— — — — — —
It wasn't just Harry who thought the champion had already been decided. Most people felt the same way.
No one really saw Tom as a "student" anymore. Professors, classmates, everyone—his presence was closer to a force of nature than a boy in school robes. And there were no rules banning him from entering the tournament.
Unless… the Greengrasses or Granger pulled some kind of honey trap, Harry honestly couldn't imagine how Tom could possibly lose.
But if even the students could figure that out, how could the visiting professors and headmasters not see it?
And since they'd clearly thought it through, how could they not take precautions? Otherwise they might as well show up and fight for second place.
Still… none of that showed up in the written rules.
Instead, they just straight-up N'd Tom.
"Where is justice? Where is the law?!"
Snape's desk was taking a brutal beating. If anyone else—literally anyone, even another Head of House—had slammed his desk like that, Snape would've already exploded.
But with this furious teenager standing in front of him, he could only endure it, silently cursing Dumbledore to hell.
Of course the old man dumped this mess on him. And he couldn't even be bothered to tell Tom himself.
Snape would bet all his prize ingredients that Dumbledore expected Tom to react like this, which was exactly why he'd pushed the task onto Snape. And he'd even said, "Tom is your student, after all."
'And you're his headmaster, you old fraud!'
"Ahem. Riddle." Snape finally spoke once the boy had mercy on his desk and the room was quiet again. "What meaning does this kind of tournament have for you?"
"Is competing with a bunch of incompetent children supposed to give you something? Even if you win, what exactly do you gain?"
"Professor, you don't get it. It's called honor." Tom crossed his arms, expression righteous. "I'm a Slytherin. Ambition and honor are in my blood."
Snape's temple twitched hard. "Even Slytherins don't chase every kind of honor. Would a serpent compete with a monkey for a banana?"
Tom let out a cold snort and leaned forward slightly. "Professor, do you really think that's the same thing? If I didn't want to join, that's my choice. But this isn't about me refusing. It's about them refusing to let me compete. Someone has to give me a damn explanation."
Snape sighed. "The other schools all said the same thing. You're simply not on the same level as the other competitors. If you enter, the entire tournament loses its purpose. Their students won't even try."
"Riddle, no one is forcing you to quit. It's just that if you enter, the event collapses. They can only do this. And by the way, the visiting headmasters practically praised you to the heavens. Said you'd surpass Dumbledore, plus that they can't help it."
Tom rubbed his forehead. He hated being strong-armed. And he couldn't exactly force his way into a competition just for a measly prize. He had pride too, after all.
In the end, after thinking until his brain hurt, Tom finally came up with a way to compensate for his loss.
"Each school gives me a hundred books from their restricted section. No duplicates. Then I'll accept."
The seven major wizarding schools all had deep foundations—well, except Ilvermorny. They wouldn't hand over their most prized secrets, but even what they could part with would be useful.
When Tom finally relented, Snape nearly sagged in relief. He'd been terrified Tom would lose his temper and blow up the entire tournament. Dumbledore would absolutely blame him for it.
Because that old man didn't want to provoke Tom either. No one wanted a third Dark Lord right now.
As long as it wasn't a matter of principle, they'd all bend over backwards for this Riddle.
And Tom's condition wasn't unreasonable. Without checking with Dumbledore or the other schools, Snape simply approved it on the spot.
Only then did Tom calm down a little. He said goodbye and left the office, silently comforting himself.
"Fine. It's just a single mid-tier Gacha reward. If I can't get it, I can't get it. Take it as a warning. The world doesn't revolve around me. I didn't even care about the tournament in the first place."
But even as he told himself that, Tom felt awful. This was his first mission failure.
Right then, the system chimed in with consolation.
[Detected: Host's first failed mission.]
[Achievement unlocked: "Failure Is the Mother of Success."]
[Rewards granted: 100 Achievement Points, 500 Credits, and one mid-tier gacha ticket.]
[Hope the host continues self-improvement and sails smoothly toward academic greatness.]
[New mission issued: Rise where you fell. Please enter a major competition. Final rewards will be determined by the event's scale and influence.]
"...?"
"??????"
Tom had just stepped onto the stairs when he froze, eyes suddenly shining with delight.
The system really came through. Without him having to go hunt down children for points, it had delivered all the mission rewards at once.
"Failure is the mother of success?"
He couldn't help thinking... System mommy really is good!
Feeling great, Tom immediately used the gacha. He got two hundred Achievement Points out of it — not a loss, not a gain. A quick check showed he was only two hundred points away from summoning another "King of the Century." Satisfied, he stopped thinking about it.
When he entered the Great Hall, the air was buzzing with talk about the duel tournament. The moment Tom walked in, half the discussions died instantly and countless eyes turned toward him.
Tom grinned. Perfect time to make the announcement. Saved him the trouble of repeating it all night.
"Don't look at me. I won't be entering the tournament. I talked it over with Professor Snape and he supports the decision. Do your best and keep the championship here at Hogwarts."
"Wha—?!"
The Hall exploded. Just minutes ago everyone had been saying the result was already set in stone. And now Tom was dropping out?
"Tom, why?" Zabini asked anxiously, baffled. "This is a free championship. Why hand it to someone else?"
"Yeah," a seventh-year Slytherin chimed in. "Didn't you say you'd participate?"
Tom raised his hands helplessly. "What can I do? If I enter, the other schools' students refuse to sign up. The tournament would collapse before it begins."
"So I can only step back and give you all the chance. But I know that even without me, the champion will still belong to Hogwarts."
Tom rarely minded losing out, yet this time the system had compensated him — even gifted him a metaphorical mom. But the other schools? They weren't getting away unscathed. If they won't let me compete, I can still make sure they choke on it.
Sure enough, the smart kids already understood what Tom was implying. Looks of disdain spread across the room. So he dropped out because the other schools were afraid of him. They didn't dare let him compete.
"How shameless," Draco Malfoy spat. "Even worse than Potter and his tag-a-longs."
"Right? So they think without Tom, Hogwarts has no one worth anything?"
Upper-year students across all four houses felt their blood boil. So that was it? Without Tom, Hogwarts students were useless? The championship would be snatched away?
For once, all four houses shared the same attitude: beat the shit out of them.
That night, every Head of House received a flood of tournament registrations. The enthusiasm that had evaporated after the duel class was canceled now surged back with a vengeance.
In the Slytherin common room, Tom even helped expand the space again, opening up a full dueling area.
The news spread quickly. Within days, newspapers were plastered with articles about the tournament. The rules and schedule were mentioned, but the real highlight was The Daily Prophet's mockery of the foreign schools' cowardice. Rita Skeeter had written it, so of course it was vicious.
After publishing, Rita even contacted international colleagues to spread the report abroad. Vinda Rosier quietly fanned the flames too.
Soon, the news reached the other schools. Their headmasters trembled with fury… yet couldn't find a single angle to refute it.
...
Tom, meanwhile, left everything to his people and stopped spending energy on it. Two weeks passed. His credits were evaporating at record speed...
Boom
In the space, the Ravenclaw villa pulsed with blue light. A hurricane roared out of nowhere, tearing at the bizarre flowers and plants around it.
Ravenclaw lifted a hand, conjuring an invisible barrier that halted the storm's pull. She looked toward the highest point of the room, sensing something carefully. Eventually, she shook her head, helpless.
Moments after the storm died down, the entrance door creaked open.
Tom walked out with a completely calm expression.
"Did it work?" Ravenclaw asked. For once, she sounded nervous.
"It worked."
Tom nodded — but the voice didn't come from his mouth.
It came from behind the door.
Another Tom stepped out.
.
.
.