Tiger didn't rush to examine the package, but first pulled out the letter inside.
At the envelope's fold, the Shelby family's wax seal blazed prominently—a bloody werewolf head pattern that looked both solemn and savage under the light.
The little snakes sitting around Tiger pursed their lips slightly, their cautious, fearful gazes flickering with complexity.
Their eyes held both surprise at the Shelby family and an indescribable sense of relief.
Such traditions, apart from pure-blood noble correspondence, were rarely encountered nowadays.
Or rather, they'd never imagined the Shelby family still maintained such customs.
At certain moments, Slytherin students valued this kind of retro ceremony and tradition highly.
Though they no longer dared gossip about the discord between Shelby and Slytherin, deep in their hearts, they still hoped this "Father" would cherish and display Slytherin's unique glory and dignity.
Rather than letting Slytherin's thousand-year heritage of etiquette and nobility become a laughingstock...
[...]
[Hope you like these new clothes—Mother Polly and Aunt Mannie picked them out personally.]
[Of course, my dearest brother, please send your latest photos soon. We're very interested in your chest muscles. Note: not me.]
[Uncle Martin's situation is complicated. For security reasons, we can discuss it when you return. He's developed new protective charms for you—hopefully you won't need them.]
[Polly told me to tell you.]
[She never thought shit could pile up to six feet tall, but if you don't want to be flattened, stay away from alcohol and women before eighteen.]
[Men too!]
[Finally, just between us.]
[The whiskey John stole for you—Polly smashed it all over Arthur's head. Forgive me, brother, I don't have Arthur's hard head...]
Familiar, warm feelings flowed between the lines. Tiger couldn't help reading it over and over.
Low chuckles kept escaping.
His usually fierce, violent brow unconsciously relaxed at this moment, as if soothed by some invisible gentle force, becoming soft and warm.
This sudden change gave Tiger's features an unprecedented bearing, even the surrounding air seeming to grow peaceful and dignified.
The whispered conversations gradually ceased.
The little Slytherin snakes couldn't help exchanging glances, their eyes full of disbelief and shock.
They'd never seen this side of Shelby.
The crude, savage troll.
The cruel, terrifying monster.
The vicious, brutal "Father" had somehow become more real and three-dimensional...
[Well, that's enough.]
[Don't underestimate your brothers.]
[Trust me, little eleven-year-old, what you should focus on now is studying and having fun. The Shelbys will surprise you at Christmas.]
"Unless you're having babies, Tommy."
"Nothing can surprise me."
Tiger snorted, then folded the letter neatly and examined the package contents.
Atop the clothing lay a book as heavy as an English dictionary.
On the crimson cover, three Chinese characters blazed: "Treasure Food Workshop."
This was the Chinese cookbook he'd had translated and kept at home—exactly what he needed now.
Hogwarts' British cuisine was authentic, so authentic he wanted to murder the house-elves who cooked it...
"Pickled radish, bitch..."
"I've missed you so much."
A sigh of long-awaited reunion escaped.
Unable to wait for Chinese food, Tiger grabbed the package and headed toward his dormitory.
The remaining fish and chips and mushroom soup on the table no longer stirred even the slightest appetite...
The prefect's room, which Gemma Farley had smashed to ruins, had somehow been restored to its original state.
Tiger didn't realize this place had suffered a destructive assault from a certain deranged woman.
He only looked puzzled at his empty wardrobe, but with Tequila's appearance, he decisively pushed aside thoughts of unwearable clothes.
"Learn the top recipe first."
"Take the rest slowly. Whatever problems arise, come find me immediately."
"I have one requirement: fast."
Tiger's tone was serious and earnest.
For him now, nothing was more important than a bowl of fried rice.
"Master..."
The excited, shrill voice trembled slightly as Tequila bowed deeply, nose touching the ground.
"Tequila will complete Master's command!"
After receiving the cookbook and seasonings, Tequila's form scattered like fine sand, disappearing from the room.
Tiger turned to face the fireplace, stripping off his old clothes and tossing them in.
After washing up in the bathroom, he went to the bedroom and changed into the outfit Mother Polly had carefully selected.
Unsurprisingly.
Still the Shelby family's traditional attire—a perfectly tailored three-piece suit.
Beneath seemingly refined, serious elegance lurked a greedy, bloodthirsty beast's body.
The crisp yet soft waistcoat clung tightly to Tiger's muscular waist and broad shoulders.
Every inch of fabric perfectly expressed the collision of power and elegance.
The pure white shirt pressed against his skin, Tiger unusually buttoning it meticulously.
Under his cold, ascetic exterior lay restless muscle contours and carved lines.
Like an active volcano suppressed beneath the ocean floor.
Waiting to erupt and rage...
Tiger stood before the mirror, pure black-framed glasses perched on his straight nose.
Before he could even frown.
A vicious glint already showed.
These were glasses Aunt Mannie had chosen to mask the savagery in his eyes.
However, the effect seemed quite opposite. Tiger couldn't help shaking his head and chuckling.
His domineering, oppressive gaze fell through the lenses onto his reflection.
Like seeing an inviolable monarch, his previous roughness and ferocity had transformed into solemnity and dignity.
This outfit was nearly identical to father Lawrence in portraits, but Mother Polly seemed to be right beside him, personally measuring with warm embraces.
It wasn't simply about fit and comfort.
The muscle brute's wild aura perfectly merged with father Lawrence's elegant composure, forming an indescribable harmonious temperament.
Tiger tugged at his collar.
The family signet ring on his left pinkie gleamed under the lake's floating light.
As for other clothes—the suit jacket and British general's coat—he hung them back in the wardrobe. The weather wasn't cold enough yet to bundle up so thoroughly...
"Master, Tequila succeeded!"
Just then, Tequila suddenly appeared behind Tiger, holding a plate of fried rice high overhead like a sacred relic, devout and excited.
Smelling that familiar, trembling fragrance, Tiger spun around, crude gangster praise instantly erupting.
"Motherfucker!"
"Tequila, you're a goddamn genius! I've never been this satisfied with a chef! Your IQ is definitely one-sixty!"
In the mirror, the monarch frantically devoured fried rice, his previous majesty and bearing instantly vanishing...
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
The story isn't over...
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