London. Foggy. Dense fog.
On a nearly pitch-black street under the thick haze, a young boy was packing up his stall, planning to head home early.
He wore a black hat and a black trench coat. The outfit naturally drew attention to his face: a high nose bridge, perfectly shaped lips, and a charming smile. One had to admit, this was the kind of boy who easily won the favor of women.
Especially older women.
Just as the boy was about to leave—
"Young fortune teller, do you have time?"
A soft voice called from behind.
Ian Prince turned his head.
Reflected in his green eyes was a graceful, refined woman dressed in a blue checkered turtleneck dress, with a cute brown-haired girl beside her.
The girl's hair was as fluffy as a bird's nest.
"Of course. Fate has made me linger a moment longer—clearly just to wait for this very moment." Ian Prince slipped into his role instantly, resuming business.
His practiced tone was far too mature for a child. "Every kind of divination is a glimpse into the future. If madam doesn't mind, may I ask your name?"
"You may call me Mrs. Granger." Looking at Ian Prince's finely sculpted face, Mrs. Granger found him utterly adorable.
It had to be said—
Good looks made it easier to win others over. Ian could charm many young girls with just his appearance, let alone a woman of Mrs. Granger's age.
"Alright then, Mrs. Granger. What would you like to ask about?"
Ian smiled and began laying out his tools again.
"Of course, I'd like to know about—" Mrs. Granger began, but before she could finish, the little girl next to her pulled her hand away and marched up to Ian's table, looking displeased.
"You better not try to trick us with this nonsense! It's nothing more than a psychological trick! There's no such thing as fortune-telling or magic in this world!"
"Behind every so-called mysterious method is sleight of hand, illusion, deception—science has long since proven this. You should read Lies of the Middle Ages sometime."
Despite her delicate and pretty appearance, the little girl tried her best to look fierce. It was both adorable and amusing. Her mother's expression changed, and she stepped forward to scold her.
Ian raised a hand to stop Mrs. Granger.
"A fine suggestion. Let me give you one too—New Principles of Numerical Divination is an excellent book. You might want to check it out."
Ian wasn't at all annoyed by the girl's skepticism. On the contrary, he responded cheerfully, which only left the girl feeling like she had punched a pillow.
Her doll-like face flushed red with frustration.
"There's no such thing as magic in this world!"
The little girl insisted again.
"What if there is?"
Ian tilted his head, looking at the girl who was a bit shorter than him.
"Then I'll eat your table!"
The girl declared with complete confidence.
"Oh, alright then, Miss Hermione Granger. I'll remember your words. People who break promises tend to go bald when they grow up, you know." Ian's grin grew even brighter.
"How do you know my name?!"
The little girl—
Hermione Granger—jumped in shock. She quickly turned back to her mother in a panic, only to find Mrs. Granger staring at Ian in astonishment.
"Shall we begin, Mrs. Granger?"
Maintaining his air of mystery, Ian shuffled his tarot cards, then laid out four of them on the table. He'd never felt this comfortable showing off during his previous fortune-telling gigs.
Just look at the girl—
She had already hidden behind her mother in fear.
"You must've pulled some kind of trick! Don't trust him, Mum!" Hermione still clung to her materialist beliefs, though she no longer dared approach the boy who had called her by name.
"We'd like to proceed, Mr. Fortune Teller."
Mrs. Granger's eyes were now sparkling, paying no mind to Hermione's protests. Her voice carried more seriousness and interest than before.
Ian ignored Hermione's glare and motioned for Mrs. Granger to choose a card.
Mrs. Granger immediately picked one—when the card was flipped, Ian raised an eyebrow and gave her a slight smile.
"The Fool, madam."
At his words—
Hermione, though still disgruntled, perked up her ears.
Mrs. Granger clasped her hands in anticipation.
"Mr. Fortune Teller, what does that mean?"
Ian bowed slightly and said, "That depends on you, madam. When you drew this card, what was it you were thinking about?"
Mrs. Granger nodded, a knowing expression on her face.
"I just wanted to know… will my Hermione be able to get into her dream school next year?" Like most parents, her main concern was her child.
Ian encountered this kind of question often.
Still—
He put on a look of sudden realization.
"So you're asking on behalf of your daughter."
Ian's tone was flawlessly impressed.
"Yes, young fortune teller. Can you tell me the answer?" As she spoke, Mrs. Granger took five pounds from her bag and handed it to Ian.
Ian smiled gently and looked at Hermione.
At that moment, the little girl seemed curious too, though when she noticed Ian looking at her, she quickly turned away, as if to show she didn't care.
But—
Her frequent sideways glances gave her away. She was clearly intrigued by the reading's outcome.
Saying one thing, feeling another.
Reasonable enough.
After all, she was a future witch—one of the original trio from the books. Though born to Muggle parents, she had the innate gift of magic. Deep down, she naturally had a wizard's curiosity about the unknown.
