Chapter 1
London, England – Early July 1980
It was already past 8 p.m., but a faint light was still flickering from a room in the Aelens Church Welfare Orphanage.
"Sigh… I can't take this anymore."
In the room, a young boy stared into the mirror on the wardrobe, which reflected his slender but well-defined face. He rubbed his chin repeatedly, occasionally stretching out his hands—slender yet sharply contoured—opening and closing them as if trying to grasp something from the air.
Eleven years.
It had been eleven years since he came to this damned world. And not only that—he was stuck in an orphanage in the 1980s. No computers, no cell phones... Honestly, he couldn't even figure out how he had managed all this time.
"Anduin, boss, the stuff you asked for—" Before he could continue his quiet lament, a loud knock on the door jolted him back to reality.
"What are you yelling for? It's late. You want to get caught?" Anduin opened the door, frowning.
"Uh, sorry! It's just… this box was heavy as hell—whew..." said a boy around sixteen or seventeen. His shirt wasn't exactly worn-out but was wrinkled all over, paired with well-fitting trousers held up by suspenders. His messy hair looked like it hadn't been combed in days.
The boy delivering the box was named William, a few years older than Anduin and also a fellow orphan at the church-run orphanage.
"Alright, but why are you back so late? Don't tell me those guys from the North District gave you trouble again," Anduin asked, frowning slightly.
"No way. Ever since you taught those North District punks a lesson, nobody dares mess with us. It's just… we hit the jackpot today, scored a bunch of good stuff, and lost track of time." William pulled a few bills from his pocket and handed them over. "Anyway, here's our cut for the week."
Anduin took the money calmly. "Alright. Thanks for the effort today."
Just as he was about to open the box, he noticed William still lingering nearby, chuckling nervously and rubbing his hands together.
"What is it now? I need to get back to training."
"Heh… Well, it's still early, and we were thinking of relaxing a bit..."
"Got it. You want to play mahjong, right?" Anduin cut him off, saying no more. He walked silently to the bed, pulled out a wooden box from underneath, and handed it over. "Go ahead, just don't gamble. If the matron finds out, she'll confiscate it again."
"Thanks, boss! I'll bring it back in a couple of days!" William said quickly before grabbing the box and disappearing in a flash.
"There goes another one... Maybe teaching them mahjong wasn't such a good idea." Anduin sighed helplessly and closed the door.
Then, with visible excitement, he rubbed his hands and opened the large cardboard box William had brought.
"Heh... soy sauce, sesame paste, vinegar, cooking wine—long time no see, my friends. No phone, no computer... I gotta find my pleasures elsewhere. this food's gonna make me puke soon."
This box, of course, contained none other than the condiments Anduin had asked William to get from Chinatown.
Anduin Wilson didn't know whether he had transmigrated or reincarnated into this world. A former soldier in his past life, he had the mental discipline to remain calm and rational—essential for surviving in a world he didn't understand.
He wasn't even sure if this world was the same one he once knew. He was born directly into an orphanage, sometime in the late '60s or early '70s. Still, since he was here, he had no choice but to adapt. With the experience and memories of an adult, Anduin wasn't one to be overly sentimental.
The orphanage he lived in was run by the church. William and his group were also orphans like Anduin, only a few years older. But all of them listened to Anduin.
Why?
Because they had no choice.
Anduin, who had a military background in his previous life, had a passion for martial arts and began training his body from a very young age. These habits had become so ingrained they were practically muscle memory—and easy to recover.
With his overwhelming combat instincts, Anduin had unified the orphanage by force at the age of nine. William and the others behaved obediently around him. In fact, under Anduin's guidance, William and his crew even started a small business outside the orphanage.
"If this keeps up, I'm gonna end up as the boss of some street gang. Feels like I'm collecting protection money every week..." Anduin muttered to himself, half-joking. He stopped overthinking, carefully put away the condiments, and planned to cook himself a proper meal soon.
Once everything was stored, Anduin locked his room tightly from the inside.
Because ever since coming to this world, he had a secret that no one else knew.
He… had superpowers.
Anduin's eyes fell on a dumbbell in the corner of the room. It weighed about ten kilograms. He pointed at it with a finger—and immediately, the dumbbell floated up into the air, suspended as if held by an invisible force.
Letting the dumbbell hover above him, he walked over to his desk and quietly opened a book.
This was a method Anduin had devised himself to train his "superpowers." He called it delayed training.
Around the age of seven or eight, he first noticed something unusual. One day, after a training session, he felt thirsty—and just as the thought crossed his mind, a cup of water floated off the table and flew into his hand.
Through careful observation, Anduin discovered that—at least within the orphanage—he seemed to be the only one like this. That's why he remained incredibly cautious. In a church-run orphanage, if someone found out, there was no telling whether they'd call him a monster or an abomination and have him "dealt with."
He called this strange phenomenon his "superpower." With repeated testing and training, the power slowly evolved from being unreliable to something he could faintly control.
He discovered that after finishing martial arts training and doing standing meditation, his mind would enter a relaxed, blank state—which seemed to allow better control over this power. So, he made it a point to include this in his daily routine.
From that point forward, already highly disciplined, Anduin set a strict schedule: daily martial arts practice, meditation, and "superpower" training.
At first, his training methods mimicked physical workouts: simple load-bearing exercises. When he could control the power more reliably, he shifted to targeted practice—starting with teacups and books, and later moving on to chairs and tables.
But eventually… he began to notice something was off.
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