palm, its surface now devoid of the ominous aura that had once surrounded it.

  For a long moment, he simply stared at it before finally making up his mind. He slipped the ring onto his own finger and focused.

  There were still the standard layers of protection—enchantments meant to prevent any ordinary person from accessing its contents. But there were no lingering signs of a curse, no ominous presence waiting to strike.

  A smile tugged at his lips.

  Without hesitation, he forced his way through the ring's protections, his magic pressing against the layers of defensive charms wrapped around it. The enchantments resisted, pulsing with defiance, but they were nothing against the overwhelming magic he wielded.

  One by one, they unraveled—barriers woven by powerful hands long ago, stripped away as if they were fragile threads in a storm. The final layer clung desperately, flickering like a dying flame, before vanishing into nothing.

  Seconds ticked by until, at last, it was fully unsealed, revealing what lay within and granting him complete access to its contents.

  A rush of information surged into his mind. The secrets stored within were now clear, open for him to take.

  Sure enough, Victor Morvain, a Great-Magus who had lived for nearly half a millennium, had a collection that would rival those of even the ancient magical families.

  Gold. Piles and piles of it. Mountains of treasure, shimmering under an unseen light. Galleons stacked in countless numbers, enough to rival the vaults of the wealthiest wizarding families. Jewelry of all kinds, glittering with gemstones that radiated magic.

  And then—books.

  Ancient tomes, their covers worn with age. Scrolls filled with knowledge lost to time. A treasure trove of wisdom hidden away for who knew how long.

  But then, amidst the wealth and history, something unexpected appeared.

  Weapons.

  Not magical ones. Muggle weapons.

  Maverick's brows furrowed as he examined them. Some he recognized—guns, explosives, instruments of war. But others… others were unlike anything he had ever seen.

  "What is this?" he muttered, focusing on the strange weapons piled up in one section.

  These were unlike any conventional firearms he knew of. There was not just one or two, but an entire collection—rifles, cannons, and handheld blasters—all sharing a distinct similarity.

  Each had a radiant blue energy source, a core of some kind, pulsing with an otherworldly glow. The power within them felt alien, unlike any magic or technology he had encountered before.

  The designs were sleek, their dark metallic casings crafted with precision. Intricate energy channels ran along their bodies, directing the flow of power from the bluish cores, which pulsed with an eerie brilliance. The energy within them felt unstable yet contained, as if barely restrained by the craftsmanship that shaped these weapons.

  With a thought, he willed one of the weapons—a handgun—out from the ring's space and into his grasp.

  But the moment it touched his hand, his eyes widened in shock.

  Because-

  [ Detected a gadget of extraordinary characteristic ]

  [ Item: Pistol Powered by the Residual Energy of the Gem of Space ]

  [ Extraordinary Characteristic: Energy projection ]

  [ Grade: Basic ]

  —————————

  [ Detected a gadget of extraordinary characteristic ]

  [ Item: Pistol Powered by the Residual Energy of the Gem of Space ]

  [ Extraordinary Characteristic: Energy projection ]

  [ Grade: Basic ]

  Maverick stood frozen, momentarily shocked by this unexpected turn of events. For the first time since awakening the system, it had reacted to something that wasn't magical.

  His fingers tightened around the pistol as he read the prompt again and again, while his mind raced to make sense of it.

  Pistol powered by the residual energy of the…

  Wait a minute.

  He subconsciously took in a deep breath when the words finally clicked into place.

  Gem of space…

  This was the Infinity Stone… or something connected to it.

  Which meant…

  Something stirred within him—an itch, a need to know for sure. His hands even trembled ever so slightly with barely contained excitement.

  So without any hesitation, he reached into the ring's storage space and pulled out more weapons with the same distinct similarity, the ones with a glowing core embedded in its design.

  He reached for a rifle, letting his fingers brush against its dark alloy casing before examining its structure inside and out with both his eyes and magic.

  The weapon was expertly crafted, almost futuristic in design. However, its inner workings showed no traces of alchemy or magic, yet a similar system prompt appeared for it as well.

  He reached for another weapon, then another, running his fingers over each one's surface, watching for the system's response. By now, he already had a good idea of what was happening.

