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

On weekdays, Ivan has almost no time for himself.

Attending classes, doing homework, carrying sacks.

Attending classes, doing homework, carrying sacks.

The days seem to be copied and pasted, each day a replica of the previous one.

The only thing that comforted him was that his body was getting stronger at an incredible speed.

It becomes visibly stronger.

On the fourth day after taking both potions consecutively, Evan's constitution had reached 1.903.

It is nearly twice the normal baseline value.

Those arms, which were once so thin that you could see the outline of the bones, are now covered with a layer of firm and well-proportioned muscles, and the veins on the forearms are clearly visible when exerting force.

He can easily lift a hundred-pound weight and carry a fifty-pound bag of tobacco leaves for thirty meters without batting an eye.

When running on the open roads of the dock area at night, it only takes a little over ten seconds to run 100 meters, and I am only slightly out of breath after finishing.

This physique allows him to carry three sacks of burlap at the same time with ease, enabling him to complete his normal work hours with ease every day.

To digest the blood potion, he would voluntarily work an extra hour.

This allowed him to earn forty cents a day, barely enough to cover his ever-increasing food expenses.

On Friday afternoon, after the first batch of potions had been consumed, Evan arrived at Pris's laboratory as usual.

He thought he would have to ask for it, but to his surprise, Priss was already prepared.

This time it's not pills.

On the lab table were two thumb-sized glass bottles, slender in shape and sealed with black wax.

The bottle contained a dark red liquid, thick like melted wax. When gently shaken, the liquid could be seen slowly and viscously sliding along the bottle wall.

Priss pushed the two small bottles in front of Ivan, his expression more serious than usual.

"The medication is photosensitizing. Take it once a day after sunset. Come see me on Monday afternoon."

Ivan respectfully put the medicine bottle into his jacket pocket, and couldn't help but ask, "Professor, what is this medicine for?"

Pris's answer was as concise as before.

"It still aims to make you healthier."

Evan hummed in agreement, hesitated for a moment, and then spoke again.

"Professor, can I take other medications?"

He rubbed his hands together, a perfectly measured look of embarrassment on his face.

"I paid LeBron two dollars in medical expenses before, and now I'm almost out of money for food. I'm thinking of taking advantage of the weekend to find some work in drug trials."

When he said that, he was actually waiting for another answer.

He had assumed that Price would refuse and then offer him a decent, higher-paying job.

He added in an unquestionable tone, "A precious test subject like you belongs only to me."

In that case, he could naturally and more deeply integrate into this network and acquire more resources.

But Priss simply nodded indifferently.

"Yes, this medication does not conflict with other medications."

Ivan paused for a moment, then quickly concealed his disappointment and said with a smile, "Okay, thank you for your guidance."

He turned and left the laboratory.

After the oak door closed, the female assistant came out from behind the locker.

"This kid is quite greedy." Her voice was low and flat, devoid of emotion, as if she were stating the results of an experiment.

“I can sense that he hopes you can give him a decent job.”

She paused for a moment.

“I think the master should indeed give him a job. This will make him trust you more.”

Priss stood in front of the lab bench, his back to her, and used tweezers to pick up a glass slide and observe it against the light.

"remember."

His voice was very soft and faint, as if he were talking about something trivial.

"Avoid having any excessive contact or emotional attachment to the food."

He put the slide back on the tray, turned around, and his light blue eyes behind the lenses were as calm as two blocks of ice.

"Humans would not want to live in the same room as domesticated pigs, nor would they show them much kindness."

The female assistant lowered her eyes and nodded respectfully.

"Understood, my master."

Evan grabbed the medicine bottle, slung the canvas backpack with the broken strap tied with a rope over his shoulder, and quickly left the school.

Just as he stepped out of the school gate, a tram rattled past him, its tail kicking up dust that covered his face.

"What bad luck."

He muttered something and walked to the platform to wait for the next train.

Just as he was idly watching a vendor selling roasted chestnuts across the street, he heard a soft flapping sound from above.

*Splat*

A clump of white bird droppings landed precisely on his left shoulder, splashing out in a small patch; it was warm and sticky.

Ivan glanced down at his shoulder, then looked up at the sky.

A gray pigeon was flapping its wings and flying away leisurely, completely unashamed of its masterpiece.

Several people waiting for the bus saw this, chuckled softly, and quietly moved two steps to the side.

Evan pulled a crumpled piece of toilet paper from his pocket, wiped the bird droppings clean, crumpled the paper into a ball, and threw it into the roadside trash can.

He waited for a full twenty-five minutes before the second bus arrived.

"Why is it so slow?"

He tossed in a five-cent coin and squeezed onto the train.

After a swaying 30-minute ride, I got off the bus and disappeared into the familiar alley on the south side of Guding Street.

As usual, the clothesline overhead was covered with wet clothes and sheets, and the dripping water droplets fell on his hair, making it feel cool.

He walked quickly with his head down, splashing mud from the puddles under his feet.

Then, without warning, a basin of laundry water was poured down from the third-floor window.

The grayish-white dirty water, mixed with soap suds and some indescribable sour smell, cascaded down on his head like a small waterfall.

Fortunately, his physical condition is now nearly twice that of an average person, and his reaction speed is far superior to what it used to be.

Before his mind could even process the situation, his body instinctively dodged to the side, splashing most of the dirty water onto the spot where he had just been standing, creating a cloud of mud.

But my back was still soaked.

The icy, dirty water flowed down my spine, soaking through my shirt and sticking to my skin, feeling cold and sticky.

Why am I having such bad luck today?

Evan quickened his pace, almost jogging through the remaining two alleys, rushed into the apartment building, scrambled up the stairs, and pushed open his front door.

Feeling utterly miserable, he returned to his bedroom and locked the door behind him.

He took off his jacket, which was stained with bird droppings and dirty water, and threw it on the back of the chair. He then put on a canvas shirt that his father had left him.

Then he opened the bedroom door, walked to the wardrobe in the living room, squatted down, pulled open the bottom hidden compartment, reached for the biscuit tin where money was hidden, and prepared to take out today's meal money.

The moment his fingers touched the metal box, he sensed something was wrong.

It's too light.

He took the box out and shook it.

There was no clinking sound of coins.

Ivan's expression changed drastically.

He suddenly ripped open the box.

empty.

It was spotless, without a single coin in sight, and even the old newspaper that had been placed at the bottom of the box had been turned over.

He had only two dollars and twenty-two cents left. That was all his possessions.

Gone.

A surge of anger shot from the bottom of his stomach to the top of his head, making his temples throb.

"What on earth happened today?!"

"It must be that bitch."

There are only two people with a key to this house.

He and Mary.

Although Zach came often, he didn't need to steal a few dollars from a poor student.

Evan, who was already extremely disgusted with Mary, was completely ignited by this last straw.

"I am no longer the sickly person who could be bullied by everyone."

Chapter 17: Beating Mary Up, Curse of Misfortune

The thought had barely crossed my mind when a pungent smell of smoke wafted over from the other end of the corridor.

It tastes different from regular cigarettes.

It's stronger, more pungent, with a herbal spiciness that makes your scalp tingle just from the smell.