The more decadent a nation, the more pathological its obsession with hierarchy, especially among those within its ranks.
Only by showing deference to those above you could you expect the same from those below, creating an unbroken cycle.
Thus, in Britain, the rigidity surrounding honorifics was almost draconian, with severe consequences for misuse.
Ordinary folk could only use "Mr"—the most generic form of address. Those with status or honorary knighthoods (non-hereditary titles) might be addressed as "Sir."
For instance, Wayne's uncle, Sir Humphrey.
But only those with hereditary peerages—or their heirs—could be called "Lord."
Though stunned by Mason's bizarre behaviour, Mr Dursley's hearing hadn't failed him.
The term Mason had used for that youth was unmistakably—Lord!
Gulp—
Vernon swallowed hard, his eyes wide with terror. Had he just insulted the heir of an ancient noble house?
Dudley and Petunia had also sobered up, standing frozen in place, utterly at a loss.
Harry stared at Wayne in shock. After being classmates for over a year, he had no idea Wayne held such a terrifying status in the Muggle world.
"Come here, all of you," Wayne patted the sofa.
Instantly, several people hurried over, standing respectfully before Wayne.
"Now you should know who I am, yes?" Wayne asked again.
Mr Dursley nodded like a chicken pecking at grain, not daring to wipe the sweat dripping onto the carpet.
"Alright, everyone, sit," Wayne waved his hand. "You're the master of this house. I'm just here to see Harry and help him solve some problems."
Only after Wayne's instruction did they cautiously take their seats.
"By the way, were you about to call me a freak earlier?" Wayne asked with amusement, watching Mr Dursley, who nearly collapsed in fright and hastily waved his hands in denial.
"N-no, Harry's the freak, you're... exceptionally gifted." Mr Dursley racked his brains for the appropriate words.
Wayne chuckled and let the matter drop. "May—"
"Mason," Mason whispered a prompt.
"Ah, Mason says he's negotiating some business with your company," Wayne said to Mr Dursley. "Frankly, I've looked into it—there are plenty of firms more capable and better positioned than yours."
Mr Dursley's face fell with despair; he could already see a major contract slipping away.
But Wayne's next words reignited his hope.
"However... considering you're Harry's only remaining family in this world, I'll give you one chance."
Wayne continued smiling gently: "My terms aren't harsh. Whatever treatment you give that little fatty, give the same to Harry. Once he comes of age, he'll move out and I won't interfere further."
"Do this, and if your drills meet our company's standards at reasonable prices, we'll give you the business."
"What do you say, Mr Dursley?"
Harry, Dudley and Petunia's gazes all fixed on Mr Dursley—Harry hopeful, Dudley furious, Petunia fearful.
Unsurprisingly, Mr Dursley made the wisest choice.
He promised to clear out Dudley's second bedroom that very day for Harry to move in that night.
As for Harry's strange behaviours, as long as they occurred in that room and didn't disturb the family, there'd be no interference.
The relationship between the Dursleys and Harry was difficult for Wayne to judge. The debt of raising him undeniably existed—they'd kept Harry for nearly eighteen years without reward and despite the risks.
Yet their mistreatment of Harry was equally undeniable.
No one could fully explain it—human nature is simply complex. The contract Wayne brought would earn the Dursleys enough to cover Harry's living costs with plenty to spare.
"Right, that's all," the youth said. "Now my friend and I are going out. You can start clearing up."
Mr Dursley hurried to open the door for Wayne. "Safe travels, Master Lawrence. You're welcome to visit again—Petunia's pies are truly excellent."
"Perhaps," Wayne said. "But I'd prefer my next visit not be to deliver punishment."
With this final warning, he took Harry away in the Rolls-Royce to Diagon Alley.
...
During the car ride, Harry still felt light-headed and dazed. He simply couldn't wrap his head around the fact that Wayne had such a terrifyingly powerful identity in the Muggle world.
He had used sheer influence to solve a problem that had plagued Harry for years. However, another question then surfaced in his mind.
Harry looked at the boy beside him in confusion and asked, "Wayne, if you're already this rich, why are you still so obsessed with making money?"
"Even a thousand Galleons or ten thousand Galleons must be nothing to you, right?"
"You just don't get it, Harry," Wayne replied, sipping his iced orange juice and chewing on the straw without a care for appearances.
"Let me ask you—if you had to hand over a few hundred Galleons to me, would it hurt?"
