— — — — — —
Tutshill was completely dumbfounded.
Wasn't he here to talk about match broadcasting rights? How did the conversation suddenly turn into selling his entire team?
"My girlfriend is a die-hard fan of your club," Tom explained with a polite smile.
Tutshill blurted out without thinking, "A French girl watches British matches?"
Tom: "..."
Now it was Tom's turn to be speechless.
The whole wizarding world already knew Fleur was his girlfriend. At this rate, did he need to parade every other girl around too just to "establish presence"?
The moment he imagined the endless gossip and shady rumors that would spiral out of control, his scalp started to prickle.
He had zero interest in turning his love life into dinner-table gossip for bored wizards.
Seeing Tom's expression suddenly darken, Tutshill's heart jumped. He forced a bitter smile and said, "Mr. Riddle, I truly have no intention of selling the team. This club is an ancestral asset of my family. Even if our results are terrible, we can still barely keep it running."
He thought Tom was angry over the refusal. But angry or not, selling was out of the question.
Unless absolutely forced, no one wanted to be remembered as the wastrel who sold off the family legacy.
"It's fine," Tom said, his expression easing. "Miss Cho Chang is a loyal supporter of your club. I thought about buying it as a gift for her, but if it's a family legacy, forget it."
"Just give me a full set of signed photos from players across the club's history. That should be doable, right?"
Tutshill nodded repeatedly, promising to deliver them the very next day.
"Now, back to business…"
Tom stopped dwelling on it and steered the conversation back on track, laying out his plan. It was actually very simple.
He wanted the broadcast rights for Quidditch League matches. Any revenue generated during the broadcasts would have nothing to do with the teams themselves. The term would last one year.
On the surface, it sounded like a tyrant's contract. In reality, the league wasn't losing out.
Many Quidditch teams were currently operating at a loss, or barely breaking even. Their only income came from ticket sales and a pitiful amount of advertising on team uniforms.
They wouldn't get paid during that first year, but broadcasting the matches would massively boost exposure, which in turn would increase stadium attendance.
When they renegotiated revenue sharing a year later, profits would skyrocket.
None of the team managers present had serious objections. However, since unanimous approval was required, they didn't agree on the spot. Instead, they contacted the teams that weren't present, as well as league officials.
Unfortunately, not everyone was reasonable.
Out of the twenty teams in the league, three flatly rejected Tom's terms and insisted on getting paid this year.
Now Tutshill and the others were stuck in an awkward position.
Tom, on the other hand, waved it off casually. "Then don't broadcast their matches. If the league wants money, you can break off and form a new league yourselves. The power is in my hands right now, not yours, and certainly not theirs."
He didn't mind sharing the pie, but the right to decide how it was sliced had to stay with him.
If they didn't agree, he'd flip the table and bake an entirely new pie.
The managers exchanged glances, discussed things briefly with the other teams, and finally agreed to Tom's arrangement.
Once everything was settled, they left. What followed was Tom's cooperation with advertisers. As for the numbers involved, it was better not to listen. The bigger the figures you couldn't touch, the more they hurt.
This was the first time television advertising had ever existed. No one really knew what kind of effect it would have or how much each ad slot should cost. Tom didn't know either, so he simply organized a small auction, dividing the ad slots by time and auctioning them off.
He might take a loss at first, but as the market matured, prices would naturally settle at reasonable levels.
The advertisers agreed to the plan.
Half an hour later, several ad slots were successfully bid on by Nimbus, Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, and Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.
The companies were fairly satisfied with the prices. Now all that remained was to see how effective the ads would be once the league began.
After the contracts were signed, they left as well. Tom, however, stayed behind at the Astra Abyssum Guild, waiting for the next group.
He didn't have to wait long before representatives from several radio channels arrived.
The Lume-Lens couldn't survive on Quidditch alone. Radio programs could be adapted for the big screen. As for the content, he didn't care. As long as it was diverse enough, gave wizards more choices, and more reasons to buy one.
"Hah…"
It wasn't until six in the evening that Tom finally finished meeting everyone he needed to see that day. He leaned back in his chair and let out a long sigh.
"What a pain…"
The dull, tedious power struggles and scheming left him deeply annoyed. He would rather spend his time studying than wrangling with merchants.
But there was no helping it. Promoting the Lume-Lens was for the sake of the mission, and completing the mission was how he would grow stronger.
