London. Fog. Thick fog.
In a haze so dense it was almost impossible to see, a young boy packed up his stall along a desolate London street, preparing to head home early. He wore a black hat and a black trench coat, which accentuated his delicate features. A prominent nose, perfectly sculpted lips, a charming smile – he was undeniably a boy who could easily win the favor of women, especially those of a certain age, a fact reflected in the generous tips he often received.
Just as he was about to leave, a gentle voice called out from behind him, "Young seer, do you have time for one more reading?"
Ian Prince turned.
Reflected in his emerald green eyes was a refined woman in a blue plaid high-necked dress, accompanied by a lovely brown-haired girl whose hair was as fluffy as a bird's nest.
"Of course," Ian smoothly transitioned into his professional persona. "Every divination is a glimpse into the future. If you don't mind, madam, may I have your name?"
"You can call me Mrs. Granger." Looking at Ian's delicate features, Mrs. Granger found the boy utterly adorable. Good looks certainly had their advantages.
"Very well, Mrs. Granger. What would you like to have divined?" Ian smiled, expertly rearranging his tools.
"It's about…" Mrs. Granger began, but the little girl beside her, her face a mask of disapproval, pulled free of her mother's hand and marched up to Ian's table.
"Don't try to trick us with these silly games! It's just psychology, a cheap con! There's no such thing as fortune-telling or magic!"
"Every mystery has a mundane explanation – sleight of hand, illusions, trickery. Science has proven it. You should read 'Medieval Lies'," she declared, her cute features contorted in a fierce frown. Her mother opened her mouth to scold her, but Ian raised a hand, stopping her.
"An excellent suggestion. I have one for you as well. 'The New Principles of Numerology' is quite an interesting read. Perhaps you should give it a look." Ian met the girl's challenge with a disarming smile, his calm demeanor frustrating her further. Her doll-like face flushed with indignation.
"There's no magic!" she insisted.
"What if there is?" Ian tilted his head, looking down at the girl, a head shorter.
"Then I'll eat this table," she declared boldly.
"Right then, Miss Hermione Granger, I'll remember that. People who break their promises go bald when they grow up," Ian chuckled, his amusement evident.
"How do you know my name?!" Hermione Granger gasped, taking a startled step back. She looked at her mother, who was equally surprised, her gaze fixed on Ian.
"Shall we begin, Mrs. Granger?" Ian maintained an air of mystique, shuffling his tarot cards and laying out four on the table. He’d never felt quite so much satisfaction in his little act. The girl was practically hiding behind her mother.
"You must have tricked us somehow. Don't believe him, Mum," Hermione whispered, though her ears were perked, listening intently.
"We need a reading, Mr. Fortune Teller," Mrs. Granger said, her eyes gleaming with a newfound intensity.
Ignoring Hermione's glare, Ian gestured for Mrs. Granger to choose a card. She did so immediately. Ian raised an eyebrow at the revealed card and offered her a knowing smile.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
"The Fool, Madam."
Hermione, despite her continued skepticism, leaned closer. Mrs. Granger clasped her hands together expectantly.
"Mr. Fortune Teller, what does this signify?"
Ian gestured with a flourish. "That, Madam, is for you to tell me. What was the question in your mind as you chose this card?"
Mrs. Granger nodded, a look of understanding dawning on her face. "I wanted to ask about my Hermione. Will she get into her preferred secondary school next year?" Her primary concern, like most parents', was her child's future. Ian encountered this often.
Nevertheless, he feigned a look of sudden realization. "So, you wish to have your daughter's fortune told."
"Yes, young man. Can you tell me the outcome?" Mrs. Granger pulled out a five-pound note and handed it to Ian.
Ian smiled, his eyes meeting Hermione's. The girl seemed curious, but quickly averted her gaze when she caught him looking. She was trying to appear indifferent, but her occasional glances betrayed her interest. Typical of a future witch, he thought.
