The next day, Harry opened his eyes before his aunt could knock on his door again. He had used his magic to cast spells the night before, and he had fallen asleep as he used them.
But he felt like he had used magic many times, and there was no sign of his magic running out, nor any sign of it increasing.
Well, the novels are completely unreliable.
So is writing novels!
It's probably that in the real world, magic and mana have changed from what they were in games.
“Tap, tap, tap...”
The familiar sound of slippers and footsteps came rushing from a distance.
“Get up—” The familiar, sharp voice was ready to call the family's good-for-nothing up, but seeing Harry standing at the cupboard door, the words she was about to say stopped abruptly.
This lazy little ghost, he actually got up without her calling him. How incredible.
Petunia clicked her tongue, coughed lightly, and said, “You're already up, good, you finally learned to do something right. Go wash up, clean the bathroom, get the mail, I'm going to prepare breakfast.”
Harry nodded and walked to the bathroom.
Petunia stared at Harry's back, frowning slightly, she felt like Harry today...
Was a little strange.
But she obviously wouldn't pay attention to Harry.
She still had to cook for her dear Dudley and Vernon, and the portions couldn't be any smaller.
As usual, after breakfast, Harry went to school alone.
After a boring day of staring into space, school was over.
This time, there were no bullies.
Perhaps Harry's fierce behavior yesterday had given them a little pause.
Harry still didn't go straight home.
He wandered around the streets.
He wanted to solve his living expenses problem.
But he failed. In 1986 Britain, child protection laws were already established.
At least the issue of prohibiting child labor was supported by most people.
The result was that he couldn't find a job.
Even if some unscrupulous shops ignored the law, seeing his thin frame, they directly rejected his request.
They wanted a child worker to work, not to take them to the hospital to check and treat their bodies.
For days in a row, Harry would go out wandering the streets after school, trying to find a job, but he failed.
He was disappointed.
That day after school, the bullies, who had been inactive for a long time, surrounded Harry again.
Although Harry's outburst had given them a lot of pause, they couldn't ignore Harry's thin frame for too long.
Instead, the suppressed anger came out.
They were actually intimidated by such a small kid, making them lose face.
Bullies, besides wanting to get the pleasure of bullying, the most important thing is to save face.
Harry made them lose face.
They were ready, they went directly to two people tightly holding Harry, preventing him from moving, and then beat him up.
Beat his brains out.
Facing their encirclement, Harry's emerald green eyes flashed with a hint of coldness.
He quietly released the Slow Down spell on them.
Then he cast the Speed Up spell on himself.
Now his magic level, in the game, is low-level magic.
Low-level Slow Down reduces the speed of a single enemy by 25%, high-level Slow Down reduces the speed of a single enemy by 50%, and expert level reduces the speed of all enemies by 50%.
Speed Up is the opposite.
Now, with this decrease and increase, Harry's speed is equivalent to an increase of 50% over theirs.
Although he is no match for them in strength.
But he is much stronger in agility.
It's not like he can't fight.
This time he's going to beat them.
The students around them left far away from them, some bolder ones stood watching from a distance.
The battle between the bullies and the bullied was about to begin.
Harry was the first to move.
He couldn't wait for them to form a circle before he moved, otherwise, his increased speed would be meaningless.
The Breaking-Leg Kick.
Hitting the nose.
Stepping on the toes.
Wherever it hurt, Harry hit it.
Taking advantage of his speed advantage, although he was hit hard a few times, it didn't matter, as long as they hurt more.
As long as they couldn't form a circle and control him, he could kite them to death.
After all, he has healing, he can cast a few on himself, and he'll be fine.
They wouldn't be so lucky, they wouldn't recover in ten days or half a month.
In the astonished eyes of the students around them, the bullies fell down, one by one, yelling in pain.
Harry secretly released healing on himself.
A refreshing feeling, all over his body, as if being gently caressed by a stream of clear water, the pain completely disappeared.
His condition was better than ever.
He had returned to his peak state, now he could reach his peak state, and fight them to the death.
Damn it, the bullshit memories of the dream are affecting me again.
I'm just a normal, ordinary student who can do a little magic, what kind of Emperor operation am I doing.
Harry glanced at the bullies lying on the ground, turned around and left.
These people, he never took them seriously.
The top priority is still to find a job, a job to support himself.
Coming to a street that was relatively less crowded.
Harry saw a restaurant.
It was a rare Chinese restaurant.
Harry recognized the characters on it, it was even more familiar than his native language.
Peng's Restaurant.
The reason he stopped was because there was a sticker on the door that said "Hiring Apprentices".
The restaurant was not big, only one waiter was watching at the front desk.
That was enough.
Harry hesitated for a moment and walked in.
The front desk person was also a Chinese person, seeing Harry come in, she thought he was going to eat.
“One person? Little brother?” The waitress asked, in English, of course.
“I'm not here to eat.” Harry understood her meaning and shook his head.
“You can speak Chinese, I understand Chinese.” Harry said this in Chinese.
It was extremely fluent, without the slightest trace of a foreign accent, it was like a native Chinese speaker.
The front desk waitress was surprised, she didn't expect an English boy to speak such fluent Chinese, did he grow up in China?
“If you're not eating, why are you here?” The front desk waitress switched to Chinese.
“Doesn't it say 'Hiring Apprentices' on the door? I want to be an apprentice.” Harry said.
“What? You want to be an apprentice?” The front desk waitress exclaimed.
Looking at Harry's thin frame, she said, “Are you five? You come here to be an apprentice?”
“I'm six.” Harry said.
“It's not a matter of five or six, you're too young, it's not appropriate.” The front desk waitress shook her head.
“I need money, give me a chance.” Harry said, using his emerald green eyes, looking at her pitifully.
“This.” The waitress heard Harry's words, hesitated.
Was he a poor child?
“You wait, I'll go ask my dad if he'll take you.” The waitress said to Harry, and then turned around and went into the kitchen.
Soon, the waitress came out, followed by a middle-aged man, who looked to be in his forties.
His hair was a little gray, his face was ordinary, but he gave off a feeling of vicissitudes, his body was very strong, Harry felt that he could knock himself flying to the opposite wall with a punch.
“You want to be an apprentice?” The middle-aged man walked in front of Harry, looking down at him.
“Yes.” Harry nodded.
“Do you know what it means to be an apprentice?” The middle-aged man said.
“To learn your craft, to be your disciple.” Harry said.
“Generally speaking, that's true, but our Peng's Restaurant recruits apprentices in the traditional Chinese way, not like in your country, you learn the craft and then leave.” The middle-aged man said.
“I understand what you mean, you'll be my master from now on.” Harry said, and before the middle-aged man could react, he directly knelt down and kowtowed three times.
The traditional disciple that the middle-aged man mentioned is the kind that after apprenticeship, they treat the teacher as their own father, and they will take care of them in their old age.
It was 1986, Chinese traditional crafts were only passed down to their own real disciples, not outsiders.
“Hey, you little Yankee, you really understand our Chinese culture.” The middle-aged man laughed and squatted down to pull Harry up.
“Don't call me master yet, you're not qualified to be my disciple, practice the basic skills first, I'll see how talented you are, if you're not good enough, I won't take you as a disciple.” The middle-aged man said.
“Yes, master.” Harry nodded, but he still called him master.
The middle-aged man didn't care about the name, the mouth was on other people, how to call was other people's business.
But whether he taught or not was his business.
Even if he called him dad, he wouldn't teach him anyway.