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The next day at dusk, the afterglow of the setting sun painted the camp's tents in a warm golden-red hue.
As the final approached, the atmosphere grew increasingly frenetic, and the camp became noisier by the minute.
Besides the excited fans, more and more vendors began to pop up like mushrooms after rain. They shrewdly appeared in the areas with the highest foot traffic—such as near the bustling general camp where the Weasley family was staying—hawking various souvenirs: glowing rose-shaped badges, Bulgarian and Irish team scarves, binoculars printed with star players' faces that would automatically scream, and various "specialty" snacks with suspicious smells but mouth-watering aromas.
Meanwhile, in the relatively quiet VIP reserved area, a "loot distribution meeting" was taking place inside Lynn's tent.
"Lynn! You'll never guess how much we've earned from yesterday until now!" George's face was flushed with excitement, a mischievous grin plastered across it as he plopped into the armchair opposite Lynn.
Fred squeezed in beside him immediately after, also wearing a look that said they were about to be rich.
Lynn looked at the twins, his head full of black lines. "I'm not a spirit medium, much less a Seer. How would I know how much your trial products sold for?"
"Spirit medium?" The twins tilted their heads in unison. "What's that? A new type of marketing tactic?"
Lynn waved his hand. "You can understand it as a… more metaphysical method of divination that involves singing and dancing."
"Cool!" the twins said in unison, immediately returning to the main topic.
Fred pulled out a heavy-looking bag from behind him and placed it on the small tea table with a thud, producing a pleasant clinking of metal.
"Listen, partner," George said, rubbing his hands together, his eyes shining. "We strictly followed that business plan you BS'd for half an hour. First, we set aside the startup Galleons you initially invested, then calculated all material costs, experimental losses, and the 'invisible venue usage fee' for 'borrowing' a small patch of open ground in the busiest part of the camp yesterday (they gave the manager's wife a box of joke candies; she laughed so hard she fainted and didn't bother us)… and all sorts of other miscellaneous expenses."
He took a deep breath. "The rest, these—"
He grabbed the bottom of the cloth bag, gave it a sudden lift, and then—crash.
Clink, clatter—
A large pile of Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts poured onto the tabletop, instantly forming a small shimmering mountain.
"—is pure profit! Profit from just a bit over a day!" Fred's voice cracked slightly with excitement.
Lynn raised an eyebrow, looking at the pile of money. Although it wasn't a huge sum to him, the sales speed and profit margin were indeed impressive.
It seemed the World Cup's frenetic atmosphere and the twins' "creativity" (like candies that temporarily changed the tongue's color and emitted smoke matching team colors, or badges that emitted the opposing team mascot's scream when worn) had perfectly hit the fans' consumer psychology.
"As agreed, the profit is split fifty-fifty."
George had already begun sorting the coins rapidly, his movements so practiced it was almost pitiful. "One for you, one for me, one for Fred… oh wait, Fred and I are one side. Anyway, fair distribution!"
Just as they were enthusiastically counting money and discussing which items sold best, George suddenly remembered something and snickered.
"Right, Lynn, you'll never guess who we ran into. It was Professor McGonagall!"
Fred took over, imitating Professor McGonagall's stern tone. "We were in the middle of pitching 'Beard Growth Cream' (one smear and your beard turns into the shape of Garling's shape for an hour) to a group of Irish fans. We looked up, and there she was, standing behind the crowd!"
"She was wearing an Irish team uniform today!" George gestured wildly. "She even had several streaks of bright green paint on her face. Right here—on her forehead and cheeks."
Fred nodded vigorously. "We nearly dropped our products on the spot. Merlin, we've never seen her wear anything other than black, gray, or dark green robes, let alone face paint."
"She looked a bit embarrassed, but her eyes were so excited," Fred added. "She even whispered and asked if we had any more subtle Irish supporter souvenirs. In the end, she bought a brooch that quietly plays the Irish team song and pinned it to her uniform. We almost didn't dare take her money!"
Imagining Professor McGonagall like that, even Lynn couldn't help but laugh. It was indeed a rare sight.
Just as they were sharing anecdotes and splitting the money at the peak of the atmosphere, a clear tapping sound came from outside the tent.
"Come in," Lynn called.
The door curtain wasn't lifted. Instead, the steady voice of the camp manager, Mr. Adolf, came from outside:
"Good evening, Mr. Lynn. I'm sorry to interrupt your gathering with friends. I just came to remind you that there are about twenty minutes left until the final officially begins and the deadline for spectator entry. The Ministry of Magic suggests entering early to avoid missing the opening performance and team entry ceremony."
"Got it, thanks, Mr. Adolf," Lynn replied, raising his voice.
"You're welcome. Have a pleasant time watching the match." Mr. Adolf's footsteps gradually faded away.
"Merlin's beard! Twenty minutes!" Edgar was the first to jump up. "Let's go! I don't want to miss a single part!"
The twins swept the money back into the cloth bag and stuffed it into their robes with practiced speed. Watching the World Cup final was the top priority. The group hurriedly tidied themselves, grabbed their tickets, and rushed out of the tent in a swarm.
The road from the camp to the stadium was already crowded. They hadn't gone far when they ran into Arthur Weasley and Amos Diggory, who were looking around anxiously.