"Of course, no problem." Ian Prince said with a gentle smile. He picked up the Fool card from the table and began to explain slowly to Mrs. Granger.
"It signifies a new beginning and adventure."
"Next year, your daughter will be admitted to the school most suited to her. And in the future, she will achieve great things—held in high regard, admired by all."
Ian had been fortune-telling for some time, but never had his tone sounded so certain.
Mrs. Granger immediately broke into a wide smile, clearly overjoyed.
Hermione, on the other hand, just pouted in silence.
But from the slight curl at the corner of her lips, it was obvious she was in a good mood too.
"Thank you, young fortune teller. We'll be taking our leave now." Having received a satisfying answer, Mrs. Granger waved goodbye to Ian with a cheerful expression.
Hermione couldn't wait to tug her mother away.
After just a few steps—
She couldn't help but turn around and make a fierce little face at Ian. Looking down at the Fool tarot card in his hand, Ian couldn't resist a playful urge and raised his voice slightly.
"Oh, and in the future, she'll have two wonderful sons."
Mrs. Granger turned around in surprise, one eyebrow raised with a laugh. "Wow, actually, I think two kids might be a bit too few."
"I'm not having kids!"
Hermione's face turned bright red.
Mrs. Granger reached over to pat her on the head.
Ian said nothing more, simply gave a small bow.
"Come again anytime, Mrs. Granger."
His voice was gentle.
"Thank you, young fortune teller."
Mrs. Granger walked away with Hermione. Ian began packing up his stall, but just then, he faintly heard Hermione's frustrated voice in the distance.
"Mum, fortune-telling isn't scientific at all! He must've eavesdropped on our conversation to know my name. These people only ever say things that sound nice!"
At that moment—
Mrs. Granger simply stroked Hermione's hair. "Oh, Hermione, why be so bothered? It was just five pounds. It doesn't mean much to us, but for that child, it could mean a full meal. If he had a choice, what kid your age would be out on the streets trying to make a living?"
"There were so many patches on his coat… such a pitiful little thing."
The voices drifted farther and farther away.
Only then did Ian look down at his clothes.
They were indeed quite worn.
In fact, they were donated just last year by a kind-hearted stranger. Every year, Ian received donated clothing, but in the orphanage, after being caught a few times by Gilly, the clothes ended up like this.
Gilly was a cat—the only pet companion for the orphans in that cold, square, ancient building. Really just a stray that had wandered in and decided to stay.
"Not a bad haul today."
Ian Prince packed up his stall. He'd made around ten pounds today—a pretty decent earning for a kid.
Of course—
To earn that kind of money—
Ian clearly had his own unique edge.
Name: Ian Prince
Occupation: Bloodline Warlock
Magic Power: Level 4
Skills:
Language Proficiency (Lv. 3): 23/400
Biological Dissection (Lv. 4): 796/800
Free Combat (Lv. 3): 85/400
Psychology (Lv. 6): 42/3200
[Extraordinary Trait from Psychology: Thought Perception]
…
Yes.
Ian had a stat panel. But there were no system quests, no cutesy AI sidekicks—just a panel that gave him one simple advantage: the more he worked, the stronger he got.
Simple.
But practical.
Being able to see the results of hard work was a powerful motivator for most people. And for Ian, leveling up a skill also granted him additional benefits—Extraordinary Traits.
Extraordinary Traits were bonus abilities unlocked when a skill reached level five, granting Ian powerful features derived from that specific skill.
And if a skill could be pushed to level ten, it would unlock an even more powerful Legendary Trait. However, Ian had yet to grind a single skill to level ten.
Gaining proficiency wasn't easy. Like today—he only earned five points in Psychology. To level it up, he'd have to charm or read the minds of over three thousand people.
Well—
"Charm" might be the wrong word.
Providing emotional value counts as a contribution, doesn't it?
Thanks to Thought Perception, Ian could read many of his clients' thoughts and feelings, which is what made his fortune-telling business so successful—and even earned him a bit of a name around the neighborhood.
"Not exactly a cheat, but not bad."
That was Ian's verdict on his golden finger. With his gear in tow, he headed back to the orphanage—after all, he was a transmigrator, and this kind of cliché start was par for the course.
"Hey, Ian, wait up, don't go in yet!"
"There's a Santa Claus here!"
Pushing his small cart back to the worn-down orphanage—
Ian was immediately surrounded by a bunch of kids.
And up ahead, he caught a glimpse of a figure disappearing into the building.
"Nonsense, it's clearly Gandalf."
Ian corrected the kid.
In that moment—
His heart felt complicated.
He had been waiting for this day.
But—
He hadn't expected it to come so soon, or that the person arriving would be—
Albus Dumbledore.
Watching the white-bearded old man step into the director's office—
Ian Prince felt a surge of doubt.
Strange.
Didn't Hogwarts normally send an owl first, then have a professor visit to explain?
(End of Chapter)