I am a necromancer, and I absolutely love America.

Chapter 131 I'm determined to be a saintess and fall in love! (9K-word long chapter, please vote and subscribe)

Richard stood behind Christina, looking at the metabolite comparison chart on the computer screen.

The two curves, one red and one blue, almost completely overlap, with only a tiny fork at the far right, like a river splitting into two tributaries at its mouth.

"I've analyzed 1780 small molecule metabolites and 3592 protein macromolecules," Christina said, pointing to the bifurcation. "I found no differences. Nor did I find any unknown proteins."

She paused, scrolled up the graph on the screen, and more curves emerged, densely overlapping.

"However, this does not confirm that substance X does not exist. There are more than 25 small molecule metabolites and more than 10 macromolecules in the human body. It would take a long time to eliminate them one by one."

Richard nodded.

The situation was pretty much as he had expected; it wasn't that there were no clues, but rather that there was too much data that hadn't been discovered.

Christina leaned back in her chair and rubbed her sore eyes. "Then I changed my approach. Since we can't find the substance that keeps those cells alive for the time being, let's find the reason why they die simultaneously. Because their death time is too precise, every batch is 13 hours, with zero error. If we can find that death signal, maybe we can block it and let it live for a long time."

"And the result?"

Christina was distressed: "I haven't found anything. I still haven't found the substance that triggers the death switch."

"There were no warning signs, no gradual changes. They seemed to receive the same signal at the same moment and then perish together. It may be some mechanism that we have not yet discovered or that cannot be detected by modern scientific instruments at all."

"So what's the current line of thought?" Richard returned to his seat.

Christina quickly drew a simple diagram on the whiteboard: a circle representing a cell, with the label "13h →" next to it.

die".

"Two paths. The first is gene editing." She pointed to the cell nucleus inside the circle. "In the simplest terms, it's a form of cloning. You select a target cell, for example, skin cells, and modify genes that might be related to apoptosis. If that doesn't work, you replace a segment of the gene."

"There are just too many combinations of genes," Richard said.

"It won't take too much time," Christina shook her head. "First, we need to rule out the different parts of the genes in different people, which are individual differences. Since everyone's cells live for 13 hours, the key must be in the same part. In the same part, we can use a dichotomy: modify one half first, and if that works, modify the other half. By trying repeatedly, we can quickly narrow it down and eventually find the answer. The only problem is that PCR is limited in speed, so it will take a relatively long time."

Richard understood.

This is a clumsy method, but it is also an effective one.

When the cause is unknown, first find the source of the problem, then try to understand the mechanism: "The premise is that this is caused by genes."

"Yes." Christina picked up a marker and drew a simple diagram of a cell on the other side of the whiteboard. "So there's a second method. Assuming it's not caused by genes, but by certain cellular tissues, we can first replace the cell nucleus with the nucleus of a normal cell and see if it still dies after 13 hours. If not, we can continue to replace other parts, such as a portion of the cytoplasm. We can narrow down the scope step by step until we finally pinpoint which part is carrying the death command."

"In addition, another group is trying to infect these cells with different viruses to see what changes occur. A virus is essentially a nucleic acid sequence that can self-replicate and integrate into the host's genome. If the cells infected with the virus break through the 13-hour death limit, it means that the virus has changed the most critical part of the gene, which can save most of the time. In short, it's either hard work or a matter of luck."

Richard nodded.

When faced with a completely unknown field, the only option is to use the most basic and simple method.

Let Christina experiment at her own pace. I'll keep my distance and pretend to be someone who's using connections to get my paper, lest I cause any real trouble and get killed by the FBI as a University of Tokyo spy: "How's the blood sample I sent this morning?"

Christina put the marker back in the whiteboard tray.

"We've had a specialist analyze it, and it's completely confidential. We compared it against the virus database audited by ICTV using a computer, but no exact match was found."

ICTV is the International Committee on Taxonomy of Viruses, which has counted approximately 500 types of viruses worldwide.

"An unknown virus?" Richard frowned.

Can an unknown virus be detected just by randomly drawing blood from the street?

He thought it was some kind of rare, special virus, but now it seems that's not the case?

Christina added, "However, new viruses are discovered every year, and many viruses have hundreds of subtypes, so we cannot be certain at the moment."

