I'm a proper student; I only take nine kinds of potions every day.

He tilted his head, buried his face in the pillow, and took a deep sniff.

"...a mild cleaning agent."

He analyzed each point in his mind.

"There's also a very faint body odor. And a cheap perfume smell."

"...And onions?"

He tried to tap into his hidden detective talent.

"A housewife who cooks often. She must be the cleaning lady."

He sat up in bed, and with a curiosity akin to that of a scientist conducting an experiment, he stepped barefoot into the bathroom.

A cool marble washbasin, a snow-white porcelain basin, and towels folded into squares stacked on a chrome-plated rack.

He leaned closer and smelled the top one; the layers of scent were exactly the same as those on the pillow.

"Yes. The same person is in charge of cleaning."

He silently made a mental note, then took another step forward, his nose almost touching the brass showerhead hanging in the shower stall.

"yue!"

He suddenly took two steps back, his face instantly contorted in pain, and he started gagging while leaning against the sink.

"It smells like shit!"

He covered his mouth and nose tightly with his elbow and squeezed out a few words through his teeth.

"They're still eating bean products and radishes..."

"yue!"

He almost threw all the barbecue, mashed potatoes, and milk from that evening back into the bathroom.

"Oh shit!"

He leaned against the sink, catching his breath: "This high-end hotel actually has Nantong enema!"

After finally managing to suppress the churning in his stomach, he grabbed a handkerchief from the sink to wipe his mouth.

"yue!"

The next second he flung the handkerchief far away.

"Why does this towel have a strange, fishy smell?"

"How many diseases does it take to leave this smell?"

He grabbed the sink, held his breath, and fled the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

His face flushed red, and he plopped back down on the edge of the bed, cursing under his breath.

"damn it!"

"It's a pity that there were no detailed testing techniques in this era."

"Otherwise, I could make a fortune just from this nose."

After all, ordinary people can't smell this kind of odor.

If he really dares to make such a big fuss, the only outcome will be that the hotel manager kicks him out and the newspapers label him a fraudster.

Back in bed, Evan grew angrier the more he thought about it: "I can't just let this go."

He stared at the bedside lamp with its milky white glass shade, squinting his eyes.

"I'd like to see which two types of people are playing such dirty tricks."

"Maybe we can even uncover some dirt on some wealthy businessman!"

The thought came to him, and he rolled out of bed and rushed back to the bathroom.

He grabbed the light gray bath towel draped over the brass towel rack and brought it to his nose.

"yue!"

He immediately stretched his hand far away: "The bath towel also smells fishy."

He tossed the bath towel back onto the towel rack with an almost scholarly air.

"Not my older sister," he muttered to himself.

"With such a strong smell, how can they attract wealthy clients?"

"How beautiful must she be?"

There was a pause.

"……etc."

He squinted.

"This kind of girl seems like a good match for me?"

"Copper plague must love this beautiful biochemical matrix."

"Copper plague solves the biohazard, I'll solve the mother body!"

Lost in thought, his gaze fell on the floor.

Even from the cracks in those marble tiles, there was a faint fishy smell.

He lay down directly, pressed his nose against the cool tile surface, and took a deep sniff.

The stench was so strong it almost filled his nostrils, mixed with the faint sour smell left by the mop.

"Ugh, holy crap."

He looked up, his nose red: "I'll never forget this smell for the rest of my life."

He stared at the paving stones, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper.

"No."

"The flavors are too mixed; I can't taste any distinct layers."

He remained silent on the floor for two seconds, then muttered something through clenched teeth.

"...I've even drunk raw rat blood."

"In a way, he's of the same generation as Lao Ba."

Upon reading this, he stuck his tongue out.

The sense of smell can only detect odors.

As for what this stuff tastes like and what its ingredients are, you'll have to rely on your sense of taste to find out.

The moment his tongue touched that tile, his taste buds, which had been repeatedly tempered by the magic potion, immediately began to dismantle it automatically.

He smacked his lips: "Floor cleaner...it smells like turpentine."

"It's also a little sweet."

"Hiss, there seems to be lead in it."

"and many more."

He paused on the tip of his tongue.

"What's this."

Just as he squinted to make sense of it, a new notification popped up on the panel in front of him.

[You have ingested a trace amount of Deepdiver fluid. Effect lasts: 3 minutes.]

[Effect: Swimming speed increases by 5% while the drug's effects last.]

Does this reverse the side effects?

"Deep-diver bodily fluids?!"

Ivan sprang to his feet from the floor, nearly hitting his forehead on the edge of the sink.

Holy crap!

He pointed to the ground: "No wonder this stuff smells so fishy."

"I thought it was some kind of bio-engineering matrix."

"Twist!"

You reversed the side effects of the trace Deep Diver fluid.

Your self-awareness has slightly improved. Your mental strength has permanently increased by 0.001.

He slowly stood up, leaning on the sink, a strand of drool still clinging to his chin.

He wiped his mouth, his eyes full of thought: "I heard of the Deep Ones when I was on Earth."

He rummaged through those fragmented memories in his mind.

"A group of murlocs resembling Naga. Followers of Cthulhu."

"They've been holed up in the Innsmouth area, that's all I know."

He glanced down at the floor he had just licked.

"Such a large area of ​​fishy stench..."

"Did two Deep Ones really set off cannons here?"

"Or do they actively secrete this fluid to keep their skin moisturized?"

"..."

"Damn it! What am I thinking?"

He quickly pulled his wildly diverging thoughts, which were completely out of control, back to reality.

"Was the previous tenant a Deep Diver?"

He frowned: "What are a group of fish-men from the sea doing on land?"

He silently shook his head, deciding to think of something practical.