"Lord Ben, the Literature Department at Cambridge University has sent you another invitation. They earnestly request that you accept a lifetime professorship in their department."
"The publishing house is trying to confirm your upcoming book signing schedule. For your protection, they are hiring the highest level of security."
"Your eleventh birthday is approaching. The Times and The London Times have both confirmed it will be their front-page headline."
A well-dressed, meticulous butler reported these matters one after another, his voice calm yet respectful.
The person listening wasn't a political powerhouse or a business magnate but a young boy, barely over ten years old in appearance.
This was Ben, the most celebrated literary genius in Britain—perhaps even in the world.
Without a doubt, Ben was a transmigrator.
From an ordinary youth in another world, he had transmigrated to this one. From growing up in an orphanage to becoming a globally recognized young literary master, ten years had passed in the blink of an eye.
If nothing unexpected happened, Ben believed he could live out a near-perfect life—a life worthy of being recorded in textbooks.
A hundred years from now, his name would certainly be found in the pages of literary history.
But as fate would have it, something unexpected did happen.
Ben stared at the pen on his desk. It had delicate patterns and a metallic shine, like a work of art.
This was a gift from the Queen of England on his tenth birthday. According to reports, it contained rare metallic elements that made it almost impervious to wear.
It symbolized the hope that Ben's talent would never fade—that Britain might once again have a literary figure to rival Shakespeare.
Now, however, that beautiful pen had been twisted into something resembling a pretzel.
Ben took a deep breath.
The only thing he remembered was suffering from writer's block the day before. Frustrated, he had thought about snapping the pen in half.
Then the pen had actually twisted in his hand under a strange force—and he had passed out from the exertion.
Now, looking at the deformed pen, Ben felt his worldview begin to shatter.
"Was it a dream?"
"A prank?"
Possibilities raced through Ben's mind, only to be rejected one by one.
It couldn't be a dream—it was far too real.
And a prank? That was even less likely.
Only the butler had access to his study, and the man was practically a fortress of responsibility. The idea of him playing a prank was laughable.
That left only one explanation.
Ben looked down at his palm.
The force that had twisted the pen was real.
Magic?
Telekinesis?
Or something else entirely?
Could this world contain supernatural powers?
The butler's voice gradually quieted. He knew Ben was deep in thought—an inviolable rule in this household. Interrupting Ben while he was thinking could destroy the inspiration for his next masterpiece, and angry readers might well tear the interrupter limb from limb.
At that moment, Ben seemed to recall something.
"This year is 1991… That's such a familiar year…"
He muttered softly to himself, then asked, "What year was I born? 1980?"
He walked over to a shelf lined with materials and pulled out a neatly arranged 1980 edition of a newspaper.
Across the front pages, various bizarre stories were reported.
Some people claimed they had seen groups dressed in strange robes gathering in public places. Others swore they had witnessed brooms flying through the air.
The most outlandish report described a motorcycle soaring across the sky.
As Ben read, realization struck him like a bolt of lightning.
He finally understood where he was.
This was the world of Harry Potter.
He was likely a wizard.
And the force that had twisted his pen? That must have been a magical outburst—a manifestation of uncontrolled magic!
Just then, the midnight bell tolled.
Ben's eleventh birthday had officially arrived.
At the same time, he heard the soft fluttering of wings outside the window.
Ben's heart raced. He instructed the butler to open the window.
The next moment, amid the butler's startled cry, an owl soared into the study and dropped a strange letter onto Ben's desk.
The envelope bore the unmistakable crest of a lion, eagle, badger, and snake—the Hogwarts coat of arms.
The butler's face was a mask of confusion and disbelief.
"Lord Ben, is this… some kind of joke from a reader?"
"We already told the post office to only accept mail from a verified whitelist. What sort of fan went through the trouble of training an owl just to send you a letter?"
"Let me dispose of it."
Ben looked at the letter with solemn eyes.
"No need, Frand. I know what this letter is. You can leave now. Close the door behind you."
The butler hesitated for a moment, then quietly exited, closing the door behind him.
Ben inhaled deeply and opened the envelope. Inside was a piece of parchment.
Dear Mr. Ben Snow,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed is a list of required books and supplies.
The term begins on September 1st. We await your owl no later than July 31st.
"Hogwarts' acceptance letter…"
It was impossible not to be excited. After all, it was a ticket to the magical world.
Who among Harry Potter readers hadn't dreamed of receiving this very letter?
But then, Ben's expression dimmed.
If he remembered correctly, the timing of one's first magical outburst was an indicator of magical potential.
Geniuses like Dumbledore and Grindelwald had displayed their powers at a very young age.
In contrast, Neville Longbottom's magic had been so delayed that his family feared he was a Squib.
Ben's own magical outburst had only happened the day before his eleventh birthday—barely in time to receive a Hogwarts letter.
This wasn't a good sign.
His magical talent might be… subpar.
Ben sighed.
"So much for becoming a magical prodigy who could rival Dumbledore or challenge Voldemort."
"Maybe I should just take it easy in the magical world. Stay low, avoid trouble, and focus on being a literary master. That doesn't sound so bad."
"…It would be perfect if I had a system."
As he muttered to himself, Ben picked up the acceptance letter again.
At that moment, a soft chime echoed in his mind.
[System Activated]
Ben's eyes widened, filling with disbelief and excitement.
Did a system really just activate?
Was it one of those legendary cheat systems?
Maybe a Magic Law System? Or a Potion Master System? Or an Alchemy Enhancement System?
He didn't care what kind—it was a system!
[Congratulations to the host for joining Chan Sect. The Primordial Connections System is now officially bound.]
Ben froze in place.
"…?"
"What are you talking about?"
"This is the Harry Potter world… What the hell is the Primordial Connections System?!"