Morphologically, this virus resembles certain known viral subtypes, such as bacteriophages, which can parasitize other bacteria or cells, inject their nucleic acid into the host, and utilize the host's replication mechanism to multiply.

"For example, some retroviruses can integrate their genes into the host chromosome and replicate along with the host cell. But this type of integration seems more complex; its capsid protein structure is not exactly the same as any virus I've ever seen," Christina explained. "Which specific host it is requires further research. Where did this virus originate?"

Richard recalled, "I met a woman at the blood donation center. She had tattoos, a split tongue, and piercings—that kind of person. I found her out of her body. She was in a very abnormal state of arousal, with her nerves over-discharged, probably on some kind of drug."

Christina frowned.

For Americans, the first reaction to hearing "excited young woman" is to wonder what new tricks this bitch had up her sleeve last night.

Sexual misconduct, drug use, and sharing syringes are all pathways for virus transmission.

This means that the origin of the virus is completely untraceable.

Christina sighed, "I'll continue to have people analyze it."

How does this virus spread?

"Based on the current situation, it is likely that the virus is transmitted through bodily fluids, and it is unlikely to be transmitted through airborne gel. Judging from its appearance, this virus cannot survive in the air for more than three seconds."

"That's good. If there are any breakthroughs related to this virus, please let me know. It's very important."

"Understood, don't worry, Master!"

"Oh fuck! You're rich now!"

Edgar stood at the entrance of the apartment building, holding his phone, looking up at the upscale residential building.

Marble reception desk, crystal chandelier, gold thread embroidery on the doorman's uniform.

There's no way he could afford to live in a place like that with his current salary.

Ivan Lee's voice came through the phone, without pride or boasting, only weakness: "Come in quickly—I feel terrible, my whole body aches."

His voice sounded muffled, as if some liquid was churning in his alveoli.

Edgar became wary: "What's wrong with you? What's wrong with you?"

"I don't know." Ivan's voice was even lower, suppressing his anger. "I've studied this field for so long, searched every available knowledge base, and found absolutely no relevant information! It's an unknown virus. Why me? It's not fair! Why am I so unlucky?"

He was breathing heavily, exhausted from talking so much, and then he had another bout of heart-wrenching coughing.

"OK, I'll be right there!" Edgar said with a serious expression.

He rummaged through the trunk and pulled out an emergency kit, which contained a set of biochemical protective clothing.

He stared at the protective suit, his fingers pausing on the zipper for a moment.

You can't wear this here. If you wear this outfit into the lobby, the property management won't let you upstairs.

He put his protective suit into his backpack and walked to the door.

The security personnel looked up at him.

Edgar looked miserable and wretched, which wouldn't arouse anyone's suspicion.

Who are you looking for?

"The resident of room C on the 33rd floor. He's a friend of mine; I came to pick up some things."

The security guard dialed Ivan's room number and said a few words into the microphone.

Ivan's weak voice came through the loudspeaker: "He's my friend, let him come up."

The security guard hung up the phone: "Go on up, bro. But your friend sounds like he's not doing well. If he's sick, get him to the hospital right away. If he's having trouble moving, I can call an ambulance to the door and help you carry him."

The security guard spoke in a very friendly tone.

The property management fees of high-end apartments are commensurate with the top-notch services.

"I don't think so, thank you." Edgar took the elevator to the 33rd floor.

There are two apartments per floor, the corridor is very quiet, and the door to the next apartment is tightly closed.

Edgar did not knock on the door directly.

He first opened his backpack and put on the biohazard suit from head to toe in the corridor, checking the zipper, face mask, gloves, and every seal twice.

Then he rang the doorbell.

Ding dong.

After about ten seconds, heavy footsteps came from inside the door.

The door slowly opened.

Ivan stood in the doorway.

"Oh! Fk!" Edgar's eyes widened the moment he saw Ivan Lee.

Ivan had high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and chapped lips so dry that blood could be seen seeping from the cracks.

Irregular dark spots are distributed on the skin surface, resembling traces left by internal bleeding spreading under the skin.

His hands were so thin they were just bones, with protruding joints and veins on the back of his hands that had an unnatural dark purple hue.

He was a healthy person not long ago, he was a little thin, but what animal isn't thin?

