I have changed minor inconsistencies in previous chapters, and I have also added a chapter dedicated to system information in volume 0.
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"A Squib is no longer a Muggle." Unconsciously covering my mouth while I quietly laugh, I wait for the moment I return to the real world. And the system, I must give it credit, literally transports me back in the next instant.
"Huh?" — slightly gasping in surprise, I notice that the clothes that used to be too big for me (after all, I was wearing hand-me-downs from the older kids at the orphanage) now slightly restrict my movements. Spending a few more moments checking my body for injuries, I approach the nearest shop window and admire my reflection.
In place of my long black hair now flow white locks, as pure as the first snow. My eyes, once perfectly fitting the definition of "brown," have now turned ash-gray, like a sky shrouded in clouds. My height, which used to be below average at 130 cm, has now become alarmingly tall at a full 167 centimeters. But the changes don't stop there. Despite growing up in an orphanage where my physique was average, I was neither chubby nor particularly thin. Now, however, I have become more slender, with thin yet sturdy limbs. The most radical change has affected my skin: once healthy and slightly tanned, it is now whiter than any vampire from fairy tales, as if I've spent too much time in the dark.
After spinning around a few more times in front of the window and admiring myself, I continue my journey to the nearest port. The streets are beginning to be bathed in the cold winter sunlight, and people dressed in warm clothes are emerging from their homes, bundled up in scarves and hats. And here I am, walking steadily, despite my sleepiness, past people and kiosks, paying no attention to anything. A light smile plays on my lips, and my cheeks flush slightly under the morning's frosty wind, which cuts through to the bone.
After a full four hours of walking, I finally reach the nearest port capable of taking me to England. Just kidding. Who in their right mind would take a child (although I now look like a teenager) to another country, considering I have no documents? Right, only those who operate in the gray areas of the law. So, avoiding the public ships, I wander toward a small sailing vessel at the very edge of the port.
"Destination?" — asks a stout man, smoking a cigar by the ship, his face framed by a thick mustache.
"The land of tea." How much one can learn being an orphan, most of whose life is spent in the not-so-clean back alleys of France. Even this "code," the first owner of this body accidentally heard at the age of seven while passing by the port, fishing with friends.
"47 francs or get lost." — he mutters quietly, glancing around as if expecting someone to overhear him.
"That'll do" — I reply, calmly handing him a couple of bills and a handful of coins. The price is 60% higher than the official routes, but here nobody asks unnecessary questions. I feel a growing excitement inside me — it's a risk, but also an opportunity.
Under the watchful eyes of two armed men, I step onto the ship, which can hardly be called decent. The boards creak under my feet, and the wind whistles through the sails. Of course, there are no cabins here, so like the other "tourists," I settle down right on the deck, wrapping myself in an old blanket I found in a corner. Leaning against the railing, I let my thoughts wander and decide to explore the further functionality of my system.
Scrolling down to the bottom of my modest statistics, I find the section "Roulette" and, slightly intrigued, open it.
[In this section, you can spend a certain amount of enkephalin to receive a prize. All prizes are random and can either repay the initial cost many times over or turn out to be useless. Master, use this option carefully.]
Standard - 1
Premium - 5
Luxury - 20
Checking my amount of enkephalin and confirming that it still stands at 5 units, buoyed by the mental encouragement "nothing ventured, nothing gained," I choose standard. Before my eyes appears a retro gaming machine straight out of the 50s. The only difference is a lever with a bronze ball at the end, marked with the number -1. Succumbing to temptation, I reach out and pull the lever.
[-1 enkephalin]
Distracted for a moment by a man sitting at the other end of the ship, who now thinks I'm crazy for my actions (which, from his perspective, look like I'm just stroking the air), I turn my gaze back to the machine. The screen flashes with a multitude of different words, of which I manage to catch only "cedar wand," "a pair of knitted socks," and "pirate eye patch." The speed makes my head spin, but before I can blink, the machine stops:
[Your prize: 20 galleons]
I stare blankly as 20 galleons appear on the characteristics panel in my inventory. With the thought that it could have been worse, and realizing I have nothing else to occupy myself with, I continue pulling the lever of the gaming machine...
[-1 enkephalin]
[Your prize: nothing]
[-1 enkephalin]
[Your prize: skill - silent step]
[-1 enkephalin]
[Your prize: 50 pounds sterling]
[-1 enkephalin]
[Your prize: self-writing pen with eternal ink]
[Inventory:]
21 galleons
Self-writing pen with eternal ink
50 pounds sterling
5 francs
P.S. The system automatically sorts items by their value. To change the sorting method, give a mental command.
Admiring my prizes, which may not be the best but are still quite useful, and tossing the now useless 5 francs overboard, I close my eyes and drift off to sleep as the ship begins to slowly sail, pushed by the waves towards England.