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

But now that he had the talent, he simply picked up a pill and popped it into his mouth.

The moment the mud ball entered my mouth, I tasted a strong bitterness on my tongue, followed by a strange numbing sensation that spread from the back of my tongue all the way to my throat.

[You have ingested an incomplete Night Demon Potion. Effects last: 12 hours.]

[Effect: Permanently increases Constitution by 0.2]

[Did you reverse the side effects?]

"Good heavens... a potion?"

Ivan sat bolt upright in his chair, the chair legs scraping against the floor with a sharp screech.

"Isn't this the kind of drug that only those with extraordinary powers use?"

"How could this happen at a university..."

His mind raced, and his pupils contracted slightly in the dim light of the kerosene lamp.

"Wait... Could it be that someone is using us mortals to experiment on supernatural drugs?"

The moment the thought crossed his mind, a chill ran down his spine.

This is not just a rumor.

In this bustling yet dirty city, rumors never cease.

Workers in the dock area say that there are ghouls deep in the sewers that devour the corpses of homeless people, and that the names of the missing will never appear in any newspapers.

Last year, a mysterious gas explosion occurred at a textile factory in the East District. The factory was demolished overnight after the explosion.

The land was sold the very next day. There was no investigation, no reporting, nothing.

And then there were his parents, who suddenly "committed suicide."

There are also rumors that maintenance workers once ran out screaming from the school's underground pipe system.

They said they saw something, and then they were sent to a sanatorium, and no one has seen them since.

People at the bottom of society believe in the existence of the extraordinary.

In taverns, laundries, and on the back benches of churches, people whispered and exchanged impossible stories.

But the authorities will always deny it.

The newspaper explanations are always plausible: gas leak, mental instability, alcohol-induced hallucinations, the case is closed.

Science is the new gospel of this era, and anything outside of it is not allowed to exist.

"If Arkham exists, then there must be something wrong with this world."

Ivan's eyes lit up. It wasn't the light of fear, but the burning intensity of a gambler seeing their hole cards.

He savored the bitter taste left by the black mud pill in his mouth, then his gaze returned to the small glass bottle in his hand, and to the remaining three black pills.

"Since you're using us ordinary students as test subjects, don't blame me for tearing your hypocritical masks off the ground."

"Reversal".

[Reversal progress: 4 hours.]

"Tch! It still needs a loading screen!"

Clearly, magic potions and ordinary medicines are not in the same league.

The side effects of the mercury pills were instantly reversed.

"However, I didn't feel any discomfort..."

"In other words, when the drug is reversed during the reading process, the side effects are not effective."

At this moment, a slight warm current rose from my stomach and climbed up my spine.

The warmth came quickly and went quickly, giving his heart a sudden jolt that sent a shiver through him as if he were taking off.

Then, that withered, cold body, which looked like it had been lying in a morgue for three days, finally regained a bit of the warmth of a living person.

Not much, but enough to confirm that he was still alive.

Ivan moved his fingers and felt the numbness in his fingertips subside a bit.

The potion works incredibly fast!

"Instant effect? ​​No wonder it's a magic potion!"

Just as Ivan was marveling...

A violent wave of dizziness washed over him, as if someone had pushed his head underwater.

Immediately afterwards, a large patch of cold sweat broke out on my back, and my shirt clung to my spine, wet and cold.

Hypoglycemia: 30%...40%...51%...

A red warning message appeared on the panel.

"The potion worked?"

Physical fitness is increasing, the body is rebuilding, and rebuilding requires fuel.

The black mud ball was rapidly depleting his already dwindling blood sugar reserves.

Along with the dizziness, Evan could indeed feel something happening deep within his body.

The muscle fibers trembled slightly, and a faint, tingling sensation came from the bones—a strange feeling that was a mixture of pain and growth.

His body is getting stronger, but if his blood sugar drops to zero first, he will faint before he can get stronger.