He's practically a living, breathing dried-up corpse right now!

Ivan stared at Edgar's full protective suit, a smile more like a grimace tugging at the corners of his mouth. He snapped angrily, "You dressed like that, are you trying to collect my corpse?"

FXXK! If you hadn't called me, I would never have come to this place, even if it meant my death! Edgar was dissatisfied, but seeing how sick the other person was, he swallowed his words.

Ivan's body seemed to have been drained of all its nutrients from the inside, leaving him looking like a withered plant, skin covering bones.

That's so damn pitiful.

Forget it, I won't argue with a dead person.

Edgar entered the room, and a strange smell seeped in through the filter of his protective suit, a mixture of blood, necrotic tissue, and some kind of putrid odor he couldn't quite describe.

Edgar was terrified.

Is this something that can be transmitted through respiration?

He took out a lancet and carefully drew blood from Ivan, afraid of puncturing his rubber gloves.

When the needle pierced Ivan's skin, he felt almost no resistance, like piercing a ripe, limp persimmon, with no life-giving rebound.

The blood draw was completed in three minutes.

"Hurry up!" Ivan's voice seemed to be squeezed from deep in his throat. "I don't want to die without knowing how I died!"

He was breathing heavily, his whole body trembling with pain.

Edgar put the blood sample into his ice pack, glanced at Ivan, and said, "Take care, brother. I'll get there as soon as possible. But I think you'd better go to the hospital first."

"Can hospitals cure this kind of disease?" Ivan sneered.

His lips split open from laughing, and blood seeped out.

"We're all studying this, don't we know what they'd do when faced with unknown cases?"

Ivan Lee's emotions seemed to suddenly collapse.

"They'll treat me like a research subject! They'll draw my blood, cut my tissue, and do all sorts of experiments that I don't even know what the purpose is!"

"They'll use me as a test subject without anesthesia because I'm already dying, and I'm a student at Tokyo University, so no one will hold me accountable if I die!"

"They would treat me like a living specimen on a lab bench, cutting me up, recording my findings, and photographing me. Every experimental step was written into their papers, and every photo was used in their presentations at international conferences!"

"I don't want to be preserved in formalin after I die, placed in a specimen tank, and stared at through glass by everyone who passes by!"

"I don't want to become a synonym for a disease in textbooks, 'Lee's syndrome,' 'Ivan's virus,' call it whatever they want, but I don't want them to do that to me!"

He stopped, tears welling up in his sunken eyes and streaming down his prominent cheekbones.

Overwhelmed by fear, he was pressed down into a thin sheet, embedded in the mattress, unable to move.

The more he delved into this field, the clearer he became about what he was going to encounter.

The immense fear completely overwhelmed him.

"Look at what you're wearing! A biohazard suit! You're all afraid of me! None of you want to save me! I'm just sick, why can't you come and save me? Waaaaaah~"

"Why me?! I'm not married yet! I'm not even...!"

""

He cried, he was angry, and his voice grew weaker and weaker.

Edgar stood there, holding the blood sample bottle in his hand.

He was unable to speak.

He was genuinely afraid.

"I have to go! I'll check for you when I get back." Edgar didn't dare linger, walked out of the room, and quickly closed the door.

Ivan's cries were muffled inside the door.

Edgar finally breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't dare take off his biohazard suit and walked into the elevator wearing it.

The elevator stopped on the first floor.

As soon as he stepped out the door, the two men at the door glanced at him, their expressions changed drastically, and they turned and ran away.

WTF!

"What's going on!"

"Has this place been attacked by terrorists?!"

Chaos immediately erupted in the hall.

The security personnel dared not approach, standing nervously at a distance, gripping their guns but unsure what to do: "Hey! What are you doing! What are you doing!"

"Clear this place! Now!" Edgar shouted. "You're in big trouble!"

The security personnel were stunned.

The female manager in the lobby rushed over in a panic, losing her high heels and revealing her stockings: "You, you, you!"

Ed shouted, "What are you saying! Close the door! An unknown virus has been found in the apartment! No one is allowed to leave! Call the city health department immediately! Have them report it right away!"

"OK! OK!" The female manager was completely stunned. She had never thought of dealing with this situation before, so she quickly picked up her phone to make a call.

