"Time to eat."
At the caregiver's emotionless call, Morris, who had just returned from school, quietly entered the dining room.
Calling it a dining room was generous; it was merely a dilapidated room.
A large table and a few benches were all the furniture it contained, while the mottled mildew and half-peeling plaster on the walls spoke of years of disrepair.
When had this place been built again?
In the Victorian era?
Or perhaps even earlier.
In any case, this was where Morris had lived for several years.
The food on the table was the same as always: spaghetti bolognese with just a little meat sauce, cheap sausages bought in bulk, and plenty of mashed potatoes and onions.
In all fairness, it did not taste too bad. At least, Morris did not dislike it.
The price of food did not reflect the food itself.
Morris walked unhurriedly to his spot in the corner and sat down. He had barely settled when a jumble of footsteps approached.
A tall, thin boy with hair like withered yellow straw practically rushed inside. He glanced at Morris out of habit, then plopped down on the bench diagonally across from him, his eyes darting between the dishes.
He's starving, Morris thought.
Then the other children filed in.
There were about ten of them, ranging from six or seven to fourteen or fifteen.
One of the older children even had a gruesome scar on his face.
Once everyone was seated.
"Eat."
The caregiver's voice sounded again, followed by the clatter of cutlery and the sounds of chewing, accompanied by a little quiet conversation.
Perhaps because summer vacation had arrived, the children were all in good spirits.
Morris picked up his fork and slowly stirred the sticky mound of mashed potatoes on his plate.
School, meals, sleep.
That was his daily routine, unchanging and utterly boring.
He hated boredom.
Why did he have to live like this?
Because this was an orphanage on the outskirts of London.
Oh, it was no longer called an orphanage. It was supposed to be called a "children's home."
In short, it was an institution established by the government specifically to take in homeless children.
Morris was one of those children.
He had no other choice.
Counting it up, this was already his eleventh year in this world.
Yes, Morris was not a native of this world.
He came from a certain great Eastern nation in the twenty-first century.
And this year, if he remembered correctly, should have been 1991.
An unfamiliar place, an unfamiliar time.
"Still such a long way to go..."
At that thought, Morris sighed silently.
In this life, he had only recently celebrated his eleventh birthday, a very awkward age.
Although he possessed knowledge ahead of the times, he was still a child, after all.
With such a young body, he had almost no room to maneuver.
The only thing he could do right now was grow safely to adulthood.
After that, he believed that with his knowledge, even if he did not become fabulously wealthy, he could still foresee a bright future.
After dinner, the children returned to their respective rooms.
Although this orphanage was old, it had plenty of space.
Thanks to that, they shared rooms in pairs.
"I really wish we could have something different to eat... Why can't they make cake or something?"
As soon as Morris entered, the yellow-haired boy who had also been at the dinner table immediately spoke to him-he was his roommate.
"You're lucky there's anything to eat, Scott," Morris replied casually, climbing onto the top bunk and lying down without even changing his clothes.
Scott's complaints were not wrong. Dinner at this "children's home" was basically always the same as tonight's.
Cheap and filling.
Six months ago, there had been more variety, but after several changes of caregivers, it had become like this.
Morris did not particularly mind, though.
You could not expect the caregivers in a "children's home" full of troubled children to be all that conscientious or responsible.
For all anyone knew, they might quit in less than two weeks.
Besides, at least their meals at school were guaranteed.
At times like these, they should be grateful for the help of society and the government.
"Oh, right." Scott idly kicked the foot of the bed. "Where are you going for secondary school?"
"Northwood Comprehensive School." With his hands behind his head, Morris stared at a crack in the ceiling and yawned.
"Ah, I knew it." Scott sounded unsurprised yet impressed. "That's the best school around. Your grades really are good enough to get you in."
There was no jealousy in his voice, because it was already an established fact.
In this "children's home," Morris had always been different.
He could always quietly finish those headache-inducing, thick books, and his exercise books always had more As than anyone else's.
"Mm." Morris gave a vague reply, brushing his roommate off.
Studying might have been the only thing he could do now.
It was not merely for a brighter future. More importantly, he could also earn extra scholarships.
Although a single scholarship could not accomplish much, if they accumulated, the sum would be considerable.
When the time came, whether he used it for investment or university, it would be crucial seed money.
Morris did not dislike studying. Reading was also one of the great pleasures of his life.
Incidentally, he felt that, at his current rate of progress, he could go straight to university without any trouble.
Clang!
While Scott was still muttering about wanting cake, a loud crash suddenly came from the window.
The already somewhat loose window was blown open by a gust of wind and slammed hard into the wall, making the glass rattle with a teeth-grating sound.
Obviously, Scott, whose bottom bunk was beside the window, was better placed than Morris to deal with this unexpected situation.
"Bloody hell."
He irritably scratched his yellow hair and walked over to the window. "This bloody window's broken three times this week! They fix it, it breaks, they fix it again. Nobody cares..."
"Uh, what's this...?"
A flurry of flapping wings followed.
Then.
"Morris, there's a letter for you."
Morris immediately leaned out of the top bunk.
Scott stood there blankly, holding a very thick-looking envelope, with a "what just happened?" expression.
"You might not believe this, Morris," he said dazedly. "A cat with wings just tossed this through the window."
A cat with wings?
Morris's heart skipped a beat. He immediately jumped off the bed and swiftly took the envelope from Scott.
It was a thick, heavy parchment envelope, its slightly yellowed, aged hue giving it a very substantial feel.
One glance was enough to tell it was high quality.
Morris briefly turned it over to examine it.
There was a line written on the envelope in emerald-green ink.
[Mr. Morris Black, upper bunk by the window, east-side dormitory, second floor, Ashley Children's Home, 34 Ashley Street]
Besides that, the back of the envelope bore a large blob of thick, dark red sealing wax, clearly stamped with a shield-shaped coat of arms.
Four animals were engraved in the center of the shield: a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake.
Together, they surrounded an ornate letter H.
Without another word, Morris opened the envelope.
"..."
When Morris remained motionless for a long while, Scott leaned over curiously. "What is it? Who wrote to you? That symbol looks really weird..."
Morris was silent for a moment, then slowly said, "Scott, I might... not be going to Northwood Comprehensive School."
"?"