The hospital room smelled aggressively of bleach and boiled floor wax.
A heart monitor sat near the plaster wall.
It beeped.
It kept a steady, incredibly annoying tempo that drilled straight into the skull.
A boy lay on the narrow mattress.
A scratchy, deeply unpleasant blanket covered his legs.
A woman stood beside the bed.
She wore a severe, charcoal-grey dress that buttoned up to her chin, making her look like a grumpy pencil.
Beside her stood a man in a white coat.
He held a metal clipboard.
The doctor checked the monitor.
He scribbled a note.
“He took quite a nasty tumble,” the doctor said.
His voice held the distinct, bored professionalism of a man who looked at broken children all day.
“He was climbing, the branch snapped, and he hit the frozen ground.
Head first.
He lost consciousness immediately upon impact.
Frankly, it is a miracle he didn’t snap his neck.” The matron tightened her grip on her leather handbag.
Her knuckles turned white.
“I warned him about that blasted oak tree.
He is a daft lad, always climbing where he shouldn’t be.
Nuisance, the lot of them.” On the bed, the boy stirred.
His fingers twitched against the starched sheets.
He heard the voices, but they sounded entirely wrong.
They sounded like two people arguing underwater.
He tried to open his eyes.
The fluorescent lights overhead immediately assaulted his eyes.
His vision swam.
Shapes blurred together into formless blobs of white and grey.
He blinked rapidly.
The blobs sharpened into focus.
He looked at the ceiling.
He saw acoustic tiles.
He saw a yellowing water stain shaped remarkably like a slightly depressed duck.
“What,” the boy rasped.
His throat felt exactly like dry sandpaper.
He tried to swallow.
He lacked saliva entirely.
The matron stepped forward.
Her posture remained rigid.
She looked down the bridge of her nose at him, resembling a hawk inspecting a particularly disappointing mouse.
“Are you quite alright, Edward?” the matron asked.
Her tone held a sharp, clipped edge.
It lacked even a microscopic drop of maternal warmth.
The boy swallowed again.
He moved his arms.
He flexed his fingers.
He shifted his legs under the scratchy wool.
His body responded to his commands.
His head throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache, but his bones felt intact.
“Yes, I am,” the boy said.
His voice sounded thin.
Reedy.
He stared at her face.
He searched his mind for context.
He expected a name to surface.
He expected a feeling of familiarity.
He found absolutely nothing.
A blank, static space occupied his brain.
It felt like staring at a television tuned to a dead channel.
“Who are you?” the boy asked.
The matron stiffened.
Her lips thinned into a hard line.
She glanced at the doctor.
The doctor stepped closer to the head of the bed.
He clicked a small penlight on.
“Let’s start with the basics, shall we?” the doctor said.
He shone the beam into the boy’s left eye, then the right.
It stung.
“Follow the light.
Good lad.
Now, can you tell me your name?” The boy looked inward.
He dug past the throbbing pain at the base of his skull.
A word sat on his tongue.
It lacked a history, but it felt functionally correct.
“Edward Brooks,” he said.
“Spot on,” the doctor said.
He clicked the light off.
He slipped it into his breast pocket.
He wrote another note on his clipboard.
“Now, Edward.
Do you know where you are?” Edward looked around the room.
He saw the heart monitor.
He saw the sterile walls and the rolling tray table.
“A hospital,” Edward said, deadpan.
“Brilliant deduction,” the doctor said.
“Do you know the date?” Edward dug deeper into his mind.
He looked for a season, a month, or a year.
He found nothing.
He shook his head.
The motion caused a spike of pain to shoot down his neck.
He winced.
He stopped moving entirely.
“Do you remember what happened to you?” the doctor asked.
He leaned forward.
Edward tried again.
He looked for a memory of the day.
He searched for a home, a face, a street name, or a school.
The void remained intact.
“No,” Edward said.
A sudden, sharp chill hit his chest.
“I don’t remember anything.” The doctor lowered his clipboard.
He turned to the matron.
“Looks like he has got amnesia,” the doctor said.
He tapped his pen against the metal clip.