Upon hearing this, several residents in the lobby asked, "Unknown virus? Infected person?"

FXXK!

Anyone who stays here is an idiot!

They turned and ran.

Even the security guards hesitated for a moment before fleeing in panic.

With such a low salary, why are you risking your life?

If you haven't been infected yet, staying here will actually make you more susceptible to infection.

What are we waiting for if we don't run?

The scene immediately descended into chaos.

Edgar was speechless and helpless.

To be fair, if it were him, he would have run too.

The female manager couldn't even speak clearly on the phone.

Seeing that the situation was already out of control, Edgar simply put on his protective suit, walked out of the hall, found his car, took out a large amount of medical alcohol and iodine to repeatedly rinse his suitcase before storing the blood sample.

Then, he returned to the lobby, but the female manager had vanished.

Edgar gave a wry smile, picked up his phone, and called Christina: "Professor, I'm in big trouble. Do you remember Ivan-Lee asking me to draw his blood? I asked you beforehand, and I came over today; he's dying..."

"7

Edgar described Ivan's condition professionally: "A violent cough, body aches, diffuse subcutaneous ecchymosis, conjunctival congestion, moist rales on his breath, dry and sunken skin, he looks like he's been drained dry from the inside out. In short, I've never seen or heard of this virus before. I got some blood samples, they're in the car. I'm afraid I've been infected too, so I don't dare send them to the cell lab for fear of infecting you. You can send someone to pick them up."

Edgar's thinking was simple: if he got infected, by the time the CDC or some other organization figured it out, he'd be dead.

Only a mentor can accelerate the research and save him; elsewhere, he will only be used as an experimental subject.

Of course, the best-case scenario is that there is no infection.

Christina paused for a few seconds on the other end of the phone: "Are you wearing protective gear?"

"I wore it, the whole suit. I wore it when I had my blood drawn."

"That should be safe." Christina's voice was steady, as if she were making a clinical diagnostic note: "If it were airborne, there would be infected people everywhere in the building, and a cough wouldn't be able to cover it up. So far, he's the only one, which means it's either transmitted through bodily fluids or some other special route, like being pecked by a bird or bitten by a mosquito. I'll send someone to get samples, and I'll study them myself. You can't leave now; you've already been exposed. Wait there for the CDC people."

Don't worry, I won't let them experiment on you. If you have any symptoms—fever, rash, respiratory problems—tell me immediately.

"OK. OK." Edgar managed to calm himself down.

Just then, he heard a scream from outside.

Edgar turned his head and saw a figure falling from the sky, crashing to the ground with a thud.

Torn to pieces, blood splattered everywhere.

The person was smashed to pieces, and the face was unrecognizable, but the clothes still made it clear that it was Ivan Lee.

Ivan jumped off a building!

"OMG!" Edgar was dumbfounded.

People around were screaming.

Some of the bolder ones had already started excitedly taking pictures.

Edgar gripped his phone, his voice trembling: "Ivan Lee jumped. Blood was splattered everywhere. I suspect the virus is spreading."

Christina's voice suddenly tightened: "I'll contact the CDC immediately and implement emergency procedures, treating it as an unknown virus. The priority now is to control its spread."

"OK." Edgar hung up the phone.

He stared at Ivan Lee's body outside, feeling somewhat dazed.

Everything was fine yesterday; I was working like a dog in the lab. How did this mess happen today?

A few minutes later, the first group of professionals wearing white biochemical protective suits arrived at the scene.

Police arrived within five minutes, all wearing gas masks, and set up a cordon at a distance.

None of the onlookers escaped; they were all taken into custody.

Soon, someone found Edgar and asked in confusion, "How did you find out? Why are you wearing protective clothing?"

"I am a cell laboratory researcher at Christina Shepard."

,

The other person looked at him carefully, somewhat surprised, and immediately changed their tone from interrogation to conversation between colleagues.

"Turns out you're an expert. Have you been infected?"

No. I wore a full biohazard suit the entire time.

The man immediately breathed a sigh of relief: "You're very smart. Then why did you come here?"

"The deceased was my friend. He said he was sick and the hospital couldn't find the cause. He wanted me to draw his blood and send it to the cell laboratory for testing. I sensed something was wrong from his tone on the phone, so I became suspicious."

