It was July.
In the town of Hertford, on the outskirts of London, a muggy mist clung to the air, enveloping the town in a suffocating embrace, as if everyone had been tossed into a giant steamer basket.
Suddenly, with a sharp bang from within the mist, a woman in her fifties emerged, her appearance unmistakable: a conical hat, patched and repatched over the years, perched atop her head. She hurried forward, her steps brisk and purposeful.
Had any Hogwarts students witnessed this scene, they would have been astonished to recognize her. This was the Head of Hufflepuff House, Professor Pomona Sprout—renowned for her calm, gentle demeanor, as nurturing as the earth she so loved. Yet today, Professor Sprout radiated a rare and palpable excitement.
"Robin, my poor brother," she murmured, her voice trembling. "If Dumbledore hadn't told me the Book of Admittance had inscribed the name Char Sprout, I would have believed your entire family lost to the Death Eaters. Merlin's beard, Char—he's alive! The Sprout bloodline endures!"
Professor Sprout's breath quickened, her eyes brimming with guilt and remorse. For so many years, she had never imagined a child could survive alone. As his only living relative, she had failed in her duty to raise him, and the weight of that failure pressed heavily upon her.
But as she steadied herself, her expression grew resolute. She would find this child and bring him home to the wizarding world, determined to make amends for the years lost.
With renewed purpose, Professor Sprout strode towards the address written on a crumpled piece of parchment.
"Lister Plantation..." she whispered, reading the words from the Book of Admittance. "This is the place."
With a wave of her wand, the thick mist before her parted as if swept aside by invisible hands, revealing a slender figure within.
The moment she laid eyes on him, an undeniable sense of kinship surged within her—blood calling to blood. Yet, as she observed what the boy named Char Sprout was doing, her face drained of color, and pain flickered in her eyes.
"Eighty! Eighty!"
At that very moment, within the Lister Plantation, Char gripped a shovel, digging steadily into the soil. The air inside the plantation was even more oppressive than outside, but Char's focus never wavered. He worked with quiet determination, each scoop of earth deliberate and precise.
When the pit was finally ready, Char gently nestled a cotton seedling into the ground. A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face.
"Done!"
In a view only he could see, text shimmered above the freshly planted seedling:
[Successfully planted cotton x1]
A faint orb of light hovered over the plant:
[Planting Reward – Extremely slight increase in heat resistance (Developing)]
[After the plant matures, the reward will be upgraded to: Slight increase in heat resistance, Extremely slight increase in drought resistance]
Char surveyed the neat rows of cotton seedlings, his eyes shining with anticipation.
"Once this batch matures and I harvest the crop, my heat and drought resistance should be enough to plant trees in the Sahara Desert without breaking a sweat."
That's right—Char was a transmigrator.
In his previous life, he had been a graduate student in agricultural science, researching new crops in remote mountain fields. But one fateful day, a landslide during a torrential downpour changed everything. When Char awoke, he found himself in 1980s London, inhabiting the body of an orphan.
Fortunately, his memories remained intact. Armed with advanced planting techniques, he managed to eke out a living on the farm. It was when he planted his very first seedling that he discovered something extraordinary: he could see text and glowing orbs above the plants.
At first, he thought he was hallucinating. But when he touched the orb and felt its effects, he realized he'd acquired a unique gift—a cheat ability he dubbed the Planting System.
As long as Char personally planted something and ensured the conditions were right, he would receive a reward related to that plant. If he waited until the plant matured, the reward improved significantly.
It was simple, yet profound—not an overpowered system like 'Deep Blue Stat Allocation' or 'God-tier Comprehension,' but a perfect embodiment of the principle: you reap what you sow.
Others might have found the process of planting, waiting, and harvesting tedious, but for Char, a former agricultural science student, it was a dream come true. In his previous life, even the most diligent research didn't guarantee a thesis-worthy crop. Sometimes, a single hailstorm, a strong wind, or even a mischievous neighbor could ruin months of work.
Recalling those nightmares, Char shivered, then picked up his shovel again.
"That was close. Better plant another cotton seedling to calm my nerves."
He paused, thinking gratefully of Mr. Lister.
"Mr. Lister is a good man. He's willing to risk violating child protection laws just to let me work the plantation and earn my rewards—and he even pays me! Without him, I'd never have leveled up so quickly. Life is good!"
In the sweltering plantation, Char worked tirelessly, planting one cotton seedling after another. Yet, to Professor Sprout, the scene was unbearable—a knife twisting in her heart.
She had feared her nephew, lost in the Muggle world, might have ended up in an orphanage. Never did she imagine that, in 1991, there would still be cotton plantations in England, with her eleven-year-old nephew laboring like a slave.
No—at least slaves had watermelon and fried chicken, she thought bitterly. She had watched Char work for so long, and he hadn't even had a sip of water!
Fury ignited within her. Professor Sprout drew her wand, leveling it at Mr. Lister, her face contorted with rare anger.
"Vampire! No—even vampires are more merciful than you!"
Mr. Lister went pale, sweat pouring down his face. Before he could utter a word in his defense, Professor Sprout struck him down with a Stunning Spell.
She paused, breathing deeply. For a fleeting moment, she had even considered using the Cruciatus Curse.
But now, only one thing mattered: getting Char away from this wretched plantation.
She strode purposefully towards him, her footsteps catching Char's attention.
"Madam, are you…?"
Char looked up, confusion written across his face.
Professor Sprout's cheeks flushed. "Char. From today onwards, you don't have to work on the plantation anymore…"
At her words, Char's heart sank.
Oh no.
He was trained in agricultural science, not economics. He had no idea how the world economy was faring, but it must be bad if someone was coming to steal his job when he was doing so well. He hadn't even harvested this batch of cotton yet!
Thankfully, years of planting had granted him cumulative rewards: thirst resistance, hunger resistance—abilities far beyond those of ordinary people. He could even recharge just by basking in the sun, and needed little sleep. Otherwise, how could he possibly manage an entire plantation alone?
Char faced Professor Sprout, determination blazing in his eyes.
"Madam, if you want to take my job, I advise you to think twice. I don't need wages, food, water, or even sleep. Can you match that?"