After Hermione fled with tears in her eyes, the compartment fell into a deathly silence.
It was as if the trembling tail end of her final words still lingered in the air.
Harry Potter and Ron Weasley unconsciously slowed their breathing.
The way they looked at the boy sitting opposite them had completely changed.
This was no longer the gaze one used for a peer, or even for an exceptionally gifted student.
It was a complex scrutiny mixed with fear, confusion, and dread—as if they were looking at an unknown creature wearing the skin of a boy.
In the short hour since boarding the train, everything this self-proclaimed Eric Prince had done lay far beyond their understanding.
First, with just a few casually spoken sentences, he had precisely dissected the most sensitive core of Ron's inferiority, plunging the usually loud and boisterous boy into prolonged silence.
Next, when Draco Malfoy burst in with his two lackeys in tow, Eric hadn't even stood up. Relying solely on that suffocating presence and his gaze, he had crushed the arrogant heir of a pure-blood family into a humiliating retreat.
And then there was Hermione.
That girl who seemed to know everything, who could recite The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One backward and forward—her pride had been utterly shattered by a single statement that struck straight at the core of knowledge itself.
He was practically every first-year's nightmare.
A walking nightmare armed with crushing power.
Eric gave no response to the two gazes fixed upon him. His eyes returned to the table, to the slice of cake he had cut. The cut was as smooth as a mirror; the silver fork beside it lay quietly on the porcelain plate, reflecting the flowing light from the window.
Everything looked so calm.
As though the storm that had just destroyed a girl's self-esteem had never happened at all.
His consciousness had already sunk into another dimension.
In that system space only he could "see," three treasure chests emitting different kinds of light floated quietly in the void.
The layout was complete. Now came the harvest.
"I need to go to the restroom."
His voice broke the stagnation inside the compartment.
Eric stood up, his movements unhurried. He raised a finger and meticulously adjusted the collar of his robe, which bore not a single wrinkle.
Then, under the almost breathless stares of Harry and Ron, he opened the door and walked out calmly.
The train corridor was bustling with people, filled with the noise and anticipation of new students.
Eric moved through it like an invisible barrier, all the clamor shut out from him.
He found an empty cubicle at the end of the corridor, slipped inside, and locked the door with crisp efficiency.
Clang… clang…
The old train wheels struck the rails in steady rhythm, forming the only background sound in the cramped space.
Eric closed his eyes.
With a shift of intent, the world instantly changed.
His consciousness appeared within the pure white system space, empty of everything else.
Three treasure chests were displayed before him like works of art.
The first was a dull bronze color, its surface entwined with wisps of dark red aura visible to the naked eye—symbols of anger.
[Ron's Inferiority Treasure Chest].
The second was far more splendid, radiating a gentle silver-white glow, its texture seemingly forged from moonlight and mithril.
[Malfoy's Shock Treasure Chest].
A Grade B fate deviation—its quality far surpassed the first.
And the third, the greatest objective of this trip, occupied the very center of his vision.
It was a chest composed entirely of pure golden light, dazzling to the extreme, even causing faint distortions in the surrounding space.
[Hermione's Resentment Treasure Chest].
A Grade A causality investment, combined with Hermione Granger's own extraordinarily high causality weight as a "chosen one," had elevated this chest's value to astonishing heights.
"Open [Ron's Inferiority Treasure Chest]."
Eric issued the command in his mind.
The bronze chest opened at once. There were no flashy effects—its surface light simply dimmed and transformed into a stream of radiance that poured into Eric's consciousness.
[Congratulations, Host. Talent acquired—Magic Affinity!]
The instant the system prompt sounded, a subtle yet unmistakable warmth surged up from the depths of his limbs and bones, swiftly flowing through his entire body.
Eric could feel it—his connection to the surrounding environment had undergone a fundamental change.
If before, the magical elements he sensed were vague motes of dust in the air—
Now, those drifting magical elements had become clearly visible, tangible particles of light in his perception.
He could even distinguish their attributes and levels of activity.
A foundational yet immensely powerful talent.
It meant that Eric's efficiency in learning any form of magic would increase by several times—or even dozens of times.
"The foundation is laid."
Eric made the assessment calmly, his gaze shifting to the second chest.
"Open [Malfoy's Shock Treasure Chest]."
With a click, the silver-white chest sprang open, its glow far brighter than before.
[Congratulations, Host. Item acquired—'The Watchmaker's Masterpiece'!]
As the light receded, an exquisitely crafted silver pocket watch lay quietly in his palm.
It was cool to the touch, heavy, carrying the unique solidity of fine mechanical craftsmanship.
He flipped open the cover engraved with the Prince family crest, revealing the dial within.