"Did you take a sample?" the other party asked warily.

"OMG! Of course not!" Edgar replied in a still-terrified tone. "You didn't see what he looked like just now, he was like a ghost! Taking a sample? I wouldn't even dare touch him! I called you guys the moment I got downstairs! If you want a sample, go get it yourselves! I'm just a PhD student!"

For Edgar, if it were truly an unknown virus and he was lucky enough not to be infected, obtaining first-hand samples would allow him to conduct research and potentially produce a decent paper.

If I unfortunately get infected, I absolutely cannot say anything!

Otherwise, he would have faced the same fate as Ivan Lee, becoming a living example.

Edgar trusted his mentor, but not this mysterious man before him.

"Hmm. You're lucky. This is a newly discovered virus. There have been a few isolated cases in neighboring states. It's transmitted through bodily fluids, but you've taken proper precautions, so you're basically fine. You can leave now, but I suggest you stay home alone and observe for three to five days for any unusual symptoms like coughing. You're a professional; you should understand what that means. If you do, call us immediately."

"If not, you're quite lucky." The other person handed over a business card with only simple information on it.

Lucas-Walsh, Junior Researcher, CDC BioVirus Defense Division, ID: XXX.

Edgar sensed something was off, but said nothing and simply nodded.

"There's a temporary disinfection vehicle over there. Go up there, get cleaned up. You're in the same line of work, you know how to operate it. Don't worry."

Edgar showered himself in the car before taking off his protective suit, which was then placed into a sealed bag by a designated person.

Edgar returned to his car and slowly drove away, watching people in white protective suits come and go.

The apartment manager stood outside the cordon, his face ashen.

The residents were evacuated, fear spread through the crowd, and everyone was whispering among themselves.

Edgar encountered Christina's men three blocks away.

They are two junior brothers.

Wearing advanced sky-blue biohazard suits, they carefully accepted the samples Edgar brought: "Edgar, good luck. We'll go back and study them immediately; Dr. Shepard will personally oversee the process."

"OK. OK. We have to hurry!" Edgar breathed a sigh of relief. He drove home with a bitter face and locked himself in solitary confinement for a week.

Christina received the sample more than an hour later.

Edgar was, after all, her top lieutenant, so she took it very seriously and immediately began to analyze the situation.

Soon, her expression changed.

This virus is exactly the same as the virus in Leah's blood sample!

She immediately picked up the phone and called Richard: "Ivan Lee, do you remember him?"

Richard remembered that the international student from Tokyo University who was very unfriendly to him.

Christina lowered her voice: "He's dead. He had the same virus as Lena. The late stages manifest as body aches, subcutaneous bruising, spontaneous bleeding, and muscle and skin atrophy. Ivan just jumped off a building. The CDC is handling it; they say it's a newly discovered virus, transmitted through bodily fluids, and they haven't registered it yet. They say it's not a big problem. But I feel something's wrong! I couldn't find any information about him in the CDC database!"

Richard frowned. "So, this virus has already started to spread?"

Christina was very worried: "Yes. Judging from the course of the disease, Ivan was infected much earlier than Lina. Considering that he didn't show any abnormalities while he was in my lab, the most likely time of infection was after he left! Ivan-Lee went to work at the military's Rosenberg virus lab after leaving me, and I suspect Rosenberg might have developed some new technology. Ivan accidentally leaked it during his research, but he never said anything before he died, nor did he seek help from Rosenberg, so that's unlikely. The most probable scenario is that he was used as a test subject, and the military secretly infected him..."

'

Richard nodded; the achievements of the U.S. military in this regard were indeed evident to all.

Malaria was secretly tested on humans, with tens of thousands of soldiers being secretly tested on malaria strains.

Edgewood Arsenal's biological experiments resulted in 7000 soldiers being imprisoned in gas chambers by their own people.

Operation Ocean Droplets was even more significant, with warships continuously releasing Serratia marcescens and Bacillus subtilis aerosols over San Francisco, affecting the city's 80 residents at the time...

There were also hallucinogenic drug experiments at Fort Detrick, syphilis experiments in Guatemala, and anthrax virus experiments at Georgia Lugar's laboratory...

Truly, there are countless immortal beings among them!

This is only what has been exposed; who knows how much is still hidden.