Harry thought for a moment before grimacing. "Yeah, it would. Even if I knew what you were selling was worth it, spending such a huge amount would sting."
"Exactly," Wayne said, patting his shoulder approvingly.
"Making money is just a bonus. What I really want to see is that pained look on your face!"
Harry was speechless.
But what came next was even more painful for Harry.
The two arrived at the street near Diagon Alley, dismissed the two bodyguards and Mr Mason, then hurried through the Leaky Cauldron straight to Gringotts.
From his vault, Harry withdrew a full thirteen hundred Galleons (having already given a hundred on the train). Without even leaving, they followed the guiding Goblin and took the minecart straight to Wayne's vault.
Seeing his hard-earned savings being stuffed into a vault several times larger than his own—already brimming with gold Galleons—Harry's composure shattered completely.
'Seriously?'
'You're already this rich, so why keep eyeing my meagre inheritance?'
Meanwhile, Wayne was grinning from ear to ear.
Seven thousand points had just been credited to his account. Combined with his previous savings, he now had over 12,500 points.
This round had been an absolute windfall.
He'd just seen that Harry's vault still held close to ten thousand Galleons. That much money guarantees at least five or six gold cards.
If he could help clear Sirius' name, reunite him with Harry, then—
"Wayne, could you stop looking at me like that?"
Harry's skin was crawling. Wayne hadn't said a word, just stared at him with an unsettling intensity.
After a long moment, the only comparisons Harry could think of were Dudley eyeing a hamburger or Ron staring at a chicken leg.
Was Wayne planning to eat him?
Wayne snapped out of it. "Oh, I was just thinking about what to eat with Hermione later."
Harry felt even more wounded.
Not only was Wayne loaded—he even had girls accompanying him! More than one!
...
After leaving Gringotts, Harry—now thoroughly demoralised—hurriedly excused himself, fearing further emotional damage.
Being able to freely visit Diagon Alley and soak in the magic of the wizarding world should have been a joyous occasion, but he couldn't let Wayne's influence ruin it.
Meanwhile, Wayne headed to Hermione's house and took the young witch out in casual clothes.
Today, Hermione wore a white blouse with a pleated skirt and a pair of little leather shoes, radiating youthful charm—no different from an ordinary Muggle student.
Well, except she was far prettier than any of them.
The two settled into a French café, ordering pastries and coffee before chatting away in a cosy corner.
"No need to lower your voice; they can't hear us," Wayne said.
Hermione looked around in surprise and realised it was true. Anxiously, she said, "Have you forgotten? We're not allowed to perform magic outside of school. It violates—"
"Stop, stop, stop," Wayne quickly interrupted, raising a hand. "Don't worry, the Ministry of Magic won't detect it. Newt taught me this method—it's foolproof."
This was only possible because Hermione hadn't brought her wand. Otherwise, even though Wayne's wand wasn't Traceable, Hermione's was. If he used magic, it would still be detected, and the blame would most likely fall on Hermione, just like when Dobby used magic near Harry, but Harry was the one who received the warning letter.
Hermione finally relaxed, and then excitement took over. "How did you do this? I want to learn! A whole summer without magic would drive me mad."
"It's possible, but you'll have to lend me your wand for a day. Some adjustments need to be made."
The young witch agreed without hesitation, entrusting her most precious wand to Wayne.
After finishing their meal, the two discussed their plans for the rest of the afternoon.
Originally, Wayne had wanted to take Hermione back to his place—his territory, where he could tease her as much as he liked. But Hermione insisted on using her summer break to study Muggle school coursework.
Unbelievable.
Wayne had no choice but to follow her home.
While Hermione worked on her exercises, he lay idly on her bed and dozed off. It wasn't until she finished a test paper that she noticed the boy sleeping soundly. She walked over, studying his handsome face, her heart pounding wildly.
This was her house. Couldn't she do whatever she wanted?
The home advantage gave the young witch immense courage. She lightly pecked Wayne's lips, then jumped back in a fluster, as if she'd done something outrageous.
Wayne, who had woken up the moment Hermione crept over but pretended to stay asleep, was inwardly speechless.
'Girl, you've stolen my script!'
...
Late at night, inside the suitcase.
Wayne placed Hermione's wand into the pre-prepared potion and instructed Gardevoir to retrieve it after a day. Rubbing his hands together, he headed to the living room of the small wooden cabin.
Again, it was Merlin's portrait and three sticks of ambergris. But this time, the offering was replaced with fifteen years of the twins' romantic luck.
