The final shudder of the Hogwarts Express smoothed out into a clean deceleration curve, eventually returning to zero.
The brief sway inside the carriage, caused by inertia, was broken down in Eric's perception into dozens of displacement vectors accurate to the millimeter.
The 1.2 Hz mechanical rumble faded away.
In its place came a flood of sound waves.
Excited shrieks, suppressed gasps, the rasp of suitcase wheels scraping against the platform—every sound was automatically filtered, classified, and tagged by his brain.
The Hogwarts Express passed through the last stretch of wilderness and slowly rolled into Hogsmeade Station at dusk.
Led by Hagrid's towering figure, the first-years poured out of the carriages.
They boarded the small boats that would ferry them across the Black Lake, the air thick with the damp scent of soil and the faint fishy tang of water.
When the brilliantly lit, majestic castle standing atop the cliffs came into view, almost everyone let out an uncontrollable gasp.
"Wow…"
"Look! That's Hogwarts!"
The average decibel level of the exclamations was 75, mixed with irregular vocal-cord tremors brought on by excitement.
Eric blended into the crowd. On his retina, the castle was overlaid with a data grid.
He calmly analyzed the load-bearing distribution of the main structure, evaluated the magical field strength supporting the anti-gravity towers, and even carried out a preliminary reverse-engineering simulation of the ancient runic matrix that kept the entire castle operational.
No emotional fluctuation whatsoever.
These magical constructs—bordering on miracles in the eyes of others—were, under his [Perfect Logic] talent, nothing more than a more complex system still bound by underlying rules.
Passing through the heavy oak doors, Professor McGonagall was already waiting in the entrance hall, her expression severe.
Her clipped voice echoed through the vast space as she explained the rules of the four Houses and the Sorting Ceremony. Eric's brain converted her speech directly into data, stripping away emotional inflections and filler words, retaining only the core instructions.
She then led the first-years through the double doors and into the Great Hall.
The view opened up dramatically.
Thousands of candles floated in midair, each emitting light and heat stabilized at a specific lumen output.
The enchanted ceiling reflecting a star-filled sky was, in essence, a massive dynamic illusion charm synchronized in real time with outside weather conditions, its energy fluctuation frequency steady at 12.7 Hz.
The four long House tables were filled with upper-year students, their gazes converging into an invisible pressure field.
The sight made the surrounding first-years so nervous they held their breath; some unconsciously clutched at their robes.
A four-legged stool was placed at the front of the hall, and atop it sat a battered, patched wizard's hat.
Suddenly, a wide rip split open in the hat, and it burst into its strange song.
The melody jumped across several octaves, while the lyrics conveyed the historical data of Hogwarts' founding and the core traits of its four Houses.
When the song ended, the Sorting Ceremony officially began.
"Hannah Abbott!"
A rosy-cheeked girl stumbled slightly as she nervously stepped forward.
"Hufflepuff!"
The table to the right erupted in applause.
"Susan Bones!"
"Hufflepuff!"
Professor McGonagall read name after name, her voice clear and even.
"Ron Weasley!"
Ron's already pale face drained completely of color. He shuffled stiffly forward and sat on the stool.
The Sorting Hat barely touched his flame-red hair before shouting:
"Gryffindor!"
Thunderous cheers erupted from the Gryffindor table. Two red-haired youths who looked exactly like him were clapping wildly.
"Hermione Granger!"
The girl who had displayed such intense curiosity on the train practically jogged forward, eagerly donning the hat.
Her lips moved as if she were engaged in a silent but fierce debate with it.
One minute later—
"Gryffindor!"
Ron looked a little disappointed, while Harry smiled.
"Draco Malfoy!"
Malfoy strode forward with an almost arrogant lift of his chin.
The hat hadn't even fully touched his platinum hair before it cried out in a sharp voice:
"Slytherin!"
He walked smugly toward the Slytherin table, basking in the welcome of the pure-bloods seated there.
"Harry Potter!"
The moment that name was spoken, the Great Hall's soundscape underwent a dramatic shift.
The constant low buzz of chatter plunged to silence within 0.3 seconds, then rebounded after 0.5 seconds in an exponential surge, forming a wave of noise far louder than before.
"Potter? That Harry Potter?"
"My God, he's really at our school!"
