[Ding! The gold treasure chest is being opened!]
[Ding! Congratulations to the host for receiving 500 ml of Kirin Heart Blood!]
Blake stared at the newly filled system warehouse, feeling a strange mix of relief and pain.
This round of unboxing had cost him dearly. His heart ached.
He wanted to synthesize more Supreme Treasure Chests, to pull out something truly spectacular—but the cost was overwhelming.
His current alchemy and potion experiments required an absurd number of materials, many of which were nearly impossible to find.
Take the Kirin Heart Blood, for example.
Even if a Kirin existed in this world, finding one would be a monumental task. Killing it would mean destroying a unique creature forever.
Biological materials like this weren't the worst problem, though. He could always replicate them using biotechnology.
But rare mineral materials?
Those were non-renewable. Even with money, they were nearly impossible to buy.
Which was why treasure chests had become his primary source of obtaining rare and unmarketable resources.
No matter what, opening chests meant gaining materials. Even if he pulled useless equipment, he could always break them down into raw materials.
Blake examined the warm bottle of Kirin blood in his hand.
"At least I don't have to worry about biological materials anymore," he muttered. "Now that I have the blood, I can cultivate it."
Then, looking at his now-empty system space, his heart ached again.
A moment ago, his inventory had been overflowing with treasure chests. Now, nothing.
"No wonder Hogwarts doesn't teach alchemy," he groaned. "Who can afford it without a fortune?"
Dejected, he headed to the canteen, grabbed a cup of milk tea and a pack of spicy strips, and tried to drown his sorrows in food.
A Misunderstanding with Nagini
Nagini noticed his gloomy expression.
"What's wrong? Who made you angry?" she asked.
"No one… I'm just broke," Blake muttered.
So many treasure chests—gone in the blink of an eye.
Nagini hesitated, then pulled out a small money bag and pressed it into his hand.
"I've saved a little. It's not much, but I hope it helps."
Blake blinked, stunned.
Nagini had misunderstood.
She thought he meant he had no money, when in reality, he was lamenting his lack of rare materials.
Most people assumed Blake spent money like water, so it wasn't strange for them to think he was always broke.
Still, the warmth of the small money bag in his hand made him feel something deeper.
This… this is what it feels like to have someone who cares.
"Ahem, no need. Keep it for yourself," Blake said, quickly stuffing the bag back into her pocket.
Nagini frowned.
"I know a little bit, Blake. You don't have to pretend…"
"I swear, I wasn't talking about being poor in money," Blake assured her. "I meant… I've been lacking inspiration lately."
Nagini narrowed her eyes. "Are you just making an excuse?"
"I'm not! I didn't! Don't talk nonsense!" Blake wiped his forehead.
Nagini was getting harder to fool these days.
"Forget it," she sighed. "Just tell me if you need anything."
"Ah, I know!" Blake suddenly exclaimed. "I'll give you a raise!"
"You—!" Nagini turned red with frustration. "That's not what I meant!"
She didn't care about money!
She had free room and board at Hogwarts—what would she even do with more money?
Seeing her frustration, Blake quickly backtracked.
"Just kidding! You know I didn't mean it."
Then, with a sly smile, he added, "To apologize… how about a massage?"
Nagini's legs nearly gave out.
Blake's massages were… hard to describe.
No, they were amazing.
Shamefully amazing.
Every time she remembered them, she lost sleep.
Before she could react, Blake grabbed her and disappeared through the Gate of Latitude.
Blake was too poor.
So, he decided to give Nagini a few 'love horses and kill chickens' to trigger strong emotional swings.
Intense emotions meant treasure chests.
Of course, if Blake were like Voldemort, he wouldn't bother with massages.
He'd just use the Cruciatus Curse.
But Blake had standards.
While he and Nagini were 'discussing' massage techniques, elsewhere—
Mr. Lovegood was working overtime with three new hires on the next issue of The Quibbler.
Blake had told them this was The Quibbler's most critical moment—the career growth period!
If they worked hard now, once the magazine took off, they could sit back, drink tea, and let the money roll in.
That dream had motivated them.
Three socially anxious writers and a reclusive old otaku, fired up like never before.
One of the new hires, a plump man, was illustrating a Twilight Zone story for The Quibbler when he frowned.
"Mr. Lovegood… this illustration…" he muttered.
"What about it?" Lovegood asked.
"I feel like I've seen this boy before."
"Seen him?"
"Yeah… I think he's a Hufflepuff student. A few years below me. Cedric Diggory, I think?"
Meanwhile, The Quibbler was selling like crazy.
In the wizarding world, where entertainment was lacking, novels were a goldmine.
Lockhart's books had proven that.
Now, The Quibbler was serializing nine best-selling Muggle novels, some of which focused on romance.
Witches loved romance.
Word spread quickly.
Within a day, all 5,000 copies were sold out.
Witches stormed Flourish and Blotts, demanding the next issue.
But every novel had ended on a cliffhanger.
"If you still want to read… buy the next issue!"
Which led to an explosion in demand.
Flourish and Blotts, overwhelmed, sent a desperate letter to Lovegood.
"When will the next issue be out?"
Lovegood, following Blake's orders, replied:
"The next issue will be released no later than tomorrow morning."
Flourish and Blotts' manager, seeing the demand, quickly wrote to his boss:
"We should partner with The Quibbler. We'll print more and secure exclusivity."
That evening, Lovegood asked Blake for advice.
"Should I agree to their terms?"
Blake smirked.
"It depends. Do you want The Quibbler to stay small in Britain… or do you want it to be read by wizards worldwide?"
Lovegood's eyes gleamed.
"If The Quibbler goes global…" he whispered.
Moments later, he grabbed a quill.
"I'm writing to reject them now!"
Flourish and Blotts was turned down.
But The Quibbler kept their borrowed printing presses running.
Soon, stacks of magazines rolled out.
Meanwhile, Blake added A Song of Ice and Fire and The Witcher to The Quibbler's lineup.
More male readers would now be hooked, balancing out the audience.
"Wait," one editor asked. "What if Muggle-borns recognize these books?"
Blake shrugged.
"Did we claim we wrote them? We're just publishing them."
"Brilliant!"
Back at the canteen, Cedric stormed in, holding The Quibbler.
"You're the boss?" he demanded.
Blake nodded proudly.
"Then explain THIS!" Cedric shoved an illustration under his nose.
Blake blinked.
Cedric looked exactly like the vampire protagonist.
Girls had been asking him if he was a vampire all day.
Cedric was furious—until Blake grinned.
"Think about it. Before, girls never talked to you. Now, they're approaching you. Isn't this an opportunity?"
Cedric hesitated.
Blake sighed.
"You… you didn't just scold them and walk away, did you?"
Cedric looked guilty.
Blake groaned.
=============
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