The air of Hogwarts was filled with one name.
Alan.
Whether in the bustling Great Hall, the quiet library, or the corridor outside the Room of Requirement, that name echoed with astonishing frequency.
And always beside it were a string of awe-inspiring words: rune programming, logical architecture, magical instruction sets.
Alan Scott — the name itself had long transcended the category of an ordinary student. It had become a symbol, a living legend.
His reputation had earned him the admiration of nearly every student in his year — even those above him. Yet, the brilliance of his halo cast a heavy shadow on one person, so heavy she could barely breathe beneath it.
Penelope Clearwater.
Inside the Advanced Charms Club's activity room, the hum of magical energy mingled with the excitement of the gathered students.
Penelope stood on the outer edge of the crowd, her fingertips unconsciously tracing the smooth surface of her cherrywood wand. Her gaze passed over the sea of heads and landed on the figure at the center — the one everyone was crowding around.
Before Alan arrived, this had been her stage.
She was the club's acknowledged star, a genius in the field of original spellcraft. Her sensitivity to magic was poetic; she could capture the faint, hidden essence even within the most ordinary spells, then weave it together into something entirely new — elegant and exquisite.
To create was, for her, an instinctive joy. That act of birthing something from nothing — that was the source of all her pride.
But now… everything was different.
She glanced down at the project she had just completed — a drying charm that could automatically adjust temperature and humidity depending on the fabric. It had taken her three weeks, full of trial and error with different combinations of spells, before she finally achieved a stable result.
Just a week ago, she had been proud of this little invention, brimming with the quiet delight of a clever, useful creation.
But that joy was completely washed away when Alan's paper was published.
While she was still celebrating her domestic little spell, Alan's theories were already shaking the foundations of magical methodology itself.
While she stayed up at night struggling to balance energy conflicts between two spells, Alan could, in front of Professor Flitwick, sketch out by hand a complete, complex, self-sustaining ancient rune array.
The difference between them had become an abyss — deep and unbridgeable.
She admired Alan.
His generosity in sharing knowledge had opened windows she never even knew existed.
She revered him.
His brilliance — that divine, almost prophetic light — was something no wizard could resist.
But beneath that admiration and reverence, a sharper, hotter feeling had begun to take root.
It was defiance.
The unwillingness of a creator — to be utterly surpassed by another.
She could feel her greatest strength, that spark of artistry and inspiration that once defined her, now trembling before Alan's cold, rigorous, systematic approach to "magical programming."
Her work was a craft.
Alan's work… was a system.
She didn't want to be left behind.
She refused to lose sight of the direction he was heading.
"If we reduce the kinetic model of the Impediment Jinx and nest it within the repulsive field of the Shield Charm, then theoretically, we can construct a basic rune firewall — primarily for blocking cursed data streams…"
Alan's calm, logical voice carried clearly through the room. Around him, students listened in rapture, gasping in understanding every few moments.
Penelope's fingers tightened around her wand until her knuckles turned white.
Now.
If she didn't act now, the creative flame within her — the very essence of who she was — would be crushed and extinguished forever.
She pushed through the crowd, step by step, toward the eye of the storm.
The discussions quieted as she approached. Everyone could feel the intensity radiating from her.
She stopped right in front of Alan.
Silence fell — deep, absolute.
Her eyes, for the first time, held no curiosity or deference.
Instead, they burned with a long-restrained, fierce determination — the raw fire of challenge.
That gaze, sharp and blazing, struck Alan head-on.
"Alan."
Her voice rang clear and steady, every syllable carrying undeniable force, instantly capturing everyone's attention.
"Your theory is remarkable.
Your gift with runes leaves the rest of us far behind."
She admitted his brilliance openly — but not in surrender.
It was the declaration before a duel, the deep breath before igniting her own flame.
"But I believe," Penelope's voice rose, firm and bright with conviction, "that true spell creation is not just logic and programming!"
Her words rang through the room like the toll of a bell.
"It also needs inspiration—it needs art!"
She raised her wand.
The motion wasn't that of a witch preparing to cast a spell — it was the gesture of a proud duelist, lifting her sword before a crowd, pointing it straight at her one true opponent.
"So, Alan Scott—
I challenge you to a duel of creation!"
The words struck like thunder.
The entire room froze.
Every member of the Charms Club stared in shock at the brave girl standing before Alan.
Challenge him? In the field of original spellcraft?
Unbelievable. Impossible. Unthinkable.
Professor Flitwick adjusted his spectacles, his small frame practically trembling with excitement.
Penelope's cheeks were flushed, not from embarrassment but from the rush of emotion surging through her. Her eyes shone — bright, fierce, alive — as though twin flames burned within them.
"Right here," she declared, "before all the members of the club, you and I shall have a duel between creators."
Her voice left no room for refusal. She spoke quickly, laying out the rules she had long prepared in her mind.
"The rules are simple: we'll both be given the same five basic spells as our materials. Within one hour, we must each create an entirely new, composite spell — one that demonstrates the highest practical value.
"At the end, Professor Flitwick and all members present will judge whose creation is superior."
The moment the final word left her lips, a familiar chime echoed within Alan's mind — the sound of his system awakening.
[Emergency Quest: The Creator's Glory]
[Quest Description: Accept Penelope Clearwater's challenge and prove your understanding of magic.]
[Objective: Create a composite spell of greater value during the duel.]
[Reward: Depends on the spell's final value.]
Alan's eyes flicked across the glowing words on the system panel — cold, mechanical — before refocusing on the girl before him.
He didn't look at the shocked faces around them.
He didn't calculate the odds or outcomes.
He simply looked at her.
At the fire in her eyes — and the unspoken words within that flame.
That refusal to yield.
That unwavering resolve to carve her own path, to never let her craft be denied.
It was the purest, most sacred kind of pride —
the pride of a creator.
And that, Alan knew, deserved to be answered with nothing less than his full respect.
A small smile tugged at his lips.
He inclined his head slightly toward his challenger — not as a rival, but as an equal.
"I accept your challenge, Penelope."
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