Chapter 1: The Fortune Teller, Ian Prince

London.

The streets of London, already bleak on an ordinary day, seemed even more desolate under the heavy mist. Streetlights cast dim, hazy glows, their beams struggling against the suffocating grayness. On the side of a quieter street, a young boy was packing up his small stall, preparing to head home early.

He wore a black hat and a long black coat, the dark colors drawing attention to his face—high cheekbones, a sharp nose, and lips curved in an almost perpetual smirk. When he smiled, it was effortlessly charming, the kind that could easily win the favor of many, especially older women.

Just as he was about to leave, a gentle voice called out from behind him.

"Young fortune teller, do you have time for one more reading?"

Ian Prince turned around.

Reflected in his green eyes was an elegant woman, dressed in a high-collared blue checkered dress. Beside her stood a young girl with fluffy brown hair so messy it resembled a bird's nest.

"Of course," Ian responded smoothly, slipping effortlessly into his professional persona. "If fate has kept me here a moment longer, then it must be for this very meeting."

His voice was calm, his words practiced—far too refined for a boy his age. "Every reading is a glimpse into the future. If you don't mind, madam, may I know your name?"

"You may call me Mrs. Granger," the woman replied, watching him with a mix of amusement and curiosity. Ian's face was like a finely sculpted piece of art, and his demeanor only made him more intriguing.

It was undeniable—good looks opened many doors. A face like Ian's could easily capture the hearts of young women, let alone an older lady like Mrs. Granger.

"What is it you wish to know, Mrs. Granger?" Ian asked as he neatly arranged his tarot deck.

"Well, I was hoping to—"

Before she could finish, the young girl beside her stomped forward, her face full of skepticism.

"You're not fooling us with this nonsense!" she declared. "This is nothing but psychological manipulation disguised as fortune-telling! There's no such thing as magic or prophecy!"

Her voice was sharp and determined, her large brown eyes narrowed in defiance. Though she was small, she had a fiery presence, like a tiny storm brewing.

"All so-called supernatural phenomena are just tricks, illusions, or outright lies. Science has already proven this. You should read The Lies of the Middle Ages if you want to understand reality!"

Despite her fierce expression, the girl's delicate features and impassioned stance made her seem more adorable than intimidating.

Mrs. Granger frowned, about to scold her daughter, but Ian simply raised a hand to stop her.

"That's an excellent suggestion," he said, completely unfazed. "In return, I'll give you one too—The New Principles of Numerology is an interesting read. You might want to look into it."

His calm response made the girl pause, her brows furrowing. It was as if she had thrown a punch, only to have it dissolve into thin air.

Her little face turned red with frustration.

"There's no such thing as magic!" she insisted.

"What if there is?" Ian tilted his head slightly, observing her reaction.

"Then I'll eat your table," she declared with absolute confidence.

Ian chuckled. "Oh, I'll remember that, Miss Hermione Granger. People who don't keep their promises tend to go bald when they grow up."

Hermione froze.

"How do you know my name?!"

Panic flashed across her face as she spun around to look at her mother, who was equally surprised.

Ian simply smiled mysteriously.

"Shall we begin, Mrs. Granger?"

He cut the tarot deck skillfully and placed four cards face down on the table. His years of experience running this small business had made his movements seamless.

Hermione, now visibly unsettled, retreated behind her mother. She still glared at Ian, but her curiosity betrayed her—her eyes kept darting toward the table.

Mrs. Granger, however, was thoroughly intrigued.

She carefully chose a card.

Ian flipped it over and raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

"The Fool," he announced.

Hermione, though still frowning, subtly leaned in to listen.

Mrs. Granger clasped her hands together, eyes shining with expectation.

"What does it mean, Mr. Prince?"

Ian placed his hand on the card, then looked at her.

"That depends on what you were thinking of when you drew it, madam."

Mrs. Granger nodded, her expression one of deep understanding.

"I was wondering whether my daughter will be accepted into her ideal school next year."

A mother's greatest concern was always her child's future. Ian had heard such questions countless times before.

Still, he feigned surprise, as if he had just uncovered something profound.

"Oh, so this reading is for your daughter?" he mused, his tone perfectly balanced between amusement and sincerity.

"Yes, young fortune teller. Can you tell me the answer?" Mrs. Granger asked, pulling out a five-pound note and handing it to him.

Ian took a brief glance at Hermione.

The girl turned her head away quickly, pretending not to care. But her small, involuntary movements—how she stole glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking—revealed her true feelings.

She wanted to know the answer just as much as her mother did.

Classic case of pretending not to care.

Of course, that was to be expected. Hermione Granger, a future witch, one of the brightest minds of her generation, born to non-magical parents but destined for greatness—how could she not have an innate curiosity for the unknown?

