1: The Diviner, Ian Prince

London, shrouded in thick fog.

Amid the nearly impenetrable mist blanketing the city, a small boy was packing up his stall early along the somewhat desolate streets of London, preparing to head home.

He wore a black cap and a black trench coat, naturally drawing attention to his face—a face marked by a prominent nose, perfectly curved lips, and an irresistibly charming smile. It must be admitted, this boy easily won the favor of women.

Especially mature women.

Just as the boy was about to leave, a gentle voice called from behind.

“Little fortune teller, do you have time?”

Ian Prince turned his head.

In his green eyes reflected a refined lady dressed in a blue plaid turtleneck dress, accompanied by a cute brown-haired girl with hair as wild as a bird’s nest.

“Of course. Fate has granted me a moment longer, evidently to await this very moment,” Ian Prince said, slipping effortlessly into his role.

His practiced speech belied his youth, “Every form of divination is a revelation of the future. If you don’t mind, madam, may I have the honor of knowing your name?”

“You may call me Mrs. Granger,” she replied, smiling warmly at Ian’s exquisitely carved features. The lady found the little boy utterly adorable.

It must be said: good looks often open many doors. Ian’s appearance alone could capture the hearts of many young girls, let alone a lady like Mrs. Granger.

“Very well, Mrs. Granger, what would you like me to divine?”

Ian smiled as he rearranged his divination tools.

“Of course—it’s about…” Mrs. Granger began, but the little girl beside her interrupted with a defiant look, breaking free from her mother’s grasp and rushing to Ian’s small table.

“Don’t try to fool us with tricks! This is just psychological manipulation! There’s no such thing as fortune-telling or magic in this world!”

“Behind every mysterious method lies magic, sleight of hand, and deception. Science has long made its judgment. Perhaps you should read ‘Lies of the Middle Ages,’” Ian replied with a playful smile.

Though delicate in appearance, the little girl wore a fierce expression, a perfect blend of cuteness and defiance. Her mother’s face turned stern, about to scold her daughter.

Ian raised a hand to stop Mrs. Granger.

“That’s a good suggestion. I’ll give you one in return: ‘New Principles of Numerical Divination’ is quite a fine book—you might want to take a look.”

Ian’s calm and cheerful response to the girl’s skepticism left her feeling as though her punches landed on cotton, frustratingly ineffective.

Her doll-like face flushed with anger.

“There’s no magic in this world!” she insisted again.

“And if there were?” Ian tilted his head, looking down at the girl who was just a head shorter than him.

“Then I’ll eat this table,” she declared with certainty.

“Oh, very well, Miss Hermione Granger. I’ll remember your words. Those who fail to keep their promises grow bald,” Ian said, grinning with genuine amusement.

“How do you know my name?” Hermione Granger gasped.

Startled, she quickly glanced back at her mother, who was equally amazed at Ian.

“Shall we begin, Mrs. Granger?” Ian maintained an air of mystery, cutting the tarot deck and laying out four cards on the table. He had never been so decisive in his earlier fortune-telling ventures.

The little girl, visibly frightened, hid in her mother’s arms.

“You must be using some trickery. Don’t trust him, Mom,” Hermione whispered, still clinging to her materialistic beliefs, but no longer daring to approach the fortune teller who had so casually named her.

“We need your reading, sir,” Mrs. Granger said, eyes sparkling with anticipation, ignoring Hermione’s protests. Her tone was far more serious than before.

Ian ignored Hermione’s glare and gestured to Mrs. Granger to choose a tarot card.

She promptly made her choice. Ian raised an eyebrow and smiled faintly.

“It is The Fool, Madam.”

Upon hearing this, Hermione’s expression remained displeased, but her ears perked up.

Mrs. Granger clasped her hands, full of hope.

“Fortune teller, what does this signify?”

Ian bowed slightly and replied, “That depends on you, Madam. What were you thinking when you turned over this card?”

Mrs. Granger nodded, as if confirming a suspicion.

“I wanted to ask if in a year’s time, my Hermione will be admitted to her ideal secondary school?” Most parents’ greatest concern is their child’s future.

Ian had encountered such queries many times.

Yet, he feigned a look of sudden realization.

“So you’re divining for your daughter,” he said with vivid astonishment.

“Yes, little fortune teller. Can you tell me the result?” Mrs. Granger said, producing five pounds from her bag and handing it to Ian.

Ian smiled gently and glanced at Hermione.

At that moment, the little girl looked curious but quickly turned away when she noticed Ian’s gaze—trying to feign indifference.

