— — — — — —
Kamio's choice caught everyone completely off guard.
Among the seven dragons, the strongest was unquestionably the Hungarian Horntail. Its back was covered in dense rows of black, razor-sharp spines that gleamed with a cold sheen. Just looking at it was enough to make your skin crawl.
And the easiest to handle were clearly the Welsh Green and the Swedish Short-Snout. Both were smaller, with relatively weak offensive power. Under normal circumstances, it would take two—maybe even three—of them just to barely match a single Horntail.
And yet, Kamio picked the Antipodean Opaleye.
Yes, the Opaleye was the least aggressive, but that didn't make it the weakest. It was a formidable all-rounder. Its beautiful silver-white scales provided exceptional dual-layer defense, it was adept at a wide range of magic, and its flames burned hot enough to melt solid rock.
So most people knew the Hungarian Horntail was the hardest, with the Antipodean Opaleye a close second.
What was this Japanese fox really thinking? Who voluntarily made things harder for themselves?
"Because the Opaleye is pretty," the girl said matter-of-factly, a hint of smugness in her eyes. "Don't you think its scales match my skin tone perfectly?"
As she spoke, she rolled up her sleeve and leaned in front of Daphne and Fleur, deliberately showing off her soft, rosy, flawless skin.
It was pure, unapologetic bragging.
The veins on the two girls' foreheads practically bulged, their expressions darkening instantly.
'Showing off what, exactly? Like our skin isn't good? We also bathe in skincare products every day, okay?!'
"Mine's all natural," the little fox added lazily, drawing out her words.
That single sentence shattered them completely.
There was just no competing with that. It was the kind of delicate, smooth complexion often attributed to Asian features.
Even Fleur, a Veela-human hybrid, had skin far finer than most—but her pores were still slightly more visible.
"..."
In the corner, Ariana's face darkened as well. She suddenly thought of Jeanne back in that other space.
Jeanne's skin had that unreal, luminous fairness that seemed to defy logic. How did a village girl who spent her days braving the elements and fighting on battlefields manage to have skin like that?
Meanwhile, the only two boys present were completely lost. They exchanged glances, both seeing the same confusion in each other's eyes, and instinctively scratched their heads.
They were about to face deadly dragons… and these girls were arguing about skincare?
Jauncey didn't bother with the bizarre conversation. He stepped forward and quickly chose the easiest option—the Welsh Green. Nassim followed, decisively picking the Short-Snout. Both choices were sensible and straightforward.
Ariana waved her hand, signaling she would pass for the moment. She wasn't sure what to pick and thought fewer options might be easier to manage.
Not wanting to fall behind, Fleur did the same.
That left Quinta from Castelobruxo to choose next. She hesitated briefly before selecting the Fireball Dragon.
This species could launch mushroom-shaped fireballs exceeding 1,200 degrees, making it devastatingly destructive. Its physical durability, however, was relatively weak, marking it as a classic "mage" type dragon.
Seeing Ariana still frozen, Fleur planted her hands on her hips and shot Kamio a sharp glare, then strode over to the models and picked the Norwegian Ridgeback. Hagrid's Norberta had been one of these—a species famed for its formidable defenses.
That left only Ariana and Daphne.
Finally, Ariana made her move. She picked up the Hungarian Horntail, pinching it by the edge with a faint look of distaste. Her nose wrinkled slightly, impatience written all over her face.
"Ugly as it is… I'll take this one."
Then she glanced at the two boys and sneered. "Cowards. Afraid of beasts and you call yourselves top champions? You might as well call yourselves weaklings."
Jauncey flushed red, both embarrassed and angry. He stiffened his neck and shot back, "If I earned an advantage, why shouldn't I use it?"
Ariana didn't even bother responding. She simply walked over to Fleur, and the two of them began quietly exchanging skincare tips.
"…Huh?"
Daphne blinked in confusion, scratching her cheek. She had been fully prepared to face the Horntail after Bagman explained the rules—but somehow, she'd ended up with a fairly average black dragon instead.
Was her luck really that good?
In truth, Ariana had her own little scheme. This was her way of doing Daphne a favor. If they became close friends later, it would be easier for her to fit into Tom's circle.
"Alright, the matchups are set," Bagman said, clapping his hands. "I'll need to step out for a bit to warm up the audience. Staff outside will call you in one by one. Got it?"
"Oh, and the order will follow the sequence of who picked their dragon first."
Everyone nodded quietly as Bagman hurried out of the waiting room.
Outside, the crowd was already restless. Crouch, stiff and old-fashioned as ever, had no idea how to work a crowd. He simply read from his script, mechanically going over the rules and recapping the previous round.
The moment Bagman arrived, Crouch handed over the role of host without hesitation, looking visibly relieved.
"Welcome—"
Bagman's lively, infectious voice boomed across the venue through magical amplification, echoing far beyond. All over the world, countless wizards sat in front of their Lume-Lenses, holding their breath as they watched.
Graduates from these seven schools might not make up half the wizarding population, but in terms of power and resources, they far exceeded that share.
A cross-school competition of this scale had never happened before.
Even Voldemort was watching.
In a dim, cramped room somewhere in Africa, the only light came from the Lume-Lens. Voldemort ignored Bagman's chatter entirely. His slit pupils narrowed slightly, bony fingers tapping unconsciously against the table as his gaze locked onto the judges' panel—specifically Dumbledore and Grindelwald sitting side by side.
Something felt… off.
He had known that Grindelwald could now come and go freely at Hogwarts, but seeing the two of them seated together, calm and composed, still felt absurd.
It was like imagining himself casually sharing drinks with Dumbledore in a tavern, chatting over meat and whiskey. Completely ridiculous.
With their history, shouldn't they be trying to kill each other on sight?
He tried to locate Tom, but Tom was tucked away in a private box, busy entertaining a little girl. Voldemort's search turned up nothing.
"Barty, you'll leave tomorrow," Voldemort said, turning to the younger man beside him. His voice was cold and venomous. "Cause as much trouble as you can. Pin it on the Acolytes. Drive a wedge between Grindelwald and Dumbledore."
Barty Jr nodded reluctantly, cursing him inwardly.
'Stir up conflict? Really? You don't even understand their actual relationship, and you're already spinning fantasies. No wonder you're hiding like a rat in the gutter.'
Having seen Grindelwald's methods up close, Barty found Voldemort's narrow vision and petty mindset increasingly laughable.
Things Grindelwald dismissed as trivial, like Horcruxes, Voldemort treated like priceless secrets, hoarding the knowledge even from his own followers.
Pathetic.
Still, leaving wasn't a bad thing. It gave him the chance to report back while away from Voldemort. He'd recently uncovered quite a bit of new information about Herpo.
.
.
.