Two minutes later, Kyle was nearly blinded by the mountain of gold piled high in the vault.
"This… how much is all this?"
The golden heap was practically touching the cavern's ceiling.
"In truth, compared to the wealth your father possessed at the height of his power, this is but a drop in the bucket," came the reply.
Kyle turned his head, dumbfounded. A drop in the bucket?
Right, of course—his father had once been the supreme leader of the wizarding world, with influence spanning all of Europe…
Alright, fine. He was just too inexperienced.
With this fortune in hand, Kyle instantly dismissed a certain audacious idea that had been brewing in his mind.
Truth be told, while riding the cart through the winding tracks down to the depths of Gringotts, Kyle had been memorizing the terrain and noting the bank's security measures.
He'd even started formulating a preliminary plan, just waiting for the day he could recruit a few like-minded teammates to form the Yinggelan Trio and put his scheme into action.
But now, with this massive fortune, there was no need for a poor farmer's descendant like him—three generations deep in poverty—to take such a reckless risk.
Still… it'd be so tempting to pull off a heist!
"So, Professor, are we going to buy a wand now?" Standing on the street outside, Kyle fought to keep his eyes from drifting back toward Gringotts.
"Hmm… let's get your clothes first. Custom tailoring takes time, so we'll buy everything else and pick up the robes later."
Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions was just one shop away from Gringotts, and Kyle found it easily.
As he approached the entrance, voices spilled out from inside.
"I think the left sleeve could be taken up a bit more, dear. Let me—"
"Ow!" a young boy's voice yelped. "Watch it! Mind where you're sticking that needle, you daft woman! Mum, I don't want this robe!"
Another voice, laced with indulgence, chimed in. "You're right, Draco. Now I see what kind of riffraff shops here… We'll find better at Twilfitt and Tatting's."
Before Kyle could push open the door, it was flung outward with force, the gust ruffling his bangs.
Standing before him was a primped-up, high-quality human cub—platinum blonde hair slicked back into a neat style, his handsome face wearing a haughty expression.
Just a spoiled brat, Kyle thought.
He was about to step aside when the boy spoke.
"Out of my way!" Draco sneered, eyeing Kyle's Muggle clothing. "You filthy Mudblood!"
The insult made Kyle reconsider immediately. He didn't know what "Mudblood" meant, but the venom in the word was clear enough.
For a pampered kid like this, a taste of society's harsh lessons might do some good.
Glancing back, he saw Professor Dumbledore hadn't caught up yet. Perfect.
Let's do this.
Kyle narrowed his eyes, pulling a small, round object from his pocket and hurling it to the ground.
With a soft pop, a burst of blinding light flashed.
Draco's vision blurred, and Kyle's figure vanished from his sight.
A foot appeared behind Draco out of nowhere, sending him sprawling to the ground with a swift kick.
"Konoha Taijutsu Secret Technique!" Kyle's hands formed the Tiger seal, his face twisting into a wild, devilish grin. "Thousand Years of Death!"
Draco, now kneeling on the ground, felt an inexplicable tightening in a certain area the moment he heard those words.
(`д´)
Draco: I'm washing seaweed, yo, washing seaweed, yo~
A blood-curdling scream tore through the air as a figure traced a graceful parabola through the sky.
To leap that far in a frog-like crouch—Kyle mused that this brat, Draco, could probably compete in the Olympic pole vault without a pole.
"You… you!*" Draco whimpered, clutching an unmentionable area, his voice trembling, then breaking into sobs, and finally erupting into full-on wailing.
Having delivered the crippling Thousand Years of Death, Kyle calmly spat out a water ball to wash his hands, then looked skyward, pretending nothing had happened.
"Draco! What's wrong?!" A blonde woman rushed out of Madam Malkin's, her eyes wide with panic.
Narcissa Malfoy glared at Kyle, who was still gazing at the sky, but then her eyes fell on the elderly man standing behind him.
"Dumb—"
Kyle cut in, playing the victim. "Professor, he called me a 'Mudblood.'"
"Mrs. Malfoy, is this true?" Dumbledore's gaze shifted to the sobbing boy in his mother's arms, his usually kind eyes taking on a frosty edge.
Emboldened by his mother's presence, Draco, still reeling from the attack, puffed up. "Look at his clothes! He's obviously a Mud—"
"Draco!" Narcissa snapped, cutting off her son's reckless words.
"My apologies, Professor Dumbledore. He's still just a child."
Standing beside Dumbledore, Kyle muttered under his breath, "He'll learn better in his next life."
Black lines seemed to form on Dumbledore's forehead.
Next life? Are you planning to kill him?
Dumbledore suddenly felt Newt's warning was spot-on—Hogwarts was about to get very lively.
"I believe young Mr. Malfoy could benefit from a lesson in proper manners," Dumbledore said, casting a glance at Draco, whose face was now flushed red from his mother's scolding.
Narcissa's expression darkened further. After a curt farewell to Dumbledore, she dragged her wailing son away without looking back.
Dumbledore looked down at Kyle, then at the suspicious puddle on the ground nearby. "We were only a few steps apart, and you've already caused trouble."
"Er, Professor, to be precise, trouble found me." Kyle pulled a homemade kunai from his ninja pouch. "If I'd meant business, I'd have used this."
In his mind, Kyle added silently: If I'd figured out how to make explosive tags, I might've slapped one on it too.
Just like how Naruto took down Gaara.
The sharp weapon was swiftly confiscated, along with his ninja pouch.
Kyle looked up to see Dumbledore's face darken.
Feigning innocence, Kyle blinked at him, then pointed to a shop behind Dumbledore. "Oh, right, Professor! Fancy some ice cream?"
As Kyle bounded toward Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, Dumbledore rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on.
For the first time in his life, he understood what it was like to wrangle a child—especially one with such destructive potential.
--