"Adventures, companions, and enemies..."
"A perfect story flows naturally, where everything unfolds on its own…"
"But what a pity," Andrew murmured as he flexed his wrist and gave the manuscript he had just completed a critical glance. "The grammar and vocabulary are still lacking. Otherwise, I wouldn't be stuck in this situation…"
He turned to double-check that the cramped room was still empty. Once reassured, he snapped his fingers.
A stone he'd been using as a paperweight floated over and rested on the manuscript. Meanwhile, the tightly closed window adjusted to just the right angle.
Perfect.
Andrew silently praised himself. For now, everything seemed to be going according to plan.
It had been three months since he found himself in this place—specifically, waking up after working late and crossing over into the body of a boy who had stupidly gambled his life away.
In that time, Andrew had adjusted to his new memories, navigated relationships, stabilized his finances, secured a private room, and, most importantly, begun to master a power he had named "psychokinesis."
Though he missed his old life, he clung to his prior promise: to live boldly and with purpose.
"Even if things have gone a bit off track..."
Andrew glanced at the manuscript in front of him and shook his head in a way far beyond his eleven years.
Sure, his friend from back then—who had helped him pull a drowning person out of the water—would probably laugh and say, "Let me read it!"
But no matter how you sliced it, an eleven-year-old writing this kind of thing was undeniably strange.
What choice did he have, though?
Earning money with existing knowledge required no upfront investment and carried minimal risk.
If he'd been in an older era, he could have used math skills to make money.
If he spoke the same language, he could have told stories or given speeches.
But in an orphanage in 1991 Britain, most reliable money-making opportunities he could recall wouldn't appear for another decade…
So he turned to his learning.
He grabbed a biography, a telephone book, paper, ink, and a pen—everything he needed.
He plucked characters from the biography, used the phonebook to generate names, crafted a protagonist, filled the world with supporting characters, and constructed situations to drive the story.
Sprinkle in detailed descriptions to lower readers' grammar and vocabulary expectations.
Slap on a clickbait title and a flashy pseudonym.
Submit it to a fitting tabloid or magazine.
And voilà, he had a system.
If his imagination ran dry, he could reference similar books.
Simple, effective—and perfectly legal in Britain.
Thanks to his experience reading endless web novels in his previous life and his grasp of what made a story satisfying, Andrew's rewritten short biographies were surprisingly popular.
In three months, his pseudonym had gained recognition.
By donating 70% of his earnings to the orphanage for daily necessities, he'd earned himself a private room, slightly better meals, freedom from questions about his writing, and ample free time.
That was enough—for now.
Before discovering psychokinesis, Andrew's plan had been to save for tuition, attend a good university, and start a fresh life.
If submissions went well, he'd even consider writing long-form stories to make more money or eventually transition to a more respectable career.
However, that seemed unlikely given the current competition and readers' low expectations for niche subjects.
Since realizing and gaining preliminary control over psychokinesis, though, he had carved out time to hone his abilities.
It wasn't as strong as he'd imagined, but it was promising.
Thankfully, he wasn't in a dangerous world teeming with superpowered individuals.
No biographies or fairy tales here hinted at widespread supernatural phenomena—a fact he'd confirmed before rewriting them.
"Still, until I'm stronger, I need to keep this power secret and avoid danger… It'd be ideal to incorporate it into daily life little by little."
Andrew had tested the limits:
He could levitate objects like feathers, paper balls, books, and stones—up to about 30 pounds.
At maximum weight, he could maintain control for about half an hour before exhaustion set in.
However, multitasking was impossible; full concentration was necessary to sustain psychokinesis, and any distraction caused a significant loss of control.
Andrew had also tested the power's various applications in detail:
- He had made a wooden stick pass through a stone under psychokinetic protection. Success rate: about 30 times before exhaustion. The impact of different materials on energy expenditure was still under investigation.
- He had used psychokinesis to repair damaged objects. Cracks could be mended, but shattered cups still leaked water—indicating incomplete restoration. The limit: five cups before fatigue.
- He had tried healing an injured mouse. Sadly, it died from blood loss, though its wounds showed signs of recovery—a small breakthrough.
He even experimented on himself.
Using psychokinesis, he successfully grew his hair five centimeters.
That forced him to change hairstyles to hide the results.
"Reading too many random things makes it hard to pinpoint what this power actually is…"
Andrew muttered as he played with sharp iron nails using psychokinesis.
The versatility of his power left him baffled about its nature.
Suspecting it stemmed from heightened mental activity caused by the crossing over, he'd dubbed it "psychokinesis."
Indeed, his mental stamina was remarkable—four hours of sleep per night sufficed to keep him sharp.
Even overusing his power required only an hour's nap to recover.
Meditation, however, was fruitless—his mind never stopped racing.
With a stable income, a growing superpower, a decent living arrangement, and access to a public school (thanks to his donations), Andrew was reasonably satisfied with his progress.
"Next step: find ways to enhance my psychokinesis control and growth."
With that plan in mind, Andrew's focus was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps.
A knock came at his door.
"Sorry to disturb you, Andrew. Mrs. Camille wants to see you."
The matron paused.
"By the way, did you apply to a school? Mrs. Camille received a letter from someone named Minerva McGonagall. She's requesting a meeting tomorrow about your education."
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