When Professor McGonagall's clear, stern voice echoed through the Great Hall—
"Alan Scott"—the entire space seemed to freeze for a brief instant.
The whispers vanished.
Hundreds of gazes, like an invisible pressure, all turned in unison toward the figure stepping out from the line of first-years.
Alan's steps were steady, without the slightest trace of disorder.
Every stride was measured with precise calculation, as though beneath his feet wasn't ancient stone, but a grid-marked coordinate plane. Candlelight flickered against his calm face, yet not a single ripple stirred within his dark pupils. There was no nervousness of a newcomer, no anticipation of the unknown—only a deep, unfathomable stillness, processing vast streams of information at high speed.
He walked up the steps and sat down upon the four-legged stool.
Professor McGonagall gently lowered the patched, wrinkled Sorting Hat onto his head.
The brim fell, cutting off his sight, shutting away the lights and clamor of the hall.
The world plunged into darkness and silence.
The next instant, a voice rang directly within his consciousness.
It bypassed the eardrums, more like a string of code implanted out of nowhere, executing straight inside his mind.
[Oh…]
The voice was ancient, weathered by the erosion of a thousand years, every syllable stretched long, as though awakened from the dust of history.
[An interesting little fellow… very interesting indeed…]
That foreign consciousness carried with it a rough, forceful probing, attempting to break into Alan's mind.
But what it struck was not the messy, emotional swirl typical of an eleven-year-old child's thoughts.
It struck a wall.
A wall built entirely of logic—cold, smooth, impenetrable.
[Hm…?]
For the first time, a trace of confusion entered the ancient voice.
It circled around the wall, found an opening—and then was completely stunned.
What it saw was not a river of memories, not a storm of emotions.
It saw a palace.
A palace of logic and data.
Countless streams of information surged like waterfalls, flowing silently through crystal-clear corridors. Every thought, every plan, was carefully categorized, stored in neatly structured archives. Here there was no vagueness, no hesitation—only absolute reason and order.
[Good heavens… this is… what is this?]
The Sorting Hat's consciousness wandered like an ancient ghost lost in a futuristic world, dazed as it "toured" the mental palace.
It had never encountered a mind like this before.
It sensed a flood of knowledge—but not the kind of joy for wisdom itself that Ravenclaws embodied. No, this was a nearly greedy urge to deconstruct, to strip the world down to its underlying code, analyze it, and reconstruct it anew.
[A thirst for knowledge… yes, a pure and terrifying hunger for it. Ravenclaw would welcome you, you would become the greatest scholar they've ever seen.]
Then it glimpsed another hall.
Inside lay a vast, intricate, interlocking plan.
Its goal stretched far into the future, clear as the North Star.
Along the path to that goal were countless nodes—each representing a person to be used, a tool to be employed, an objective to be achieved. Ruthlessness was marked as the most efficient principle.
[And I see… your ambition. A grand design, vast, uncompromising. Slytherin… yes, Slytherin would be your stage, and you would find all the power you desire.]
Ravenclaw? Slytherin?
For the Sorting Hat, this was the most severe logical paradox it had encountered in centuries.
This child possessed the finest qualities of both Houses, yet belonged purely to neither. His quest for knowledge served his ambition, and his ambition was built upon absolute knowledge.
It hesitated.
It felt its sorting process descending into unprecedented confusion.
But Alan did not let it struggle for long.
He didn't even bother to "think" in words.
Within his Mind Palace, a prepared module activated. He intercepted a prewritten analysis report, packaged it into a neat, concise, indisputable data packet, and transmitted it straight to the bewildered consciousness inside his mind.
[Respected Mr. Hat, thank you for your consideration.]
The message carried no warmth—it was like a formal business proposal.
[But based on the optimal-solution analysis of my plan, entering Gryffindor is, at this stage, the most rational choice.]
The Sorting Hat's consciousness received the "report."
It unfolded inside Alan's palace as a three-dimensional model.
[Reason One: Social Aspect.]
The model projected dynamic data of the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan.
[Target individuals: Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Lee Jordan. Initial friendship established; trust evaluation: 67.3%. Entering Gryffindor will convert this relationship into a stable information channel and operational alliance. Within three months, trust is projected to exceed 85%, enabling rapid integration into Gryffindor's social circle, establishing a reliable intelligence network, and facilitating subsequent plans and information gathering.]
[Reason Two: Strategic Aspect.]
The model shifted—Hogwarts' power structure appeared, and at the very top gleamed a name: Albus Dumbledore.
[Core Objective: Secrets of Hogwarts Castle. Current highest authority holder: Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore hails from Gryffindor; his values and emotional inclinations are inevitably biased toward that House. Entering Gryffindor will place me within his "emotional comfort zone," allowing me to gain his initial attention and potential trust at the lowest cost and highest efficiency. This is a key prerequisite for uncovering the castle's deeper secrets and accessing core knowledge in Dumbledore's possession.]
[Reason Three: Concealment Aspect.]
The model presented two sharply contrasting profiles—Alan, calm and rational, and the collective portrait of Gryffindors, brave, impulsive, carefree.
[Gryffindor's behavioral model is characterized by "high emotional drive" and "low logical precision." My own traits—"low emotional drive" and "high logical precision"—would be common in Ravenclaw or Slytherin, easily attracting suspicion or rivalry among peers. By contrast, in Gryffindor, such traits will be dismissed as "eccentricity" or "bookishness," forming a perfect disguise. This will effectively conceal my true purpose and core abilities, providing optimal cover for all secret operations.]
The analysis concluded.
No emotional appeals, no impassioned arguments—only cold, profit-and-loss logic.
Every point was backed with detailed data and probability forecasts.
The Sorting Hat fell silent.
Its ancient consciousness, within that icy palace of logic, came to a complete halt.
It had existed for nearly a thousand years, probing the minds of countless wizards—brave, cunning, intelligent, loyal.
Never had it encountered this.
A first-year negotiating with it using a feasibility report.
The absurdity was staggering.
It almost felt as though it weren't Sorting an eleven-year-old child, but receiving an "induction briefing" from a shrewd politician or strategic analyst.
[…You…]
The Hat's weary voice carried a deep sense of helplessness.
[You've convinced me.]
What else could it say?
Ravenclaw's wisdom pursued truth.
Slytherin's ambition pursued power.
But this child's wisdom and ambition served something far more terrifying—logic.
Logic that quantified everything, calculated everything, and led unerringly to the optimal solution.
And at this moment, that logic pointed unmistakably to Gryffindor.
[Indeed… your logic… is flawless.]
The Hat sighed, a sigh that seemed to drain centuries of accumulated strength.
[Then… as you wish.]
The next second, the tattered old Hat drew upon its full magic and cried out to the entire hall, announcing a decision that left everyone utterly stunned:
"Gryffindor!"
The voice boomed like thunder, exploding in the silent Great Hall.
After a heartbeat of shock, the table to the far right erupted in a tidal wave of applause and cheers.
Alan calmly removed the Sorting Hat and handed it back to a visibly conflicted Professor McGonagall.
He turned and walked toward the roaring sea of red and gold.
He saw Fred and George standing on the bench, waving their arms exaggeratedly. Lee Jordan was beside them, clapping with all his strength, a brilliant smile lighting up his face.
Alan went to rejoin his new friends.
Around him, thunderous cheers, friendly pats from strangers.
He blended in seamlessly, his expression still calm.
But deep within his mental palace, on the massive project flowchart, the very first node was now clearly marked green.
Hogwarts Project, Step One.
Perfectly achieved.