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

A skilled worker's weekly wage.

"It seems we need to hurry up and find a new drug trial contract."

A fire burned in Evan's eyes.

He put the change back into the tin box and hid it in a secret compartment of the wardrobe.

Then he took out his textbook from his bag, spread it on the table, and began to study, utilizing his remaining high concentration.

The pen nib scratched across the paper, the kerosene lamp flickered quietly, and the sky through the gap in the curtains changed from pitch black to deep blue.

Then it changed from deep blue to grayish-white, and finally to the cool, pale gold unique to early winter mornings.

At seven o'clock in the morning, that unparalleled sense of focus would subside precisely on time.

Like the tide, it comes and goes precisely.

Ivan put down his pen and stretched his wrist, which had become sore from writing.

The mercury pill, the Night Demon potion, and the Blood potion have all been digested, and the three progress bars on the panel have been cleared simultaneously.

He glanced down at his arm.

The syphilis rash did indeed show significant signs of fading.

The previously continuous copper-red patches began to blur and disintegrate at the edges, and the color changed from a shocking dark red to a light pink.

After the potion was fully digested, his physique increased by another 0.1.

1.003.

Finally, we've returned to the baseline of normal people.

Chapter 13: Classic American Bullying

After confirming his physical condition, Evan went into the bathroom, turned on the tap, and splashed two handfuls of cold water on his face.

Water droplets dripped down his chin. He looked up and saw himself in the mirror.

Still thin.

His cheekbones are still somewhat prominent, and his cheeks are still somewhat sunken; he is far from being considered robust.

But compared to the ashen face in the mirror yesterday, which looked like it had just crawled out of a coffin, the change was visible to the naked eye.

His limbs have become noticeably thicker, and the forearms, where the outline of the ulna was previously visible, are now covered with a layer of firm and well-proportioned muscles—not exaggerated, but with clear lines.

When you clench your fist, the tendons in your forearm stretch like a guitar string, and something throbs powerfully under your skin.

"Such a big change in just one day. The power of the potion is terrifying."

After washing up, I changed into the gray shirt and patched tweed jacket, put on the repaired leather shoes, and finally my two feet were on the same level.

Put two mercury pills into your mouth.

You reversed the side effects of the mercury pills.

Your digestive ulcers have been relieved! 10% → 9%

Your brain nerve damage has been alleviated! 15% → 14%

Your oral cavity has been strengthened, and your physical constitution has been permanently increased by 0.001.

Although the potion can be digested in just 12 hours.

But Priss only allowed it to be eaten once a day, and Evan dared not eat more than that to avoid unnecessary suspicion.

I put on my schoolbag and head out to school.

Today he didn't go to take care of the Italian old man's fast food cart on the street corner.

A hungry body needs more fuel.

He turned into a slightly wider side street at the north end of Guding Street and pushed open the door of a cheap restaurant called "Lucky Bee".

As soon as the bell on the door jingled, a strong smell of cooking oil and the heat of food wafted out.

The restaurant was small, with a dozen or so wooden tables crammed together. The grease on the tables could never be completely wiped clean, no matter how many times it was wiped.

There were quite a few people inside, mostly dockworkers doing heavy physical labor, wearing overalls and canvas shirts with their sleeves rolled up to their elbows, revealing their tanned, muscular forearms.

They ate with their heads down as if they were completing a project, their forks and knives scraping against the tin plate, interspersed with indistinct conversations and occasional bursts of rough laughter.

The smell of sweat and the aroma of food mingled in the air, creating a scent that wasn't exactly pleasant, but strangely comforting.

Ivan stopped in front of the counter and glanced at the menu board written in chalk on the wall.

A large piece of black bread, a cup of black coffee, two sausages, two tomatoes, and a cup of milk.

Sixteen cents.

It cost three times more than the previous five-cent breakfast, but his body was now like a high-speed boiler, needing plenty of coal.

He didn't stand on ceremony when the food was served.

