An Unsettled, Abnormal Routine

"Chance encounters, companions, and enemies..."

"A perfect story was like this, with everything happening naturally..."

"Just a pity," Andrew said, rolling his wrist as he scrutinized the manuscript he had just finished. "Both the grammar and vocabulary are lacking something. Otherwise, I wouldn't have fallen to this point..."

He turned back and confirmed once more that there was no one else in the cramped room before snapping his fingers in relief—the stone he used as a paperweight slid onto the manuscript, and the tightly shut window opened to just the right angle.

Perfect.

He silently praised himself. So far, everything was proceeding according to plan.

It had been three months since he came here—or, more precisely, since he had opened his eyes after falling asleep while working overtime and found himself transmigrated into the body of a boy who had gotten himself killed over a stupid bet. Over those three months, he had familiarized himself with the original owner's memories, handled his relationships, secured a steady income, obtained a room of his own, and mastered the ability he had named "telekinesis," among other things.

Although he still missed his former life, he had kept the promise he made back then: to live strongly, and to live positively.

"It's just that I've gone a little off course..."

Andrew looked at the manuscript before him and shook his head with a maturity utterly unfitting for his age. The buddy who had jumped into the water with him to save someone back then would probably have asked to see the manuscript, but no matter how you looked at it, an eleven-year-old writing this sort of thing was a little outrageous.

But what else could he do?

Using existing knowledge to make money required the least capital and carried the lowest risk. If this were ancient times, he could have used his mathematical skills to earn his first pot of gold. If he were in a country with the same language family, he could have made money as a storyteller through his eloquence. But in a British orphanage in 1991, every relatively reliable money-making opportunity he could remember lay more than a decade in the future...

Then there was no choice but to rely on learning—simple, crude, and effective. Find a celebrity biography, get a phone book, add some paper, ink, and pens, and that was enough.

Extract the figures from the biography, set up a male or female protagonist, create a huge cast of supporting characters—using the phone book as reference and swapping out names—set different scenarios, let the story move forward, then mix in carefully detailed plot points that would lower readers' expectations for grammar and vocabulary. Give it a sensational title and a flashy pen name, find a suitable tabloid or magazine, and submit it.

If his imagination really fell short, he could even refer to a few books of the same type. It was that simple—and the best part was that in Britain, it wasn't illegal.

Thanks to the enormous amount of reading he had done in the era of web novels, along with the many techniques he had picked up for refining satisfying moments and contrast, the little biographies he churned out became even more popular than expected. After three months of effort, Andrew had made a name for his pen name. In exchange for donating seventy percent of his royalties to supplement the orphanage's daily expenses, he received a private room, slightly better meals, freedom from questions about his writing-related privacy, and plenty of spare time.

That was enough—if he had not discovered the existence of telekinesis, Andrew's next plan would have been to save up tuition, attend a good university, and begin a new life.

Of course, if his future submissions went increasingly smoothly, he would not mind writing a long novel and making a killing, or simply cleaning up his image and going legitimate. Still, that would be difficult. He could make money now only because the field was not so competitive, while readers had far lower standards for niche subjects.

But after discovering and gaining preliminary control over this "telekinesis," he began deliberately setting aside time to cultivate it. It was not as powerful as he had imagined, but it was still very good.

After all, he was not in some dangerous world, nor was he surrounded by a group of superpowered people. Neither those biographies nor the fairy tales showed even the slightest sign that superpowers existed on any significant scale—he had carefully confirmed that before rewriting them.

"It's a pity I have to keep it secret until it's stronger, and I need to be careful about the danger... Otherwise, I could gradually get used to using this power in daily life."

Andrew had tested it carefully. He had tried making objects float: feathers, crumpled paper, books, stones. At present, the maximum weight he could control was around thirty jin. Anything heavier would fail.

As for duration, at maximum weight, he would begin to feel tired after roughly half an hour, and the weight he could manipulate would then rapidly decrease.

As for multitasking, he could not do that yet—in other words, he had to concentrate completely to maintain his telekinesis. The moment he got distracted, it weakened drastically or even failed altogether.

As for other aspects, he had tested the uses of telekinesis one by one according to a chart.

He had tried making one object pass through another while protected by telekinesis. His most successful attempt so far had been making a wooden stick pass through a stone. After using a similar function around thirty times, he would feel tired. As for how different materials affected telekinesis consumption, that was still under experiment.

He had tried using telekinesis to repair damaged objects. So far, he could mend several obvious cracks, but a shattered cup would still seep droplets of water, proving that the repair was incomplete. His limit was five cups before he became tired.

He had tried using telekinesis to heal an injured mouse, and it ended with the mouse's death—the cause was excessive blood loss due to his inability to stop the bleeding. Still, to his delight, the wound showed signs of recovery.

He had even carried out dangerous experiments on the human body—on his hair. With the help of telekinesis, he had successfully made it grow five centimeters, forcing him to change his hairstyle to hide it.

"It's because I've read too much, and too many different things, that I can't confirm it..."

As he thought, Andrew used his telekinesis to flick several unusually sharp iron nails around. His telekinesis was simply too versatile, leaving him genuinely unsure what kind of ability it was.

It was precisely because he suspected the ability was related to the heightened mental activity caused by transmigration that he had named it telekinesis.

Yes, heightened mental activity. He now needed only about four hours of rest each day to remain full of energy. Even if he overused telekinesis, a one-hour nap would restore him. As for sitting with his eyes closed and thinking of nothing, recovering through something akin to meditation, he had tried it. He simply could not empty his mind...

A fairly stable source of income, a superpower that was not powerful enough but was clearly growing, a relatively stable living environment, and a decent public school recommendation from the orphanage due to the royalties he had paid—he was quite satisfied with how everything was progressing.

"Next, I need to try finding things that can help telekinesis grow and strengthen my control over it..."

That was Andrew's plan.

But life always had its little surprises. Accompanied by a set of footsteps, there came a knock on his door.

"Sorry, I might be interrupting you, little Andrew. Mrs. Camille wants you to come over—"

The Nanny paused. "Did you apply to some kind of school? Mrs. Camille received a letter from a lady named Minerva McGonagall. She hopes to meet with you and Mrs. Camille tomorrow to discuss the school you'll be attending."