Fourth floor of the orphanage.
Soren pushed open the classroom door, which had been left ajar, and strode out with Ayla at his side.
Compared to the tense standoff when they’d arrived, both wore easy, genuine smiles now.
As for the newly recruited organisation members, he’d left them inside the classroom.
Their overexcited expressions would’ve raised eyebrows among the caretakers.
As they walked, he casually opened the system panel to check the rewards from his flawless performance.
[Wizarding World Achievement Page]
The moment his eyes landed on it, Soren froze.
The page looked exactly the same as before.
That shouldn’t be right…
He switched over to the [Muggle World Achievement Page] and scanned the achievement tree.
Top of the tree…
nothing.
Upper branches…
nothing.
Trunk…
nothing.
After searching for ages, he finally found a newly lit node tucked near the roots.
Well, at least there was something.
Founding a secret organisation ought to warrant-
…wait, what?
[King of the Kids]
[Description: Congratulations!
Through your brilliant eloquence, formidable strength, and extraordinary charisma, you’ve won the devotion of a band of children.
They crown you their king!]
[Bonus: Leaderly Aura (applies only to children on your side)]
[Effect: Children meeting the above conditions find you more convincing and are willing to play with you!]
[System Evaluation: Don’t bow your head, the crown will fall.
Oh wait…
you don’t actually have a crown…]
Soren’s vision went dark.
What the hell was this?!
He had personally founded the great…
the eventually-great Ouroboros organisation!
And the system gave him [King of the Kids]???
Was this some kind of joke!
Absolutely insulting!
He launched into a blistering internal tirade against the system, only to be met with cold, indifferent silence.
The achievement system carried on with its usual composure, utterly unmoved by its host’s screaming and clawing, emotionally stable as a corpse.
While Soren was busy waging war against his own interface, a bright-eyed figure hopped directly into his path.
If his reflexes hadn’t been sharp enough to stop in time, he would’ve slammed right into her.
The one blocking his way was Ayla, glued to him like a shadow.
She’d been circling him since they left the classroom, practically vibrating with anticipation.
“Ayla, what’s up?”
“So…” Ayla tucked her hands behind her back, swaying shyly for a moment before extending her pale, slender right arm toward him.
“Where’s mine?”
“Where’s your what?” Soren played dumb.
“My…
um…
my Ouroboros mark.”
She pushed up the sleeve of her UV jacket and tapped a spot high on her right forearm, indicating exactly where she wanted it.
Soren dropped the act but held firm.
“No can do, Ayla.
Listen to me, good girls don’t get tattoos.”
He figured playing the “good girl” card would shut this down effortlessly.
It didn’t work this time.
“This is different.”
“It’s not.
Look, I don’t even have a mark on my own arm.”
“I don’t care…
this is different!”
Ayla stood her ground, still tracing the spot she’d picked out.
He tried reasoning with her patiently, but nothing could shake the idea loose.
Over the past few weeks, he’d come to recognise the truth beneath Ayla’s gentle exterior: a stubborn streak a mile wide.
She was headstrong in every sense of the word.
After an extended tug-of-war, Soren finally surrendered to the threat of tears.
He did manage to negotiate a compromise, convincing her to place the mark somewhere more concealed.
They settled on the outer upper arm, high enough that even a short sleeve would cover it.
Before he began, operating on the principle of maximising every opportunity, he dangled a new option: “Since you insist, I’ll give you a special one.”
“Special?” Her eyes lit up.
“One of a kind.
That way we can tell you apart from the regular members.”
Soren gave his wand a gentle flick and drew a different Ouroboros mark on the nearby wall.
Unlike the standard circular design with the serpent biting its own tail, this one twisted into the shape of an infinity symbol, “∞”.
Ayla stared at it, the words “one of a kind” echoing in her mind.
For a girl, especially one experiencing her first crush, hearing that description from the boy she admired was enough to set her heart racing.
She struggled to rein in the flutter in her chest and managed to sound composed as she declared that this was exactly the one she wanted.
Soren obligingly pretended not to notice a thing.
He practiced on the wall a dozen times, making sure the lines were clean and flowing, before pressing the magical mark onto her upper arm.
In the empty corridor, the orange light flickering at his wand tip looked a bit alarming, like the sparks from a welding torch.
But the spell was completely harmless.
Throughout the process, Ayla kept stealing glances at him, thinking she was being subtle about it.
Only when the mark was finished did she belatedly bare her teeth in a wince, imitating what the boys had done earlier.
As if it actually hurt.
Kind-hearted Soren pretended not to see this either, mostly because he was the one who’d orchestrated the whole thing on purpose.
With her very own unique Ouroboros mark in place, Ayla was radiant.
Soren figured the matter was settled and started walking again.
But Ayla stepped in front of him once more.
Head bowed, she murmured, “Wait, one more thing.
I…
I have something for you too.”
She pulled a handmade rectangular origami gift box from her dress pocket.
Fighting down a blush, she held it out with studied casualness.
“A going-away present for me?” Soren took it with keen curiosity.
“Can I open it now?”
“Mm-hmm.” The reply came out barely above a mumble.
Permission granted, Soren carefully untied the cute ribbon bow and lifted the lid.
Inside lay a lock of soft, pale golden hair, bound neatly with a white ribbon.
He didn’t need to look closely to know whose it was.
He’d played with it before.
“This is…”
He knew perfectly well what it meant when a girl gave a boy her hair.
In nineteenth-century Europe, crafting keepsakes from a loved one’s hair had been a genuine fashion.
Locks from the deceased served as memorials, while locks from the living were unmistakably tokens of devotion, used to declare love and loyalty.
East and West, it seemed, shared the same instincts about what was romantic.
What surprised him was how much bolder Ayla was than he’d imagined.
More forward than him, even.
“This is…
you know…
um…” Ayla stumbled over her words for a long moment before rallying with a thoroughly unconvincing defence.
“You asked me for hair a few times before, for the alarm system, right?
I figured you might need some at your boarding school, so I prepared extra.”
“Oh, so that’s what this is.”
Soren totally believed her.
Not.
What a flimsy excuse, every syllable dripping with a young girl’s delicate, nervous hope.
But the genuine feeling behind it reached him all the same.
He looked down at the strands of hair, tied so carefully with ribbon, and answered in a soft voice with the words he’d already chosen: “I think…
this will be very useful.
I’ll keep it.
Thank you.”
Ever since that long-overdue acceptance letter had upended his quiet life and forced him to rewrite his plans, he’d thought a great deal about what lay ahead.
Some of those thoughts involved Ayla.
She might not have magical talent.
She might never walk the halls of Hogwarts at his side.
But that didn’t change the decision he’d made from the very beginning.
He was greedy that way.
He wanted to experience the wonders of the wizarding world and explore the vast open waters of the Muggle one.
The same went for matters of the heart.
Children picked one thing.
Adults took everything.