Allen took a bite of the spicy stir-fried dragon's blood on his plate, pairing it with the white bread Tom had brought him for lunch.
After accepting the 400 strengthening points, he wiped his mouth—now red from the fiery dish—and continued digging into the dragon's blood until he could no longer lift his chopsticks.
Black left the kitchen, and the Leaky Cauldron filled with the sound of sharp intakes of breath as patrons struggled through the heat of Allen's cuisine.
Many wizards opted to buy one of Allen's dishes and combine it with Tom's more traditional offerings—a combo meal of bean soup and fresh bread. Together, it made for a wonderful lunch.
That's why Allen could hear such dramatic gasps—so loud, so synchronized, they could almost be called musical.
Seeing the flushed faces of the wizards, eyes wide with equal parts fear and desire, Allen's mood soared.
At that moment, Hodge appeared, panting slightly as he approached Allen. His face was flushed, his voice quivered in a spicy vibrato.
"Mr. Cecil, can we talk?" Hodge asked, tugging at his sweat-soaked collar. "Would you consider not making such intense dishes in the future?"
"What?" Allen blinked innocently. "Isn't it delicious?"
"Oh, it's delicious," Hodge admitted, fanning himself. "But eating this kind of food in summer—while wearing heavy robes—isn't exactly... kind."
Allen laughed. "I don't feel it. My robes are enchanted with breathable magic. I got them from Tuofan Clothing Store. Very comfortable, I highly recommend them."
"Tuofan? That place is expensive!" Hodge exclaimed, then caught himself. "Well—except when I'm trying to please my wife, I try not to go near it."
Realizing he'd said too much, he coughed awkwardly and changed the subject. "Anyway, Mr. Cecil, do you remember our previous conversation?"
"Of course," Allen said, raising an eyebrow. "But I am curious. Why did it take so long to get a simple joy potion?"
It had already been three days since Hodge had approached Allen with a proposal for cooperation. A joy potion wasn't exactly rare—at least, Allen didn't think so.
"It's not that the potion is hard to find," Hodge explained, wiping sweat from his brow. "Joy potions are available at any decent potion store. But a long-term and stable supply? That's another matter entirely."
Allen tilted his head, prompting him to continue.
"If we're going to produce something based on the potion, we need consistent quality. That means going through a professional potion workshop. We also need a certified, trustworthy potion master. And quality control—it's crucial. Every bottle must match the taste and effect of the last."
Allen gave a low whistle. "You've really done your homework. But aren't you getting ahead of yourself? I haven't even done the experiment yet. If I fail, won't you be out a lot of money?"
To Allen's surprise, Hodge laughed. "Haha! How could you fail? Even if the candy idea doesn't work, I can still sell the joy potion as is."
So that's how it was. Allen grinned. No wonder. Hodge was clearly a wealthy man. After all, anyone who monopolized 90% of the magical candy market was a capitalist, whether they admitted it or not.
"Alright," Allen said, taking the potion bottle from Hodge and slipping it into his pocket. "But let's get a contract written up first, shall we? I hope your offer is good enough to convince me—otherwise, I'm not moving forward."
"No problem at all," Hodge said cheerfully, pulling out a parchment scroll. "Here, have a look. I'm prepared to offer you 60% of the sales from this new candy."
Allen blinked. "Sixty percent?"
That was... generous. And surprising.
And it wasn't just profit—it was turnover. That meant Allen didn't have to invest a single coin. No upfront cost, no production responsibilities. Hodge would handle all of it. Even the 40% he kept had to cover all expenses.
It was like giving Allen free money.
"Mr. Hodge, you're being very generous," Allen said carefully. "But surely there's a catch?"
"Of course," Hodge replied, still smiling. "But it's not much. I only ask that I be allowed to use your name in promotions."
So that was it. He wanted Allen to be the face of the product—a spokesperson. The 60% cut was payment for Allen's recipe, his name, and the reputation that came with it.
Allen didn't mind. If his name could bring in more galleons, why not?
"No problem," he said. "Is that condition in the contract?"
"Of course," Hodge assured him. "This is a fair contract. It's been registered with the Ministry of Magic and carries their official magical seal. Once you sign, it's immediately binding."
Allen took the scroll and examined it.
Sure enough, the terms were clear. Hodge could only use Allen's name to advertise the specific candy made from Allen's recipe—no other products. That clause alone showed Hodge's sincerity.
Allen nodded. "Alright, I understand."
He took the pen Hodge offered and signed his name in flowing script.
"We'll meet tomorrow afternoon," Allen said, handing the pen back. "If everything goes smoothly, I'll give you the candy recipe."
"Then we'll work happily together," Hodge said, grinning as he extended his hand.
"It's a pleasure to cooperate," Allen replied, clasping it.
Big and small hands met and sealed the agreement.
From that moment on, one of Allen's many careers was finally on the right track.
The Leaky Cauldron continued to hum with customers, the scent of spice hanging thick in the air, a symbol of Allen's growing fame. His dishes might make people sweat, but they kept coming back.
Tomorrow, it would not just be about food. It would be about magic-infused candy, fame, and—most importantly—fortune.
And Allen was ready to savor every bite of success.
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