  Next, he reached for a few weapons that lacked the bluish core, pulling them from the pile just to be sure. But there was nothing. No reaction from the system.

  Finally, he set everything down and sank back into his conjured chair, trying to make sense of it all.

  One thing was clear—the system wasn't reacting to the weapons. It was picking up on the residual energy of the Space Stone, somehow stored in those crystal-like cores.

  But... how?

  How did the Space Stone's energy end up in some random weapons hidden away in Morvain's collection?

  He exhaled slowly and reached for the small pistol again. Turning it side to side in his grip, he inspected every inch of its surface, searching for anything that might give him a clue.

  Then he saw it.

  A marking. No—a date.

  Etched faintly into the side of the weapon, barely visible against the dark metal:

  1943.

  His eyes widened slightly.

  World War II.

  And just like that, a memory from his past life also surfaced in his mind. Captain America: The First Avenger.

  It all lined up. These had to be Red Skull's weapons.

  In the movie, Schmidt had used the Tesseract, harnessing its energy to power Hydra's arsenal. However, it seems in this reality it may be a bit different as he did not remember them developing this many or such a wide variety of wepons.

  But that did not matter now. He had already accepted that while much of this reality matched his memories, some parts did not, and a few were completely different. There was no point dwelling on it.

  Instead, he turned his attention to the weapons and what they were capable of. From what he remembered, a direct hit from their energy pulse could vaporize a regular human. He needed to confirm if that was true here as well.

  His grip on the pistol tightened as he made up his mind.

  In an instant, he vanished from the room and reappeared in a vast, empty desert, where the only signs of life were a few scattered cacti. They were not made of flesh and blood, but they would do as test targets for now.

  "These antiques should still work, considering they were inside Morvain's storage ring," he muttered to himself while taking aim at one of the cacti.

  He switched off the safety, placed his finger on the trigger, and then—

  A sharp, high-pitched whine filled the air as the pistol powered up. The moment it reached full power, a bright blue energy pulse shot from the barrel and struck the target.

  ...

  ...

  There was no explosion, no smoke, and no scattered remains. The cactus was simply gone. Only dust remained in the air where it had stood.

  He fired again at another cactus, and the result was the same. The plant vanished instantly, leaving behind only a faint cloud of dust.

  He took a few more shots at different targets to confirm the results. Each time, the energy pulse struck, and the target disappeared without a trace.

  The effects were exactly as he remembered from the movie, and with that settled, he teleported back to the base.

  ---

  Lowering himself back into the chair, he first took a moment to reflect on everything he had discovered today.

  First of all, these weapons were overpowered AF, and he could put them to good use whenever he needed to clear out some garbage. But that was not what excited him the most.

  What truly thrilled him was the realization that the system was not just reacting to magical artifacts or alchemical creations. It responds to anything, anything extraordinary.

  This opened up endless possibilities. If he went to Kamar-Taj, could he replicate the properties of a Sling Ring? If he made his way to Wakanda, would the system react to Vibranium technology? And what about S.H.I.E.L.D.? If he could get his hands on their classified 0-8-4 objects, or even the Tesseract itself…

  The more he thought about it, the more his blood raced. There were so many opportunities. So many possibilities.

  But when his eyes moved to the system panel, it was like a bucket of cold water had been poured all over his excitement. Because, under the "Extraordinary Characteristics" section, the number of times he could replicate an extraordinary characteristic was showing blank. Zero.

  The stingy system only gave him one point per year, and he had already used up all of it. There was still a week left until the year ended, when he would receive an extra point. Just one chance to replicate any extraordinary characteristic.

  Thinking about all of this, his racing heart finally settled, and allowed his thoughts to clear.

  He took a moment to gather his thoughts, then brought up the system panel again and reviewed the prompts more carefully from some of the weapons once more.

  The system's grading of the Hydra weapons caught his attention.

  He tilted his head, slightly puzzled.

  These weapons had enough power to vaporize a human in an instant, yet the system did not seem to find them particularly impressive.

  He thought about it for a while, trying to figure out why the system rated the characteristic so low, but no answer came to him.

  In the end, he made up his mind. If the system considered it Basic Grade, then it was not worth wasting a precious point on it—even if it was pretty damn cool.

