Malfoy could no longer maintain his carefully constructed façade of aristocratic composure.
His complexion shifted between pale and livid, his lips twitching, yet not a single word could be forced out.
Eric Prince.
That surname—together with the cold laws embedded in those words, laws far beyond his level of understanding—pressed down on his nerves from two directions at once.
Instinctively, he classified Eric as belonging to the same camp as himself, or rather… as someone who stood higher than the Malfoy family, someone who saw farther.
A sense of humiliation at being completely seen through seized him.
He shot a vicious glare at Harry and Ron, trying to reclaim even a shred of the dignity he had just lost. But the moment his gaze brushed against Eric's icy profile, he recoiled as if shocked.
"We'll see about this, Weasley."
The threat came out dry and hollow, lacking any force—more like an excuse to retreat.
He all but dragged Goyle and Crabbe with him as he turned away in disgrace. The two lackeys were still clueless about what had just happened, shoved forward as they stumbled out of the compartment where their master had lost all face.
Bang.
The door was slammed shut.
As the flash of platinum blond vanished beyond the door, the air inside the compartment did not ease. Instead, it sank into something deeper and stranger.
A sticky, suffocating silence.
The scenery outside the window sped past, the train roaring along in steady rhythm, yet none of those sounds could penetrate the dead quiet inside.
Ron's face had turned the color of pig liver.
His chest heaved violently, fists clenched white against his knees. He hated Malfoy's humiliation, but now an even more complex emotion surged up—he hated Eric as well. That boy hadn't spoken a single word on his behalf, yet had dragged him into a higher-level confrontation belonging to "nobles," one he couldn't even comprehend, making him feel smaller than ever.
Harry, meanwhile, was utterly confused.
His gaze flicked back and forth between Ron's tense profile and Eric's calm one.
Was this boy named Prince an enemy or an ally?
He used the most vicious words to attack Ron, yet drove Malfoy away in the most effective manner possible. Everything about him was contradictory, impossible to define.
And at the center of the storm, Eric himself acted as though nothing at all had happened.
He sat back down. The silver fork rose once more, precisely cutting off a small piece of mousse cake.
The sweet scent of cream clashed jarringly with the tension filling the compartment.
He ate slowly, eyes slightly narrowed, as though savoring the delicate texture rather than the silent war that had just taken place.
Just as this eerie calm was about to solidify into something tangible, the compartment door was opened for the third time.
This time, the movement was far more polite.
The door was eased open a crack, and a girl's head peeked in.
She had a mass of thick, bushy brown curls and a pair of rather prominent front teeth. Anxiety was written plainly across her face.
"Hello,"
She spoke very quickly, every word crisp and distinct.
"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost his toad."
Hermione Granger.
Eric's chewing paused for a brief instant.
He lifted his eyes, those bottomless black pupils settling on the future know-it-all prodigy.
He knew it.
His third investment had arrived.
As Hermione quickly scanned the compartment, her gaze was instantly drawn to the lightning-shaped scar on Harry's forehead.
"Oh my goodness! Are you really Harry Potter?"
Her eyes burst with a fervent light. The lost toad was immediately forgotten, tossed far out of mind.
Once Harry's identity was confirmed, Hermione Granger's presence instantly filled the cramped space. She pulled the door open and sat down without ceremony, switching seamlessly into her most confident top-student mode.
"I've already memorized all the textbooks—of course, I've also read quite a few extra books. I really hope I get sorted into Gryffindor. Everyone says it's the best House, though Ravenclaw wouldn't be bad either. After all, knowledge is power…"
Her words poured out in an unbroken stream, like a high-speed machine dumping the contents of her brain.
She seemed completely unaware of Ron's eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head, nor did she notice the increasingly stiff polite smile on Harry's face.
Lost in her own world, she produced her brand-new wand.
"I've practiced a few simple spells already—they're all very useful. For example, this one. Watch closely: Oculus Reparo."
A faint glow shot from her wand tip, landing precisely on the glasses taped together on Harry's nose.