“The trauma from the impact jarred his brain.
It is not uncommon with head injuries of this nature.
In the future, maybe his memories will slowly return.
Or not.
Brains are funny things.
Only time will tell.
Until then, take care of him, Mrs.
Cole.” The matron nodded her head once.
She looked at Edward.
Her expression showed annoyance rather than pity.
Amnesia, it seemed, was just more paperwork.
The doctor ran through a final checkup.
He tested Edward’s reflexes with a small rubber hammer.
The knee jerked.
The elbow twitched.
He checked Edward’s blood pressure, the cuff squeezing tight around the thin arm.
He made Edward stand up and walk a straight line across the linoleum floor.
Edward passed the tests.
His balance held.
His body functioned perfectly.
His mind simply lacked the operating system.
An hour later, they received the discharge papers.
They left the hospital.
Edward wore a pair of scuffed trainers, grey trousers, and a faded wool jumper.
The clothes felt foreign.
They scratched his skin.
He walked beside the matron down the busy corridors.
They passed nurses pushing carts and patients in wheelchairs.
Edward watched them all.
He tried to figure out who he was.
They walked out the sliding glass doors.
The air hit him like a punch to the face.
It was freezing.
A damp, bone-chilling cold gripped the city.
Cars rumbled past on the wet street, their tires splashing through murky puddles.
People hurried along the pavement, their heads tucked down into thick scarves.
Edward watched them.
He looked at the cut of their heavy coats.
He looked at the boxy, outdated shapes of the cars.
It all looked ordinary, yet entirely wrong.
The matron raised a hand.
She hailed a black cab.
They climbed into the back seat.
The leather felt cold and stiff.
The cab pulled away from the curb, merging into the sluggish traffic.
“You are a foolish boy, Edward,” the matron scolded.
She stared straight ahead, watching the driver through the plastic partition.
“I told you to stay out of those branches.
You could have snapped your neck.
You gave me a right fright, and the paperwork will take me hours to sort.
Do not do anything dangerous anymore.
We haven’t got the funds to keep sending you to A&E every time you decide to play monkey.” Edward stayed silent.
He processed her words.
He lived in a place with branches.
He was under her care.
She held authority.
She worried about money and paperwork.
He remained completely confused.
He inhabited a body that belonged to him, but he lacked the user manual.
He watched the buildings blur past the window.
Brick row houses.
Small shops with neon signs flickering in the gloom.
He existed in a state of neutral, detached observation.
The cab stopped.
The matron paid the driver a handful of coins.
They stepped out onto the wet pavement.
They parked before a massive, imposing brick building.
A low stone wall surrounded the property.
A brass plaque near the entrance, tarnished green with age, read: St.
Jude’s Home for Boys.
Edward followed the matron up the stone steps.
They walked through a heavy oak door.
The inside smelled strongly of floor wax, old dust, and boiled cabbage.
The hallway stretched long and dark, illuminated by weak, flickering bulbs.
It looked exactly like the setting of a cheap horror film.
“Go to your room,” the matron said.
She pointed a sharp finger up the main staircase.
“Second door on the left.
Rest.
You will join the others for breakfast tomorrow.
And no funny business.” Edward nodded.
He climbed the wooden stairs.
They creaked loudly under his weight.
His legs felt heavy.
The fatigue of the day caught up to him rapidly.
He found the door.
He turned the brass handle and pushed it open.
The room held two beds, a single wooden dresser, and a window overlooking the street.
One bed looked unmade, a chaotic tangle of sheets.
The other had a neat, thin blanket folded precisely at the foot.
Edward moved to the neat bed.
It felt correct.
He kicked off his scuffed trainers.
He pulled his legs onto the thin mattress.
He felt entirely drained.
He lay his head on the flat pillow.
He closed his eyes.
He did not drift off slowly.
He plummeted into the dark.
Then, the dam broke.
His memories started to merge.
They didn’t flood the empty void with violence.
Instead, they hit him like a massive, unzipping file downloading on a dial-up connection.
Two entirely different streams of consciousness collided in the center of his brain.
He saw his present life.
