"Lord Rhine, Cambridge University's Department of Literature has sent yet another invitation. They are eager—desperate, even—to appoint you as a tenured professor."
"The publishing house is asking to confirm your book signing schedule. For your safety, they're hiring top-tier security personnel."
"Your eleventh birthday is just around the corner. Both The Times and The Daily Telegraph have confirmed it'll be featured on their front pages."
The butler, immaculately dressed in a tailored suit, recited the list of updates with precision and formality.
But the one receiving these reports wasn't some political magnate or business tycoon. It was a child who looked no older than ten.
This was Rhine—Britain's, perhaps the world's, most celebrated literary prodigy.
And without a doubt, Rhine was a transmigrator.
From an ordinary young man in his previous life to a boy in this world, he had journeyed from an orphanage to the global stage as a world-renowned literary genius. Ten years had flown by almost unnoticed.
Barring any surprises, Rhine expected to live a picture-perfect life straight out of a textbook.
His name, he imagined, would be inked into literary history for centuries to come.
But of course—life never plays out so smoothly.
Rhine glanced at the fountain pen on his desk. It bore elegant engravings and gleamed with a metallic luster, like a piece of fine art.
It was a gift from the Queen of England for his tenth birthday. Crafted with rare metallic elements, the pen was said to be nearly indestructible.
The message behind it was clear: may Rhine's talent never fade. Perhaps, Britain might witness the rise of another literary figure to rival Shakespeare.
But now… the pen was twisted into something resembling a pretzel.
Rhine inhaled deeply.
The last thing he remembered was being stuck in a writing block yesterday, irritated to the point where he almost snapped the pen in half.
And then—under some inexplicable force—it had bent. He must've fallen asleep in exhaustion shortly after.
Now, looking at the pen, Rhine felt his very worldview unraveling.
"A dream?"
"A prank?"
One thought after another raced through his mind—each one dismissed just as quickly.
Dreams were never this vivid.
And as for a prank? Not a chance.
Only the butler ever entered his study, and that man was so obsessively reliable he would never pull such a trick.
"That leaves only one possibility…"
Rhine stared at his own hand in a daze.
That strange force—the one that twisted the pen—had been real.
Magic?
Telekinesis?
Something else entirely?
Could this world contain supernatural powers?!
The butler's voice gradually quieted.
He had noticed Rhine falling into an unprecedented trance. And in this household, one rule reigned supreme: when Rhine is deep in thought, no one disturbs him.
To interrupt an oncoming spark of inspiration—one that might birth the next masterpiece to light up the British literary world—would be a sin unforgivable by the hordes of adoring fans.
Suddenly, Rhine seemed to remember something.
"1991… That year sounds oddly familiar…"
"What year was I born again? Right—1980."
He walked over to the bookshelf and pulled out a newspaper from his archives of reference material—The Daily Prophet, 1980 edition.
The front pages across various publications were filled with odd news.
Some claimed to have seen people in eccentric robes gathering on the streets. Others spoke of flying broomsticks.
One report went so far as to claim someone had seen a motorcycle soaring through the sky.
At that moment, a jolt shot through Rhine's mind like a bolt of lightning.
He finally understood where he was—the world of Harry Potter!
And that force twisting his pen? That had to be his magic surge—a classic sign of latent magical talent awakening!
Just then, the clock struck midnight.
Rhine's eleventh birthday had officially arrived.
At that exact moment, a sound of flapping wings came from outside the window.
Rhine's heart stirred. He signaled to the butler.
"Open the window."
The next moment, to the butler's astonishment, a tawny owl flew into the study and dropped an unusually ornate letter onto Rhine's desk.
The envelope bore a crest divided into four: a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a serpent—the emblem of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
"Lord Rhine… is this some kind of prank from a reader?"
"We've already notified the postal service to accept only white-listed institutional mail. Which lunatic fan thought it'd be clever to send a letter via owl?!"
"Shall I dispose of it?"
But Rhine's expression turned serious.
"That's enough, Flanders. I know where this letter comes from. Leave the room, and close the door behind you."
Flanders hesitated for a moment before bowing and quietly leaving the study.
Rhine took a deep breath and opened the envelope. Inside, the words on the parchment came into view:
[Dear Mr. Rhine Snow,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed is a list of required books and equipment.]
[Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st.]
"Hogwarts acceptance letter…"
To say he wasn't excited would be a lie. After all, this was the golden ticket into the magical world.
Who hadn't dreamed of magic after reading Harry Potter?
But if Rhine remembered correctly, the later one experienced a magic surge, the worse their magical aptitude tended to be.
Geniuses like Dumbledore and Grindelwald had shown signs of magic at a very early age.
Even Neville, who was nearly mistaken for a Squib, had his surge quite late.
Rhine's own magic surge had only just occurred—a day before his eleventh birthday. He had barely made the deadline for admission.
Clearly, his magical talent wasn't looking promising.
Rhine's mood turned gloomy.
"Well… guess the dream of punching Dumbledore and kicking Voldemort is out of the question."
"Maybe I'll just keep a low profile in the magical world. Avoid danger. Stay invisible. And spend most of my time quietly writing books."
"If only I had a system…"
Just as he picked up the Hogwarts letter again—
Ding!
A sound echoed in his ear.
[System Activated]
Rhine jolted. His eyes lit up with joy.
A system—actually a system?!
Did it bind upon receiving the Hogwarts letter?
Would it be a Magic Master System? A Potions System? An Alchemy System?
He wasn't picky—he'd take any of them!
[Congratulations, Host. You have joined the Chan Sect. Primordial Social Network System now bound.]
Rhine froze.
"…What?"
"…What did you just say?"
"This is the Wizarding World! What in the bloody hell is a 'Primordial Social Network System' doing here?!"