The glasses were instantly restored.
This small success only fueled her excitement, a flush rising to her cheeks.
"I've learned a lot from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One! For instance, the Levitation Charm—Wingardium Leviosa. The key is a light swish and flick of the wrist, and the conceptualization of the magic circuit is—"
She launched smoothly into a recitation of spell theory and casting gestures, eager to see approval and admiration on her new classmates' faces.
This was how she entered a new world. This was her weapon for proving herself.
Ron had already turned his head toward the window. Harry could only nod helplessly.
Just as Hermione reached the most critical part—the "magic circuit conceptualization" of the Levitation Charm—a cold voice cut in without warning.
"You're wrong."
The voice wasn't loud.
But it was like an ice spike, instantly piercing her surging enthusiasm.
The air in the compartment froze for the second time.
"What?"
Her words caught in her throat as she snapped her head around toward the boy who had been quietly eating cake the entire time.
Eric raised his head.
With eyes calm to the point of cruelty, he looked straight at her.
"The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One, page forty-two. The magic circuit diagram for the Levitation Charm."
His tone was flat, emotionless—merely stating a fact.
Hermione's expression stiffened.
That page number was absolutely correct.
Eric continued, each word as precise as a scalpel.
"Your understanding of magic circuits is fundamentally flawed. You're merely memorizing text, without grasping how magic is guided by a wizard's will, resonates with incantation and gesture, and ultimately acts upon reality itself."
"I—"
Hermione tried to argue back, but when she opened her mouth, no words came out.
Because what he described was a deeper layer of logic she had never touched. She was reciting. He was understanding.
Eric set down his silver fork. It tapped against the porcelain plate with a crisp, clear sound.
That sound became the prelude to the final investment in this future academic prodigy.
A perfectly accurate strike.
"Muggle-borns should read more books," he said calmly, "instead of showing off things that are wrong."
There was not a single curse word in that sentence.
Yet it was like a poison-soaked, red-hot dagger, thrust with absolute precision and merciless force straight through Hermione Granger's proudest—and most insecure—outer shell.
What was she most proud of?
Her knowledge. Her learning ability, far beyond that of her peers.
And what was she most insecure about?
Her background. Her desperate anxiety to integrate into the wizarding world and prove she was no worse than anyone else.
She used the former to cover the latter.
And now Eric—this mysterious boy—not only destroyed her proudest source of confidence in front of everyone, but fused her pride and her inferiority together in the most brutally cruel way possible.
"Showing off things that are wrong."
"Muggle-born."
Every word detonated inside her mind.
Hermione's eyes instantly reddened.
The color drained from her face, leaving it deathly pale. Everything she took pride in had been reduced to utter worthlessness in front of this boy.
And deep inside, a voice was screaming—he was right.
He clearly understood far more, far more deeply, than she did.
This kind of intellectual, crushing defeat was a hundred times more devastating than Malfoy's ignorant, purely malicious "Mudblood" insult.
It was a complete negation of her value as a person.
"Y-you…"
Her lips trembled violently. She bit down hard, using all her strength to keep the burning tears from spilling right then and there.
She glared at Eric, those brilliant eyes now filled with humiliation, resentment, and unwillingness to accept defeat.
She sprang to her feet.
Pulled the door open.
And ran off without looking back.
Harry and Ron stared, dumbfounded, as everything unfolded—from her nonstop boasting, to being shattered by a single sentence, to fleeing with tears in her eyes. The entire process was so fast their minds couldn't keep up.
In the compartment, only the silver fork that had been set down remained, and the neatly cut slices on the cake.
Inside Eric's mind, the cold system prompt sounded once more.
[System Notification: Grade A Fate Deviation detected! Target: Hermione Granger.]
[Emotional Anchor: Shattered pride and deep resentment.]
[Congratulations, Host. Grade A Causality Investment completed!]
[Reward obtained: Causality Points ×50!]
[Reward obtained: Hermione's Resentment Treasure Chest ×1!]