The Gamer: Multiverse Travel

Daniel's training had settled into a routine, one that began the moment he opened his eyes.

The physical aspect of it was dull - monotonous, repetitive, predictable.

After breakfast, he would slip away to his room, ears tuned for any sign of approaching footsteps. If the coast was clear, he would go into the Instant Dungeon, away from prying eyes.

His routine always started in the orphanage yard inside the Instant Dungeon. The air was still, unmoving, and the space felt strangely quiet, no wind, no distant chatter, just a perfect, frozen replica of the real world.

He stretched first, loosening his limbs, then dropped down for push-ups, the cool stone beneath his hands feeling exactly the same every time. After that came tree climbing, good for both agility and grip strength, before moving on to the best part: running.

Here, he could run freely without worrying about being seen or interrupted. The stillness took some getting used to, but after a while, he stopped noticing. It was just part of the routine.

Not that it always worked in his favor. More than once, the caretakers had noticed his absence and gone looking for him. He had barely managed to talk his way out of trouble, excuses about being in the bathroom or getting lost in a book usually worked.

Not always, though. Miss Jones still gave him suspicious looks.

Still, he never trained too seriously. Why push himself to the brink when there was no immediate need? He wasn't in a life-or-death battle. He wasn't even being tested. So, most days, training turned into exploring, an excuse to wander, observe, and take in the world at his own pace.

Magic training, however, was different.

It was actually fun, at least, at first.

He split his sessions between two core activities: reading to boost his Intelligence and practicing spells. But after two weeks, he noticed something strange.

His Wisdom wasn't improving.

That was a problem. Intelligence let him memorize and understand, but Wisdom helped him think critically, analyze situations, and make smart decisions.

So, he adjusted.

He added problem-solving and puzzles to his routine, logic games like chess with the caretakers and other kids, crafting riddles to challenge himself, and running mental "What If?" scenarios, where he had to predict the outcomes of different choices.

Reading was still a priority, of course. He started with the Hogwarts first-year curriculum, even the books he had already absorbed skills from. The knowledge transfer wasn't perfect, the absorbed memories only contained what was necessary for spellcasting, not the full content of the books.

So, he read them properly. And when he finished, he moved on to whatever random books he could find in the orphanage library.

At one point, he tried to enter the Instant Dungeon's version of the library in London, hoping to revisit the well-stocked shelves from his first trip outside.

But when he got there, he found nothing but empty books, hollow imitations, their pages blank.

That was when he realized something important: the Instant Dungeon was just a shell of the real world.

No shortcuts. No infinite knowledge at his fingertips. If he wanted to learn, he had to do it in the real world.

His magic training started out exciting, but after weeks of repeating the same spells, it grew tedious. He couldn't practice Potions or Herbology, not without ingredients or magical plants, so he focused on what he could do.

Spellcasting was the most thrilling part.

At first, he could only levitate a quill, a minor achievement, but a satisfying one. With practice, he progressed to heavier objects: books, small boxes, and eventually chairs. There was something undeniably satisfying about making things move with just a flick of his wand and a focused thought.

Transfiguration, however, was another beast entirely.

It demanded constant mental effort, he had to visualize both the object as it was and as he wanted it to be. It was difficult, even frustrating, but also strangely satisfying when he got it right. The thrill of watching a matchstick morph into a needle, or a scrap of parchment reshape into a crisp, folded origami bird, never got old.

But even magic, with all its wonder, could become routine.

Before he knew it, the days had blurred together. He had fallen into a rhythm, a cycle of training, reading, and thinking. The monotony should have been unbearable, but time had a way of slipping through his fingers.

And then, just like that,

September 1st arrived.

The day he would enter Hogwarts.