London, fog, thick fog.
On a smoggy day when you could barely see your hand in front of your face, a little boy was packing up his stall beside a desolate London street, getting ready to head home early.
He wore a black hat and a black trench coat. They drew the eye to his face, where one could see his high nose and perfectly curved lips. His smile was incredibly charming. One had to admit he was the sort of boy women found very easy to like.
Especially older women.
Just as the boy was about to leave,
someone behind him spoke gently.
"Little fortune-teller, do you still have time?"
Ian Prince turned around.
Reflected in his green eyes was an elegant, refined lady wearing a blue checked dress with a high collar. Beside her stood a cute, brown-haired girl.
The girl's hair was as tousled as a bird's nest.
"Of course. Fate has granted me one more moment to linger. Clearly, it was waiting for this very moment." Ian Prince slipped into his pitch at once.
His practiced patter was far too polished for a child. "Every form of divination offers a glimpse of the future. If you don't mind, madam, may I ask your name?"
"You may call me Mrs. Granger." Looking at Ian Prince's finely sculpted face, Mrs. Granger found the little boy utterly adorable.
There was no denying it.
Good looks made it easier to win people over. Ian's appearance alone could capture the hearts of plenty of young women, never mind a grown woman like the one before him.
"Very well, Mrs. Granger. What would you like me to divine?"
Ian smiled and neatly arranged his tools for business.
"Of course, I wanted to ask about..." Mrs. Granger began, but the little girl beside her looked thoroughly opposed. She wrenched herself free of her mother's hand and marched up to Ian's little table.
"Don't you dare try to deceive us with this sort of trick! It's nothing but applied psychology—a con! There's no such thing as divination or magic in this world!"
"Behind every mysterious practice, there's nothing but stage magic, sleight of hand, and fraud. Science settled that long ago. Perhaps you should read Lies of the Middle Ages."
The dainty little girl insisted on putting on a fierce expression. It made her look both cute and adorably ferocious. Her mother's expression changed, and she started to step forward to scold her.
Ian raised a hand to stop Mrs. Granger.
"That's a very good recommendation. I have one for you, too. New Principles of Arithmancy is an excellent book. Perhaps you should read it as well."
Ian wasn't bothered by the girl's challenge. Instead, he cheerfully played along. His reaction left the girl feeling as if she'd punched a cushion.
Her doll-like cheeks flushed bright red with anger.
"There's no magic in this world!"
The girl repeated herself.
"What if there is?"
Ian tilted his head and looked at the girl, who was a little shorter than him.
"Then I'll eat your table."
The girl spoke with utter conviction.
"Oh, all right, Hermione. Miss Granger, I'll remember what you said. People who don't keep their promises grow up to go bald." Ian looked delighted.
"How do you know my name?"
The girl—
Hermione Granger—was startled. She turned around in a panic to look at her mother, who was watching Ian in astonishment.
"Shall we begin, Mrs. Granger?"
Keeping up his mysterious air, Ian cut the tarot deck in his hands and dealt four cards onto the table. When he'd worked as a fortune-teller before, he'd never been this quick to show off.
Just look at the girl.
She was so frightened she'd hidden in her mother's arms.
"You must have used some kind of trick. Don't believe him, Mum." Hermione Granger still seemed to firmly believe in materialism, but she no longer dared approach the fortune-teller who'd guessed her name.
"We'd like a reading, sir."
Mrs. Granger's eyes were shining now. She didn't care what Hermione Granger was saying. Her tone was much more earnest and respectful than before.
Ian ignored Hermione Granger's glare.
He gestured for Mrs. Granger to choose a tarot card.
Mrs. Granger picked one at once. As she turned over the card on the table, Ian raised an eyebrow and smiled at her.
"It's the Fool, madam."
At that,
Hermione still looked disgruntled, but her ears perked up.
Mrs. Granger clasped her hands together, full of anticipation.
"Fortune-teller, what does this foretell?"
Ian cupped his hands in a polite gesture. "That's something you'll have to tell me, madam. What was on your mind when you turned over this card?"
Mrs. Granger nodded, looking as if she'd expected as much.
"I wanted to ask whether my Hermione will get into her preferred secondary school next year." Most parents cared more than anything about their children.
Ian often encountered situations like this.
Even so,
he put on a look of sudden realization.
"So you're asking on your daughter's behalf."
Ian's astonished tone was wonderfully convincing.
"Yes, little fortune-teller. Can you tell me the answer?" As she spoke, Mrs. Granger took five pounds from her purse and handed it to Ian.
Ian smiled faintly and looked at Hermione.
At that moment, the girl seemed a little curious about him, too. But as soon as she noticed his gaze, she turned her head away.
As if she wanted to show how little she cared.
And yet,
the way she kept sneaking glances at him made it clear she was quite curious about the reading.
She was all talk.
But that was only natural.
