Hermione raised her hand and scratched her cheek, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Well, I really want to study with you, but I also really want to play with you. This summer... can you study when I study and play when I play? Just to keep me company?"
"Is that okay?" Hermione looked at Lynn expectantly, forcing herself to put on a pitiful expression.
A thought appeared in Lynn's brain without hesitation: I shouldn't slack off during the holidays. I cannot slack off. I should continue studying during the break so I won't be overtaken on the curve. I should... surpass... others.
A slight pain shot through her mind, and the thought that had just appeared was interrupted, resulting in a series of pauses.
Another thought flashed from the depths of her brain: promise her. This thought told Lynn, as it usually did.
"Okay..." Lynn obeyed the thought, nodding with eyes that remained dead.
"Great! It's a deal then." Hermione smiled happily, lay down comfortably on the bed, and crawled into her duvet.
Seeing Hermione get into bed, Lynn leaned over to turn off the bedside lamp. Hermione's room instantly fell into darkness.
Slowly crawling into her own covers, Lynn closed her eyes and instantly fell into a deep sleep.
Hermione, who had originally wanted to have a little night chat after turning off the lights, felt a pang of heartache hearing the steady breathing beside her.
She turned over and carefully pulled Lynn into her arms, slowly patting her back. It had been quite a while since she started making Lynn sleep six hours a day.
She could still fall asleep so quickly; one could only imagine how exhausted her spirit must be.
Lowering her gaze, Hermione's resentment toward Lynn's parents deepened. Holding Lynn, Hermione slowly closed her eyes.
In the dark and silent night, while people were deep in sleep, an invisible existence quietly supplemented part of Lynn's identity in this world and left an unlimited black card, universal for all banks worldwide, in the pocket of the trousers she was to wear tomorrow... Waking up once every hour, Lynn got up exactly at six in the morning. She got out of bed and changed her clothes silently, being careful not to wake Hermione.
As soon as she put on her trousers, Lynn noticed something seemed to be in her pocket.
She took it out and looked; it was a black bank card with no specific bank name or card number. Along with it appeared a slip of paper explaining how to use the card.
Briefly analyzing the origin of this card, Lynn easily categorized it with the things she had previously obtained from her trunk.
So, this should also be from the world consciousness. Putting the black card into her pocket, Lynn walked out of Hermione's room light-footedly.
Coming down to the kitchen, she silently recited the History of Magic textbook while skillfully and professionally preparing breakfast.
Over half an hour later, a table full of hearty breakfast was laid out on the dining table.
Mrs. Granger, who had just gotten up to prepare some breakfast for Hermione and Lynn to take with them so they wouldn't be hungry after the physical exam, froze when she saw the large spread on the table.
Hearing footsteps, Lynn placed the last plate of sandwiches on the table and turned to look at Mrs. Granger.
"Good morning, Auntie. Please come and have breakfast."
Mrs. Granger looked at the tempting breakfast on the table and turned to Lynn in disbelief.
"Good morning... Did you make all this, Lynn?"
"Yes," Lynn nodded expressionlessly. "Does it not meet your requirements, Auntie? Or is there nothing you want to eat? I can make it again."
"No, no," Mrs. Granger quickly waved her hand. "I'm just a bit surprised."
Lynn and Hermione were the same age. They believed they had raised Hermione to be independent enough—cleaning her room and washing her clothes, Hermione could do it all herself.
But compared to this large table of breakfast Lynn made... Hermione really couldn't do that.
Nodding, Lynn mechanically pulled out a chair for Mrs. Granger.
Mrs. Granger looked at Lynn and pursed her lips in embarrassment. When they decided yesterday to take the two girls for a physical exam today, they had already gone upstairs to rest.
She and her husband didn't go up to disturb them, thinking they could just tell them this morning.
She hadn't expected Lynn to get up so early to prepare breakfast. A physical exam required fasting. Lynn had made such a large breakfast, but for now, it could only be looked at and not eaten... She felt quite bad about it.
"Auntie, aren't you going to eat?" Lynn turned to look at the breakfast she had made.
She couldn't be sure what Mr. and Mrs. Granger liked to eat, so she made many varieties, each in a small portion, hoping there would be something they loved.
But... was the current situation that there was nothing Auntie liked?
Or was she not thoughtful enough, or did she not do a good job, and Auntie was dissatisfied? Lynn lowered her gaze, as angry scolding echoed in her mind.
"You can't even do this well? Do you have the brain of a pig?"
Mrs. Granger snapped out of it. Seeing Lynn with her head lowered and eyes downcast, she felt a pang in her heart and quickly reached out to pull the girl to her side.
She picked up a sandwich and took a bite. "Auntie is eating," she chewed twice, and her eyes lit up with genuine sincerity. "It's delicious! Lynn, you're so good at cooking!"
This really wasn't just to comfort Lynn; her skills were truly excellent! In Mrs. Granger's view, compared to professional chefs, it wasn't much different.
When Lynn heard Mrs. Granger express satisfaction, the scolding in her mind finally stopped.
Looking at her blankly, Lynn shook her head and spoke mechanically, "My cooking isn't that good."
When her mom and dad used to eat, they would always point out problems with every dish—too salty, too bland, or the meat was overcooked.
Mrs. Granger swallowed the sandwich and shook her head. "Don't say that. Your cooking is very good. Not just among your peers, but even better than mine."
As she spoke, Mrs. Granger reached out to rub Lynn's head. "Did you learn to cook from your mother?"
Lynn shook her head, her voice devoid of ripples. "I taught myself from books."
Mrs. Granger was stunned for a moment, then couldn't help but praise, "Self-taught, that's incredible..."
But... Lynn was only eleven now, which meant she was even younger when she learned to cook? Ten? Nine? Why did she have to learn this at such a young age... Mrs. Granger felt a sense of doubt in her heart.
What puzzled her even more was, wouldn't her parents be worried about such a small child learning to cook? Kitchen knives, hot oil, gas—everything was dangerous.
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