"Grub's up."
Accompanying the caretaker's soul-crushing shout, Maurise quietly walked into the dining hall, having just returned from school.
To call it a 'dining hall' was generous. It was, in reality, just a dilapidated room trying its best not to collapse.
A large table and a few wooden benches constituted the entirety of the furniture. The walls, decorated with artistic patches of mold and peeling plaster, whispered tales of decades of neglect.
When was this building constructed? The Victorian era?
Perhaps even older.
Regardless of its architectural pedigree, this had been Maurise's home for several years.
The food on the table was consistent with the decor. Spaghetti Bolognese that contained only a suspicion of meat, cheap sausages purchased in bulk, and a mountain of mashed potatoes and onions.
To be fair, the taste wasn't terrible. Maurise didn't hate it. The price of food, after all, does not always reflect its nutritional value.
Maurise walked unhurriedly to his usual spot in the corner and sat down. No sooner had he settled than a chaotic drumming of footsteps approached from the hallway.
A lanky boy with hair resembling withered straw practically burst into the room. He shot a habitual glance at Maurise before dropping heavily onto the bench diagonally opposite. His eyes darted between the serving bowls with predatory hunger.
'He's starving', Maurise thought idly.
The other children filed in shortly after. There were about ten of them in total, ranging from six-year-olds to teenagers of fourteen or fifteen. One of the older boys even sported a rather jagged scar across his cheek, adding to the rough atmosphere.
Once everyone was seated, the caretaker spoke again.
"Eat."
The command triggered a symphony of clattering cutlery and chewing, accompanied by the low murmur of conversation. Perhaps it was the approaching summer holidays, but the mood among the children was surprisingly light.
Maurise picked up his fork and methodically stirred the viscous mound of mashed potatoes on his plate.
School. Eat. Sleep.
This was his daily routine. Unchanging, monotonous, and utterly boring.
He hated being bored.
Why did he live like this? Because this was an orphanage located in the suburbs of London.
Correction. They didn't call it an 'orphanage' anymore. The sign outside now read "The Ashley Children's Home." It sounded friendlier on government paperwork.
In essence, it was a state-run facility for children with nowhere else to go, and Maurise was simply one of the statistics.
He had no other choice.
By his count, this was his eleventh year in this world.
Maurise was not a native of this reality. He came from the 21st century. If his memory served him correctly, the current year was 1991.
A strange place in a strange time.
"Still a long way to go..." Maurise sighed silently.
He had recently celebrated his eleventh birthday, which was a notoriously awkward age. Although he possessed a cognition far beyond his era, he was trapped in the body of a child. There was very little maneuvering room for a penniless eleven-year-old.
The only strategy available was to survive until adulthood.
Once he was of age, he was confident that with his foreknowledge of history and economics, a bright future was inevitable. He didn't need to be royalty. He just needed to be smart.
Dinner concluded, and the children dispersed to their rooms.
For all its faults, the old building was spacious. As a result, the dormitories were only double occupancy.
"I really wish they'd change the menu... why can't they make a cake or something? Just once?"
Maurise had barely stepped through the door when the blonde boy from dinner started chatting. This was Scott, his roommate.
"Be glad we have food at all, Scott," Maurise replied casually. He didn't bother changing his clothes before climbing onto the top bunk and lying down.
Scott's complaint wasn't baseless. The dinner menu at the Children's Home had been on a loop for months. It was cheap, and it filled a hole.
Six months ago, there had been some variety. But ever since the staff rotation, the culinary standards had plummeted.
Maurise didn't care. You couldn't expect high-quality service from underpaid caretakers looking after a house full of problem children. They would probably quit within a fortnight anyway.
Besides, the school lunches were decent. One had to thank the government for small mercies.
"Oh, right," Scott said, kicking the foot of his bed in boredom. "Which secondary school are you going to?"
"Northwood Comprehensive," Maurise said, clasping his hands behind his head. He stared at a crack in the ceiling and stifled a yawn.
"Ah, I knew it," Scott exclaimed with a tone of validation. "That's the best school around here. With your grades, of course you'd go there."
There was no jealousy in his voice, only acceptance of a known fact.
In this Children's Home, Maurise was an anomaly. He quietly read thick books that made other kids' heads hurt, and his exercise books were filled with more 'A' grades than anyone else's.
"Mmm," Maurise hummed noncommittally.
Studying was the only lever he could pull right now. It wasn't just about a brighter career path. It was about the scholarships.
A single scholarship might not buy a house, but if he accumulated enough of them, the numbers would become significant. Whether for investment or university tuition, that money would be his crucial startup capital.
Maurise didn't mind studying. Reading had always been one of his great pleasures. Incidentally, he felt that with his current level of knowledge, he could probably skip secondary school and go straight to university without breaking a sweat.
CRASH!
Just as Scott was muttering about cake again, a loud bang erupted from the window.
The sash, which had been loose for days, was blown open by a sudden gust, slamming violently against the wall. The glass rattled with a teeth-aching vibration.
Since Scott was on the bottom bunk by the window, he was the logical candidate to deal with it.
"Oh, for bloody sake," Scott grumbled. He scratched his messy hair aggressively and walked to the window. "This stupid thing has broken three times this week! They fix it, it breaks. They fix it, it breaks. Nobody cares..."
Scott froze. "Uh... what is that?"
Then came the distinct sound of fluttering feathers.
"Maurise? You've got mail."
Maurise immediately leaned over the edge of the top bunk.
Scott was standing there like a statue, clutching a thick, heavy-looking envelope. He looked completely bewildered.
"You're not going to believe this, Maurise," Scott said, his voice vacant. "But an owl just flew in. An actual owl."
An owl?
Maurise's heart skipped a beat. He jumped down from the bed, landing lightly, and snatched the envelope from Scott's hand.
It was made of heavy parchment, yellowish and textured. It looked expensive.
Maurise flipped it over.
On the front, written in emerald green ink, was a very specific address:
[Mr. Maurise Black, The Top Bunk, Second Floor East Dormitory, The Ashley Children's Home, 34 Ashley Street.]
On the back was a large, thick seal of purple wax bearing a coat of arms.
A lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter 'H'.
Maurise didn't hesitate. He tore the envelope open.
"..."
When Maurise didn't speak for a long time, Scott leaned in, curiosity getting the better of him. "What is it? Who's writing to you? That badge looks properly weird..."
Maurise remained silent for another moment. Then, he spoke slowly, his voice sounding distant.
"Scott... I don't think I'll be going to Northwood Comprehensive."
"What?"