Chương 2: The Boy Who Got Saved

Nine years of careful preparation. Yet the moment Tyson truly grasped where he was, all that effort suddenly felt pathetically insufficient. The Harry Potter universe wasn't exactly a death sentence. No acid-spitting predators roamed the streets. No cosmic horrors hovered visibly above the skyline. But for a child, the danger level was absurdly high. He had been going to martial arts classes since last year. It had taken a lot of pestering, but his parents eventually gave in.

He was studying material far beyond his grade level. He was stronger and smarter than any kid his age should have been. But none of it meant a damn thing. A nine-year-old could not throw a punch faster than someone could flick a wand. The mathematics of survival were brutally unfavorable. Then again, maybe he should have been more freaked out by the fact that he was living inside a fictional universe. Most people probably would've had an existential crisis or two.

But his existence had already been bizarre long before he figured out where he was. Compared to that, reincarnation into a book series almost felt manageable. Besides, there was still a decent chance that the whole thing would blow over. It was very likely that he was just a normal Muggle. In nine years of life, he didn't remember showing any signs of accidental magic. He had never turned a jumper into a tent, changed a teacher's hair color, or summoned a steamroller.

But the chuunibyou in him, the one that wanted to throw fireballs at people's faces at the slightest hint of offense, wished that he did. What was the point of being reincarnated into a magical world if you didn't learn magic? Tyson was so thoroughly lost in his thoughts that he only registered the lunch bell when the small, scrawny boy at the desk beside him flinched as though struck. Harry Potter looked terrified.

Before anyone else could even react, he had already stuffed his belongings into his bag and bolted for the exit like prey hearing wolves nearby. Tyson watched him go, then packed his own belongings unhurriedly.

'Poor kid.' Harry Potter's future was a disaster waiting to happen. By the time he turned thirteen, he would accumulate more life-or-death encounters than most police officers or firefighters would face over an entire career. A mountain troll in his first year, along with a nerfed Dark Lord hiding beneath a professor's turban. An overgrown snake stalker with a death stare in his second year. Hundreds of soul-sucking goth bitches in third year.

And in the fourth year, he was literally kidnapped from the school grounds and used as the juice for the resurrection of the final boss. Things only went downhill from there. The fact that Harry eventually grew into a relatively functional adult was, frankly, more unrealistic than anything else in this world. The universe's plot armor was so thick it could bend visible light. Still… did any of that require Tyson's involvement, though? He knew the eventual outcome.

Despite all the hardships thrown at him, Harry Potter wouldn't just survive; he would thrive. Marry Ginny Weasley, produce a predictable litter of Potter children, and stay best friends with Ron and Hermione forever. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. Harry's future was secured. Tyson had to worry about his own. He had gotten a second chance, and he needed to make the best of it.

Keep his body healthy, keep learning as much as possible, make tons of cash, and stay out of the Wizarding World's canon entirely. Besides, even if he wanted to, what could he even do? He was just a nine-year-old with decent hand-to-hand skills and an abnormally large vocabulary. Attempting to meddle in the affairs of dark wizards and ancient magical plots would be a particularly elaborate form of suicide.

His spiraling thoughts came to an abrupt halt when a small whale in a school uniform lumbered past him, wheezing as it moved. For several long seconds, Tyson just stared, momentarily convinced his brain was malfunctioning. Then the whale resolved into a child, flanked by a trio of skinny sycophants, and he finally realized what he was looking at. Dudley Dursley. The kid wasn't just overweight. He resembled a beanbag chair stuffed into human clothing.

If someone tipped him sideways, he might genuinely continue rolling across the pavement. Layers of fat bulged beneath his uniform, his tiny eyes vanished into puffed flesh, and his blond hair sat on his head in a limp clump. But it was the grin that held Tyson's attention. No child should have a smile that sadistic. It was the expression of someone who had learned, very early, that pain was a currency and he was rich beyond measure. Tyson thought for a long second, before letting out a sight.

He pulled an apple from his backpack and followed Dudley's group while taking a bite. The four boys hurried across the corridor, scanning the area like hunters searching for prey. Tyson noticed other students subtly moving out of their path. Well, well, would you look at that. Seems like the group had earned themselves a reputation. Tyson kept his distance, watching them rush around with purpose. He spotted him before they did. Harry Potter was running from one hall to another before disappearing around a corner.

The logical choice would be to ignore it all. Let events unfold as intended. Harry would be fine in the long run. Dudley would eventually grow out of this phase. Children were assholes by default. Any interference on his part could potentially alter things in unpredictable ways.

"He went that way!"

"Get that little freak!" Tyson sighed.

'I'm an idiot.' He made a decision. Canon could fuck itself for now. He was never the one to stand bullying. Tyson peeled away and took an alternate hallway, jogging lightly. Within seconds, he had cut around and positioned himself directly in the path Harry had taken. He leaned against the wall, chewing on his apple while thinking things through. Harry spun around the corner a moment later, panting hard. The instant his eyes locked onto Tyson waiting ahead, terror flashed across his face, and he nearly stumbled.

Tyson rolled his eyes and waved him forward.

"Keep moving, buddy," he said, keeping his voice low and calm.

"They're catching up." The other students nearby paused to stare at him as though he'd just volunteered to stand in front of a moving train. He ignored them. His attention stayed fixed on the skinny future savior of magical Britain. Harry gave him a cautious look before sprinting past without a word, never once looking back. Tyson couldn't really blame him, but damn. A heartbeat later, the first pursuer came around the corner. It was a boy with a long nose and prominent buck teeth.

The combination made him look like a rat. The kid never noticed him standing there, which made striking him with an apple core incredibly easy. The wet thunk of fruit waste striking a moving face was deeply satisfying.

"Gah!" the boy yelped, stumbling backward in shock. Tyson adjusted the strap of his backpack and waited patiently. Another boy arrived. Then another. Finally, Dudley himself appeared, breathing heavily as he shoved his way through the small crowd gathered in the hallway. He was like an angry walrus wearing human skin. The rat-faced boy, still scrubbing apple juice from his cheek, jabbed a finger at Tyson.

"What did you do that for!?" His friends gave him a glance before clustering behind him automatically and glaring at Tyson, looking ready to back up their homie regardless of whether they understood the situation.

"Oh, my bad," Tyson replied smoothly.

"I was throwing away garbage, so naturally I aimed for the nearest trash can." The boy blinked.

"…What?" Tyson sighed internally. Kids truly lacked appreciation for quality humor.

"Don't worry about it. So." He nodded toward the hallway Harry had disappeared down.

"Looks like you guys are chasing after someone. Kinda shitty, don't you think?"

"You're protecting that freak?" Dudley shoved past the others, using sheer body mass to take center stage. Then, registering Tyson's accent, he added with a sneer, "And why are you talking like that—are you a yank?" Tyson tilted his head.

"Which question do you want me to answer first?"

"Huh?"

"Am I defending the kid, why I talk like this, or whether I'm a yank? You asked three things. I'm offering to address them one at a time, in whichever order you prefer." All four boys stared blankly at him. Tyson noticed that the tallest one in the back had already started drooling slightly. What a weirdo. Tyson nodded slowly.

"Not the smartest bunch—""Get him!" Tyson sighed again. As expected, unable to process sarcasm with their severely underdeveloped brains, the group defaulted to their preferred problem-solving method. Violence. Unfortunately for them, Tyson himself wasn't half bad at it.