  With that out of the way, he turned his attention back to Morvain's storage ring. There was still work to do.

  He spent the rest of the night going through its contents, sorting through everything the dead wizard had hoarded. Anything valuable, rare, or even slightly useful got moved to his own expanded dimension. Anything useless or redundant was tossed aside without a second thought.

  Once he was done, he held up the now-empty ring. It had served its purpose. Without hesitation, he crushed it in his grip, burned the fragments with Fiendfyre, and let the ashes scatter on to the ground.

  ---

  After wrapping everything up, he teleported back to America and went about his days as if nothing had happened, spending time with his fiancée and taking her on sightseeing around the country.

  A couple of days passed like this, but there were still no reports about Tarhan in the newspapers. He was certain that the old wizard's estate—or whatever was left of it—should have been discovered by now. However, it did not surprise him that it had not been reported to the public.

  He figured some powerful people were keeping the news under wraps while they tried to confirm what had happened—and more importantly, to see how they could take advantage of it.

  After all, Tarhan was no ordinary wizard. He was powerful, influential, and had accumulated a vast wealth of knowledge and resources. Whoever discovered his death first stood to gain the most from it. Whether it was seizing his assets, claiming his research, or eliminating any loose ends, there was plenty to fight over.

  Unfortunately for them, they would not find anything substantial. Maverick had already gone through the old wizard's memories and knew that Tarhan's most valuable treasures were hidden in places no one else knew about. So there was nothing for anyone to dig up.

  As for the rest... he couldn't care less.

  ---

  Two days later, he returned to England, briefly putting his time with Isabella on hold. Today, he had an appointment with Lord Greengrass, one he had personally arranged, and they had agreed to host him at their estate.

  This meeting was an important step in his plans. He needed to get his people into British magical politics, and the Greengrass family—an old, seemingly neutral house—was the perfect place to start.

  It was happening sooner than he had anticipated, but as with all of his plans, circumstances had changed. Fortunately, in this case, it worked out for the better.

  —————————

  The Greengrass Manor.

  It had a simple yet impressive grandeur befitting a noble wizarding family. Though it was not as large as the Malfoy estate or as imposing as Hogwarts, it had a dignified and well-maintained appearance, reflecting the family's history, tradition, stability, and quiet strength.

  The main building was a large structure made of dark stone, strengthened by ancient magic that lingered in the air. Tall, arched windows lined the walls, their frames partly covered by ivy that had grown over decades. A large iron gate stood at the entrance, displaying the Greengrass family crest, and beyond it was a well-kept stone path that curved gently toward the manor's large front doors.

  The place had a quiet, yet uniquely dignified feel to it, showing wealth and influence without the need for excessive display.

  ---

  Maverick arrived outside the gates with a sharp pop of Apparition. Tonight, he wore a long, dark coat over a crisp button-up shirt and slacks, presenting a polished and professional look. His outfit leaned toward Muggle formal wear but was neutral enough to fit seamlessly into a wizarding setting.

  Waiting for him at the entrance was the Greengrass family. Lord Greengrass stood at the front looking upright, dressed in finely tailored wizarding robes befitting his status. Beside him was Lady Greengrass who carried herself with grace and dignity. Her blonde hair was neatly arranged, and she maintained a calm and welcoming expression.

  Daphne Greengrass, their eldest daughter, stood slightly behind them with her usual calm and collected manner. Next to her was Astoria Greengrass, the youngest member of the family, a delicate-looking girl with pale skin and soft brown hair.

  Lord Greengrass stepped forward first and greeted him with a respectful nod. "Master Caesar."

  Maverick returned the greeting with the courtesy appropriate for a noble lord.

  Lady Greengrass then followed, offering a warm but reserved smile. "Welcome to our home, Master Caesar."

  Daphne gave a polite nod. "Professor."

  Astoria hesitated for a brief moment before offering a small smile and a polite, "Welcome," of her own.

  Lord Greengrass gestured toward the manor. "Please, come inside. We have prepared a feast in your honor."

  Maverick gave the family a nod of appreciation and stepped forward as the iron gates swung open, granting him entry.

