Late July, 1991.
London.
Nestled between Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament stood Westminster School, a prestigious institution whose history stretched all the way back to 1179.
“Child, congratulations on passing the 16+ entrance examination—”
The elderly headmaster handed the document in his hands to the boy seated across from him.
“Vincent, you are the most brilliant child I’ve ever met.”
“Thank you, Headmaster.” The boy remained calm despite the praise.
“Without your help, I’m afraid I wouldn’t have been able to become a student here until I turned thirteen.”
The old headmaster burst into laughter.
“If I hadn’t used a bit of privilege, a national youth mathematics champion like you would’ve been snatched away by those people at Eton.”
Beneath Vincent Wayne’s tousled gray-gold hair was a youthful face already beginning to show traces of handsome features.
“Headmaster, Eton actually sent me an acceptance letter—”
The moment he noticed the old man becoming tense, Vincent continued with obvious disappointment:
“Sadly, it was only for Year One secondary school.
Otherwise…
I might really have accepted.”
The headmaster quietly let out a sigh of relief.
Then he saw those azure-blue eyes blink mischievously.
Only then did he realize that this eleven-year-old had been teasing him.
“Child, I’ll see you on the first day of school.”
“I’ll be looking forward to it.”
Under the old man’s warm and kindly gaze, Vincent—who had successfully skipped ahead several grades—stood up calmly and left the headmaster’s office.
He wasn’t a frail child.
At one hundred and sixty centimeters tall, his physique was already well-developed.
Even standing among sixteen-year-olds in Year Four, he wouldn’t look particularly out of place.
Arriving at the parking lot, he stepped into an ordinary black sedan.
The handsome middle-aged man in the driver’s seat adjusted his sunglasses and glanced sideways.
“I still think Eton is better.”
Vincent fastened his seatbelt in the back seat.
“Dad, this place lets me go directly into Year Four.”
His father, Eric, shook his head and started driving out of Westminster’s campus.
“Your grandfather and I both graduated from Eton.
The connections there would help you a lot in the future.”
“But Grandpa graduated and immediately went into business…”
Vincent shrugged while staring out the window.
“And you joined the army.”
Eric’s face darkened behind his sunglasses.
“Kid, stop talking to me with that sarcastic tone.”
Vincent raised his right hand in a salute, his expression utterly serious.
“Understood, Captain!”
“Good.
Very good.”
Eric swore to heaven that if the brat sitting in the back had been one of his soldiers, he’d already be flying outside the car window.
But when he remembered the three powerful people backing the boy, all he could do was think about it.
Vincent Wayne had excelled academically since childhood.
Yet he wasn’t some weak bookworm.
At school, nobody dared provoke him.
His grandfather had long retired and now comfortably lived off rent from several properties on Oxford Street.
His father had left the military and legally operated a firearms store.
Even children from gang families behaved themselves around Vincent.
And if some hotheaded fool failed to understand the situation—
With Vincent’s height and physical advantages, reason had never once failed him.
However, beneath such excellence hid a side nobody knew.
Vincent Wayne…
was a transmigrator from thirty years in the future.
On a stormy night filled with thunder and rain, he had been walking with an umbrella while speaking to his girlfriend on the phone, saying he was almost there—
Then lightning decided to greet him personally.
It hadn’t really hurt.
Everything had simply happened too suddenly.
By the time he was less than a year old, he had already accepted reality and planned out his future path.
Go to school.
Graduate.
Start a company.
Become rich.
People with the surname Wayne were all ruthless figures.
If he couldn’t become a Gotham-style crime-fighting Bruce after building a solid foundation—
Then at minimum, he’d become a Thomas rich enough to rival nations.
Thud…
Vincent’s wandering thoughts had already drifted toward whether, a few years later, he should invest in a certain little fruit company or buy out that mischievous blinking fat penguin—
When the strange sound from the roof of the car suddenly pulled him back to reality.
Eric pulled the car over to the roadside.
“I’ll go check it out.”
“Holy cra—!”
The moment the car door opened by a tiny crack, a brown unidentified object shot inside like a missile.
He instantly reached out to grab it, but all he caught was a handful of feathers.
From the back seat, Vincent Wayne could clearly see what had flown into the car.
More accurately, it was a dark-brown owl carrying a parchment envelope in its beak.
“Whoo—!”
Flapping its wings frantically, it slammed on an invisible brake midair and crashed straight into a warm little embrace.
Vincent held it up and examined it several times.
“Dad, you’re so rough.”
Pointing toward the owl’s lower back area, he complained:
“It’s gone bald here.”
“Hey!” Eric held out the feathers in his palm.
“It scared me first!”
“Whoo—!”
“Good thing my reflexes are fast, or you would’ve been finished!”
“WHOO WHOO WHOO!!”
The man and the owl…
Were they arguing?
Before spending money on a translator, Vincent felt it was necessary to read the contents of the letter first.
These days, anything capable of pinpointing someone’s location that accurately—
Aside from satellites floating in the sky— left only a certain thick-browed Clark.
“Hm…
Warthog Magic School?”
The owl slowly twisted its tiny head.
Its pair of slanted round eyes seemed to be giving him another chance to read more carefully.
“Fine.”
Vincent curled his lips and began reading aloud.
Dear Mr.
Wayne,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Enclosed is a list of required books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1st.
We await your owl no later than July 31st.
Yours sincerely,
Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall
“A magic school?” Eric’s mouth twitched slightly.
“I’ve only heard of Kamar-Taj.
That’s a real ancient sanctuary for magic.”
Vincent shot a deadpan look toward the driver’s seat.
“Dad, this is the real world.”
“And this Hogwarts…”
He opened the supply list and glanced down a few lines.
Then suddenly, he stood up in shock.
Bang—
“Ow—!”
After smacking his head against the roof, he sat back down blankly.
That book, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them…
He vaguely remembered hearing about it somewhere in his previous life.
“Dana-nanana-bi-do-do-dananabi-dobi-dobi—”
Vincent softly hummed a short melody.
Under the gaze of one man and one owl, he slowly folded the letter.
His expression became unusually focused and serious.
“Dad…
can Westminster grant a leave of absence?”
Eric stared at his precious son’s determined face.
Then he looked at the owl, whose tiny head had lifted proudly into the air.
“What’s the bank account balance?”
“None.”
“How much is tuition per year?”
“Doesn’t say.”
“School address?”
“Doesn’t say that either.”
Eric frowned deeply.
Right now, he would gladly bet an entire year of future allowance that this Warthog Magic School absolutely had a terrifying background.