He saw the peeling paint of the orphanage walls.
He tasted the watery, lump-filled porridge.
He remembered Matron Cole’s harsh voice.
He remembered the older boys, big and cruel, cornering him in the muddy yard.
He remembered running.
He remembered jumping and grabbing the lowest branch of the dead oak tree to escape their reaching hands.
He remembered the sickening, sharp crack of the wood giving way.
He remembered falling.
The absolute darkness.
Then, the second stream hit him.
The previous life where he lived until the year 2026.
He saw a glowing smartphone screen.
He saw lines of complex code scrolling on a vertical monitor.
He remembered working as a senior software developer.
He remembered drinking lukewarm coffee at three in the morning, fighting with a server deployment that absolutely refused to compile.
He remembered his cynical coworkers in the open-plan office.
He remembered growing up in the foster system in that life too, bouncing from group home to group home.
He remembered reading comics, playing absurd amounts of gacha games, and watching anime in his cramped, expensive apartment.
He remembered his death.
He was crossing a street in the pouring rain.
He watched the reflection of neon signs shimmering in a puddle.
A delivery truck ran a red light.
He saw the massive chrome grill of the vehicle.
He heard the screech of wet tires.
The impact shattered his ribs.
Then, nothing.
The memories tangled together.
The twenty-seven-year-old software developer from 2026 merged with the ten-year-old orphan from 1990.
Edward let out a long, slow breath.
His grip on the sheets released.
He slept deeply as the integration finalized itself in his subconscious.
Light hit his eyelids.
A pigeon cooed loudly, and annoyingly, on the window sill.
Edward opened his eyes.
He sat up.
It was morning.
The room felt freezing.
He stared at the ceiling tiles.
His mind felt entirely clear.
The amnesiac fog vanished completely.
He remembered absolutely everything.
He was Edward Brooks, the software developer who died in a highly clichéd hit-and-run in 2026.
He was also Edward Brooks, the orphan who fell from a tree yesterday.
He rubbed his face.
He felt the cold tip of his nose.
Suddenly, a translucent blue screen hovered before his eyes.
It emitted a soft, pulsing glow, lighting up the dim room.
MEMORIES MERGED.
SYSTEM 100% LOADED.
Edward did not flinch.
He did not scream.
He sat still and read the floating text.
A slow, highly amused smile spread across his face.
“Well, look at that,” Edward whispered to the empty room.
“I got Isekai’d.
And I got a system.
Thank you, whichever cosmic entity manages the reincarnation paperwork.
I rate this customer service five stars.” He dropped his hands.
A sharp, familiar pang of sadness hit his chest.
He looked at the drab, grey walls of St.
Jude’s.
He grew up in the system in his previous life.
He knew the distinct, hollow feeling of being unwanted.
Now, he was right back in an orphanage.
He didn’t have parents in his first life.
He didn’t have parents in this life either.
“Really, universe?” Edward muttered, shaking his head.
“Reincarnation is great, but did you have to hit copy-paste on my tragic backstory?
One-star Yelp review for originality.” He pushed the sadness aside.
He survived the foster system once.
He could easily do it again, especially with an adult mind and a literal cheat code hovering in front of his face.
He focused on the floating blue screen.
“System,” Edward said softly.
“Identify yourself.” The text dissolved into pixels.
New letters typed themselves across his vision.
MULTIVERSE GACHA SYSTEM ONLINE.
Edward grinned.
A genuine, ear-to-ear grin.
He knew gacha mechanics intimately.
He lost entirely too much of his disposable income on mobile games in his past life, chasing digital images of anime characters.
He knew the addictive thrill of the pull, the flashing lights, and the crushing despair of terrible drop rates.
If there was one thing he was heavily qualified for, it was gambling with virtual currency.
“Question one,” Edward said, leaning back against the cold headboard, making himself comfortable.
“Where am I?
And give me the current date.” CURRENT LOCATION: LONDON, EARTH.
UNIVERSE: HARRY POTTER.
CURRENT DATE: DECEMBER 1ST, 1990.
Edward blinked.
He stared at the glowing blue letters.
