Chapter 568: Warrior Selection 2
"Castrobsche’s champion — Digo Costa!"
A dark-skinned boy with curly hair stood up, flashing a dazzling grin. He glanced at the tense faces beside him, then raised his thumb. "I’ll be waiting for you back here — good luck!"
Principal Cavallio clapped enthusiastically. The boy ran forward, first embracing his headmaster, then making his way toward the room behind the Great Hall.
"Artur Faria!"
A disheveled boy stood up, tugging at his shirt as he walked down the central aisle.
"Isabela Santos!"
A girl with sun-kissed skin and wild curls leapt to her feet with a joyful shout. She didn’t notice the classmate beside her trying to celebrate with her — too eager to join the others, she dashed down the aisle, catching up to Artur at the hut entrance and barrel-rolling into the door with the force of a cannonball.
The Great Hall, already buzzing with applause, erupted into laughter.
Cavallo chuckled, shaking his head in amused resignation.
Flames surged. Charred parchment spiraled into the sky, only to be caught mid-air by Dumbledore.
"Magic Institute’s champion —"
A dozen students in golden robes simultaneously lifted their heads, their expressions taut with anticipation.
"Itō Tai!"
A boy with a spiky haircut exhaled deeply, then rose with measured steps, walking steadily through the Great Hall. At the hut entrance, he paused, turning back to wait.
"Kitajima Tachihana!"
A dark-haired girl, seemingly seventeen or eighteen, lifted her chin and pulled back her chair, stepping out of line. A few nearby students watched her with visible envy.
"Asada Chika!"
A short, doll-faced girl shot up instantly, her face barely concealing a smile. She moved with light, quick steps toward her two companions ahead.
"That’s the thirteen-year-old student… I can’t believe she actually got picked," Wade heard someone whisper nearby.
Before the trio’s figures had fully vanished through the entrance, the Triwizard Cup began emitting new names.
"Wagadoo’s champion," Dumbledore said, adjusting his glasses and holding the note at arm’s length to read, "Babuaya Okondo!"
The applause faltered slightly. All eyes turned to the towering figure rising from his seat — nearly two meters tall, with the physique of a thirty-year-old man. A collective intake of breath echoed through the hall.
The giant brushed a hand through his light-colored hair, then strode forward with steady, confident steps toward the hut — unfazed by the stares.
"Jabari Wiven!"
Another tall boy stood, his most striking feature being his near-black skin. If he closed his eyes and mouth, he could vanish completely into the night.
"This home boy has a massive advantage in night battles," Terry murmured, concerned. "If he just hides, who’d even find him?"
"Would a tracking spell detect him?" Michael asked Wade.
Wade nodded. "Of course. Even without a spell, I’d sense him."
Relief washed over the crowd.
"Amina Jabri!"
A girl stepped forward, her eyebrows slightly arched, her gaze sharp and intelligent. Though slender, her movements radiated vitality — a graceful, powerful cheetah in motion.
Michael remarked, "She reminds me of Professor Abigail."
Anthony, anxious, asked, "When will Hogwarts be called?"
"Ask the cup," Michael replied.
"Kodostoriz’s champion — Yuri Ivanov!"
A boy with the build of a bear stood, scars marking his face. As he rose, the applause paused once more. He walked forward in silence, eyes fixed straight ahead, not glancing at anyone.
"Natalia Petrova!"
"Hey, Harry!" Ron called from the Gryffindor table. "Isn’t that the girl who talked to you?"
"Yeah… yeah, it is," Harry replied, surprised. He hadn’t expected her to become a champion. He clapped vigorously, still processing the shock.
Natalia smiled at him — warm, gentle, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
Harry instinctively glanced toward the Ravenclaw table. Qiu Zhang was smiling, watching the new champion with quiet approval. A quiet flutter of anticipation stirred in Harry’s chest. If my name were called… would I get a smile like that too?
"Olga Las!"
A handsome redhead stood, stepping forward with confidence amid the well-wishes of his peers.
"Salem Academy —"
Wade froze for a moment, glancing at the staff table. He saw Antoine leaning forward slightly, eyes fixed on the cup — clearly watching to see which champions Salem would produce.
The Salem headmistress, a woman named Owens, remained composed. Her calm gaze rested on her students with quiet assurance.
Wade remembered Salem Academy’s history — born from the witch hunts, when surviving witches banded together in secret. As more wizard children were taken in, the group evolved into a school. According to information Antoine had shared, the school’s founder had endured profound tragedy. As a result, every new student still studied the darkest chapter of the witch hunts upon arrival — and the school held an annual memorial day.
It was a magical institution built on sorrow — and the scars of that past still lingered in the eyes of its students and teachers.
"Abby Williams!"
A pale girl with long red-brown hair stood, but remained still, waiting quietly.
"Hope Cruz!"
From the corner of the hall, a slight, almost invisible girl stood. Her head hung low, her hair falling like a curtain over her eyes.
"Samuel Freeman!"
The boy, still clutching his books, rose. The three walked together toward the hut. At Owens’ podium, they paused, bowing slightly.
"Go on," Owens said softly. "I’ll be there shortly."
"Mando’s champion —" Dumbledore continued, his voice clear and steady, "Arjun Rajput!"
A deep-skinned boy stood, scanning the room. After a moment, he decided to wait for his housemates.
The seated students exchanged nervous glances, trying to hide their tension — but their hands trembled slightly on their laps.
"Pria Patel!"
A tall boy with a sharp nose and deep-set eyes stood, exhaled quietly, then clasped his hands together and bowed to his classmates in thanks.
"Ganesh Ayan!"
A round-faced, soft-featured boy with thick lashes rose. He was visibly younger than the others, his face etched with clear surprise.
The three walked toward the hut. Padma watched their backs, then gave a quiet, disdainful snort.
"What’s wrong?" Michael asked, concerned. "Do you know someone in there?"
(End of Chapter)
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