Surrey Royal Hospital, psychiatry department.
Harry faced the doctor with a sincere smile.
He had finally found a way to put a stop to the Training Plan.
Missions generated by requests from non-hostile intelligent life-forms took precedence over the Training Plan.
The fact that he was now in a hospital instead of the Dursley family home was proof enough.
"Obsessive-compulsive personality disorder?"
Vernon asked in surprise, glancing through the transparent window at Harry, who sat calmly inside as usual.
"Yes." The brown-haired doctor adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. "He insists on doing things his own way and feels extreme anxiety or anger when his plans are interrupted."
"Usually, patients don't resort to violence directly, but long-suppressed anger can lead to that."
"Mr. Dursley, we suspect that your nephew's repeated exposure to a high-pressure environment, a lack of understanding, or an intensely controlling household has been a major factor in the development of this disorder."
"Based on our assessment of his mental health and the evidence we've observed of a home environment detrimental to his well-being, we're obligated to report the situation to Child Protective Services."
"We'll recommend that they initiate an emergency review, and they'll very likely seek to place Harry under the care of the local authorities. A copy of the report will also be sent to the Area Child Protection Committee."
"No, you can't. You can't do this." Petunia was frantic. She muttered "Dumbledore" under her breath.
"Indeed, you can't." Albus Dumbledore suddenly appeared without warning, like a ghost in a horror film.
His clothes looked entirely out of place here: a long gray cloak and a pointed wizard's hat.
But most striking of all was his gaze, which seemed to penetrate everything like an X-ray.
"Harry must stay with the Dursleys," Dumbledore said.
The doctor met his cerulean gaze, his lips trembling. "I don't care who you are or how much power you have, but this child..."
The doctor's pupils went unfocused. He changed his tune. "Yes, Harry Potter can stay with the Dursleys. He doesn't have obsessive-compulsive personality disorder."
Vernon and Petunia huddled together, trembling. At last, they had a clear sense of a wizard's power.
It wasn't like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat or conjuring flames. It was the power to control people's minds.
What would become of them, when they hadn't followed the instructions in Dumbledore's letter to treat Harry like their own son?
They were both terribly uneasy now.
"You haven't done as I asked. You've never treated Harry as your own son. In your care, all he's received is neglect and frequent abuse." Dumbledore's voice was calm and easygoing, but his body seemed to radiate a chill that made the Dursleys press closer together, their faces pale.
Harry had gone just as pale inside the ward.
In fact, he had been the first to notice Dumbledore's arrival.
At the time, his heart had soared.
He'd hoped that the world's strongest white wizard, the Hogwarts Headmaster who held many honors in the Wizarding World, would be able to take him away from the Dursleys and free him from the endless Training Plan.
Once he reached the Wizarding World, the Training Plan would most likely involve learning magic, not pulling weeds and mopping floors.
Even if he had to stay with the Dursleys, at least a wizard would be sent to teach him.
However...
[Ping ping ping! Obstacle detected in main quest [Physical Fitness]... Albus Dumbledore, Gold-level friendly intelligent life-form...]
--Main quest? Where had that come from!
[The Savior must possess a body tempered through countless trials... Cognitive interference applied to Albus Dumbledore for... four years.]
Harry's face turned completely pale.
He'd have to endure this hell for another four years!
He began to look forward desperately to September 1, 1991.
Outside the ward, Dumbledore changed the subject. "I'll be leaving. Perhaps I'll never return. But you should understand how to treat Harry Potter from now on. Let things take their course."
The next moment, he vanished again, just as abruptly as he had appeared.
Late at night.
After his run and a shower, Harry finally got his thirty minutes of free time before bed.
He summoned the Savior Training Manual. This time, time didn't stop.
Of today's three time-stops, two had been ten-minute Thunder Shock punishments, and one had been to deal with Uncle Vernon, an obstacle.
The Black-hearted Book seemed to be designed to train him as effectively as possible, with some deeper training logic that hadn't yet been revealed.
[Name: Harry James Potter]
[Age: 7]
[Address: Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, the innermost room on the second floor]
Just as the white book had shown, he no longer lived in the cupboard. He lived in the luxurious guest room on the second floor, kept for Aunt Marge.
A spotless, thick wool carpet with an intricate pattern;
A spacious mahogany bed large enough for two Uncle Dursleys, made up with crisp white linen sheets edged with delicate lace and a fluffy feather duvet;
A gleaming wardrobe and dressing table, and heavy brocade curtains that shut out the light completely;
A refined reading lamp with a brass base, and a small table covered with a lace tablecloth.
Compared with the cramped cupboard where he'd spent his past years, it was like night and day.
But Harry would rather go back to the cupboard if it meant the so-called Training Plan would disappear.
Just then, he noticed a new entry in the traits column.
[Elegant and Easygoing · Bronze (affinity +3)]
--So the rules could be exchanged for trait entries.
Harry grumbled to himself.
He didn't regret choosing to swear at random one bit.
On the contrary, he was glad he had.
If he'd randomly received a rule like a Christian saint's, one that meant never bathing for his entire life, he wouldn't want it even if its trait let him fly through the heavens and burrow through the earth.
Not swearing and always smiling were already bad enough.
Especially since smiling could serve as a test of whether anyone nearby was watching him.
Like now, when he could finally make faces and exercise the muscles in his face without restraint.
--Twenty-seven minutes of free time left. Can't waste it.
--Open the skill entries.
The white book turned a page and projected its contents onto a blue screen. He could see it even with his eyes closed, and if he wanted, he could make the Black-hearted Book read aloud.
[Black Iron]
[Weeding lv1--Proficiency 33/100]
[Eating lv2--Proficiency 49/100]
[Running lv3--Proficiency 45/100]
[Fighting type lv3--Proficiency 36/100]
--Why is Eating only level 2? Fighting type... is that because of Gandalf's Combat Art?
Harry grumbled as he continued reading.
[Bronze]
[Unstable Teleportation lv0--Proficiency 56/100]
He recalled the time Dudley's gang had chased him and he'd teleported onto a chimney, then continued reading.
[Silver]
[Constant Bedhead Charm lv8--Proficiency 34/100]
At this, he rubbed his unruly hair, as if the wind had blown through it. It was a mark of the Potter Family, just like the Weasleys' red hair.
Aunt Petunia had tried to tame it many times, shaving it off by force, but it always grew back by the next day.
He smiled and looked at the note at the bottom.
[Note: lv10 can be promoted to the next grade]
--So even weeding could be promoted into a magic skill?
Lying in bed, he finally felt a little comforted and fell asleep early.
--If that's the case, I can keep going.
Before you continue