It was late at night. Outside, trucks rumbled as they passed over rain-soaked roads.
London was in the midst of financialization. Canary Wharf was rising rapidly, gleaming towers pushing into the skyline. Yet the streets where the orphanage stood remained unchanged, with bags of trash piled at the corners, uncleared and reeking.
Inside the orphanage, the smell of disinfectant lingered constantly, though it failed to mask the stale, oppressive air. The caregivers were exhausted, their patience worn thin, and the children moved about cautiously, like injured animals wary of every sound.
Sean lay curled beneath a worn quilt made of cheap synthetic fibers, sleeping soundly.
Just moments ago, he had tested his newly unlocked green-grade talent.
Regarding that experience, he could only think one thing:
What kind of hard life did I live before?
It turned out that three incorrect practices could lead to a single correct one.
It turned out that a wizard could perceive the pronunciation of a spell.
Take Scourgify, for example. He had always thought it was pronounced "Scour-g-ify." But just now, a sudden realization struck him—why couldn't it be pronounced "S-cour-g-ify"?
And in that strange, mysterious state, he succeeded.
His first [Skilled] proficiency.
A full 10 points.
Five days' worth of progress… achieved in five seconds.
No wonder this was a world ruled by talent and magic. Only now did Sean truly understand it.
Tomorrow, Professor McGonagall would come to pick him up.
He hoped he could perform well—at the very least, well enough to meet the minimum requirements for a scholarship.
Speaking of Hogwarts, what exactly were the standards for a first-year young wizard's scholarship?
Sean didn't know.
But he was certain he would achieve it.
There was no reason—except Gui.
As long as he persisted in learning magic, he believed he would eventually stand at the pinnacle of the magical world.
With beautiful dreams of the future filling his mind, Sean fell into a deep sleep.
September 1st, 1991.
This was a special day.
Sean was leaving the orphanage.
He quickly packed his belongings. Only two undershirts and two pairs of pants were still barely usable. Everything else was either too big or too small, worn beyond repair.
Dragging a cheap suitcase to the door of his room, Sean was startled by how few things he actually owned.
"Sean, you'd better not come crawling back when you can't afford the tuition!"
Caregiver Anna twisted her plump body as she spoke, her tone sharp and venomous.
"You'll be in real trouble then!"
"Don't trouble yourself, Aunt Square!" Sean shot back cheerfully. "I hope you don't get laid off during the recent downsizing! Though with your performance, unemployment is almost guaranteed!"
With that, Sean nimbly darted out the door, leaving behind only Caregiver Anna's shrill curses.
He didn't really understand the slang she hurled at him; he simply assumed she was insulting him.
Phew.
Finally, he had properly talked back to that cylindrical woman.
She was the one who had ignored the original body's severe illness—one of the direct culprits behind its death.
In this world, no one knew the truth of that death.
Only Sean, who had transmigrated from another world, carried that memory.
Cursing her felt like collecting interest on the debt owed to the original body.
Normally, this was something he wouldn't have dared to imagine.
But today, he did it on impulse.
Oh my, Sean thought, amused. What's gotten into you? You're amazing, buddy.
Smiling, Sean jogged toward the peeling wooden gate. Above it hung the faded plaque reading "Oak Children's Home", crooked and shaking slightly as dust fell in the wind.
Standing beneath it was Professor Minerva McGonagall.
Square spectacles rested on her nose. Her black hair was pulled into a tight, high bun, and she wore a dark green robe paired with a Scottish plaid shirt, radiating an unmistakably stern presence.
Yet when she saw the frail boy running toward her, the corners of her lips lifted almost imperceptibly.
"Professor McGonagall, I apologize for making you wait."
Sean ran all the way to her. His body was weak; even a short sprint left him gasping for breath. Still, every time he saw her, he ran.
It had been the same during their shopping trip. When Professor McGonagall asked him why, the boy had answered in a nearly inaudible voice:
"Important people should be met with a run."
Though she never said it aloud, the elderly cat-lady's heart had melted completely.
"You can walk more slowly, Mr. Green. We have plenty of time."
Her voice was gentler than her expression as she took Sean's hand.
Then she noticed him staring at her intently.
"S-cour-g-ify."
Sean raised his wand. The dust clinging to Professor McGonagall's hair vanished instantly.
"Dirty things… shouldn't be… on your head."
He was still panting. After casting the spell, his breathing became even more labored. His voice was soft, yet stubbornly determined.
Professor McGonagall froze, gazing at him with surprise and quiet relief flickering in her eyes.
"A properly executed Scouring Charm," she said.
"How long did it take you to learn it, Mr. Green?"
As she held his hand, they continued walking.
"I learned it yesterday, Professor."
Sean lowered his head. His tone was cautious, lacking confidence.
"You did very well," Professor McGonagall said with a smile, noticing his unease.
"It seems you truly may qualify for the scholarship."
Sean said nothing. He only lifted his head briefly, eyes shining brightly, then quickly looked away.
Inside, fireworks were going off.
Based on Professor McGonagall's character, once she said something like that, half of the scholarship was already secured.
Although acting like a pitiful orphan felt a little unethical, Sean had no other choice.
For survival—and to escape the orphanage—he needed that scholarship.
His body still required treatment and recovery. This was the most realistic source of income available to him.
Sure enough, Professor McGonagall soon revealed the details.
"Headmaster Dumbledore has approved it. Within the first month, if all seven of your subjects reach Outstanding, you will be awarded a scholarship of six hundred Galleons."
She delivered the news calmly, watching the boy beside her, clearly expecting excitement.
Unexpectedly, Sean lowered his head even further.
After a long silence, his faint voice sounded:
"…Thank you, Professor. I know from books that Hogwarts doesn't normally offer scholarships to first-year students. Thank you for your efforts, which allow me to study magic."
That was all he said.
They were his genuine feelings.
Professor McGonagall was stunned. Then her heart softened, just like her smile.
"You deserve it, Mr. Green," she said gently.
"You don't need to thank me for something like this."
She glanced at him again—just in time to catch his cautious third peek.
"How long have you been practicing spells?" she asked before they reached the platform.
"Thirteen hours," Sean answered honestly.
"In total?" Her gaze sharpened slightly.
"Every day."
…
The station was crowded and noisy.
Sean dragged his heavy suitcase through the bustling crowd with difficulty.
"The Hogwarts Express is behind that platform," Professor McGonagall's voice echoed in his mind.
"Don't be afraid. Just walk straight through."
Facing the solid wall, even knowing there was nothing to fear, Sean still hesitated for a moment.
Then he gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, and charged forward.
He vanished into the wall.
From the perspective of a certain elderly cat-lady, the child had shown no hesitation at all.
"That child trusts you deeply, Minerva."
An aged voice sounded beside her.
"Achieving Outstanding in all seven subjects is no simple task. Do you truly believe he can do it?"
The white-bearded Dark Lord asked with a chuckle.
"Albus, even if only one student in all of Hogwarts could achieve it," Professor McGonagall replied firmly,
"I believe it would be Sean."
Her thoughts lingered on the words thirteen hours every day.
Even at her most dedicated, she could not sustain such intensity for two consecutive months.
Let alone the mischievous young wizards of Hogwarts.
"Sean is a pitiful child," she said after a pause,
"but also a well-behaved and sensible one. He deserves that scholarship."