However, her occasional sideways glances betrayed her deep curiosity.

Contradictory, yet understandable.

After all, she was destined to be a witch—one of the original trio—born to Muggle parents but gifted with magical talent, inherently drawn to exploring the unknown.

“Certainly, no problem,” Ian said warmly, picking up The Fool card.

“This represents new beginnings and adventures.”

“After next year, your daughter will enter the school best suited to her. Her future holds extraordinary achievements, destined to be a prominent figure admired by many.”

Ian had been running this stall for some time but had never spoken with such certainty.

Mrs. Granger beamed with joy, scarcely able to contain her happiness.

Hermione merely puckered her lips, silent.

Yet a slight curl at the corner of her mouth betrayed her good mood.

“Thank you, little fortune teller. We shall take our leave now,” Mrs. Granger said with a bright smile, waving goodbye.

Hermione eagerly tugged at her mother, ready to leave.

After just a few steps, she couldn’t resist turning back to give Ian a mock-fierce look.

Ian looked at the Fool card in his hand and mischievously raised his voice a notch.

“Oh, and by the way, in the future, she will have two fine sons.”

Mrs. Granger turned around, surprised, and laughed, “Wow! Actually, I think two children might be a bit too few.”

“I’m never having children!” Hermione blushed deeply.

Mrs. Granger patted her head affectionately.

Ian said no more, bowing slightly.

“Welcome back anytime, Mrs. Granger,” he said softly.

“Thank you, little fortune teller,” Mrs. Granger replied, departing with Hermione.

Ian began packing up his stall, ready to return home. At that moment, he faintly heard Hermione’s irritated voice.

“Mom, fortune-telling isn’t scientific! He must have eavesdropped on our conversation to know my name. These people only speak sweet lies!”

Mrs. Granger simply stroked Hermione’s head.

“Oh, Hermione, why worry so much? It’s only five pounds to us, but to that boy, it could buy a good meal. If circumstances allowed, which child your age would really come out to earn a living?”

“His clothes are full of patches—such a poor child...” Her voice faded into the distance.

Ian finally looked down at his own clothes.

Indeed, they were rather worn.

In fact, they were donated by kind strangers just last year. Every year, Ian received clothes from good samaritans, but after a few rough encounters at the orphanage, the clothes appeared as they did now.

Jilly was a cat—the only pet companion for the orphans in the gloomy, square-shaped orphanage. In truth, she was a stray who had wandered in and never left.

“Another good day’s takings.”

Ian Prince packed away his stall. He had earned about fifty pounds today, quite a sum for a child.

Of course, to achieve this, Ian had something unusual.

Name: Ian Prince
Occupation: Bloodline Sorcerer
Mana Level: 4
Skills:
- Language Proficiency (Level 3) 23/400
- Biological Anatomy (Level 4) 796/800
- Free Fighting (Level 3) 85/400
- Psychology (Level 6) 42/3200
[Exceptional Trait: Mental Perception]

Yes.

Ian possessed a character panel—not a system quest, nor a cute assistant spirit—but simply a panel that granted him the trait “Strength Through Effort.”

Simple.

Yet practical.

Seeing results from hard work is a powerful motivation for most, especially when skill upgrades grant additional benefits—Exceptional Traits.

Exceptional Traits are skills unlocked at level five, providing powerful bonuses derived from that skill.

If a skill reaches level ten, one may gain legendary traits. Yet Ian had not yet managed to reach level ten in any skill.

Gaining proficiency was no easy task. For example, today he earned only five points in Psychology. To level up, he needed to persuade over three thousand people.

Well.

Persuasion might not be the right term.

Isn’t providing emotional value a form of effort as well?

Ian’s mental perception allowed him to read the thoughts of many customers, making his fortune-telling business flourish and earning some renown in the neighborhood.

“Beginnings are never easy,” Ian mused, gathering his belongings and returning to the orphanage—such was the typical start for a traveler crossing worlds.

“Hey, Ian, wait up! Don’t go back yet!”

“Santa Claus is here!”

Ian pushed his cart back to the shabby orphanage.

A group of children surrounded him.

Ahead, he caught a glimpse of a fleeting figure.

“Nonsense, it’s clearly Gandalf,” Ian corrected one child.

At this moment, his feelings were complex.

He had been waiting for this day.

Only, he never expected it to come so quickly—and that the visitor would be none other than Albus Dumbledore.

Watching the white-bearded elder head toward the headmaster’s office, Ian Prince was puzzled.

Strange.

Wasn’t Hogwarts supposed to send an owl first, then have a professor come for the explanation?