Actually, Allen had been the first to make a suggestion to Mr. Auror—namely, to copy his old method and simply travel along Muggle routes. Even if official chAnniels were blocked by wizard inspections due to documentation and checkpoints, they could always take the smuggling routes instead.
The idea itself was excellent. Unfortunately, Mr. Auror shot it down with a single sentence—not because, as an Auror, he disdained such methods, but because of the four prisoners under escort.
If they didn't enter the country via wizarding chAnniels, the three men already burdened with serious charges would be facing even harsher accusations, along with open season for other wizards to hunt them down. Their actions would be deemed defection. You didn't need a brain to guess what would happen next—the other side would absolutely set up a very public purge of traitors across the United States.
After reaching this conclusion, Allen stared at Mr. Auror for a long time. Just who exactly is the official here? Do you people really have to be this timid?!
That said, Allen didn't complain much. Only a mission like this was worthy of such an exorbitant reward. If it were truly that easy to send them off, there'd be something wrong with this Auror for paying Allen such a huge sum. He wasn't running a charity—there was no reason for him to hand out living expenses to strangers.
——
Their initial means of transportation was a Muggle vehicle—one not even meant for carrying people, but a repurposed cargo truck used to transport supplies. Its aging body was coated in layers of dust, and it possessed a deeply unsettling yet oddly impressive flaw: aside from the horn not working, there wasn't a single part of the vehicle that didn't rattle loudly once it started moving.
That alone would have been tolerable, but inside the truck lingered a thick stench of fish. Allen even spotted a dried, salted fish wedged into a crack in the cargo bay, emitting a strange, eerie sheen. All in all, this was very clearly not a place meant for humans.
Allen never even saw the driver. They boarded the truck alongside half a load of fish packed in ice, and were meant to quietly disembark midway near the border. According to Mr. Auror, the safest transport method was one where even the driver didn't know there were people hidden in the cargo.
For the sake of money, Allen pinched his nose and accepted that logic, then casually cast a Bubble-Head Charm on himself. As for the four escorted prisoners, both Allen and the Auror pretended not to notice them at all.
Kicking aside the salted fish stuck in the corner, Allen conjured a simple, warm flame to maintain his body temperature. While warming himself, he struck up an idle conversation with Mr. Auror.
"Hey, is this really necessary? They're going to stop us at the border anyway—why be so careful on the road?"
"Better safe than sorry. Don't look at me like that—I've undergone professional training. Especially after barely making it out alive from such a chaotic place, I naturally don't want anything going wrong now. You should know, even though this is Japanese territory, Ilvermorny's influence runs deep. If we're discovered en route and surrounded by Ilvermorny wizards—possibly even reinforced by Mahoutokoro—are you confident you could still escape?"
"Of course I can. Isn't that obvious? If I weren't confident, why would I come help you? If something goes wrong, I'm not taking the blame." Allen rolled his eyes. The previous lineup had been far more terrifying, and he'd still been confident he could escape. This time, with so many convenient cannon fodder around, how could he not get away? Without that much confidence, would he dare take on this side job?
You're really good at losing friends, Mr. Auror's resentful gaze seemed to say. Clearly, Allen's blunt response had completely shut him down. Can we even chat properly anymore?
Still, Allen quickly reconsidered. Was that a bit too irresponsible of me?
So he hurriedly added, "Relax. Even if something does happen, I won't abandon you when I run. If you die, who am I supposed to collect the money from?"
…
Mr. Auror didn't reply. He merely swallowed a mouthful of blood in silence, so frustrated it nearly burst out of him.
Yet, without comparison, there is no damage. Just as the Auror was hesitating over whether to complain or thank Allen for at least not abandoning him even in a crisis, the leader of the four utterly defenseless wizards finally spoke up.
They were the truly miserable ones. Allen and the Auror were merely complaining about the environment, but these four were enduring everything in full. They had no Bubble-Head Charms, no warming flames, and their injuries restricted even the most basic spellcasting. In their current state, they were worse off than before enrolling in school. Back then, they could occasionally cast spells through sheer talent; now, they were no different from Muggles.
Naturally, they didn't have the courage to directly accuse Allen or the Auror of being wrong. Before the mission had even begun, the Auror had casually stated that bringing back just one wizard would be enough to close the case. The pressure from certain powerful families was indeed heavy—but never underestimate his influence. One person was enough to silence all accusations; two would mean the mission was already a great success.
No one wanted to be the one who "failed to be rescued." And right now, who got saved depended entirely on someone else's mood.
"Excuse me, sirs," the leading wizard said politely, his tone proper and restrained. "Could you provide us with some heat? It's really cold, and the temperature inside this truck is far too low."
Unfortunately, his request was met with the Auror's indifference—and a question from Allen.
"Sorry. I need to conserve every bit of my magic for the upcoming fight. If my magic runs short, who would you like me to give up?"
The man fell silent, then retreated. The four of them huddled together in the corner.
What a joke. Setting aside the rumors that these four had attempted to act against Hogwarts, even if that weren't true, Allen would never choose to forgive them.
That was because—someone had wet the bed last night.
Perhaps because too much had happened the day before, among the students who moved into the castle, one boy failed to control himself and completely let loose amid the tightly packed sea of sleeping bags.
Although Allen himself hadn't been affected, no matter how many times magic was used to clean that spot, no boy was willing to place his sleeping bag there. As a result, an already crowded environment descended into even greater chaos.
Amid the grinding teeth and thunderous snoring, Allen didn't fall asleep until the latter half of the night. And the root cause of all of it—was the bunch of bastards standing right in front of him now.
If this weren't something unworthy of killing over, Allen would have beaten Charlid to it and slaughtered these idiots himself. Even if he couldn't kill them, there was no reason to make things easy for them, was there?
After rejecting their request, Allen kept the flame burning in his hand and silently mouthed two words at them:
Serves you right.
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