Break the black bread in half, soak one half in black coffee, and stuff the other half with a sausage into your mouth.

He bit into the tomato, and the sweet and sour juice exploded in his mouth. He then gulped it down with milk.

Your table manners aren't exactly elegant, but in this restaurant, no one will give you a second glance because of them.

Five minutes later, the plate was empty.

Ivan used the last piece of crust from the bread to wipe the grease off the plate, then put it in his mouth, chewed it, and swallowed it.

Then he stood up, slung his backpack over his shoulder, pushed open the restaurant door, and stepped into the cold morning air.

After passing through two alleys, I squeezed onto the trams traveling north and south.

The carriage was crowded as usual, but today his hand holding the handrail was steady, and his body did not move an inch in the shoving of the crowd.

The tram clanged along the main road, and the early November morning light pierced through the buildings to the east.

Golden beams of light sliced ​​across the street, illuminating the tiny dust particles floating in the air.

Ivan stood in the carriage, the sunlight streaming through the window and falling on his face, warm and bright.

He squinted, and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

"When the sun rises, I am reborn."

……

Step off the tram and pass through the stone pillar gate of the University of the Wise.

Today's Ivan is completely different from yesterday's.

His steps were relaxed and steady, no longer carrying that flimsy feeling of being on the verge of falling.

Old Tom's repaired heels finally allowed both feet to step on the same level, making each step firm and the sound of the leather soles striking the stone pavement even and powerful.

He crossed the playground, went around the two teaching buildings, and pushed open the door of the main teaching building to enter the lobby on the first floor.

The hall is a tall, rectangular space with a polished marble floor and oil portraits of past principals hanging on the walls on both sides.

The twenty minutes before morning classes are the main battleground for students' social interaction.

Groups of young people were scattered throughout the hall, chatting, exchanging notes, and showing off their newly bought tie clips. The air was filled with the scents of hair wax, cologne, and the restlessness unique to young people.

As Ivan stepped into the hall, a flippant whistle came from his right.

Sharp, piercing, like the barking of a dog.

"Hey! Boy with whore syndrome!"

The sound wasn't loud, but it traveled throughout the entire hall, reflected off the marble walls.

The students who were chatting fell silent for a second, and then burst into laughter.

Some people covered their mouths, while others pointed openly in Evan's direction, their laughter spreading like ripples from that corner.

Ivan remained unfazed.

His gaze was fixed straight ahead, and he walked directly toward the stairs without pausing.

During his years in sales on Earth, he was once told to get out by a customer and dragged out of an office building by security guards.

The mockery of a group of college students who grew up with silver spoons in their mouths couldn't even scratch the surface of his emotions.

Just as he was about to step onto the first step, a tall figure walked up from the side and blocked his way.

"Hey, Arkham."

His voice carried a deliberately crafted friendliness, like a thumbtack wrapped in sugar.

"Thank you for your performance yesterday, which saved us from being punished by copying texts."

Ivan turned his head to look.

She wore a light blue shirt with a gold-plated collar pin, and her golden hair was neatly combed.

Kevins LeBon.

The student who was the first to be called on by Professor Mons yesterday, and who stood up and recited the second rule incorrectly.

It is said that his father was a successful importer in the eastern part of Bolton, and the family owned a detached house with a garden in the suburbs.

Ivan sized up the young man, who was half a head taller than him, and asked in a flat tone, "What is it?"

LeBon smiled, a smile that carried a condescending ease, as if he were teasing an animal in a cage.

"I'm throwing an awesome party this weekend and I've invited the whole class."

He lowered his head slightly, leaned closer, lowered his voice, and spoke with a mocking tone.

Guess who didn't receive an invitation?

Ivan tilted his head, but didn't say anything.

LeBang straightened up and laughed loudly, looking up at the ground.

"It's you! The boy with the 'whore syndrome'!"

He opened his arms as if to announce the answer to a brilliant joke.

Everyone despises you for being cheap and filthy! Hahaha!