CHAPTER 47

Boys to the right, girls to the left. The changing room consisted of seven distinct areas separated by screens, each equipped with seating, a large and unadorned closet nearly reaching the ceiling, and a door leading to the shower—and possibly a toilet. Cedric nodded toward one such alcove.

"Your uniform is there; they've provided you with one of the reserve brooms for the time being. Perhaps you'll decide to invest in something more substantial, but for now, acclimate yourself to the relatively new Cleansweep."

"And what about clothing sizes?" I inquired.

"By estimation, but it adjusts to fit—within reasonable limits."

We proceeded to the "cabins" and quickly began to change. Not a minute had passed before we could clearly hear Tamsin's voice again as I sorted through the uniform, pants, shin guards, and other protective gear for my arms, legs, and head.

"Wizards sometimes engaged in such lawlessness that it would make your blood run cold," the muffled voice of the girl echoed. "In those days, wizards already had their own system of governance, as well as methods of punishment. Collaboration with the church in eradicating criminal elements was commonplace, as was the exchange of various information. Some orders even collected books and knowledge, regardless of whether that knowledge was deemed sinful or abominable. This led to schisms, unrest, and other forms of turmoil within the church. Consequently, the perception of wizards began to shift rapidly and dramatically."

After changing, the boys and I emerged from the changing room to await the girls.

"And then… Damn it, button up… And then everything deteriorated, but Hogwarts had already been established, and wizards of all ages were being trained, and so forth. By the way…"

The girl emerged, holding a broom in her hands.

"…some of the architectural features of our school are directly borrowed from certain abbeys, and the Great Hall, along with the central courtyard and a few adjoining structures, is essentially a slightly modified replica of Gloucester Cathedral, which was constructed around the same time. Of course, it lacks any religious themes, and the walls of the Great Hall are less ornate to emphasize the beauty of the charms on the ceiling. However, pay attention to the walls; few notice them, yet I've been admiring the craftsmanship for five years."

"That's all quite fascinating," Cedric nodded. "I'd be pleased if Professor Binns were to share such insights rather than recounting tales of goblin rebellions. But shall we take to the skies?"

"Of course," the boys nodded in agreement, smiling.

"Then let us proceed!"

In a somewhat chaotic manner, we tumbled out of our locker room and then out of the building itself, immediately mounting our brooms and taking flight. I was once again enveloped by the sensation of complete immersion in the act of flying, acutely aware of the air surrounding me and the entirety of my environment—akin to a three-dimensional radar. Is it magic that enables the realization of what has been ingrained through decades of flight? Who can say? The probability is quite high, as the average human body lacks the physiological structures to fully comprehend the sensory capabilities afforded by the systems of a high-tech void fighter.

"Well, what's the plan—tag?" Cedric shouted over the roar of the wind in our ears.

"Yes!" I replied.

"Then catch this!" Cedric produced an object from the inner pocket of his uniform and tossed it into the air.

We pursued him, and this scattering of identical objects seemed to fall into our hands—though that was not entirely accurate; we were catching them. It resembled a glove with metal inserts on the back, but the glove only covered two fingers—the index and middle. Judging by the expressions of the others, they understood the purpose, but I did not. Cedric noticed my confusion and slowed down slightly to match my pace.

"You wear it, point two fingers at a target within two meters. A beam will appear; maintain the connection for five seconds, and the target will transform from prey to hunter."

"I understand; it seems straightforward."

We formed a wedge, circling Hogwarts as we soared through the nearly illuminated sky. In a few moments, the red dawn would yield to a full sunrise. As soon as I donned the glove, it blinked red and remained dimly aglow.

"Oh, you're in for it!" Cedric grinned and abruptly veered away, as did the others.

"Alright," a mischievous grin crept onto my face.

In an instant, fully immersed in the sensations of "feedback" with the broom, I focused intently on the sensory perception of everything around me—particularly the broom itself. I pressed myself sharply against the shaft, sprawling across it. A determined impulse, a swift maneuver to the side—flying became as effortless as moving my own body. More practice was required, of course. After all, it is akin to mastering one's own body—you must sense, feel, and control, yet the absence of reflexive responses to various stimuli necessitates conscious thought. Fortunately, I am adept at "thinking" quickly.

Thanks to my heightened awareness of the surrounding space, I found I could rely on my vision alone. A clear and coherent understanding emerged that the broom seemed to possess numerous engines operating in all directions and planes, even though thrust could only be utilized in a third of those directions. This understanding, when attempting to accelerate forward, allowed me to employ not only the "main engine" itself—one acceleration vector—but also to assist myself with "steering engines," which could provide additional thrust in any direction.

I do not believe this characteristic of the broom is a closely guarded secret. Observe how Cedric accelerated far more rapidly than his Cleansweep should allow, and judging by the model number, it is the same as mine. Moreover, Cedric himself is not lacking in physical prowess. However, knowing this is one thing; overcoming instinctual responses and the preconceived notions of spatial movement ingrained in one's mind is another. Our cognition can limit us—the pilot's fragment also contended with this. No neural network, knowledge, or simulator can transform one into an exceptional pilot until new knowledge is ingrained at the instinctual level.

For now, however… Let us engage in a "dogfight."

***

Two individuals on brooms hovered high above a verdant meadow, illuminated by the morning sun that had emerged from behind the hills. Behind them lay Hogwarts, while ahead stood the Quidditch pitch, complete with its towering stands and turrets. Upon closer inspection, one could discern figures in red uniforms flying on brooms; it was the Gryffindor team frolicking within the pitch. Meanwhile, the two individuals observed as four of their teammates, moving at great speeds and executing incredible maneuvers, pursued a fifth, attempting to strike him with a blue beam of light emitted from the gloves on their hands. Their efforts were in vain, as the fifth individual performed astonishingly sharp and unexpected maneuvers.