"Of course," Ian said, his voice soft. He picked up The Fool card. "This represents new beginnings and adventure. After next year, your daughter will attend the school best suited for her, and she will achieve great things. She will become a highly respected figure, admired by many." For once, his words held genuine conviction.
Mrs. Granger beamed, her delight evident. Hermione remained silent, but the slight upturn of her lips revealed her pleasure.
"Thank you, Mr. Fortune Teller. We'll be going then." Mrs. Granger, satisfied with the reading, waved goodbye. Hermione tugged at her mother's hand, eager to leave.
After a few steps, she couldn't resist turning back to give Ian a final, defiant glare. Ian, a mischievous glint in his eyes, raised his voice slightly. "Oh, and one more thing. In the future, she'll have two wonderful sons."
Mrs. Granger turned back in surprise, her eyebrows raised. "Oh my! I actually think two children is a bit too few."
"I'm not having children!" Hermione exclaimed, her face crimson.
Mrs. Granger patted her head affectionately.
Ian bowed slightly. "Come again, Mrs. Granger."
"Thank you, Mr. Fortune Teller," Mrs. Granger replied, leading Hermione away. As they walked off, Ian could faintly hear Hermione's indignant voice. "Mum, fortune-telling isn't scientific! He must have overheard us talking to know my name. They just say what people want to hear!"
Mrs. Granger's reply was softer. "Hermione, why does it matter? It's only five pounds. It's not much to us, but to that boy, it could mean a decent meal. If they had a choice, would a child his age be out on the streets trying to make a living?"
"His clothes are all patched up. He's a poor boy…" Their voices faded into the fog.
Ian looked down at his own clothes. They were indeed worn and patched. A kind stranger had donated them last year. He received donated clothes every year, but a few tussles with Gilly, the orphanage cat, left them in their current state. Gilly was a stray who had wandered into the dreary, ancient orphanage and decided to stay, becoming the children's only pet and playmate.
"Another good day," Ian murmured, gathering his belongings. He had earned about fifty pounds, a considerable sum for a child.
Of course, this success wasn't entirely due to luck.
Name: Ian Prince
Occupation: Bloodline Sorcerer
Magic: Level 4
Skills: Language Proficiency (Level 3): 23/400
Biological Anatomy (Level 4): 796/800
Free Combat (Level 3): 85/400
Psychology (Level 6): 42/3200
[Psychology Extraordinary Trait: Mind Perception]
…
Yes, Ian possessed a status panel, though it lacked system quests or a cute anime companion. It simply allowed him to grow stronger through effort. Rudimentary, but practical. The visible progress was motivation enough, especially since leveling up granted him additional benefits – Extraordinary Traits. These traits were special abilities gained upon reaching level five in a skill, enhancing his existing capabilities. Reaching level ten unlocked even more powerful Legendary Traits. So far, however, Ian hadn't managed to max out any skill.
Gaining proficiency wasn't easy. Today, he had only acquired five points in Psychology. He would need to read the minds of over three thousand people to level up.
Well, perhaps "read minds" wasn't entirely accurate. Providing emotional validation was a service, wasn't it? It was thanks to Mind Perception that he could discern his clients' unspoken desires, making his fortune-telling business a thriving success in the neighborhood.
"Small gains are still gains," Ian mused, pushing his cart back towards the orphanage. A transmigrator's life. A classic start.
"Hey, Ian, wait! Don't go in yet!"
"Santa Claus is here!"
As Ian reached the dilapidated orphanage, a group of children surrounded him. He caught a glimpse of a figure disappearing inside.
"Nonsense, that's Gandalf," Ian corrected, his heart a mix of anticipation and apprehension. He had been waiting for this day, but he hadn't expected it to arrive so soon, and he certainly hadn't expected Albus Dumbledore.
Watching the white-bearded wizard enter the headmaster's office, Ian felt a pang of confusion. Wasn't the Hogwarts acceptance letter supposed to arrive by owl first, followed by a professor's visit?