He read them a second time just to make sure his new brain wasn’t misfiring.
Harry Potter.
Wizards.
Magic wands.
A secret society stuck in the Victorian era, completely lacking common sense, gearing up for a brutal civil war led by a guy who couldn’t be bothered to grow a nose.
He threw off the thin blanket and stood up.
The wooden floorboards felt like ice against his socks.
He paced the narrow space between the two beds.
He ran the numbers in his head.
His hospital chart listed his birth year as 1980.
“Okay, let’s do the math,” Edward muttered, pacing faster.
“Harry Potter was born in July 1980.
We were born in the exact same year.
That makes me ten years old right now.
Harry goes to Hogwarts in September 1991.
I’ll get my letter next summer and start Hogwarts at the same time.” He stopped pacing.
He started laughing.
It was a dry, amused chuckle.
This was absolutely brilliant.
He received exactly nine months in the muggle world to establish his abilities, level up, and prepare before he even stepped foot in the castle.
He possessed complete meta-knowledge of the plot.
He possessed an adult mind capable of actual critical thinking—a rare commodity in the wizarding world.
And he possessed a System.
“System,” Edward said, crossing his arms.
“Give me the rules.
Keep it brief.
I haven’t had my morning coffee, assuming this place even serves coffee.” FUNCTION 1: GACHA PULLS.
THE HOST RECEIVES 10 ROLLS PER MONTH.
ROLLS RESET ON THE FIRST DAY OF EACH CALENDAR MONTH.
FUNCTION 2: STORAGE SPACE.
THE HOST POSSESSES AN INBUILT DIMENSIONAL INVENTORY.
ITEMS OBTAINED FROM THE GACHA OR THE PHYSICAL WORLD CAN BE STORED HERE.
TIME STOPS COMPLETELY WITHIN THE STORAGE SPACE.
LIVING CREATURES CANNOT BE STORED.
PROMOTION: HOST HAS 10 STARTER ROLLS AVAILABLE.
STARTER ROLLS FEATURE HEAVILY BOOSTED RATES.
FROM THE NEXT ROLL ONWARD, THE RATE DROPS SIGNIFICANTLY.
Edward nodded.
Ten rolls a month forced patience.
It prevented him from spamming the system and breaking the universe on day one.
The inbuilt storage space, however, was immediately overpowered.
He essentially became a walking, untraceable vault.
He did not need an undetectable extension charm or a beaded bag.
He could rob a grocery store blind, and no one would ever find the evidence.
Not that he planned to, but it was nice to have options.
“What exactly is in the pool?” Edward asked.
THE POOL CONTAINS ITEMS, SKILLS, WEAPONS, AND CHARACTER TEMPLATES DRAWN FROM ALL FICTIONAL UNIVERSES.
THIS INCLUDES ANIME, MANGA, COMICS, MOVIES, AND TELEVISION SHOWS.
REWARDS RANGE FROM OVERPOWERED ABILITIES TO DAILY LIFE ITEMS.
“Let’s get on with it.
I feel lucky.
Give me the 10 gacha.” A massive holographic wheel materialized in the air.
It pushed aside the blue text screen.
It spun rapidly.
The colors blurred together.
Bronze, silver, gold, platinum, and diamond flashed past his eyes in a hypnotic, addictive rhythm.
The wheel slowed.
Ten digital orbs shot out of the center.
They hovered in a neat, floating line before him.
Three orbs glowed a dull bronze.
Three orbs glowed a polished silver.
Two orbs glowed a radiant gold.
One orb glowed a blinding platinum.
One orb shimmered with a fractured, prismatic diamond light.
“One diamond, one platinum, two gold, three silver, three bronze,” Edward counted, his dark grey eyes tracking the colors.
“Rigged starter rates indeed.
I will take full advantage of this now before the rate drops to absolute garbage next month.
Let’s clear the trash first.
Open the bronze.” The three brown orbs cracked open simultaneously with the sound of breaking clay.
BRONZE: ONE PACK OF PILOT G2 GEL PENS.
NORMAL DAILY ITEM.
Contains twelve black 0.7mm pens.