  ---

  The dining hall of Greengrass Manor was just as elegant as the rest of the estate. A long, polished table sat at the center, carefully set for the meal. A large chandelier overhead cast a warm glow, and the air carried a faint hum of protective magic woven into the walls.

  As the meal began, everyone took their seats. The quiet clinking of silverware and light conversation soon filled the room creating a welcoming atmosphere.

  The three adults kept the conversation light, mindful of the two children at the table. Most of the talk revolved around school and how much more eventful this year had been compared to previous ones. Lord and Lady Greengrass also inquired about Daphne's studies, to which she responded only when directly addressed, looking clearly embarrassed by the attention.

  Astoria, who had been mostly quiet at first, eventually joined in. Seeing how at ease her parents spoke with Maverick, she took it as a sign that she could do the same. Before long, she was adding her own to the conversations, making the gathering feel more relaxed.

  Once dinner ended, Lord Greengrass set down his napkin and exchanged a glance with his wife. After a brief moment of silent understanding, he turned to Maverick and gave a small gesture.

  Maverick nodded and stood up, following his host out of the dining hall. They walked through the halls of the manor, where the polished floors reflected the soft glow of enchanted lanterns.

  The Greengrass patriarch shared some of his family's history as they walked through the manor corridors. He spoke about their traditions and the role their house had played in the wizarding world. His voice carried a quiet sense of pride, and he moved with the ease of someone deeply rooted in his family's legacy.

  Eventually, they reached a heavy wooden door. Lord Greengrass pushed it open, revealing the space as his private office, and politely invited Maverick to follow him inside.

  The room carried the quiet authority expected of a private chamber belonging to the lord of a noble house. Dark wood paneling covered the walls, and tall bookshelves filled with well-used tomes stood in neat rows. A grand desk sat at the far end, its surface organized but showing signs of regular use. To one side, a fireplace crackled, casting flickering light across the room.

  Lord Greengrass gestured toward a pair of chairs facing each other. Once they were both seated, he clasped his hands together and leaned slightly forward. His voice was calm but curious as he spoke. "Now then, Master Caesar, what was it you wished to discuss?"

  Maverick did not respond immediately and instead adjusted his position in the chair, making himself more comfortable. He met the older wizard's gaze, holding it without hesitation.

  The room grew quiet as Lord Greengrass waited for Maverick to speak, but in that moment, an indescribable change in the atmosphere settled over him—something he could not quite name or put into words.

  It was as if something about the young man across from him had suddenly changed, as though a mask had been lifted and he was only now seeing him—or meeting someone else entirely.

  "There is an opportunity... one that could benefit both the Greengrass family and my own..." he heard the young alchemist say, and sure enough, even his voice felt different now. It was more even—or perhaps, indifferent was the better word.

  Somewhat unsettled by this sudden feeling, he needed a moment to register what had been said to him and to gather his thoughts.

  Cough!

  He coughed into his fist, using the motion to steady himself, and did his best on maintaining the composure expected of his lordly self.

  "Go on," he said. "If this opportunity benefits my family, I am willing to listen... so long as it does not involve unnecessary conflict with other parties."

  Maverick noticed the change in Lord Greengrass's demeanor, which was expected now that he had taken a serious tone. It was not due to any magic being released, but simply the natural presence of an Arch-Magus that he no longer held back. That alone was enough to make the older man, two ranks lower, instinctively feel a sense of intimidation.

  He studied him for a moment, considering how best to continue before speaking again. "Before we get into that, I would like to ask something first." Leaning forward slightly, he met the older man's eyes. "Can you tell me exactly what the Greengrass family represents as a noble house? And as a seat on the Wizengamot, what role does your house play in the politics of English magical society?"

  Lord Greengrass frowned at the unexpected topic. "I thought you were here to talk about a business partnership, not politics."

  Maverick noticed his confusion but did not address it. Instead, he went on with what was on his mind. "I have done a bit of reading on your family's history."

  The older man's expression changed subtly at the mention of looking into his house's history, though he quickly masked it.

  Maverick, however, remained indifferent and pressed on.

  "In both cases of the last two Dark Lords who have risen, your family has maintained a neutral stance. You did not openly support them, nor did you fight against them. And it was not just the Greengrass family. Several noble houses followed your lead, acting in the same way."

