[This is my first time writing. Please be patient with any shortcomings. I apologize in advance, meow.]
[Some readers mentioned that the system interferes too much with the protagonist, which may affect the reading experience. This book is not meant to be a typical power fantasy. I prefer writing something lighthearted and enjoyable. If that makes anyone uncomfortable, I apologize again, meow.]
[Brain Storage Area]
What does death feel like?
For Tom Marvolo Riddle, death was no stranger.
He had torn his soul apart countless times, split it into fragments, hidden it in Horcruxes, and toyed with death as though it were something to be mastered. He had stood on the edge of oblivion more than once and returned each time.
But this time was different.
That damned flash of green light. Harry Potter's infuriating face. The tremor of the Elder Wand as it betrayed him in his own hand.
And then—nothing.
Everything dissolved into an endless void.
"I am Lord Voldemort… I am eternal…"
Tom muttered stubbornly into the darkness, clinging to the last shreds of his fading consciousness.
Then, in the next instant, a bright voice exploded inside his mind.
[Of course, dear. Would you like to try again?]
The voice was cheerful and smooth, like an overly enthusiastic advertisement on a Muggle television.
"Of course… Of course I want to try again!"
At this moment, Tom would never reject even the faintest possibility of survival.
[But there will be a small price to pay.]
A price?
Tom sneered internally. For immortality and dominion over the wizarding world, he had sacrificed everything—his humanity, his soul, even his own name.
If he could begin again, no price was too great.
"Fine. I don't care."
The words echoed firmly in his mind.
Immediately afterward, a splitting headache tore through him. A wave of damp, moldy air filled his nostrils.
Cheap soap. Overboiled cabbage. Rotting wooden floorboards.
Scents he loathed.
Scents burned into the most humiliating part of his memory.
Tom's eyes snapped open.
Instead of the flames of hell or the terrified faces of Death Eaters kneeling before him, he saw a cracked, gray ceiling. A spiderweb trembled in the corner.
He attempted to sit up, but his body felt heavy and unfamiliar, like he had been crammed into ill-fitting skin.
"Nagini?" he called instinctively.
The sound that left his lips froze him in place.
It was not his cold, rasping voice—the voice that carried Parseltongue like venom.
It was light.
Young.
Soft.
A child's voice.
Tom Riddle slowly raised his hand.
Small.
Pale.
Delicate.
No calluses from years of gripping a wand. No scars from Dark Magic backlash.
This was the hand of a child.
"Possession? Soul attachment?"
As a master of the Dark Arts, his first thought was that he had occupied some unfortunate victim's body. It would not be difficult. After all, his Horcruxes were scattered across the world.
Fighting through dizziness, he forced himself off the rusted iron bed and stepped barefoot onto the cold wooden floor.
The room was small. Two narrow beds. One empty.
Through the window, rows of bleak brick buildings stretched beneath a dull gray sky.
It was painfully familiar.
Wool's Orphanage.
The cage that had imprisoned his childhood before 1938.
"Merlin's beard…" Tom muttered darkly.
He strode toward a full-length mirror propped crookedly in the corner, one corner cracked and missing.
He needed to see.
If this was some unknown orphan, he would recover his magic, eliminate witnesses, and leave this place at once.
But when he stood before the mirror, something colder than death crept up his spine.
The reflection staring back at him was a girl.
Around eleven years old.
She wore an oversized, faded gray nightgown.
But that was not what mattered.
What mattered was the face.
Exquisite.
Long, glossy black hair fell like silk to her waist. Her skin was pale and flawless, like fine porcelain. Her obsidian eyes—his eyes—were framed by delicate lashes.
It was the same face he once possessed in his youth, the face that had charmed professors and bewitched witches.
Only now—
It was female.
"This… what kind of disgusting joke is this?"
His hand trembled as it reached for his throat.
No Adam's apple.
Lower—
Nothing.
Just as he prepared to pinch himself awake, a mechanical voice rang inside his mind again.
[Welcome to the Virtue System. This system is dedicated to reforming antisocial personalities.]
[Host: Tom Marvolo Riddle (Current Status: Weak / Female Body / Minor)]
[Current Time: July 24, 1991]
[Current Location: London, Wool's Orphanage]
"Who's speaking? Get out of my head!"
Tom instinctively attempted to gather magic for a counterattack.
But the magic inside him felt like a dried-up well. Only a faint trickle responded.
[I am your auxiliary system. Due to the host's extensive evil deeds in the previous life and the fragmentation of his soul, this system adheres to the principle of 'Love and Peace' and grants you a second chance.]
[The price: You must begin anew. Repair your shattered soul and unlock your power by accumulating 'Virtue.']
[Reminder: This body is a 'Body of Supreme Goodness' tailored specifically for you. Please cherish it.]
"Body of Supreme Goodness?"
Tom stared at the frail girl in the mirror and laughed, his anger sharp and bitter.
"I will kill whoever I wish. I am Lord Voldemort. Do you think this ridiculous trick can bind me?"
Before the system could respond, the door burst open.
A heavyset middle-aged woman in an apron stormed in, clutching a tin bucket.
She was not Mrs. Cole, but she looked just as unpleasant.
"Tamara! Why are you still staring at yourself?" she barked. "Go scrub the hallway! Someone from that ridiculous school is coming today. Don't embarrass me!"
Tamara?
Was that his name now?
A flicker of red flashed in Tom's eyes.
A Muggle dared to command him?
Murderous intent surged through his chest. He did not need a wand to kill. He knew countless wandless spells. Even with his weakened magic, crippling a Muggle would be effortless.
"Cruci—"
He raised his slender hand, pointing at the woman as he began forming the curse in his mind.
[Warning! Strong murderous intent detected!]
[Violation of Virtue Guidelines: Rule One — Do Not Harm the Innocent.]
[Initiating Punishment: Level One Electric Shock.]
Before the magic could fully form, a sudden current surged through his body.
It was not painful—just overwhelmingly numbing.
His legs weakened. Heat rushed to his face. His heart pounded wildly. His breathing grew erratic.
"You—"
He intended to snarl, You filthy ant.
But what emerged instead was soft, trembling, almost tearful.
"Y-you… don't come closer…"
Tom froze.
The woman snorted. "What nonsense are you muttering? Move!"
She shoved the bucket into his arms.
Tom's hands instinctively caught it.
He, the Dark Lord—reduced to holding a cleaning bucket.
His fingers tightened around the handle, nails pressing into pale skin.
[Kind reminder: Acts of kindness and diligence will increase Virtue Points. Aggression will result in penalties.]
Virtue?
He had spent a lifetime proving that fear was stronger than kindness.
And yet—
His magic was gone.
His body was weak.
His voice betrayed him.
For the first time since childhood, Tom Marvolo Riddle felt something dangerously close to powerlessness.
He lowered his gaze.
Very well.
If this system demanded virtue, then he would master virtue.
If this body was called "Supreme Goodness," then he would turn goodness into a weapon.
He had manipulated teachers, charmed classmates, and deceived the wizarding world once before.
Doing it again would not be difficult.
A slow, calculating smile curved across his delicate lips.
Let the game begin.
If this world wanted a saint—
He would become the most convincing saint it had ever seen.
And when he regained his power—
He would decide who truly deserved mercy.