Dudley closed his eyes, taking a deep, calming breath. In the quiet darkness of his mind, he called forth his status screen, a familiar interface materializing before him. It was a chaotic but comforting summary of his progress.
Name: Dudley Dursley
Race: Muggle (True)
Occupation: Magician (False), Ripple User
Strength: 9
Agility: 6
Stamina: 15
Magic Power: 0.5
Magic: None
Mystic Code: None
Skills: Iron Mountain Lean (LV5), Boxing (LV3), Language (LV2), Math, Physics, and Chemistry (LV2), Physiology (LV2), Handicrafts (LV1), Firearms (LV1), Archery (LV1).
Special: Ripple User (LV1)
Most of these skills had been unlocked through a simple, satisfying loop: consume food, gain experience points, and spend them. The system's justification, which he had long since accepted, was that extensive knowledge is a necessary condition for becoming a spellcaster. This, combined with his own relentless effort, had allowed him to craft the perfect facade of a model student.
But tonight, his focus was on a single, glowing line. His heart hammered against his ribs. The number beside "Magic Power" was no longer zero. It was 0.5.
It was a tiny, almost laughable fraction compared to his other stats, yet it represented a monumental leap. It was the chasm between nothing and something, a historic first step on a journey he desperately wanted to take.
Could it be? he thought, his mind reeling with a dizzying mix of hope and disbelief. Do I actually have a talent for magic? Am I not a complete Muggle after all?
As if sensing his turmoil, the system offered a rare, unsolicited explanation, the text scrolling calmly through his vision.
Shinji Matou does not lack magic circuits; his are merely solidified, like a riverbed choked with silt. He cannot refine life force into magic power on his own. However, if a massive amount of external energy were used to forcibly dredge these channels, he, too, could use magic.
Please continue to work hard. Strive to activate more circuits or acquire a Magic Crest to become the strongest of all spellcasters.
The words clicked into place, a stunning revelation. Forcibly dredge... use magic... So, his own internal life force wasn't enough, but external energy could do the trick. The system had used the "reward" as that external force.
If I have magic power now, does that mean I can do it too? An exhilarating image flashed before his eyes: himself, wand in one hand, spellbook in the other, strolling leisurely through the ancient, stone halls of Hogwarts.
Then his gaze fell back to the words "Muggle (True)" and the paltry "0.5 Magic Power." The daydream dissolved. He had a long, long way to go. One step at a time. For now, he would focus on the one magical art he could practice without a wand: potions.
Three months passed in a blur of happy routine and obsessive study. Dudley devoured every magic-related book in Mrs. Figg's small collection. They were mostly first-year primers, but for him, they were a gateway to a new universe. He soaked up the theoretical knowledge, building a solid foundation where before there had been only ignorance.
"Children, it's time to go home."
The Dursleys returned, looking prosperous and radiant. Vernon had not only closed the big deal in Germany but had also secured several lucrative side contracts. He was now officially the Sales Manager at Grunnings, and the commission alone was a small fortune. The family's standard of living was about to take another significant leap.
They had worried that Dudley hadn't been eating well in their absence, but one look at his visibly bulked-up frame put those fears to rest. He was only in the fourth grade, but with his current build, he could have easily passed for a member of a high school football team. Vernon, too, had changed; his own belly had expanded considerably, jiggling like a balloon with every step. Dudley made a mental note to get his father started on a daily exercise regimen.
Before they left Mrs. Figg's, Dudley reluctantly tried to return Magical Drafts and Potions. It was his favorite, a brilliant introduction that touched on not only potion-making but also the basics of defending against the dark arts.
"Since you like it so much, you should keep it," Mrs. Figg said kindly, placing the book back in his hands.
Dudley hesitated, his fingers tracing the worn cover. He wanted to accept more than anything, but he couldn't. He had already memorized the entire text, and more importantly, he knew how his parents—especially his mother—felt about magic. It was a source of deep, unspoken pain for Petunia. He was a filial son; he wouldn't flaunt it in front of them, not until he could find a way to heal that old wound. Politely, he refused, explaining that he could always visit. Mrs. Figg seemed to understand, giving him a knowing, approving nod.
That night, long after the rest of the house had fallen into a deep, peaceful sleep, a soft light glowed from the second-floor window of Number 4, Privet Drive.
Inside his room, Dudley was at work. His desk had been transformed into a makeshift laboratory. A small, pewter cauldron sat atop a sleek induction cooker, surrounded by beakers, measuring cylinders, funnels, and a precise electronic balance—all purchased from a chemical supply store.
Wizarding, for all its wonders, was remarkably primitive when it came to potion-making, relying on intuition and vague instructions. Dudley, however, approached it with the cool, analytical precision of a chemist.
He worked in focused silence, carefully measuring powdered moonstone and adding it to the simmering liquid. He stirred the mixture counter-clockwise exactly seven times, his movements smooth and practiced. Slowly, the murky, greenish-brown concoction began to transform, shifting to a clear, pale blue. A faint smile of satisfaction finally touched his lips. Success.
He carefully ladled the shimmering liquid into a row of test tubes, sealed them with cork stoppers, and arranged them neatly in a custom-built wooden rack inside his cabinet. Only then did he lean back, a wave of profound exhaustion washing over him. He hadn't slept properly in days, consumed by the complex calculations required to substitute mundane ingredients for magical ones and get the brew just right.
But it had been worth it. He gazed at the finished product, the azure liquid glowing softly in the light of his desk lamp, as beautiful and serene as the Aegean Sea. He had done it. He had brewed his first potion: the Cure for Boils. It was simple, but it was his.
***
(End of Chapter)
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