The ink writes smoothly on all surfaces and does not smudge.
BRONZE: ONE STEEL CROWBAR.
NORMAL DAILY ITEM.
A standard, solid steel crowbar painted red.
Measures thirty-six inches.
Heavy, durable, and highly useful for leverage or blunt force trauma.
BRONZE: ONE JAR OF PEANUT BUTTER.
NORMAL DAILY ITEM.
A bulk-sized, two-kilogram plastic jar of creamy peanut butter.
High in protein, calories, and shelf life.
He turned his attention to the next set.
“Open the silver,” Edward commanded.
The three grey orbs shattered with a sharp metallic clink.
SILVER: £10,000 CASH.
LUXURY ITEM.
Valid, non-sequential fiat currency for the year 1990 in the United Kingdom.
Perfect legal tender.
Issued in bundles of twenty-pound notes.
SILVER: ONE TAILORED WINTER COAT.
LUXURY ITEM.
A high-end, waterproof winter coat in black.
Sized perfectly for a ten-year-old boy.
Features premium goose-down insulation, thermal lining, and a deep hood.
SILVER: ONE LOCKPICKING SET WITH INSTRUCTION MANUAL.
NORMAL USEFUL ITEM.
A comprehensive set of tension wrenches, rakes, and hooks stored in a rolled leather case.
Includes a beginner’s guide to defeating mechanical pin-tumbler locks.
Edward pumped his fist.
He reached out and grabbed the thick bundles of paper money.
The notes felt crisp and authentic.
“Oh, that is lovely,” Edward said, his British accent rolling off his tongue naturally.
He stored the cash, the heavy coat, and the leather lockpick roll in his space.
“Ten grand in 1990 makes me incredibly wealthy for a lad my age.
I can convert some of this to Galleons and buy whatever I need without relying on Hogwarts charity funds.
The coat solves the drafty orphanage problem immediately.
And the lockpicks?
Brilliant.
A wizard can use Alohomora, but magical traces trigger alarms.
Mechanical skill leaves no magical signature.
I can raid the kitchen pantry tonight like a ghost.” His inventory filled up with practical, real-world survival gear.
He felt incredibly secure.
He felt completely prepared to navigate the grimy streets of London for the next few months until his letter arrived.
He looked at the remaining orbs.
The real prizes waited.
The gacha always hid the game-breakers in the top tiers.
“Open the gold,” Edward said, rubbing his hands together.
The two yellow orbs exploded with a melodic, satisfying chime.
GOLD: A BAG OF FIVE SENZU BEANS (DRAGON BALL).
ITEM.
A small burlap sack containing five green beans.
Eating one bean completely restores physical health, replenishes stamina, cures illness, and heals any non-fatal wound instantly.
GOLD: ONE NEURALYZER (MEN IN BLACK).
ITEM.
A handheld, cigar-shaped device that isolates the electronic impulses in the brain to erase memory.
Features adjustable dials for time duration ranging from hours to years.
Comes with one pair of standard protective sunglasses.
Single-use battery.
Cannot be recharged.
One flash only.
Edward stared.
He read the floating text twice.
“Senzu beans,” Edward whispered, highly amused.
He reached out and caught the small, rough burlap sack.
He could feel the small beans inside.
“I essentially possess five extra lives.” He stored the beans carefully.
He picked up the silver, cylinder-shaped Neuralyzer.
He popped on the cheap, black plastic sunglasses that materialized with it.
“A technological flash-bang Obliviate,” Edward noted, admiring the sleek metal device.
“No wand required.
No incantation.
Most importantly, no Ministry of Magic trace to detect underage sorcery.
It is a one-time get-out-of-jail-free card if a muggle or a wizard catches me doing something highly illegal.
I will save this for a massive emergency.” He stored the Neuralyzer and pocketed the sunglasses.
Two orbs remained.
The intense, steady white light of the platinum orb, and the chaotic, swirling light of the diamond orb.
“Open the platinum,” Edward said.
The white orb cracked.
A flash of pure light filled the small bedroom.
PLATINUM: SKILL MANUAL – OBSERVATION HAKI (ONE PIECE).
