1991. England. Cheshire.
Cheshire sits north of the Irish Sea, tucked between the Pennines and the northern highlands of Wales.
The red sandstone and volcanic marl had given the county its rich, fertile plains and its deeply agricultural soul.
Outside Chester Cathedral, right in the heart of the county town.
Amid the steady flow of tourists, a sudden cry cut through the air.
Pushing past the crowd, you could see a little girl, six or seven years old, sitting on the ground. A nasty gash marked her pale forehead, blood trickling freely down her face. Tears streamed from her eyes as her cheeks burned bright red.
Her mother hovered beside her, flustered under all the staring eyes, frantically digging tissues out of her bag to press against the wound.
Blood quickly soaked through the thin paper, staining the girl's cheek. Onlookers backed away, leaving a small, awkward circle around them.
Panic, worry, and embarrassment thickened the air inside that circle.
Then footsteps approached. Someone stepped calmly into the space.
"Head wounds always bleed a lot because of the rich blood supply, but they're rarely serious. Besides, I agree—these old stone slabs are terribly slippery. Chester Cathedral is centuries old, after all. Hardly the child's fault."
The voice was gentle, speaking quickly but without panic. Every word reached the frantic mother clearly.
She looked up.
It was just a boy. He wore a cheap, ill-fitting suit and a worn newsboy cap.
As he drew closer, a faint but unmistakable scent followed him—chocolate. Sweet, warm, and strangely comforting.
He crouched down and opened his palm in front of the sobbing girl.
With a small, practiced flick of his wrist, a chocolate appeared between his fingers as if by magic.
"Fancy some chocolate?"
"Er—" The mother was at a loss. This was hardly the moment to discuss sweets.
But to her surprise, the simple trick actually softened the girl's crying.
"Oh!" The boy tapped his forehead. "Almost forgot. Still missing one key ingredient."
He raised his other hand toward the sky.
The sunlight suddenly twisted like golden silk, swirling around his fingers before slowly gathering in his palm.
A glowing, liquid gold hovered there. He carefully let it flow into the chocolate.
The sweet seemed to shimmer with its own inner light.
He didn't use it all, though. A small orb of the liquid still remained in his hand.
Then he gently pressed that hand against the girl's injured forehead.
The mother unconsciously let go, staring in stunned silence.
When he pulled away, the wound had already closed. The bleeding had stopped, leaving only the faintest trace of a line.
"It'll heal nicely," the boy said. "Trust me—there won't even be a scar."
He placed the chocolate into the little girl's hands.
She tore open the wrapper and popped it into her mouth without hesitation.
The moment it touched her tongue, the chocolate melted into a warm, golden wave that spread from her stomach throughout her entire body.
In seconds, a bright smile lit up her face.
Her mother looked from her daughter to the boy, then quickly stood and bowed.
"Thank you so much, sir. May I ask your name? And how much do I owe you for the chocolate?"
"I'm Charlie Wonka. A… chocolate magician, you could say."
Charlie removed his newsboy cap with a small smile. "Just one pound, please."
The woman nodded, opened her purse, and placed several crisp notes into his hat—far more than one pound.
"Ma'am, that's really too much."
"You didn't just sell me a chocolate," she said with a soft laugh. "You saved this entire weekend and made it magical. Please, don't refuse."
"Thank you for your kindness." Charlie accepted the money with a nod.
[Wish Dust +0.5 — Sarah Adams]
Half a point of Wish Dust? Not bad at all.
Wish Dust was the pure essence that fell from the most innocent hearts—usually children.
While Charlie was quietly thinking about his system, a sudden hug caught him off guard.
It was the little girl. She let go, cheeks flushed, and said shyly, "Thank you, Charlie brother."
"You're welcome." He gently wiped the last smear of blood from her forehead. "Have a lovely weekend. And watch your step—the stones are still a bit slick now that the sun's out."
Charlie tipped his cap politely and slipped back into the crowd.
In the park beside the cathedral, he found a dry bench under the shade of a tree and sat down to count his earnings.
One red ten-pound note.
Two purple twenty-pound notes.
One gray fifty-pound note.
The Queen on these notes was still young—Elizabeth II in her earlier years.
Plus the loose coins he'd picked up on the street earlier. He'd probably spend those on bread soon anyway.
All in all, a solid hundred pounds today.
And 0.5 Wish Dust to top it off.
At the thought, glowing, twisting characters only he could see materialized in the air, forming clear text:
[Wish Dust: 15.4]
[Specialization Target: None]
[Current Trait: Natural Harvest (You may gather free energy from the natural world.)]
Charlie let out a quiet sigh.
It wasn't that he didn't value the Wish Dust. The problem was he had almost nothing to actually spend it on.
According to the system, Wish Dust could be used to enhance skills or items.
But besides [Natural Harvest], he hadn't found anything else worth upgrading.
And right now, that skill only let him collect sunlight.
Yes. Sunlight.
It sounded magical in theory.
In practice, it mostly just made things warm and gave a mild healing boost when mixed into chocolate.
To collect more types of energy, he needed to grow stronger. How? He still had no idea.
Just then, a grayish-white figure settled onto the bench beside him.
"Got any more chocolate?" asked a calm, aged voice.
"Of course." Charlie turned, already raising his hand to perform his signature trick.
Then he froze.
Because he finally saw who was sitting there.
An elderly man dressed in elaborate white and gray robes, wearing a small purple hat. He sat with perfect posture, broad-shouldered and taller than most men his age. Half-moon spectacles rested on his nose, framing brilliant blue eyes.
This old man… looked far too familiar.