  He held Lord Greengrass's gaze and then asked, "What was the point of it, if you don't mind me asking? Was it simply for safety? Did you believe that by staying out of the conflict, you would be left alone?"

  Lord Greengrass's expression stiffened at the sudden barrage of personal questions. These were not the kind of questions one asked so directly, let alone from someone they had barely spoken to before. No matter what status this young man held, the way he pried so bluntly into matters of his family left him unsettled.

  His fingers tightened slightly around the armrest of his chair, but he kept his voice controlled. "If that is what you came to discuss, then I see no reason to continue this conversation. I have no interest in debating politics with a—" He paused at the last moment, managing to rein in his emotions.

  Exhaling slowly through his nose, he gave Maverick a hard look. "Clearly, I was mistaken about you. A professor of Hogwarts, a master alchemist, a student of a Speaker—I expected a certain level of maturity. But now, here you are, speaking as if you have the right to accuse my noble house of being mere spectators to history. Rude, to say the least. And beyond that, we barely know each other. Common sense would dictate that we build some rapport before diving into such personal matters."

  His voice hardened slightly, irritation slipping through his restraint. "And yet, instead of so much as a proper lead-in, you have suddenly demanded answers to questions that no man of status would ask so casually. Tell me, Master Caesar—what exactly do you think gives you the right?"

  Maverick did not react to the man's outburst, and truth be told, this was the response he had expected. After all, the man was not wrong in his reasoning.

  But he had chosen to be blunt for a reason.

  He met Lord Greengrass's gaze and smiled. "You are right. I have no right to ask." He leaned back, keeping his expression neutral. "But I still need to know. I cannot continue with what I came here to discuss unless I understand this first."

  Lord Greengrass remained silent, but his displeasure was visible to see.

  Maverick tilted his head. "At least tell me this. Is my reasoning incorrect?"

  The old patriarch did not respond and instead pushed himself up from his seat. It seemed he had enough of this unreasonable meeting. But before he could rise completely, Maverick lifted a single finger from the hand resting on his chair.

  A heavy pressure fell over Lord Greengrass the moment he moved. It was not something he could see or touch, yet it wrapped around him like an invisible shroud. His body stiffened, and for a brief moment, it felt as though an immense weight had settled onto his shoulders.

  His pupils shrank.

  It had been years—decades, perhaps—since he had last felt something like this. He had almost forgotten, but now it resurfaced with startling clarity. The sheer, undeniable presence of someone far beyond himself. A presence that reduced the title of Lord Greengrass to nothing. Power. Absolute power.

  As the memories surfaced, he sank back into his seat before he even realized it. Maverick had not exerted much pressure on him and had already withdrawn his magic after that brief moment. Gradually, the older man managed to pull himself together enough before lifting his head to look at the young man across from him. But this time, his expression was hard to read.

  "I am being very polite here, Lord Greengrass, so I would appreciate it if you listened."

  To Lord Greengrass, Maverick's voice now carried the same indifference he had heard years ago, a tone that left no room for argument.

  "I apologize if my words earlier offended you, but I still want an answer. Without it, we can't move forward with the opportunity I came here to offer. And I'm not joking when I say it will be an opportunity... one you won't want to ignore."

  Lord Greengrass met Maverick's gaze without answering right away. The weight pressing down on him had faded, but the feeling it left behind was still fresh in his mind.

  "Who are you?" he asked at last while his fingers curled against the armrest of his chair. He was not sure how to put it into words, but that was the most pressing question on his mind now.

  Maverick let out a quiet sigh and leaned back in his chair. "I am Maverick Caesar, a master alchemist."

  Lord Greengrass stayed silent and watched, and his eyes made it clear that he expected more than that answer.

  So Maverick added, "Apart from that, you should also know that I am a successful businessman..."

  At that, Lord Greengrass gave a small nod.

  "And besides that," Maverick continued, "I also happened to be..." He paused, meeting Lord Greengrass's eyes. "An Archmage."

  Lord Greengrass did not react with shock. Instead, his eyes showed understanding, as if he had already reached the same conclusion on his own. After all, the oppressive presence of an Archmage was not something that could be faked, at least in his opinion.