Crush the book to absorb the training manual directly into the brain.
Grants the knowledge and exercises required to unlock a sixth sense that allows the user to sense the presence, strength, and emotions of living creatures, and eventually predict attacks.
NOTE: THIS DOES NOT GRANT INSTANT MASTERY.
YOU MUST TRAIN.
A heavy, leather-bound book dropped from the dissipating orb.
Edward caught it.
He read the note.
“Ah, of course.
Can’t just hand me the radar hack for free, can you?” Edward sighed.
“I have to actually work for it.
Fair enough.” He gripped the heavy book in both hands.
He squeezed hard.
The book dissolved instantly into white light.
The light shot directly into his head.
It gave him a massive, metaphorical PDF file of meditation techniques, sensory exercises, and theoretical concepts.
It felt like trying to read an encyclopedia while standing in a wind tunnel.
Edward closed his eyes.
He focused.
He tried to follow step one: push his awareness outward.
He concentrated hard.
He strained.
Nothing happened.
Then, a sharp headache bloomed behind his eyes.
He barely managed to sense a faint, rhythmic vibration through the wall.
He opened his eyes, panting slightly.
“Okay.
I sensed that the kid in the next room is snoring,” Edward muttered, rubbing his temples.
“Not exactly dodging spells yet.
Going to have to grind that one out.
Wonderful.” He turned to the final orb.
The absolute peak of the gacha pool.
The rarest tier.
It hovered in the air, dominating the room with its fractured light.
“Come on, be something fun.
Open the diamond,” Edward said.
He braced his legs.
The orb exploded.
A massive holographic card spun rapidly in the air, throwing rainbow light across the ceiling.
It slowed to a stop.
The card depicted a boy roughly his age.
The boy had messy, striking white hair and wore a casual t-shirt over a long-sleeved turtleneck.
He held a skateboard under one arm.
Then, the image shifted.
The boy’s eyes went completely dead.
Blue lightning crackled furiously around his body.
His fingernails elongated into sharp, deadly claws.
DIAMOND: CHARACTER TEMPLATE – KILLUA ZOLDYCK (HUNTER X HUNTER) CHIMERA ARC.
TEMPLATE DETAILS: THE USER’S PHYSICAL STRENGTH, SPEED, AND REFLEXES SCALE TO SUPERHUMAN LEVELS.
THE USER GAINS MASTERY OVER ASSASSINATION TECHNIQUES AND THE ABILITY TO TRANSMUTE AURA INTO ELECTRICITY.
CURRENT SYNCHRONIZATION: 5%.
Edward stared at the glowing card.
“Five percent?” Edward read aloud.
He crossed his arms.
“You give me the most overpowered assassin template in anime history, and you throttle my bandwidth to five percent?
Stingy system.” The card dissolved into crackling blue light.
The light shot forward and slammed directly into his chest.
Edward gasped.
He stumbled backward and hit the wooden edge of the bed.
A wave of intense heat washed over his muscles, followed by a sharp, stretching sensation in his joints.
It felt like growing an inch in a matter of seconds.
His veins pulsed with a strange, heavy vitality.
He didn’t feel the crackle of electricity or the opening of aura nodes.
His synchronization was simply too low for Nen.
Instead, he felt a sudden, dense rush of energy.
It felt like drinking three double espressos back to back, but entirely localized in his muscles.
He stood up.
The deep, bone-weary exhaustion from the hospital vanished entirely.
He looked down at his hands.
He was still a scrawny ten-year-old boy.
He did not suddenly grow massive muscles.
He felt slightly lighter, slightly more balanced.
He took a step forward.
His foot hit the creaky wooden floorboard.
It made a very soft, muffled squeak instead of a loud groan.
The preliminary silent gait was there, but it wasn’t perfect.
He needed to practice the rhythm.
He raised his right hand.
He focused on his fingers, trying to trigger the famous Zoldyck claw transformation.
He strained.
He commanded his joints to shift.
With a tiny, pathetic pop, his fingernails grew about a quarter of an inch.