"Crouch, I'll leave the follow-up details to you," Tom said. "My requirements are simple. Don't give up the interests we should hold. And there's no need to hoard everything if we can all make money together. On that basis, push the Lume-Lens as hard as possible. Aim for what I mentioned before. Every wizarding household should have at least one."
Crouch… nodded silently.
Truth be told, he really wanted to say that this had very little to do with Astra Abyssum's actual work. But when the boss handed down an assignment, he didn't feel right refusing.
Especially now that Barty's condition had been improving. During the last communication with Grindelwald, he could hear his son shouting at full volume, screaming and cursing with plenty of energy. Compared to the lifeless shell he'd been before, it was a huge improvement.
Tom had only been dealing with domestic merchants today and was already fed up. Crouch, on the other hand, would be facing businesses from every other country as well.
No. He definitely needed to rope in a few helpers.
As Crouch pondered who else he could drag into this mess, a cheerful, round face suddenly flashed through his mind.
Ludo Bagman.
Crouch had little respect for Bagman's ability to actually get work done, but he fully acknowledged his social skills. The man knew plenty of languages and could take on a fair share of the pressure.
While mulling this over, Crouch didn't forget to have Winky bring in the dinner that had already been prepared.
Tom was hungry too, so the two of them simply treated the conference room as a dining hall and ate there.
"How's the Wizarding Tournament coming along?" Tom asked.
"Besides the original five schools, I've been contacting Koldovstoretz, Uagadou, and the Mahoutokoro Institute. So far, only Koldovstoretz has clearly refused. The other two are still considering it, but there shouldn't be much trouble."
"Refused?" The boy raised an eyebrow. "Why? Don't tell me those Russians got scared."
Koldovstoretz was a magical school located within the territory of the Bears, and most of its students were Slavs, along with some from Central Asia.
"They have internal issues," Crouch said. "A major incident from a couple of years ago still hasn't fully settled. People who were once from the same country have split apart, and new grudges and hatred have formed. The turmoil outside has spilled into the school. There were even reports of bloodshed."
Tom nodded in understanding. Russian infighting was notoriously brutal. It wasn't hard to imagine.
After returning to the school, and with the professors' approval, Tom installed a Lume-Lens in each house common room. Every professor also received a smaller Lume-Lens they could hang in their office or living quarters.
Professor McGonagall was easily the happiest of them all. She was a die-hard Quidditch fan, but school responsibilities meant she rarely had the chance to watch matches in person.
At first, she refused to accept it. Accepting gifts from students always made her uncomfortable.
But when she heard that she could watch next weekend's match, and that it was her favorite team, the Kenmare Kestrels, playing against the Puddlemere United, she finally accepted it with a great deal of reluctant persuasion.
Only after leaving McGonagall's office did the smile on Tom's face truly bloom.
He understood the real power structure in this school perfectly. Dumbledore agreeing meant nothing. Only if McGonagall approved would the Lume-Lens be allowed to stay in the common rooms.
Hm?
Thinking about who really called the shots, Tom suddenly realized he still hadn't given Dumbledore one. He immediately changed direction and headed upstairs.
...
The appearance of the Lume-Lens filled the younger wizards with curiosity. They had already read in the newspapers about how the previous Quidditch match and the dueling tournament finals had been broadcast, watched by tens of thousands of wizards around the world. They themselves had been part of that spectacle.
Now they were switching roles, from being watched to being the audience. And this time, it was Quidditch.
Many of them could barely wait for the weekend to arrive and experience the magic of the Lume-Lens for themselves.
That anticipation affected the atmosphere of the castle. Students grew restless and unfocused, zoning out in class. With the school year nearly over and the students still so lax, the professors finally snapped and came down hard.
The sudden surge in homework left the young wizards miserable. But the more exhausted they were, the faster time seemed to pass.
Almost before anyone realized it, another week had gone by, and Saturday afternoon finally arrived.
After lunch, no one wasted a second. Everyone rushed back to their common rooms as fast as they could, waiting for the match to begin at two in the afternoon.
Tom didn't make any special arrangements. He brought Daphne and Astoria with him and claimed a prime spot.
He wasn't particularly excited about the match itself. He just enjoyed the feeling.
"Tom."
A gentle female voice echoed in his mind. Tom, who had been telling Daphne a terrible joke, jolted and immediately grew alert.
"Rowena? What is it?"
Ravenclaw rarely reached out to him on her own, and when she did, it was never about something trivial.
"There's been some progress in the research on Horcruxes," she said. "I need your help."
.
.
.