  But one thing still puzzled him—Maverick's age. He was too young. Furrowing his brows, he asked, "Are you really as young as I know you to be?"

  Maverick nodded. Meanwhile, Lord Greengrass studied him carefully, searching for any sign of lies. When he found none, he let out a slow exhale. "I certainly was not expecting this," he said, finally accepting everything.

  Maverick smiled faintly.

  "Dumbledore, Maxime, and my teacher, Garling, are all aware of my recent breakthrough to Archmage," he continued. "So now, Lord Greengrass, you should understand that I did not come here to waste your time or my own."

  Lord Greengrass nodded. There was no point in arguing now—or could he even? And now that he thinks about it, he realized he had been given a great deal of face. The Archmages he knew did not negotiate when they wanted something unless another of equal rank was involved. They simply took what they wanted.

  So tonight could have gone a lot worse for him and his family. His throat felt dry when he finally found his voice. "I see," he said, doing his best to push aside the unpleasant thought.

  On the bright side, this young man—a master alchemist and an Archmage—wanted to make a deal with him. Even if it meant confessing some unpleasant truths, the benefits would outweigh any embarrassment.

  He raised his head and looked at the smiling young man, who seemed as if he knew exactly what had been running through his mind. "May I ask about the deal you mentioned earlier? Is it still on the table?"

  Maverick nodded. "Like I said, it's an opportunity that would benefit us both. But first, you need to answer my earlier questions."

  Lord Greengrass looked as though he had made up his mind. He exhaled slowly and began to explain.

  "You were right," he admitted, looking Maverick in the eye. "My father believed, and I followed his example, that neutrality was the safest course. As long as we did not pick a side, we would be left alone. It worked during Grindelwald's rise and fall, and again when Voldemort came to power." He sighed, his fingers tapping against the armrest. "And it has worked for us—until now."

  Maverick said nothing, waiting.

  "As for politics and the Wizengamot," Lord Greengrass continued, "it is quite simple. Our faction is the balance between two extremes—the corrupt old families who prioritize their own wealth and power above all else, and Dumbledore's faction, which, while righteous, is too idealistic and often disruptive." He shook his head. "The Ministry cannot function when either of them holds too much sway. The old families push for laws that serve their own interests, while Dumbledore's supporters oppose them at every turn, even when the policies themselves are reasonable."

  He leaned forward slightly. "Take the Magical Commerce Regulation Act of 1975. It was meant to stop monopolies from forming in certain industries. On paper, it sounded good, but the noble families twisted it to restrict newer businesses from competing with their own. Dumbledore's faction, rather than amending it to actually prevent monopolies, fought to repeal it entirely—something the old families also wanted, because then they could operate unchecked. My faction was the only one that sought to fix it so that small businesses had protections without limiting the economy. But we were outvoted in the end, and the law was repealed. What happened after? A handful of powerful families tightened their grip on entire markets, and no one could do a thing about it."

  Lord Greengrass shook his head. "This is why neutrality is important... We keep the peace between them. Without us, the Ministry would be a battlefield."

  "Why not fight for more power? Or get someone from your faction into the Minister's position?" Maverick asked.

  Lord Greengrass exhaled, shaking his head. "It's not that simple," he said. "If politics were only about negotiation and alliances, perhaps we could. But in the end, it always comes down to who has the ultimate fist."

  He gestured vaguely. "If Dumbledore were not an Archmage, and if the noble faction didn't have Great Magi among their ranks, then it might work. But that is not the reality we live in. Power in the wizarding world is not just about votes or public support—it is about who can enforce their will when words fail."

  His fingers tapped the armrest as he continued. "Even if my faction wanted to fight for more power, we simply lack the magical strength to back it up. To make a real bid for control, we would need figures as powerful as Dumbledore or the Great Magi supporting the noble faction. Without that, no matter how many alliances we form or how well we maneuver politically, we will always be vulnerable. The moment we make a move for greater power, we invite direct opposition. And when that happens, what do we have to protect ourselves?"

  His gaze turned sharp. "We would need our own Archmage, or at the very least, several Great Magi willing to stand with us. Without that, we are just pieces on the board, not players in the game."