They looked slightly sharper, as if he just desperately needed a manicure.
Edward stared at his slightly longer nails.
He sighed.
“Terrifying.
Truly.
I am a lethal weapon.
The dark lord will tremble before my aggressive need for a nail file.” He commanded them back.
They retracted.
He tried to summon the electricity.
He closed his eyes and searched for the deep well of Nen that Killua possessed.
He looked for the aura nodes.
He found absolutely nothing.
His internal energy pathways felt completely dormant.
“Right,” Edward sighed, dropping his hand.
“Five percent sync rate.
My body isn’t nearly strong enough to handle aura yet.
I have to grind my physical stats and raise the synchronization before I can even think about playing with lightning.
Typical RPG mechanics.
Still, at least I should have the base poison and electricity resistance.
I can eat all the dodgy orphanage meat I want.” He walked over to the small, cracked mirror hanging above the single wooden dresser.
A ten-year-old boy stared back.
He had messy, pitch-black hair that fell over his forehead in disorganized waves.
His clothes were faded.
But his face had changed.
His dark grey eyes stared back at him.
They were no longer the panicked, tear-filled eyes of a lost child.
They were bright, calculating, and held a highly amused, cheeky glint.
He didn’t look like a dead-eyed assassin.
He looked like a kid who just figured out the punchline to a very elaborate joke.
“I am Edward Brooks,” he said to the mirror.
His voice sounded steady, cool, and undeniably British.
He realized his situation wasn’t bad at all.
He didn’t have instant god-mode, but he had incredible potential.
He was a tiny, incredibly dangerous ninja in a world of stick-waving snobs.
Imagine Severus Snape trying to read his mind with Legilimency, only to be met with the mental image of Edward laughing at him.
Imagine a troll attacking him in the bathroom, only to get a steel crowbar to the kneecaps.
He was going to cause havoc, and he was going to enjoy every second of it.
“System,” Edward said, maintaining his relaxed posture.
“Status report on the template.” TEMPLATE ‘KILLUA ZOLDYCK’ INTEGRATED AT 5%.
HOST IS ADVISED TO DO PUSH-UPS AND PRACTICE MEDITATION.
“Push-ups,” Edward snorted.
“Right.
Thanks, coach.” He walked to the window.
He looked out at the street below.
London was waking up.
He saw the mundane 1990s cars driving past in the morning gloom.
He felt a grumble in his stomach.
He opened his inbuilt storage space.
He visualized the jar of peanut butter.
The items materialized in his hands instantly.
He held the massive jar in his left hand.
He unscrewed the plastic lid of the jar.
He dipped his finger into the jar and ate it.
“Breakfast of champions,” Edward declared.
He turned away from the window.
He walked back to his neat bed.
He sat down, crossing his legs loosely.
He continued to eat his peanut butter.
He had ten more rolls arriving on the first day of next month.
He had a dimensional inventory to fill.
He had an entire magic system to exploit, break, and run circles around.
He had nine months to prepare for the Hogwarts letter.
He needed to find an abandoned warehouse to practice his Haki without getting a migraine.
He needed to figure out a brutal physical training regimen to push his sync rate high enough to finally unlock his aura nodes.
The Boy Who Lived could have the tragic destiny, the lightning scar, and the dangerous spotlight.
Edward preferred to operate on the sidelines, acting as a chaotic variable that no one could predict.
A loud, jarring bell rang from the ground floor.
It signaled the start of the day at St.
Jude’s Home for Boys.
Matron Cole’s voice echoed up the stairwell, sharp and commanding, ordering the boys to get dressed and line up for morning chores.
Edward heard the heavy, sloppy footsteps of the older boys in the hallway.
He remembered them cornering him.
He remembered the mud, the shoving, the terror that led him up the tree.
He scooped another serving of peanut butter.
He stood up from the bed.
He felt the dense, tightly coiled physical strength waiting in his muscles.
He walked toward his bedroom door.
He reached out and grabbed the brass handle.
“Time to go see the bullies,” Edward said.
A cool, mischievous smile touched his lips.
“Let’s see how they handle a proper Zoldyck greeting.”