He struggled to stand up from the chair, his knees buckled and he almost knelt down, only managing to steady himself by grabbing the edge of the table.

Then he stumbled and pushed open the bedroom door. The thin wooden door, with holes patched up with old newspapers, clattered under his hand and almost fell off its rusty hinges.

The living room was narrow, only five or six steps away, but he walked as if he were crossing a river.

The floorboards creaked and groaned, each plank seemingly conversing about whether or not to break.

The kitchen has no door, only a narrow doorway partially obscured by a floral curtain.

He ripped open the curtain and rushed inside.

His hands trembled violently as he pulled open the peeling, cracked cabinet door.

The hinge let out a sharp scream, and the white paint on the door panel peeled off like scales, falling onto the stove.

His hand groped around in the cupboard for a bit, knocking over an empty can, and finally grabbed the old tin can that held biscuits.

The "Unida" logo printed on the can has been worn away to just a blurry outline.

He unscrewed the lid; there were no cookies inside, only a small half-jar of brown sugar, some of which was damp and clumped together.

He reached right in, grabbed a handful, and stuffed it into his mouth.

The sweetness of brown sugar filled his mouth, the coarse particles chafed his teeth, and some crumbs got into his trachea. He coughed twice, but didn't stop, and grabbed another handful.

The sweetness slid down my esophagus, like gasoline being poured into an engine that was about to stall.

By the time he put the third piece in his mouth, Evan already felt a sour and greasy sensation.

But the hypoglycemia finally subsided slowly, and the trembling in his fingers gradually calmed down.

The hypoglycemia has subsided.

Chapter 3: The Blessing of the Three Dragons

Evan leaned against the cupboard, panting heavily, his mouth and chin covered in crumbs of brown sugar.

What are you doing?

An impatient female voice sounded from behind, with a heavy nasal tone and a smell of cheap perfume mixed with tobacco.

Ivan looked up.

A woman stood at the kitchen doorway, one hand lifting the floral curtain, the other holding a cigarette.

She was wearing a cheap nightgown with the neckline cut off to her sternum; the fabric was so thin that the outline of her dark slip underneath was visible.

Her makeup was heavy and vibrant, but her eyeliner had smudged, leaving two black streaks at the corners of her eyes.

The rouge on her lips was also patchy and uneven, as if someone had smeared it on.

She tilted her head to look at Evan, who was sitting on the ground looking disheveled. There was no concern in her eyes, only naked disgust and meanness.

Smoke billowed from her lips, which were painted with cheap lipstick, and swirled lazily in the dim light of the kerosene lamp.

Ivan leaned against the cabinet to stand up, dusting off his pants: "Didn't I tell you no smoking in my house?"

The woman sneered and flicked her cigarette ash onto the ground: "I told you not to interfere with my evening business."

She took a step forward, the hem of her robe brushing against the doorframe, her tone carrying a deliberate sarcasm:

"Your flustered state just now scared my customers to death. I'm already being kind by not making you pay compensation."

Ivan's face turned cold.

But he did nothing.

Because he knew very well that, given the current state of his body, he might not even be able to defeat this woman.

Mary. A very common name.

Irish immigrants, their accents were so thick it sounded like they had a piece of wet peat in their mouths.

Her profession was prostitute, and her workplace was the rented room next to his.

When Evan was so destitute, he considered finding a tenant to alleviate his financial burden.

He posted a handwritten "For Rent" sign on the grocery store's notice board.

Then the plague god came knocking.

The man who brought Mary to see the house was a short, stocky man named Zack, the leader of the Gus gang who collected protection money in this neighborhood.

He has a distorted snake tattooed on his neck, and he likes to twirl a switchblade between his fingers when he talks.

He stood in the doorway, grinning, and patted Ivan on the shoulder so hard that Ivan stumbled, saying:

"This is my friend. He'll be living here from now on. It'll be two dollars a week, and we'll waive the deposit."