Ian's smile deepened.

"Of course, I can answer that," he said smoothly. He tapped the Fool card and spoke with absolute certainty.

"This represents new beginnings and adventure."

"A year from now, your daughter will enter the school most suited for her talents. She will achieve great things, becoming someone admired by many—a leader among her peers."

Unlike his usual vague readings, Ian's words were unusually firm, as if they were set in stone.

Mrs. Granger beamed with joy.

Hermione, despite herself, looked pleased—but she quickly masked it with a scoff.

"Thank you, Mr. Prince," Mrs. Granger said cheerfully, waving goodbye. "Come along, Hermione."

The little girl huffed but followed her mother. However, just before they disappeared into the fog, she suddenly turned back and made a fierce little face at Ian, her cheeks puffed out in defiance.

Ian, amused, lifted his voice slightly.

"Oh, by the way, Mrs. Granger—your daughter will have two wonderful children in the future."

Mrs. Granger laughed, raising an eyebrow. "Only two? That's a bit too few, don't you think?"

Hermione's face turned beet red.

"I am NOT having children!" she protested.

Her mother only chuckled, patting her on the head.

Ian bowed slightly, watching them leave.

"Thank you for visiting, Mrs. Granger."

As they walked away, Hermione's voice drifted back through the fog.

"Mom, fortune-telling isn't scientific! He must have overheard us talking about my name. People like him just say fancy words to fool others!"

Mrs. Granger's response was soft but firm.

"Oh, Hermione, why does it bother you so much? It was just five pounds—not much to us, but to that boy, it means a warm meal. If you were in his shoes, wouldn't you do the same?"

Her voice faded into the distance.

Ian looked down at his clothes.

They were old and worn.

That was true.

But they were still the best clothes he had—donations from kind strangers, handed out once a year at the orphanage. And after a few encounters with Gilly—the feral cat that roamed the orphanage halls—his coat had gained more patches than he could count.

Still, today had been a good day.

He had earned ten pounds—an excellent sum for a child running a fortune-telling stall.

Of course, he had an advantage.

---

Name: Ian Prince

Class: Bloodline Sorcerer

Magic Power: Level 4

Skills:

Linguistics (Level 3)
Biology & Anatomy (Level 4)
Hand-to-Hand Combat (Level 3)
Psychology (Level 6)

[Special Trait: Mind Perception]

---

Yes, Ian had a status panel.

There were no system-issued quests, no soft-voiced AI guiding him, and certainly no omnipotent entity handing out cheats. His panel was simple yet practical—one that granted him the unique trait of "Effort Equals Strength."

It was barebones, but it worked.

For most people, the mere ability to see tangible rewards from their efforts was a powerful motivation. Even more so for Ian, since every skill upgrade came with an added bonus—Extraordinary Traits.

Extraordinary Traits were special abilities unlocked when a skill reached Level 5. These traits provided powerful enhancements derived from the upgraded skill itself. And if a skill somehow reached Level 10, it would evolve into something even more formidable—a Legendary Trait.

Unfortunately, despite all his grinding, Ian had yet to push a single skill to Level 10.

Progression wasn't easy. Take today, for example—after an entire day's work, he had gained only five points of experience in Psychology. At this rate, leveling up meant persuading over three thousand people.

Well... maybe "persuading" wasn't the right word.

Was it really deception if he provided them with emotional value?

Thanks to his keen Perception, Ian could read subtle cues in people's thoughts and emotions, allowing him to tailor his words with uncanny precision. This ability had turned his fortune-telling business into a thriving trade, making him a well-known figure in the district.

"A minor boost, but a boost nonetheless," Ian assessed his so-called cheat ability as he packed up his belongings and headed back home—to the orphanage.

Because of course, as a transmigrator, starting in an orphanage was practically a cliché at this point.

Just as he was about to enter the worn-down building, a group of younger children rushed up to him, excitement clear on their faces.

"Ian! Wait! Don't go in yet!" one of them called out breathlessly.

"There's a Santa Claus here!"

Ian narrowed his eyes slightly, scanning the area. And then—just for a moment—he caught a glimpse of a figure moving toward the orphanage's main office.

A tall, elderly man with long silver hair and a flowing robe.

Ian's lips twitched.

"Santa Claus?" He shook his head. "You mean Gandalf."

But even as he corrected the child, Ian's emotions churned within him.

He had been waiting for this day.

He just hadn't expected it to come so soon.

And he certainly hadn't expected Albus Dumbledore himself to show up at his doorstep.

Standing at the threshold, Ian watched as the white-bearded wizard disappeared into the orphanage director's office.

A strange thought crossed his mind.

Wait a second.

Isn't Hogwarts supposed to send a letter first? Then a professor visits for an explanation?