Lynn hadn't told Harry everything, but a lot of what he said was true.
He really had left the orphanage and wandered around for years. He really had been kidnapped once. But by then he'd already been training his superpowers for over a year. Telekinesis was practically second nature, so saving himself wasn't a problem.
The Superpower Training Box let a person learn telekinesis, x-ray vision, or teleportation. If you focused on one, you could master it in a year. Teleportation was flashy, but telekinesis was far more practical for someone like Lynn.
And when he said he genuinely liked helping people, that part was real too.
Unlike other travelers from Earth in those webnovels, Lynn didn't have some all-knowing system. He helped people because he wanted to. But even when he succeeded, it was rare to see someone truly smile at him. He understood why. His methods tended to be… extreme.
As for the people he helped who cursed him out or tried to kick him afterward… well, their fists and feet couldn't hit him anyway.
Even so, after everything he'd gone through, he'd gotten more cautious when helping others. He was old enough to get his act together, to do something meaningful. Maybe call it redemption.
He didn't have a system, but he wasn't troubled by it. He had something a hundred times better.
The year the orphanage shut down, the director returned the children's personal belongings. What Lynn received was the swaddling cloth he'd been wrapped in as a baby—a worn, oddly shaped crescent-like pouch.
To everyone else, it looked like a decent-quality cloth bag. But in Lynn's hands, it produced all kinds of bizarre items.
The Superpower Training Box he used, and the cracker he'd given Harry, were both from it.
Each item carried a strange, supernatural power. The only catch was that nearly everything was used, often incomplete, and almost always single-use. The cracker had originally come in a full box; by the time Lynn got it, only one piece remained.
The pouch—more accurately, the 4D Garbage Pocket—held an enormous space inside. Once every month, new gadgets would randomly appear in it, usually one to three at a time. All were clearly second-hand. If he didn't pull them out before the next refresh, they disappeared.
In the three years since he'd gotten the pocket, Lynn had collected forty-seven different gadgets. Most of them were Bamboo Copters, those little head-mounted flyers. Only one was even close to new, offering almost eight hours of flight time. The rest were battered, barely functioning castoffs good for three or four hours… sometimes only one or two.
Yes, it was basically Doraemon's 4D pocket, except closer to a 4D trash can. There was no New Century Department Store connected to it. Even if Lynn used his powers to earn some money, the pocket had nowhere to spend it.
As for why he didn't just buy himself a house… he was an undocumented nobody. His ID records, birth certificate, and everything else were stuck back at the orphanage. English police weren't exactly warm and fuzzy public servants, and a kid with an obviously Asian face wasn't getting any favors.
Still, being homeless didn't bother him much. After finding an empty house with nobody around, Lynn teleported inside, slung off his backpack, and pulled out a compact, rigid tent. It was light brown, old but clean. Called the Universal Tent, it looked like a normal single-person setup.
Most of its features were busted, but it was still a great place to live.
He lifted the clear hatch at the entrance and stepped inside. The interior opened into a thirty-square-meter space. With the press of a button, he could reconfigure it into a living room, bedroom, bathroom, or even a full glass viewing mode. It camouflaged itself too—unless someone physically touched it, nobody could see it.
The only disappointment was that the food-ordering feature was broken. Originally, he was supposed to be able to speak his desired meal aloud and have it delivered from thin air. Either the tent didn't accept pounds, or it required a registered "home address" he didn't have.
But food wasn't a problem. He had a near mint-condition Gourmet Tablecloth, clearly once owned by a girl. The cloth could produce food for free, though after years of use, the dishes it generated were completely random. The only rule was that it worked once per hour.
"Let's see what's for dinner tonight!"
Opening this kind of blind box was half the fun.
"Old Beijing-style zhajiang noodles, braised mid-wing chicken, red-braised ribs, cold jellyfish salad!"
He shouted the dishes he wanted, but the tablecloth never cared. The food was random, only the number of dishes matched.
As Lynn watched with wide eyes, four dishes rose from the cloth.