The timing of this summoning wasn't random—Wayne had specifically consulted the Centaur Firenze for an auspicious moment. Now was the peak of his luck for the next fortnight.
Although the system had claimed that external factors wouldn't affect the summoning results, after his last experience, Wayne wasn't buying it. Better safe than sorry.
If this summoning went awry, it would prove the Centaur's divination unreliable. If it didn't... well, then he'd have to wonder if the system had a habit of collecting other people's romantic luck.
"System, settle the task first."
A cold, prompt tone appeared.
[Congratulations, Host. The 'Fallen Professor' task has been completed. The target's flesh withered, his soul burned to ashes, and his mind and body suffered dual extreme torment.]
[Final Evaluation: Outstanding (O), rewarded with a Critical Hit Package and 4,000 points.]
'Professor Quirrell, I'll remember your help.'
Wayne wore a solemn expression as he mourned Quirrell for a second, then promptly broke into a grin and declared grandly, "Five ten-draws first, let's test my luck!"
With over 16,000 points in his possession, pulling a gold card was more than feasible. If the gold card reward was decent, he'd open the package.
If the rewards were lacklustre... well, he'd save it for a luckier day.
Five ten-draws yielded seven purple cards—no new talents, just some advanced spells.
"Continue with fifty more."
Wayne didn't even look up as he kept drawing.
To his surprise, he pulled a gold card as early as the ninth ten-draw.
This seemed to be his first early gold.
He swiftly dismissed the other purple cards—only one spell, 'Chain Lightning,' caught his interest.
It was an area-of-effect spell that could paralyse enemies with lightning, more flexible and quicker than an electric net.
Finally, the gold card shattered, transforming into a radiant glow that enveloped Wayne, gradually coalescing into a robe.
[Radiance—Supreme Heaven: Originating from a strange dimension, released by an unknown entity, possessing inconceivable power.]
[Now converted into 'Supreme Heaven Robe' in accordance with the Host's will.]
[Supreme Heaven Robe: Increases Host's magical power recovery rate, reduces spell-casting intervals, provides an Armour Charm at 60% of the Host's strength, and automatically repairs within five seconds if shattered.]
[Active Activation: Enters 'Heavenly Ascent Mode'—magical power consumption doubles, spell potency increases by 30%, lasts 5 minutes, 6-hour cooldown.]
"Supreme Heaven..."
Wayne murmured as he stepped out of the cabin.
With a wave of his hand, the stars shifted. Sunlight within the suitcase faded, replaced by moonlight spilling down. The Mooncalves emerged from their burrows, blinking their large eyes in confusion at the sky.
Hadn't they just gone to sleep? Why was it night again?
On the grass, the pitch-black robe reflected iridescent light like a neon sign.
Mystical patterns traced by violet energy threads shimmered—powerful yet elegant. A breeze swept past, and the robe didn't behave like solid fabric but instead flowed like liquid.
"A bit too flashy." Wayne shook his head.
As his thoughts shifted, the neon hues vanished, leaving behind a calm black—much more comfortable.
Functionally, it was undoubtedly an excellent robe.
In gaming terms, it reduced cooldowns, boosted mana regeneration, and came with a Shield Charm that refreshed every six seconds.
There was also an active buff skill, which increased magical power consumption in exchange for a burst in spell potency.
A 30% boost might not sound like much, but if applied to Dumbledore, he'd probably pummel Voldemort to death.
For Wayne, though...
He tilted his head, sensing something off—it didn't seem to change much.
Those he could defeat before, he still could—just more easily. Those he couldn't, like the trio of Dumbledore's calibre, remained out of reach.
Tsk.
What was up with this world? Why was the gap between archmages and professors so vast!
For a moment, Wayne wasn't sure whether his luck in drawing this robe was good or bad.
"Hestia, should I open the package now?"
Wayne turned to look at the Unicorn that had somehow appeared beside him and asked softly.
"Mmm~!"
With docile, watery eyes, Hestia nudged her head forward, inviting Wayne to embrace her.
"I understand what you mean," Wayne nodded. "If the reward isn't good, it's the Centaurs' fault."
"I'll go to the Forbidden Forest to settle accounts with them when I return to school. They won't get away without compensating me with several bundles of herbs."
Hestia, who had been nuzzling him affectionately, stopped and looked up with clear, bewildered eyes.
Was that really what she meant?