A fair judge can hardly settle family disputes, and this time, Allen really couldn't help Marshall.
Things had escalated to this point—not entirely Marshall's fault—but how could Allen possibly help?
Helping someone make a choice is the least reliable thing in the world. The final decision had to come from Marshall himself. The only thing Allen could do was perhaps lay a bouquet on Marshall's grave someday—and when seeing someone else flirt recklessly, Allen could say: "I once had a roommate just like him, and let me tell you, he didn't pass away peacefully. Not even a single blade of grass grows on his grave, thanks to the curses he carried when he died…"
The path you choose, Marshall, you must kneel and walk it to the end.
Allen silently glanced at the file one last time, returning it to Zongze. The latter didn't dare touch it, as if it were poisoned.
"Allen, you should take it. I secretly copied it—I can't carry this around. If anyone saw me handling it, I'd be dead," Zongze said, pale as a sheet.
Excellent—Marshall was one step closer to death.
Allen pocketed the documents and bid farewell to the still-panicked Zongze, receiving one last instruction: "Please… make sure your roommate obeys Tsutsugami-senpai!"
Allen just smiled and didn't respond—he was instead calculating how best to use Marshall's position if one less person was involved.
======
When Allen returned to camp, Marshall was in utter chaos, muttering incoherently, seemingly unable to make a decision.
Allen kindly handed him a portion of simple documents, his expression gentle, like a top-tier insurance salesman.
Grasping this lifeline, Marshall greedily devoured the papers. He didn't even thank Allen, instead sitting on the ground and frantically reading as if the documents could save his life—after all, Allen's reputation at school was well-known. Perhaps these contained strategies or references on handling his predicament. Although this thought was bold, Marshall successfully fooled himself.
As a result, his face visibly paled. Beads of cold sweat formed at his temples, dripping to the ground. What he thought was a lifeline from Allen was actually more like a lead weight.
This performance naturally drew the attention of the other dorm mates, who weren't strangers. Soon, the documents circulated among them.
After reviewing everything, sympathy painted everyone's faces. They looked at Allen, who shrugged and spread his hands: "I can't say who gave them to me—but this information is reliable."
Good—information confirmed.
The closest, Shane, patted Marshall on the shoulder: "Cheer up, brother. I believe in you. And those collectible items in your will? Give them to me. Brothers' honor. Every year on this day, I'll make sure to lay flowers at your grave."
Once someone takes the lead, the rest follow. As they walked past, Marshall's face turned ghostly pale, and he cast his last hopeful glance at Allen.
"Good luck… I'm of no use… just leave a bit of stuff on my bed, you know, I have a lot of junk."
A fatal blow.
The demoralized Marshall didn't recover even by dinner. Lethargically, he said he wanted to be alone and skipped the meal.
Considering Marshall's state, Allen didn't ask who he wanted to be alone with and simply went out to eat with his own roommate. Not because Allen was cruel—it was because, in this situation, a twice-lucky guy like Marshall wasn't worth pitying!
Left alone, Marshall began reflecting on life.
Hogwarts students started calling friends over for dinner. Today was another mixed-table day. Because of familiar faces, tables would often fill with kids from different houses. Arrive late, and your house's table might be packed, forcing you to boldly take a seat elsewhere.
Allen and his group arrived early enough to snag seats without issue, waiting for the meal to begin.
As they chatted, the topic gradually shifted to Marshall, making him the center of attention—inevitable, considering the public display of affection by a prefect and the girl's senior status.
Thanks to Marshall's unselfish sharing spirit, his reputation among the boys was solid. So when the girls discussed it—even those secretly interested in the prefect but too timid to speak felt a pang of envy—they didn't speak ill. As for the girls, Marshall had no bad reputation, and the girl was highly respected among her peers.
The result? A perfect scene—no one spoke ill.
The well-wishes and talk of beautiful love were endless, leaving Allen and his group visibly twisted in expression. Other boys laughed off the afternoon's events, but Allen and his friends knew the full story.
Awkward. They could only offer polite congratulations and continue eating, avoiding the topic. For now, at least until Marshall made a decision.
But fate is relentless.
Teenagers in love are notoriously irrational—no one could keep their cool.
As Allen's group ate, a black ponytail appeared in the distance.
Among the mostly Hogwarts students, this uncommon hairstyle immediately drew attention. Soon, a finely featured, delicate face appeared, catching everyone's eye.
It was a girl. Though she wore the same pink robes as the local wizards, her clean, sharp aura and the rare athletic vibe made a strong first impression.
She wore a gentle smile, scanning the crowd as if searching for someone.
Moments later, she seemed to spot her target. Quickening her pace, she approached Allen's table, stopping in front of Shane. She bowed slightly—before she spoke, Shane's face lit up in a remarkable expression.