"Chance encounters, companions, and enemies…"
"A perfect story is just like that—everything unfolds naturally…"
"It's just a shame," Andrew flexed his wrist and gave a critical glance at the manuscript he'd just completed. "Whether it's grammar or vocabulary, it still falls a bit short. Otherwise, I wouldn't have had to stoop to this level…"
He turned around and made sure there was no one else in the small room. Only then did he confidently snap his fingers — a rock he used as a paperweight floated over to press down the manuscript, and the tightly shut window opened to the perfect angle.
Perfect.
He silently praised himself. As of now, everything was proceeding according to plan.
It had been three months since he arrived here — or more precisely, since he'd closed his eyes during an overnight work session and woken up in the body of a boy who'd died in a stupid bet.
In these three months, he'd completed a list of tasks: familiarizing himself with the original body's memories, managing relationships, securing a stable income, obtaining a private room, and gaining basic control over the ability he had named telekinesis.
Though he still missed his old life, he continued to live strongly, just as he had promised himself back then — and not just live, but live actively.
"It's just… a bit off track."
Andrew looked at the manuscript in front of him and shook his head with the weariness of someone far older than eleven. Though that friend who once jumped into a river with him to save someone would probably say, "Let me read it!" — still, for a kid of eleven to write this kind of thing was pretty absurd.
But what could he do?
Using existing knowledge to make money required no capital and came with the least risk. If this were ancient times, he could've profited from his math skills. If it were a familiar language, he could've earned from storytelling. But in a British orphanage in 1991, every decent opportunity he could remember wouldn't exist until at least a decade later…
So, he had no choice but to rely on academics — a simple, crude, yet effective approach. Find a biography, grab a phone book, some paper, ink, and pens — that was enough.
He copied figures from biographies, created a male or female protagonist, crafted a huge supporting cast (with names pulled and swapped from the phone book), set up a few distinct scenarios to drive the story, threw in plot lines that would lower readers' expectations for vocabulary and grammar, added a clickbait headline and a flashy pen name — then submitted the story to a tabloid or magazine.
If his imagination fell short, he'd just borrow from similar books. It was that simple — and best of all, in the UK, it wasn't illegal.
Thanks to years of exposure to online fiction and techniques honed for delivering plot payoffs and dramatic twists, Andrew's mini-biographies were more popular than he expected. After three months of effort, his pen name had gained some recognition. Since he donated 70% of his earnings back to the orphanage to help cover daily expenses, he earned himself a private room, slightly better meals, a guarantee of privacy regarding his writing, and enough free time.
That was enough — if it weren't for discovering his telekinetic ability, Andrew's next plan would've been to save up tuition, get into a good university, and start a new life.
Of course, if his submissions kept going well, he wouldn't mind writing a full-length novel and making a serious career out of it. Still, that was unlikely — he was making money now because there wasn't much competition in this niche, and the readers had low expectations for this type of content.
But ever since he discovered and gained rudimentary control over his "telekinesis," he had started carving out time to train it deliberately. Though it wasn't as powerful as he had imagined, it was still impressive.
After all, he wasn't in some dangerous world, nor was he surrounded by people with superpowers. Neither the biographies nor the fairy tales he'd read showed any sign of a world where supernatural powers were the norm — he had double-checked that before doing anything rash.
"It's a shame I have to keep this power a secret for now, and need to watch out for potential dangers… Otherwise, I could slowly integrate it into daily life."
Andrew had tested it carefully — trying to levitate objects like feathers, paper balls, books, stones. At the moment, his limit was around 30 pounds; anything heavier resulted in failure.
As for duration, sustaining his maximum capacity for about 30 minutes would exhaust him and greatly weaken the strength of his control.
Multitasking was still impossible — he had to concentrate fully to use telekinesis, and the moment his focus broke, the power would weaken or even stop working.
In other areas, he conducted systematic experiments to test the power's capabilities.
He tried phasing objects through other objects while "protected" by telekinesis — his most successful attempt was pushing a wooden stick through a stone. But after about 30 repetitions, fatigue would kick in. He was still testing how different materials affected energy consumption.
He tried repairing broken objects — so far, he could mend visible cracks, but shattered mugs still leaked water, suggesting the repairs weren't perfect. His limit: five cups. After that, he'd get tired.
He even tried healing — on an injured mouse, which unfortunately died of blood loss due to his inability to stop the bleeding. Still, there were signs the wound had started healing, which was encouraging.
…
He'd even done a risky experiment on himself — his hair. With the help of telekinesis, he successfully made it grow five centimeters, which forced him to change hairstyles to avoid suspicion.
"It's just that I've read too widely and from too many genres, so now I can't even tell what this power is…"
As he thought, Andrew casually flicked several razor-sharp nails into the air with his telekinesis — his power was so versatile that he couldn't tell what category it really fit into.
It was this suspicion — that the power might be linked to mental overactivity caused by transmigration — that led him to name it telekinesis.
Yes, mental activation. He now only needed about four hours of sleep per day to feel energized. Even after exhausting his telekinesis, a one-hour nap was enough to recover. As for meditation — sitting in silence, eyes closed, trying not to think — he tried it, but couldn't empty his mind.
He now had a fairly stable source of income, a steadily growing if not yet powerful superpower, a safe living environment, and a not-so-bad public school (thanks to a referral from the orphanage, which appreciated his donations). By any measure, things were going well.
"The next step is to find ways to help develop my telekinesis and strengthen my control…"
That was Andrew's plan.
But life always finds a way to throw in a surprise. As footsteps approached, there came a knock on his door.
"Sorry to disturb you, little Andrew. Madam Camille would like to see you—"
The matron paused for a moment."Did you apply to some school recently? Madam Camille received a letter. A woman named Minerva McGonagall is requesting a meeting tomorrow about your schooling."