To his surprise, the hands did not point to any time markings. Three hands of differing lengths moved in complex patterns—seemingly chaotic, yet following some hidden, mysterious logic.
As though performing a silent dance of time itself.
[Item Description: One-time alchemical defensive item. When the host encounters an instant-death attack, it may be activated actively or passively. Upon activation, the host enters a 1.5-second 'False Time' state, nullifying the attack's judgment and avoiding all subsequent effects.]
Eric's breathing paused for a fraction of a second.
Instant-death attacks.
In this world, that phrase was practically tailor-made for one infamous green curse.
The Killing Curse—Avada Kedavra.
This pocket watch was equivalent to an absolute trump card, capable of hard-countering a single Avada.
In a magical world rife with danger, on a chessboard where Dumbledore and Voldemort—the two grand players—were locked in mutual gamesmanship, such a life-saving card was priceless.
It represented forgiveness for one fatal mistake, a chance to turn the tables at the brink of death.
Eric stowed the watch away, slipping it into the inner pocket of his robes, right against his heart.
He could feel the cold metal through the fabric, like a calm sentinel standing ready at all times.
Finally, his gaze fell upon the most magnificent golden chest.
He could even sense the intense resentment emanating from it—humiliation and unwillingness entwined, born of Hermione herself.
It was precisely this extreme emotional fluctuation that had created the Grade A causality investment.
"Open [Hermione's Resentment Treasure Chest]."
The command was issued.
Boom—!
Golden light erupted instantly, so intense that the entire white system space was dyed into a resplendent ocean of gold!
[High-quality causality deviation detected! Initiating excess evaluation…]
[Evaluation successful!]
[Congratulations, Host. God-tier Talent acquired—Perfect Logic!]
God-tier talent!
At the very last instant the system prompt echoed through his mind, Eric felt his brain pierced by an invisible, formless, yet utterly frigid bolt of lightning!
Thought itself froze.
In the next moment, the entire world shattered before his "eyes."
Sound, light, scent, touch—everything shed its sensory shell and was decomposed into the most primitive streams of information.
Clang… clang…
No longer the noise of a train in motion, but mechanical vibrations with a fixed frequency (1.2 Hz), fixed amplitude, and waveform.
The light streaming through the small window was no longer scenery—it was an image composed of countless pixels retreating at light speed, its exact velocity calculable in an instant.
The laughter from the neighboring compartment was no longer emotion, but sound waves defined by precise decibels, pitch, and tempo.
The entire world was completely deconstructed before him, then reassembled into a cold, precise logical skeleton formed by countless interwoven lines of causality.
He could see through any phenomenon to the interlocking causal chains beneath.
He could instantly identify the deepest hidden logical fallacies within any theoretical system.
[Talent Description: Perfect Logic. The host gains an absolutely rational mode of thought. Thinking speed and depth are massively enhanced. Immune to all mental control, emotional inducement, and confusion-type spells of any rank lower than the host's own. Learning, analysis, and comprehension of all things are elevated to their theoretical limits. Any discipline, any spell, any form of alchemy—before the host, all secrets dissolve into nothing more than underlying logic awaiting analysis and mastery.]
Eric slowly opened his eyes.
In the reflection of the cubicle's small window, his pupils were visible.
Deep within them, it was as though billions of stars were being born and extinguished, torrents of data surging endlessly—until everything returned to stillness, condensing into a bottomless, emotionless cold.
A sharp glint flashed deep in his eyes, then vanished.
Magic Affinity was the foundation of all spellcasting.
The alchemical pocket watch was insurance—proof that even after a mistake, he could survive on the chessboard.
But this [Perfect Logic]—
This was the true capital that allowed him to flip the board itself, to stand on equal footing with Dumbledore and Voldemort—the two apex "players" of the magical world—and engage them in a symmetrical game.
With this talent, he could analyze the essence of spells, achieving wandless casting, silent casting, and even… creating spells of his own.
With this talent, he could construct flawless lies, and extrapolate hundreds of possible schemes hidden behind every smile Dumbledore wore.
With this talent, he would become the world's highest-level "player."
Eric pushed open the cubicle door.
When he returned to the compartment, Harry and Ron lifted their heads almost simultaneously.
Then they froze.
They were startled to discover that the boy before them had changed again.
If the earlier Eric had been a blade drawn from its sheath—sharp, dazzling, impossible to meet head-on—
Then the current Eric was like a bottomless, silent ancient well.
All sharpness had been sheathed. The oppressive aura had not vanished—it had settled, condensing into a deeper, bone-chilling cold logic.
His calm gaze swept over the two of them, and both Harry and Ron experienced the same illusion.
They felt as though they were no longer "people," but specimens laid out on an operating table—being thoroughly analyzed and deconstructed, from soul to flesh, under an utterly rational gaze.