"Alan Cecil? What's your name? Are you famous? Should I know you?"
Alberta didn't offer even a hint of courtesy, which made Allen feel slightly embarrassed.
When he had met Professor McGonagall, her words had made him believe that he was already becoming well-known, but clearly, Alberta was quick to put him back in his place.
Still, Allen didn't belittle himself.
He quickly understood what was happening.
His reputation had indeed started to spread—but only within a very limited circle. Most of the recognition came from the middle and upper classes of the wizarding world. More specifically, those who could afford his cooking. His dishes weren't cheap, after all, and only someone at least comfortably middle-class would have heard of him.
As for Alberta... It wasn't that Allen looked down on him, but the man truly didn't seem like someone who would casually spend a few Galleons on a gourmet plate of food. Plus, he probably wasn't the type to keep up with magical news or social trends. So, it was understandable that he didn't recognize Allen.
Still, it was a bit discouraging.
Allen rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The real issue now was—how could he convince this guy to sell him ingredients at a low price?
Allen preferred to think of Alberta as a potential supplier rather than just a hunter. With a hunting level of 85, Alberta clearly had the strength to hunt powerful magical creatures. That meant access to rare and potent magical ingredients—exactly what Allen needed before he could reliably go out and hunt such beasts himself.
But just as Allen was mulling things over, a loud clamor erupted outside the door.
"Alberta, Alberta, my dear Alberta, are you there?" The voice came from a single person, but the noise was loud enough to make it sound like a crowd.
The door was suddenly flung open.
Alberta's face twisted into a grimace of irritation. With a sigh, he stepped forward, intentionally placing himself between the doorway and Allen.
A man with a sharp, rat-like face sauntered in. He wore a dusty robe and looked like someone who had just crawled out of a sewer. His whole presence screamed trouble—like a rat sneaking into a pantry, searching for a scrap of cheese.
"Hey, what are you doing home in broad daylight? Some people passed by your stall and said you were up to big business. So—have you finally come to your senses? My friend..."
The man's mouth worked like a machine gun.
He rattled on without pause. Before long, he noticed Allen standing behind Alberta.
"Aha! So this is your new product, huh? Nicely done! This one will definitely bring in good money. Want me to help you find buyers? I'm telling you—this kind of quality could sell for at least—"
He extended a hand, clearly reaching for Allen.
But Alberta stopped him with a firm, unwavering hand.
"He's not cargo, Rat," Alberta said coldly.
The nickname fit the man perfectly. Allen's lips curled into a slight smirk as he watched the interaction with interest.
A quick scan told Allen this man had a hunting level of 35.
"What are you on about? I'm not competing with you!" the man snapped, clearly irritated. "Without me, you'd never find anyone to sell to! I'm a professional at making connections, alright? Huh? Wait a second... this kid looks kind of familiar..."
"I didn't expect you to be dabbling in human trafficking, Mr. Douglas," Allen said, his voice light but edged with steel. "Is this guy your friend?"
Despite his calm demeanor, a small ball of fire had already formed in Allen's hand. It hovered there innocently—but it was no ordinary spark. It was the dragon's breath fireball. Small, unstable, and highly explosive—more irritable than the one he'd used to blow up a wall at the bar.
A tall human target was much easier to hit than a fast-moving one. Even if he missed, the noise would certainly attract the Aurors stationed nearby. As long as Allen wasn't immediately taken down, he'd be safe.
The only question now was—who should this fireball hit?
Allen's light green eyes narrowed slightly. Both men's reflections shimmered in his pupils. He was picking his target.
Even Alberta, with his impressive hunting level, wouldn't be able to shrug off a direct hit. A wizard's hunting level reflected their magical skill, not physical resistance.
But events took an unexpected turn.
Before the rat-faced man could keep ranting, Alberta calmly reached out and pressed a large hand against the man's face. With a powerful heave of his arm, he lifted the man right off the ground.
"I told you—I don't do that kind of business anymore. This is your last warning," Alberta said. "I live in Diagon Alley. Not Knockturn Alley."
And with that, he flung the man out the door like a sack of garbage.
The thin figure hit the ground hard, rolling several times before coming to a stop against the far wall.
Allen watched thoughtfully, slowly dissolving the fireball in his hand.
"Oh, Alberta, you bastard! Is that how you treat your brother?" the man groaned, clutching his ribs as he sat up slowly. "If you don't want to do the job, fine! But don't act like you're better than me. Just because you're out doesn't mean you get to lecture me."
Alberta snorted.
Without another word, he walked over to the table, grabbed the Galleons Allen had laid down, and tossed them back into the young man's hand. Then, from a shelf nearby, he retrieved a sealed bottle filled with glimmering crimson liquid—dragon's blood—and handed it to him as well.
"Don't come looking for me again," Alberta said sternly. "As you can see, I'm not short on customers."
Allen now held a handful of Galleons in one hand and a bottle of valuable dragon's blood in the other. His face was a mix of amusement and confusion.
It was clear that Alberta didn't think much of him—but the dragon's blood was no joke. It was rare, valuable, and hard to acquire. That he'd been given one for free said something about Alberta's character.
Allen could also tell that this man, Alberta Douglas, was solid. Not the warmest fellow, but clearly decent.
The real problem was perception. Alberta still saw Allen as a kid.
With such an uneven dynamic, there was no way they could form a proper partnership. Nothing serious could be discussed while Allen was still seen as inexperienced or unproven.
Allen looked down at the bottle of dragon blood in his hand. He thought for a moment, then made up his mind.
It was time to prove himself—not with words, but with actions.
He would go back, get to work, and demonstrate through results that he wasn't some naive child playing at cooking or potion-making. He would show that he could be a long-term buyer, a reliable business partner, and someone who knew how to handle rare ingredients with skill and precision.
Only then could he change Alberta's mind.
Only then could they talk as equals.
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