Under countless stares, Harry nervously stepped forward and put on the hat.
Seconds ticked by.
Eric's gaze cut through the crowd, locking precisely onto Dumbledore at the head table.
The legendary wizard sat with half-lidded eyes, fingers interlaced on the tabletop, appearing drowsy. Yet Eric could detect the static muscular tension beneath that casual posture—ready to exert force at any moment. Seventy-three percent of Dumbledore's attention was focused on Harry and the Sorting Hat.
Harry seemed locked in a difficult tug-of-war with the hat.
His brows were furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line—a classic physiological response to internal struggle.
At last, the Sorting Hat gathered itself and shouted the word that would decide his fate:
"Gryffindor!"
The Gryffindor table exploded.
The Weasley twins climbed straight onto the table, pumping their fists and shouting:
"We've got Potter! We've got Potter!"
Relieved, Harry hurried toward that sea of red and gold.
Eric watched it all with cold detachment.
To him, these emotional outbursts were merely physiological phenomena driven by dopamine, endorphins, and adrenaline.
Finally, near the end of the list, Professor McGonagall adjusted her square-rimmed glasses and read out a name that even she seemed unfamiliar with, her tone faintly scrutinizing:
"Eric Prince!"
Eric stepped out of the line calmly.
Around him, other first-years cast sidelong glances—nervous, excited, curious.
He ignored them all.
His gait was so steady it was unsettling. Every step covered the same distance, every lift and fall of his foot identical in height and timing—as if calibrated by the most precise instrument imaginable.
Under the terrifying amplification of [Perfect Logic], the entire Great Hall became a three-dimensional data model.
He clearly sensed the seemingly gentle yet immensely powerful mental pressure radiating from Dumbledore's gaze at the head table.
He distinguished the mixed hatred and scrutiny in Snape's obsidian eyes at the Slytherin table, their focal deviation no greater than one millimeter.
He even caught Draco Malfoy's look—an intricate blend of jealousy, fear, and faint incomprehension.
Everything was under control.
Calmly, he stepped forward and sat on the old four-legged stool beneath the hall's collective gaze.
Professor McGonagall picked up the battered, filthy Sorting Hat. A hesitation she herself did not notice crept into her movements as she placed it on Eric's head.
The instant the hat's rough inner lining—stained with centuries of dust and fragments of thought—touched his scalp—
"AAAAAAAH—!!!"
A piercing scream erupted from the torn seam of the Sorting Hat, one utterly beyond the capacity of human vocal cords, sharp enough to seem as though it could tear the soul itself apart!
The sound cut through the fading cheers, drowned out every whisper, and rang through the entire Great Hall!
This was not Harry Potter's struggle at the moment of choice.
Nor Malfoy's instant, attribute-clear sorting.
This was fear—raw, primal fear erupting from the soul of an ancient magical artifact itself! A collapse howl born of its very core logic being completely rewritten!
Humm—
All sound in the Great Hall—discussion, cheers, the clink of cutlery—was cut off in that instant!
Time itself seemed severed by that scream.
Dead silence!
Students of all four Houses, regardless of year or bloodline, stared slack-jawed at the slender figure on the stage, their expressions frozen into grotesque sculptures.
At the head table, every professor stood up at the exact same moment!
Severus Snape's hand jerked, knocking over his goblet of pumpkin juice, the dark liquid soaking into the pristine white tablecloth.
Professor McGonagall clapped a hand over her mouth, her glasses nearly slipping from her nose.
In the corner, the perpetually timid Professor Quirrell's purple turban trembled violently, as though something beneath it were struggling.
And Albus Dumbledore—
Those half-lidded eyes that always seemed on the verge of sleep snapped fully open!
The mask of warmth and benevolence was torn away within 0.1 seconds!
Twin beams of lightning-blue light shot from the depths of his eyes, filled with unprecedented shock and disbelief!
No one knew what had happened.
Only Eric did.
At the instant the Sorting Hat attempted to probe his mind with its ancient, emotion- and trait-based "Legilimency," his god-tier talent—[Perfect Logic]—activated!
He did not passively submit to the inspection.
Instead, the moment that mental force tried to invade his cerebral cortex, his cognitive core completed analysis, deconstruction, and counter-intrusion at a speed beyond light itself.
He had reverse-invaded the Sorting Hat's mind.