Alex

It was past 8 pm at the Ellens Church Welfare Home, and a single flickering light bulb cast faint shadows that danced across the walls.

The room was small, with just the basics—a worn bed, a wardrobe, and a simple desk. But it was enough for the boy who lived there.

"Oh, I can't stand this anymore."

Alex Wilson, a slim boy of about eleven, stared at his reflection in the mirror. He rubbed his chin absently, flexing his fingers as if trying to catch something in the air. His slender but strong hands opened and closed, a habit he barely noticed anymore.

It had been eleven years since he found himself in this strange world. He'd arrived here as a baby, yet with the memories of a grown man. Being stuck in an orphanage in the 1980s, with no computers or cell phones, felt unbearably slow to someone from his old life. Every day, he yearned for more than this boring, quiet existence.

A loud knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Alex, boss, you in there?" a voice called.

Alex frowned, crossing the room. "What are you doing yelling at this hour?" he asked, opening the door a crack. "Aren't you worried the staff will catch you?"

Standing outside was William, a boy around seventeen, taller but scruffier than Alex. His shirt was wrinkled, and his pants, held up by suspenders, looked like they'd seen better days. Still, William grinned, trying to hide his weariness as he held a large cardboard box.

"Sorry, boss. This thing's heavy and nearly wore me out," William chuckled nervously.

Alex rolled his eyes. "Why are you so late? You didn't run into those guys from the North District again, did you?"

William quickly shook his head. "Nah, ever since you teach them a lesson, they've kept their distance. It just took longer than expected today. We picked up a lot of good stuff," he said, handing Alex a few folded banknotes. "Here's our share for the week."

Alex took the money, his face calm. "Good work. Get some rest."

He turned to the box, ready to open it, but William lingered, looking hesitant. Alex raised an eyebrow.

"What is it? I've got practice to get to."

William laughed awkwardly. "Well…since it's still early, we were thinking we could—"

"Play poker?" Alex cut him off. "Fine, but don't gamble. If Mama catches you again, she'll confiscate everything."

William's face brightened as he grabbed a wooden box from under the bed. "Thanks, boss! I'll bring it back in a couple of days." With that, he hurried off, leaving Alex alone.

Shaking his head, Alex muttered, "Teaching them poker was probably a mistake. Now they're hooked." He sighed but smiled as he turned back to the cardboard box. Inside were items he'd been looking forward to—bottles of soy sauce, sesame oil, vinegar, and other condiments. Just seeing them made him feel a bit more at home.

"Finally, some proper seasoning," he said with satisfaction. "If I have to eat bland food one more day, I might actually lose my mind."

Living in an orphanage wasn't easy, especially without modern comforts. Alex often wondered if he had been reincarnated or just thrown into a new world. The only thing he knew was that he had to adapt. With memories of his past life as a soldier, staying calm and focused came naturally to him. There was no point in panicking. He packed away the condiments, locking his door out of habit. After all, he had a secret no one else knew about.

Alex looked over at a dumbbell in the corner, a heavy 25-kilogram weight. He lifted his hand, focusing on the object. Slowly, as if guided by an invisible force, the dumbbell floated, hovering a few inches off the ground.

He grinned. The ability to move things with his mind—his "superpower," as he called it—was something he discovered years ago.

It had happened one day after a long workout. Too tired to get up and grab his water, he wished it would come to him, and, to his shock, it did. Ever since then, Alex practiced his power in secret, careful not to let anyone see.

He knew that in a place like this, run by the church, people would view him as a freak if they ever found out. They might even try to get rid of him. Alex watched the dumbbell float above his head as he walked to his desk and sat down, flipping open a worn-out book. This was his routine—he'd practice controlling his power while reading or relaxing. He called it "time-lapse training."

After testing his abilities over the years, he found that training his body gave him better control over his powers. It was as if his physical and mental strength were connected. The calmer he was, the stronger his powers became.

Alex gently lowered the dumbbell back to the ground, feeling his mind relax as the strain eased. As a soldier in his past life, he had set up a strict routine for himself. Every day, he practiced martial arts, meditated, and trained his power. He wanted to master it, understanding that in a world like this, powers like his were both a gift and a curse.

Still, part of him couldn't help but wonder if he was wasting his time here, stuck in an orphanage, hidden away from the world.

With a quiet sigh, Alex looked out the window into the dim London night. "I don't know where this path will lead…but I'll be ready when the time comes."

Recently, he noticed that lifting weights didn't tire him out like it used to. From years of training, he knew that without feeling the strain, he wasn't truly building strength. Realizing this, he adjusted his approach.

Instead of only adding weight, he started practicing "time-lapse training," where he'd keep objects floating for as long as possible, stretching his powers' limits.

It worked. At first, he could only keep objects in the air for about five minutes before feeling dizzy.

Alex knew better than to push himself too hard without understanding the limits of his ability, so he stopped whenever he felt too tired. After resting for a day and feeling no lasting mental strain, he was reassured that the training was safe. Since then, he practiced every night, slowly building up his stamina. Over the years, he noticed steady progress. What started as five minutes turned into much longer.

Now, after more than a year of practice, Alex could keep an object afloat for nearly forty minutes without feeling tired.

Tonight, he made a dumbbell float, orbiting around him like a planet circling the sun. Each time it rotated, he changed its path—sometimes in a figure-eight, other times flipping it up and down in complex movements. The strain was beginning to build, and he could feel the pressure in his mind.

Sensing the session was nearly over, he guided the dumbbell back to its spot in the corner and stretched his arms. "It's getting easier," he muttered to himself. "Who knows? Maybe someday I'll be flying swords like those guys in the novels."

Little did he know, as he joked with himself about the future, far to the north, in a magical school called Hogwarts, owls were being sent out with acceptance letters. One of those owls was already flying through the night sky, making its way to the Ellens Church Welfare Home in London.