"Authentic Indian banana-leaf rice? That's supposed to be edible?"
His smile collapsed instantly. He'd once dared to try real Indian curry rice and spent two days in the bathroom, vomiting and nearly dying.
Thankfully, the remaining three dishes were acceptable—a medium-rare steak, a bowl of plain noodle soup, and a vegetable chicken salad buried under far too much dressing.
Despite questionable preparation, everything from the tablecloth was edible. But Indian curry… only people with steel stomachs could survive that.
While Lynn enjoyed his free dinner, Harry stepped through the front door of number four Privet Drive, stomach full of nerves.
Aunt Petunia had just finished making dinner. When she stepped out of the kitchen and saw him, she gave a tiny huff through her nose and walked stiffly to the table.
Harry took his usual seat, careful and quiet. His portion wasn't small. It didn't compare to Vernon's or Dudley's, but he could eat until he was almost full. It was about the same as Petunia's own serving.
Everything felt normal. Dudley was shoveling food into his mouth while glued to the TV. Petunia kept dabbing at his face with a napkin. Vernon said nothing, looking worn-out from work.
When dinner ended, Harry—like always—cleared the dishes and washed them in the kitchen. After cleaning up, he removed his apron and looked toward the living room. The atmosphere was familiar, yet he could never quite get used to it.
"Hey, boy. You."
Vernon suddenly lowered his newspaper.
"Yes?" Harry stepped forward, bracing himself.
"You're going to Stonewall High."
"Stoooonewaaaall," Dudley drawled the name and burst out laughing. Apparently, he thought the name was hilarious, though Harry couldn't imagine why.
"I understand."
Harry nodded quietly. He didn't exactly have a choice. But at least he could still go to school. Stonewall High wasn't great, but it had some advantages.
It was a combined school—part academic, part vocational. After GCSEs, if he did well, he could take two more years of A-Levels and then go to university. If not, he could move into vocational prep and learn a trade. Technical jobs weren't badly paid, and a third of English sixteen-year-olds chose vocational schools.
If he did horribly, he could still work right after graduating—maybe at Vernon's drill company as a warehouse hand. If he was gutsy enough, he could apply for the Army Cadets. Compared to Dudley's future at Smeltings, Stonewall High actually offered more paths. Harry wasn't great in school, so this wasn't nearly as bad as it sounded.
"Good."
Vernon lifted his paper again, done talking. The snake incident really had spooked them.
"I'm gonna take a shower."
Harry murmured the words, grabbed clean clothes, and headed for the bathroom.
Once he shut the door, he leaned against the cold tile wall and carefully pulled the cracker from his pocket. He stared at it for a long time.
He'd been torn ever since receiving it. Part of him feared the price. Part of him hoped it would change something—anything.
Opportunity always came with risk, and this risk was a mystery.
"Maybe I don't need to eat it… I'll start school in September. I'll only be home during breaks. I won't have to see them much…"
"I just have to survive two more months…"
Harry swallowed hard, piling up excuses to avoid the unknown.
But then he caught sight of himself in the mirror—thin, small, swallowed up by baggy clothes.
His gaze hardened. He looked down at the cracker in his palm.
"If my mom and dad were still alive… things would be so different."
A long breath escaped him, weak and hollow. He shut his eyes, opened his mouth, and shoved the cracker in. He chewed until it crumbled.
It tasted like any ordinary cracker—crispy, a hint of wheat, a faint saltiness. After he swallowed the last bit, nothing happened.
It was as if he'd eaten a normal snack.
A small stab of disappointment rose in his chest. He felt like he'd been tricked. Of course it was just a plain cracker. What else could it be?
He undressed, set his glasses aside, and stepped under the warm spray of the shower.
As he scrubbed himself, something about the feeling across his chest made him freeze.
He shut off the water with a shaking hand, wiped the droplets from his face, and forced his eyes open.
His trembling hand touched his chest once more.
A scream burst out of him—sharp, terrified, and echoing with pure despair.