"Thank goodness, I see you all," Mr. Weasley said, visibly relieved. He was accompanied by the Weasley family, Harry, Hermione, Cedric, and Cho, all of whom looked ready to go. "I was just saying that if we couldn't find you, I'd have Percy use the Ministry's internal channel to contact the manager for a broadcast. They're about to stop entry."
As if to confirm his words, a "gong—" sounded from the direction of the distant stadium.
Immediately after—
Swish! Swish! Swish! Thousands of magical lamps lit up one after another along both sides of the broad road leading to the stadium, illuminating the surging crowd.
Walking along the shoulder-to-shoulder path to the entrance, Mr. Diggory seemed exceptionally proud. He introduced the venue loudly to the surrounding young people, his voice nearly drowning out the surrounding noise:
"Do you see this grandeur, kids? This stadium uses Space-Extension Charms and composite reinforcement magic, and it can easily accommodate hundreds of thousands of spectators! The Ministry of Magic employed over 500 staff members for this, working for an entire year from design to construction! This is a miracle of magical engineering!"
His words drew many nods and murmurs of admiration from the surrounding wizards.
The entrance was even more of a sea of people. Long queues formed in front of dozens of ticket gates. The Ministry officials responsible for checking tickets were sweating profusely, shouting to maintain order.
Lynn and the others followed the Weasley family into one of the lines, surrounded by multilingual shouts, laughter, and the final cries of vendors.
After about ten minutes, it was finally their turn.
Mr. Weasley handed over a stack of tickets. The ticket collector quickly verified them. "Weasley… Diggory… Potter… Granger… Chang… Top Box! General seating, West Section, Row 199. Please head up the stairs on your left, all the way to the top!" His voice was already hoarse.
"Our tickets are for the very top floor," Mr. Weasley said, turning back to Lynn and the others. "What about yours, Lynn? What's your seat number? Let's see if we're far apart."
Lynn pulled out the four high-quality tickets with fine gold borders and glanced at the small print. "Box 7… Luxury Box."
"Luxury Box?!" Ron exclaimed, eyes wide with envy.
"Looks like we won't be watching together," Lynn shrugged. His tone carried no regret; the box experience would clearly be different.
George immediately curled his lip exaggeratedly. "Box 7 Luxury Box! I hate rich people! Especially young, successful, and not-too-shabby-looking rich people!"
Fred nodded in agreement. "Agreed! This severely hurts our poor but happy souls!"
Lynn smiled. He knew the twins well and didn't mind the banter.
"Then I wish you an 'expansive view' on the top floor. Enjoy the match. Be careful not to get too excited and flip over the railing."
"See ya!"
The two groups waved goodbye and followed the crowd into different channels.
Lynn and his companions headed toward a fast-track lane marked "VIP and Box Access," carpeted in deep red.
There were far fewer people here.
After climbing several flights of stairs, they soon arrived at the door marked "7."
Inside, the box was even more spacious than expected.
Several gilded armchairs were arranged in a row, facing a large open viewing platform with an unobstructed view.
Next to each chair was a small tea table already set with "VIP snacks" prepared by the Ministry of Magic: exquisite magical candies, shimmering drinks, and napkins printed with the Ministry logo.
Lynn casually picked up a candy shaped like a Golden Snitch, popped it into his mouth, chewed twice, then paused.
All he could say was… the taste was difficult to describe—cloyingly sweet with a strange hint of eucalyptus oil. He decisively spat it into a napkin.
"This budget must have been embezzled," he muttered.
Edgar and William excitedly ran to the edge of the viewing platform.
The entire stadium below was breathtaking: tens of thousands of seats formed a vast bowl packed with wizards, the air roaring with sound.
Not far away was the Quidditch pitch, currently empty, though the goalposts shimmered under the lights.
Night had fallen completely, but the stadium was as bright as day under countless magical lamps.
Their attention was soon drawn to an extremely prominent giant screen near the stands.
The screen far surpassed the others in size and clarity, its frame flickering with the familiar "Epoch Alchemy" trademark.
At the moment, it wasn't playing team introductions or advertisements, but looping several… rather bizarre commercials.
The first switched rapidly between Diagon Alley shopfronts, footage of the 28 Broomsticks, and alchemy phones—accompanied by a shouted multilingual voice:
"London, Britain! The largest alchemy shop, Epoch Alchemy, has gone bankrupt! The boss squandered 350 million and ran away with his sister-in-law!"
The second showed Dodo holding an alchemy phone, repeating flatly:
"Are you okay? Are you okay? If you're okay, come to Epoch Alchemy…"
Edgar, William, and Ollie watched in stunned silence.
And the third—clearly secretly filmed—showed Edgar eating breakfast in the Great Hall when a voice suddenly called out:
"Student Edgar Bones of Hufflepuff House, your mother has brought two alchemy phones and is waiting for you at the entrance hall!"
The screen froze on Edgar's choking expression.
Edgar's smile slowly vanished. He turned stiffly toward Lynn and pointed a trembling finger.
"Lynn—! You bastard… when did you film that?! And you put it on such a big screen?! The whole wizarding world is going to see it!"
Lynn calmly took a sip of his drink. "Hmm? Advertising effect. Quite good, right? Very memorable. Everyone will remember 'Edgar from Hufflepuff.' That's branding."
"I'll brand your head!!!" Edgar lunged forward.
William and Ollie quickly grabbed him as he struggled, while Lynn sat comfortably watching the chaos unfold.
"Let go of me! I'm going to take him down with me!"
"Calm down, Edgar, the match is about to start!"