"My God! What am I seeing?! It's that divine figure—he… he's come to Beauxbatons!"
"Quick! Inform the Headmistress!"
"Get me my quill! I want an autograph—no, I… I want to ask him a question about Transfiguration!"
In just a few short moments, with Fleur's return as the spark, the "commotion" triggered by Lin Sen's arrival erupted like a roaring avalanche, sweeping across the entire Crystal Palace.
Countless Beauxbatons students, dressed in elegant blue silk uniforms, poured out frantically from every corner of the castle.
They forgot their usual ladylike composure, cast aside their restraint and elegance.
On every face was the same expression—like the most devout believers witnessing the descent of their god into the mortal world: overwhelming reverence and excitement.
They surrounded Lin Sen and his group layer upon layer.
Those burning gazes, filled with admiration and awe, seemed ready to melt him entirely.
"Lord Lin Sen! Could you give me your autograph?"
"My Lord! I… may I… shake your hand?"
"My Lord! We all watched your lecture at Hogwarts—that was… divine revelation!"
After her initial surprise, Fleur's face quickly blossomed into a radiant smile filled with pride.
She lifted her graceful swan-like neck, like a queen showing off her most precious treasure to the world.
She knew—
From this day forward, Fleur Delacour's legend at Beauxbatons would no longer be just that of a Triwizard Champion.
But rather—
The Saintess who guided a god into the mortal realm.
Lin Sen's arrival at Beauxbatons caused an unprecedented sensation.
That very evening, to welcome this legendary "god" and celebrate Fleur Delacour's triumphant return, Beauxbatons hosted a grand banquet of the highest order in its Crystal Hall—far more magnificent and dreamlike than Hogwarts' Great Hall.
The ceiling of the hall was a single विशाल enchanted crystal, perfectly reflecting the vast, unpolluted starry sky above the Pyrenees.
Elegant ice sculptures stood quietly throughout the hall, radiating a gentle chill. Swarms of tireless wood sprites fluttered through the air, playing the most enchanting melodies of nature.
All Beauxbatons staff and students wore their most exquisite formal attire.
Even Vincent Dubois, Minister of Magic of France, along with numerous elites and dignitaries of the French magical world, were present.
Without question—
Lin Sen was the absolute, singular center of attention.
Every toast raised to him carried the utmost respect and humility.
"Lord Lin Sen, your arrival brings glory to all of France!"
"My Lord, on behalf of the French Alchemists' Association, I offer you our highest सम्मान! Your mastery in potion-making is nothing short of miraculous!"
And yet—
Beneath this near-pilgrimage-like praise, Lin Sen keenly detected something subtle.
A faint, deeply rooted… French arrogance.
Yes—arrogance.
They respected him because of his overwhelming power, capable of destroying the world.
But deep within, they still clung to pride in their centuries-old magical civilization—one built upon "art," "elegance," and "bloodline."
They acknowledged him as a "god," yet subconsciously placed themselves as the chosen people of that god.
At the height of the banquet, that hidden arrogance finally revealed itself—gracefully, yet unmistakably.
Olympe Maxime, Headmistress of Beauxbatons, a towering and elegant witch of half-giant heritage, slowly rose from her seat.
Her face bore a perfect, impeccable smile.
"Lord Lin Sen," her voice resonated like a cello, deep and magnetic, "your presence honors Beauxbatons."
"Your godlike wisdom and power displayed during the Triwizard Tournament remain unforgettable to us."
It sounded like praise.
But Lin Sen caught the faint trace of… unwillingness in her eyes.
Yes—even after witnessing his later, world-shaking feats, she still harbored lingering resentment over how, during the Triwizard Tournament, an unknown boy had overshadowed everything with overwhelming dominance.
"Tonight," Maxime continued with a smile, "we at Beauxbatons would like to present a small demonstration of the French magical world's… understanding of 'magical exchange.'"
The moment her words fell—
A formless, indescribable wave of seductive spiritual energy erupted from her!
This was not Dark Magic, nor an offensive spell.
It was—
The power of her other heritage, far purer and stronger than Fleur's:
Veela Aura.
Like the finest love potion… like the gentlest Imperius Curse…
It silently enveloped the entire hall.
It acted directly upon the souls of all male beings, instantly stirring their deepest instincts, compelling them to kneel willingly at her feet.
In an instant—
Every male wizard present, from young students to high-ranking officials, fell into a dazed trance!
Their eyes turned glassy, their expressions foolish and entranced. Some even began to rise, ready to kneel before the queen-like Maxime.
Even the female students felt their minds sway, overcome with inferiority.
This—
It was her test.
And her declaration.
She wanted Lin Sen to understand:
Power was not only meteors and ice capable of destroying worlds.
There was also this—
Subtle, bloodline-born domination over the soul.
France's magical world was not something to be easily subdued.
The entire hall fell under her Veela Aura.
All eyes turned to the one man still clear-minded—
Lin Sen, calmly sipping a glass of Burgundy.
Silence filled the Crystal Hall.
Maxime, wearing a victor's smile, gazed at him.
And Lin Sen—
Remaining utterly composed.
As if the overwhelming allure surrounding him was nothing more than a faintly scented breeze.
He even lifted the glass to his nose, gently inhaled—
Then frowned slightly.
"The vintage… is lacking."
He murmured softly.
But in that silence, his words struck like a thunderous slap across Maxime's pride.
Contempt.
Pure, undisguised contempt from a higher existence.
Her expression shifted instantly.
She unleashed her Veela bloodline power without restraint.
A far more intense, almost tangible pink aura surged toward him like a tidal wave!
She would make him pay for his arrogance!
And yet—
Lin Sen did not even raise his eyelids.
He simply finished his wine.
Set the glass down.
In that instant—
His unparalleled comprehension activated.
Concept: How to suppress Veela Aura not through magic, but at the fundamental level of bloodline?
Analysis: Veela Aura is essentially a higher lifeform exerting spiritual pheromone dominance over a lower one.
To counter it, no need for force—
Only a higher, older, more primordial bloodline.
Solution: Release a trace of pseudo-divine bloodline pressure—embodying creation, origin, and eternity.
Spell Constructed: Bloodline Suppression.
No light.
No sound.
No detectable energy.
Yet—
The moment that faint presence emerged—
Maxime's face turned deathly pale.
Her overwhelming Veela Aura collapsed instantly upon contact—
Like fireflies before the birth of the universe.
Like a river predator sensing a cosmic dragon.
It wasn't suppressed.
It wasn't destruction.
It was—
Absolute, instinctive submission at the deepest genetic level.
"Thud!"
Her body trembled violently, her legs nearly giving out beneath her.
Her proud bloodline became her greatest burden.
Her soul screamed.
Her blood wailed.
All her pride—shattered.
Before the stunned eyes of every French wizard…
Before the proud gazes of Fleur, Hermione, and the others…
Olympe Maxime—
Headmistress of Beauxbatons.
Queen of Veela bloodline—
Slowly…
Deeply…
Lowered her head.
"I… for my ignorance and offense…"
Her voice trembled.
"…offer you… my sincerest apology."
That bow—
Was not hers alone.
It was the shattering—
Of the last pride of the entire French magical world.
The hall froze.
No one understood what had happened.
He hadn't moved.
He hadn't cast a spell.
Yet he made a witch rivaling Dumbledore bow.
This was no longer magic.
This—
Was divine authority.
If before, they had witnessed his power—
Now—
They felt his divinity.
Unfathomable.
Untouchable.
Unquestionable.
~~--------------------------
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