After all, she was a future witch, one of the original trio. Born to Muggle parents, she nonetheless had a gift for magic. Deep down, she was bound to share a witch's instinct to explore the unknown.
"Of course. No problem." Ian Prince smiled warmly. He picked up the Fool card from the table and spoke slowly to Mrs. Granger.
"It represents new beginnings and adventure."
"Next year, your daughter will enter the school that suits her best. And she'll accomplish extraordinary things in the future, becoming a high-ranking official who'll have everyone hanging on her every word."
Ian had worked the streets for quite a while, but he'd never sounded so certain.
Mrs. Granger beamed, clearly delighted.
Hermione merely curled her lip and said nothing.
But the slight lift at the corners of her mouth showed that she was in a good mood.
"Thank you, little fortune-teller. We'll be off, then." Mrs. Granger had received the answer she'd hoped for. Smiling broadly, she waved goodbye to Ian.
Hermione, beside her, eagerly tugged her mother away.
After a few steps,
she couldn't resist turning back to give Ian an adorably fierce look. Ian glanced at the Fool card in his hand, then mischievously raised his voice a little.
"Oh, by the way, in the future, she'll have two wonderful boys."
Mrs. Granger turned around in surprise, raised an eyebrow, and replied with a smile, "Wow. Actually, I think two children might be a little too few."
"I'm never having children!" Hermione's face went bright red.
Mrs. Granger patted her head.
Ian said nothing more and bowed slightly.
"Please come again, Mrs. Granger."
His voice was gentle.
"Thank you, little fortune-teller."
Mrs. Granger left with Hermione. Ian began packing up his stall to head home. Just then, he faintly heard Hermione's irritated voice.
"Mum, fortune-telling isn't scientific! He must have overheard us talking and found out my name. These people only ever say a bunch of sweet-sounding nonsense!"
At that,
Mrs. Granger merely patted Hermione on the head. "Oh, Hermione, why are you so bothered? It was only five pounds. It doesn't matter to us, but that child can afford a proper meal with it. If he had any other choice, what child his age would go out onto the streets to earn a living?"
"His clothes are covered in patches. Poor thing..."
Their voices faded into the distance.
Only then did Ian look down at his clothes.
They were indeed rather worn.
They were clothes a kind person had donated just last year. Ian received donated clothes from kind people every year, but after Gilly had clawed at them a few times in the orphanage, this was what they looked like now.
Gilly was a cat, the orphans' only pet and companion in that square, gloomy, ancient orphanage. In truth, she was just a stray who'd wandered there and never left.
"Another profitable day."
Ian Prince packed up his stall. He'd made about ten pounds that day, which was an excellent income for a little boy.
Of course,
there was a reason Ian could make that much.
Name: Ian Prince
Profession: Bloodline Warlock
Magic: Level 4
Skills: Language Mastery (Level 3): 23/400
Biological Dissection (Level 4): 796/800
Free Combat (Level 3): 85/400
Psychology (Level 6): 42/3200
[Psychology Extraordinary Trait: Thought Perception.]
That's right.
Ian had a status panel. It didn't give him system quests or a cute girl-system spirit. It was simply a panel that gave him the trait of [getting stronger through hard work].
It was crude,
but practical.
As long as people could see a reward for their efforts, that alone was enough to motivate most of them. And when Ian leveled up his skills, he also gained extra benefits—extraordinary traits.
An extraordinary trait was a bonus granted by a skill once it reached level five. It gave Ian a powerful quality derived from that skill.
If he could grind a skill all the way to level ten, he'd gain an even more powerful legendary trait. But to this day, Ian had yet to grind any skill to level ten.
Gaining proficiency wasn't easy. Take that day, for instance: he'd gained only five points in [Psychology]. To level up, he'd have to fool more than three thousand people.
Well.
Maybe "fool" wasn't quite the right word.
Wasn't providing emotional support a kind of service, too?
It was thanks to Thought Perception that Ian could read the thoughts of so many customers and make such a success of his fortune-telling business. He'd even become somewhat well-known around the neighborhood.
"A little startup still counts as a startup."
Ian assessed his golden finger, then headed back to the orphanage with his things. For a transmigrator, a classic opening like this was practically standard.
"Hey, Ian, wait! Don't go back yet."
"Santa Claus is here!"
Ian pushed his little cart back to the shabby orphanage.
A crowd of children surrounded him.
Ian caught a fleeting glimpse of someone up ahead.
"That's not true. It's clearly Gandalf."
Ian corrected the child.
At that moment,
his feelings were complicated.
He'd been waiting for this day.
He just hadn't expected
it to come so soon—or for the person who arrived to be Albus Dumbledore.
Watching the white-bearded old man walk toward the headmaster's office,
Ian Prince felt a little puzzled.
Strange.
Wasn't Hogwarts supposed to send an owl first, then dispatch a professor to explain things in person?