Alan hurried downstairs, but his swift footsteps didn't attract much attention.
The drunk wizards who usually gathered together weren't boasting or drinking at this moment. Instead, they were all standing up, forming a noisy circle around something—or someone—making unintelligible clamor.
Alan's eyes quickly caught an unusually tall figure towering above the crowd.
The man was at least three meters tall, which made him stand out effortlessly.
But honestly, even if he were Godzilla reincarnated and fifty meters tall, it still wouldn't justify disturbing Alan's sleep.
He looked at the wizards, who were completely unaware of his presence. With a grumpy expression, Alan drew his wand and pressed it against his throat.
[Voice Loudness Spell]—Alan's newest spell.
"What are you doing?"
His harsh voice boomed through the bar, startling the wizards so much that they instinctively covered their ears. Heads turned in every direction before they finally spotted Alan—standing on the stairs in a coat over his pajamas, clearly annoyed.
Hiss...
They'd clearly woken him up—unintentionally.
Tom, the bar owner, immediately started gesturing frantically to the bewildered wizards.
Those who had previously been warned by Tom for making too much noise and missed out on tasty meals quickly caught on. They shut up and sat down, straightening their backs like schoolchildren caught misbehaving by their strict homeroom teacher.
The bar, which had just moments ago felt as lively as a fan convention, suddenly went eerily quiet.
As the crowd dispersed, the figures they had been surrounding were finally revealed.
Unsurprisingly, the tall man hadn't been trying to hide. But now that everyone had stepped back, the small, thin boy standing beside him was also visible.
The boy wore glasses and looked up at Alan from the middle of the room, confused and slightly alarmed.
That combination looked very familiar.
Alan's anger, fueled by being awakened, faded slightly as his mind made the connection.
Hmm... Judging by the time, it must be the end of July...
That tall guy must be Hogwarts' gamekeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, here to pick up Harry Potter.
So, this is the "strong enemy."
Alan narrowed his eyes as he looked at Hagrid.
Gamekeeper?
More like gatekeeper—probably sent to watch over Alan, if you ask him.
If Alan remembered correctly from the original books, Hagrid was known to be an extreme protector of magical creatures. Which, to Alan, made him even more annoying.
Magical creatures are delicious.
And this guy wants to protect them? What a waste of resources!
One day, Alan vowed, he would make Hagrid try the delectable taste of magical beasts himself. He'd make him understand what he was missing!
Then Alan turned his eyes to the smaller figure beside Hagrid.
That tiny body practically curled behind Hagrid, almost invisible.
It was obvious the kid—Harry Potter—was suffering from mild malnutrition. His body looked like it hadn't kept pace with the growth of his bones.
Technically, he and Alan were the same age, but Alan was visibly taller and had broader shoulders—his skeleton already noticeably more developed.
Still, Alan felt nothing in particular toward Harry Potter.
The so-called Savior, born with a destiny.
He had nothing to do with Alan, who just wanted to make money and enjoy life—a proper little salted fish in a trench coat.
With that, Alan simply nodded toward Harry, turned around, and walked back upstairs.
Sleep is important.
Children need enough sleep to grow strong.
Missing sleep would be bad for his kidneys. And if his kidneys went, how would he impress his big sister or win over any little sisters?
Alan's figure disappeared at the top of the stairs.
It wasn't until then that Hagrid blinked and snapped out of it.
"Tom, who was that kid?" Hagrid scratched his wild hair and beard, still confused.
He couldn't shake the feeling that the strange and strikingly good-looking boy had glared at him.
Was he... scared of me?
Tom chuckled and leaned closer.
"You don't know him? You must've been busy lately. You really don't know what's going on in Diagon Alley, huh?"
He shook his head and added with emphasis,
"Don't call him kid. He may be starting at Hogwarts this year, just like Harry here, but you'd best show some respect and call him sir. That boy's no ordinary first-year. He's already a hotshot around here."
"Star?"
Hagrid tilted his head thoughtfully.
Sure, the boy was good-looking—even by Hagrid's weird standards.
"So... has he done anything famous? Like... what's he a star for?"
In the wizarding world, being a star meant something. For example, the band Weird Sisters—a rock band famous for its banshee-themed death rock. Their lead singer, Myron Wagtail, was practically a household name.
Harry, who had been silently watching and listening, perked up when he heard the conversation turn toward Alan.
A star?
Was that guy his age?
Harry's eyes widened. From the moment he saw that boy, he'd felt a deep sense of inferiority—as if someone had stabbed a dagger into his already humble heart.
That boy had everything.
An ethereal face.
Noble demeanor.
Effortless confidence.
And the trench coat—good heavens—the trench coat alone looked like it cost more than the Dursleys' entire living room.
Even Aunt Petunia's prized evening dress—locked away in the closet and brought out only on birthdays—wasn't half as exquisite as what that boy was wearing in his pajamas.
At that moment, Harry felt it.
He wanted to be like that.
He wanted to stand tall and confident, dressed in something beautiful and elegant.
He wanted people to look at him—not with pity, not with confusion, not as the weird kid in the cupboard—but with admiration.
From that very moment, Alan became his benchmark.
His invisible idol.
The goal he would pursue as he stepped into the magical world.
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