"Adventures, companions, and enemies…"

"A perfect story, just like this—everything happening naturally…"

"What a shame," Andrew muttered, flexing his wrist as he glanced over the manuscript he'd just finished. "If only my grammar and vocabulary were better; maybe I wouldn't have fallen to this point…"

He turned around to confirm there was no one else in the cramped room. Once assured, he snapped his fingers—a stone he'd been using as a paperweight moved onto the manuscript, and the tightly shut window opened to just the right angle.

Perfect.

He praised himself quietly. So far, everything was going according to plan.

After all, it had been three months since he arrived here—or more accurately, since he'd woken up in the body of a boy who had lost his life over a foolish bet. In these three months, he had grown accustomed to his new memories, navigated relationships, stabilized an income, secured his own room, and developed control over a power he had named "telekinesis."

Although he missed his previous life, he remained strong, determined to live with purpose, as he had promised himself.

"It's just that I may be living a bit differently than intended…"

Andrew looked at the manuscript before him and shook his head in a way unusual for his age. Even back then, his friend who had saved someone from drowning with him would probably have laughed and asked to see his writing. But an eleven-year-old writing something like this? It was a bit over the top.

Yet, what choice did he have?

Using his existing knowledge to make money required minimal investment and carried the least risk. If it were ancient times, he might have used his math skills to earn his first fortune. If he were in a place with a similar language, he might tell stories to make money. But here he was, in a British orphanage in 1991, and his safer money-making ideas wouldn't be possible for another decade.

So, knowledge was his only option—a simple, effective path. All he needed was a famous biography, a telephone book, some paper, ink, and a pen.

By excerpting real figures from the biography, creating a protagonist, adding a variety of secondary characters (names borrowed from the phone book), setting up scenes, and crafting a storyline, he could mix in detailed descriptions that downplayed grammar and vocabulary, add a sensational title, use a flashy pseudonym, and submit to a suitable small magazine or newspaper.

Thanks to his extensive reading in the age of online novels, his stories were even more popular than he expected. After three months of effort, Andrew's pen name was gaining recognition, and he had gained a few benefits: his own room, better meals, no questions about his writing, and plenty of free time by donating 70% of his earnings to the orphanage.

That was enough—for now. Had he not discovered his telekinetic ability, Andrew's plan would have been to save for tuition, attend a good university, and start a new life.

But with this "telekinesis" he had discovered, he began setting aside time to develop his ability—though not as powerful as he might have imagined, it was still useful.

After all, he wasn't in a world filled with danger or superpowered people. None of the biographies or fairy tales he'd read hinted at any such powers; he had made sure of that before rewriting his life here.

"Unfortunately, I'll need to keep this power a secret until it's stronger and avoid risks… Otherwise, I could practice using it more freely in my daily life."

Andrew had tested his limits: he could levitate small objects like feathers, paper balls, books, and stones, with a maximum weight of around 30 pounds. Anything heavier would fail.

At the upper limit, he could sustain it for half an hour before feeling tired, with his capacity to lift objects rapidly declining.

He couldn't multitask either—his telekinesis required complete concentration. If his mind wandered, his telekinesis weakened significantly or stopped altogether.

He'd even tried to phase one object through another; his best result was passing a wooden stick through a stone, though after about thirty attempts, he grew fatigued. He was still experimenting with how different materials affected telekinetic exhaustion.

He had also tried to repair broken objects with telekinesis. He could mend several cracks, but water still seeped through a broken cup, showing that his repairs weren't perfect. After fixing five cups, he'd tire.

Once, he attempted to heal an injured mouse with telekinesis, but the mouse died from blood loss, though the wound had shown signs of healing.

…

He'd even conducted a risky experiment on himself. Using telekinesis, he'd managed to make his hair grow five centimeters, forcing him to change his hairstyle to hide it.

"I've read so much that I can't pin down what this power truly is…"

As he pondered, Andrew used his telekinesis to flick a few sharp nails. His power was too versatile, leaving him unsure of its nature.

Because he suspected that this power was linked to the heightened mental activity caused by his reincarnation, he had named it "telekinesis."

Indeed, his mind seemed more active; he now needed only four hours of sleep to stay energetic. Even after overusing his telekinesis, an hour's rest would fully recharge him. Although he'd tried meditation to clear his thoughts, it didn't work—he couldn't empty his mind.

With a stable source of income, a developing power, a secure living environment, and a decent public school (thanks to his donation of publishing fees), Andrew was satisfied with his progress.

"Next, I need to find ways to strengthen my telekinesis and improve my control…"

Andrew made his plans.

But life has its surprises. He heard footsteps, and soon a knock sounded on his door.

"Sorry to bother you, young Andrew, but Mrs. Camille wants to see you," said the matron, pausing. "Did you apply to a school? Mrs. Camille received a letter from someone named Minerva McGonagall, requesting a meeting with her tomorrow to discuss your schooling."

(End of Chapter)