The Last Patrol in London

To Allen's surprise, he'd been tricked.

There was no headmaster waiting for him. Instead, he opened the door to find a bunch of mischievous kids holding candles. The moment the door swung open, two bouquets exploded in his face, showering him with streamers and confetti. In the middle of the room, a small cake and a few dishes that barely qualified as "festive" revealed the truth, this wasn't a summons from the headmaster at all. It was a farewell party thrown by these little rascals.

If this were a storybook, Allen would be deeply moved, and the kids would be inspired by his departure to better themselves and pursue brighter futures. It would all be very heartwarming... and very idealistic.

But Allen didn't feel moved. He felt a headache coming on.

Who told these little brats he was leaving tomorrow!?

What a joke! It was still weeks before Hogwarts started!

One of the kids, a ginger-haired boy, clearly the ringleader, stepped forward, candle in hand, and solemnly declared, "Brother Allen, they said you're going off to boarding school soon. We didn't have much to give you, so we put together this farewell party to wish you all the best!"

Touching words… if only Allen couldn't hear the barely suppressed delight in his tone.

He glanced around. The rest of the kids were clearly thrilled too. Those who weren't outright gleeful wore expressions of worship, not sorrow.

Merlin's woolen socks! Was this really a farewell party, or a celebration of his departure!?

And those who looked up to him… had they actually believed the nonsense stories he'd made up to impress them?

This trend had to be stopped, now.

Allen curled his right index and middle fingers and smacked the ringleader on the head, earning a yelp of pain. He scowled and snapped, "School starts on September first. It's only August right now! You little, "

He didn't get to finish.

Gasps burst out from the kids around him, and he heard the flapping of wings behind him. Turning his head, he spotted a brown owl flying in with a letter tied to its leg. The owl gracefully landed on the table he'd been facing.

Allen picked a smoked sardine from a nearby plate and held it out to the owl. Apparently satisfied with the offering, the bird gulped it down before lifting its left leg, allowing Allen to remove the letter.

The seal was the same familiar crest, but inside was just a single item: a train ticket. He didn't need to examine it closely to know it was for the Hogwarts Express, departing from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Once the owl flew off, the kids erupted into amazed whispers: "So cool," "That was awesome," and other such reactions. To them, a tame owl delivering a post was practically a miracle.

"Alright, quiet down," Allen said, holding up his hand. "You got the date wrong, but since you've already gone to all this trouble, I'll talk to the headmaster. Just for tonight, we'll extend bedtime to eleven."

That single statement sent the room into chaos. For these overly energetic kids, a 9:30 bedtime was practically prison. The chance to stay up later was pure bliss.

Still, to Allen's surprise, not even the rowdiest kid lasted past 10:30. Their internal clocks were too well-trained, none of them were older than twelve, after all.

After helping the headmaster carry a few of the littlest ones, who'd fallen asleep on the table, back to their beds, Allen wished him a good night and returned to his room.

It was just past eleven. But the night was only beginning.

Despite all the surprises today, Allen had no plans to change his usual routine.

Even for the sake of his own health, he never missed his Wednesday night ritual: roaming London until nearly dawn. As for the missed sleep, sorry, old lady Elsa. There were already plenty of people dozing off during Thursday's theology lecture. What's one more?

Nighttime London had its own charm. Unlike the bustling daytime city, nighttime London felt like a city that had collapsed from exhaustion. The shuttered storefronts gave way to the glow of clubs and bars, injecting the streets with new, unruly energy, and wherever there's light like that, there's always a shadow nearby.

Allen had stepped into those shadows many times. Though he never used lethal force, the abilities granted by his system, even without access to full hero skills, were more than enough to let him act freely and safely.

He hadn't saved any damsels, but he'd definitely taken down his share of muggers, hopefully the trash bins and their empty wallets taught them a thing or two after a night of unconscious reflection.

But tonight? A total bust. London was just too safe these days.

Allen's Wednesday excursions had been fruitless for weeks, until the final Wednesday of August.

By then, Allen was getting nervous. If he didn't make a move that night, he'd have no time or chance to earn more Galleons until the next summer. And it wasn't like he had any other brilliant money-making ideas, he was, after all, still just an eleven-year-old kid.

But finally, it seemed Lady Luck was smiling.

He was beginning to lose hope when a loud gunshot rang out up ahead, followed by the stench of blood, and then, a man sprinting toward him.

From the smoking pistol in the man's hand, it was obvious who had pulled the trigger. Before Allen could even react, the shooter raised the gun again and opened fire, without a word.

It was the first time Allen had seen someone so vicious. But it didn't matter.

With a twitch of his fingers, a faint blue shimmer formed in the air, just in time for the bullet to strike it. The shimmering barrier cracked, absorbed the impact, and disappeared like it had never been there at all.

Even Caitlyn's high-caliber rifle from Piltover couldn't pierce that shield. A regular handgun was child's play.

Allen responded with a flick of his wrist, an orb of lightning slammed into the man.

Battle over. Total time: three seconds.

Most of that time was spent dragging the guy to the bottom of the Thames. Thankfully, the river wasn't far, and the banks had plenty of stones.

The reward? Worth it. A thousand pounds was no small sum. As for consequences, ha! No body meant no real investigation. To the police, it would be just another shooting incident with a fugitive on the run. Even if the Ministry of Magic got involved, they'd never connect it to a Hogwarts first-year, especially one who hadn't even used a wand.

Killing wasn't a big deal when it was self-defense. The only real issue?

Allen did the math. A thousand pounds was only around 200 Galleons. Once converted in the system, that was just 2,000 coins, still far from the 6,300 he needed.

So, in the name of Merlin… please send me more Muggle killers.

The rich kind.