Early in the morning, a ray of sunlight slipped through a gap in the curtains, casting a warm glow on the sleeping boy's face. Albert was still asleep, but not for long.
The door on the second floor near the staircase creaked open, and a brown-haired girl peeked inside. Her large brown eyes fixed on the boy still nestled in bed. "Albert, it's time to get up," she whispered.
When the boy didn't stir, the girl pouted, clearly unimpressed. She stepped into the room, followed closely by an English shorthair cat. "Tom, do your thing," she said, placing the cat on the bed. She gently lifted its tail and brushed it across Albert's face twice.
Still half-asleep, Albert swatted the cat's tail away. Blinking his eyes open, he spotted his mischievous sister and yawned. "Good morning, Nia."
"Dad says we're going to London today," Nia said, her eyes sparkling as she looked at him. "We're getting your Eton uniform tailored and buying everything on the list."
"Alright, I'm up," Albert replied, stifling another yawn. He scooped up the cat, which was now clawing at the bedsheets, set it on the floor, and stretched. After changing and washing up, he headed to the living room for breakfast.
"Up late again last night?" Daisy asked, placing a hearty breakfast plate in front of Albert.
"We'd better hurry, son. Today's schedule is packed," Herb said, spreading out a letter from Eton College on the table with a proud smile.
Everyone knew that private schools in the UK were breeding grounds for the elite, and Eton was among the best. Admission required two things: talent and money.
The Andersson family was comfortably middle-class. Herb and Daisy ran a successful law firm and had some savings to their name. As for Albert, he was widely regarded as a genius. His stellar grades and numerous awards from inter-school competitions only reinforced this perception.
But was Albert truly a genius? Only he knew the truth.
A genius? Hardly. Albert harbored a secret no one else knew: he was a transmigrator.
Why was he labeled a genius? Even he found it puzzling. A child who had never seen a Rubik's Cube before could solve a scrambled one with ease. To most adults, that screamed prodigy.
In truth, Albert could solve the Rubik's Cube because he'd played with one in his previous life. He knew its tricks, so piecing it together was no challenge.
As for maintaining his "genius" reputation, Albert wasn't worried about being exposed. He had the ultimate advantage: a legendary golden finger.
Transmigrators, after all, came with cheat codes. Web novels hadn't lied to him.
When Albert was seven, a mysterious interface appeared in his mind. It had two main functions: accepting quests and allocating skill points. Occasionally, quests would pop up, rewarding him with either experience points (EXP) or skill points (SP). EXP could be used to level up skills, while SP could instantly boost a skill by one level.
Albert's first skill was English Proficiency, which he'd painstakingly raised to Level 3 over several years. If the average Englishman's proficiency was Level 2, a typical English teacher might be Level 3. With enough effort, maxing out a skill like technology could turn him into a genius scientist.
But Albert had no interest in becoming a scientist—nor had he in his previous life. Back then, he'd been a casual reader turned web novelist. He wrote a few books, saved up a modest sum, and lived a carefree life doing what he loved.
In other words, he'd been a self-proclaimed "salted fish"—content with a simple, unambitious existence.
As for how he transmigrated? It was embarrassing.
One day, while lounging on his sofa watching a Mr. Bean movie, he munched on an apple. The movie was so hilarious that he laughed mid-bite, choked on the apple, and—well, that was the end of his thirty-year life.
When he woke up, he was a baby. For years, he lived in a daze in this new home, raising a cat he named Tom after the classic Tom and Jerry cartoon.
At seven, the game-like interface appeared, throwing Albert into an existential crisis. Was he an NPC in some cosmic game? Eventually, he found no evidence of "players" and concluded the interface was a transmigrator's blessing—a golden finger to secure his place as a winner in this new life.
Albert wasn't ambitious. His dreams were simple: enjoy a few romances in adulthood, land an easy job after university, marry before thirty, and amass enough wealth to live worry-free for a century. To achieve this, he planned to conquer Wall Street after graduation, leveraging maxed-out economic skills and memories from his past life to rake in fortunes.
Leveling up skills, however, was no easy task, especially past Level 2. Each level demanded a staggering amount of EXP, which Albert earned by completing missions. Getting accepted into Eton was one such mission.
"Son, what's on your mind?" Herb asked, slicing into his steak and glancing at Albert, who seemed lost in thought.
"I'm thinking about my future," Albert replied, swallowing a bite of poached egg.
"And what do you want to do?" Daisy asked, her curiosity piqued. The couple rarely heard their son talk about his aspirations.
"Finance," Albert said without hesitation.
"We thought you'd aim for something like scientist or astronaut," Herb and Daisy exchanged glances.
"What's finance?" Nia interjected, annoyed at being left out of the conversation.
"Finance is a way to make a lot of money," Albert explained, looking up at her. "By the way, can you get me some economics books this trip? Consider it an early birthday gift."
"Son, don't mislead your sister. Finance isn't easy money—only the sharpest minds succeed," Herb said, his face twitching as he coughed into his fist. "Besides, our family isn't exactly struggling."
"Alright, let's finish breakfast and stop this nonsense," Daisy cut in. "Nia, drink your milk."
"Okay," Nia grumbled, eyeing her glass of milk with distaste.
Albert's new life was near perfect: a loving sister, a harmonious family, a comfortable lifestyle, and a golden finger to propel him to greatness. His only complaint? British food.
He'd once scoffed at online claims that England was a culinary wasteland. After all, most Brits seemed content with simple, practical meals. But after years of experiencing it firsthand, he no longer doubted the truth.
After breakfast, the Andersson family tidied up, locked the doors and windows, and prepared to head out. Albert opened the door of their Ford, about to climb into the back seat, when Nia's surprised voice rang out. "Look, is that an owl?"
Herb and Daisy followed her pointing finger and saw an owl soaring toward them. As it passed overhead, it dropped a letter at Albert's feet.
The Andersson family froze, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief.
An owl delivering a letter?