Richard now knows at least one big bombshell: nuclear waste is buried beneath the Oak Ridge mansion!

Richard said softly, "Let's leave it at that. You can continue your research, but don't try to find out the origin of the virus. This is no ordinary virus; who knows what kind of trouble it might cause later."

Anything that can be recognized by the system and listed as a "parasite" alongside the radioactivity of nuclear waste is definitely not simple.

Christina obeyed Richard's orders completely: "Okay. The only advantage of this virus is that it is transmitted through bodily fluids. The only way to spread it is through improper relationships, or contact with wounds, sharing needles, etc., which greatly limits the speed of transmission."

Richard hung up the phone.

Originally, he didn't want to get involved in this matter.

It's too dangerous to involve the military. I already have enough trouble, and there are people watching me. It's really inconvenient to investigate the Rosenberg virus lab.

However, this virus is related to the [Seed of Plague] quest!

Richard had always been curious about what kind of source of infection could be identified by the system as a "plague".

After thinking about it, he decided to investigate.

The Rosenberg Laboratory is more than 70 kilometers away, and it would take the owl two hours to travel there and back.

He took a dead owl out of the refrigerator.

To avoid being discovered by those watching him, he deliberately went to the ventilation window on the other side of the building and released the resurrected owl.

"We'll monitor for ten hours and then return to gather as much information as possible."

The owl disappeared silently into the night.

Richard drove back to Catherine's house.

YC Apartment is still unsuitable for overnight stays; the downstairs is too noisy, with constant arguments.

He didn't know where that woman got such fighting power; she fought almost day and night without stopping.

Helen isn't home either; she's going to her part-time job at OCME today.

When Richard returned to Catherine's house, Debbie was curled up on the sofa, sulking in front of her phone.

"What's wrong?"

"Look what they're saying online!" Debbie held her phone up to him.

Richard took it and glanced at it.

It's a photo of myself holding Debbie, celebrating my success in the offline selection competition.

Debbie's legs were wrapped around his waist, her arms were around his neck, and his hands were on her back.

However, the shooting angle is tricky. If you only look at the photo, it is indeed very ambiguous. It looks like he is supporting her buttocks and they are kissing.

An author named Evan Sanders ignited the debate.

Richard read that line:

'

Her Highness is demonstrating through her actions that Catholicism truly is a universal church, even having no racial restrictions on dating partners...

""

"P.S.: I'm planning to include a storyline about the saint and the Yellow Peril in my new work, *New York Love*. What do you all think?"

"The Holy Maiden and the Yellow Peril..." Richard's eyes narrowed.

Evan Sanders.

Richard remembered the name.

Aaron's neighbor, a bestselling author.

This guy is really good at manipulating words; he can stir up public opinion with just a few words.

Richard glanced at the "Yellow Peril" again.

Since that's the case, let's find an opportunity to send him to his death. I'm desperately lacking in fresh blood and flesh, and someone's eager to be used as fodder, so let's satisfy him.

The comments section has exploded.

"She should withdraw from the canonization process!"

"Debbie doesn't deserve to be a saint!"

"That bitch has desecrated the Virgin Mary's veil!"

"A white girl actually got a boyfriend who's a Fu Manchu!"

Every single one of them was an attack on Debbie.

Some of them also involved Richard.

Some private messages, sent by self-proclaimed devout Catholics, were even more vicious: "You have tarnished the title of saint!"

"Following Asians? Trash!"

"God will not forgive your promiscuity!"

Debbie grew angrier the more she looked at it.

She never intended to be a saintess; it was those damn miracles that kept piling up on her head. What does it have to do with me?

Catherine sighed. "You're a public figure now, so you should be careful about your words and actions. But don't worry too much, Sawyer will help you calm things down."

"But why are they saying that about me! What did I do?!" Debbie's voice trembled with anger.

Every word Evan Sanders said felt like a needle pricking her.

"The Holy Maiden and the Yellow Peril"—he actually used that phrase!

She didn't know Evan, but the malice contained in that word couldn't be concealed by any language.

Just then, Sawyer called: "Your Highness—Foster's people are using the photos of you and that young man from the University of Tokyo to attack the canonization case. I've already put the PR team on it. But, I beg you, could you please, just a little bit, observe social distancing in public?"

Sawyer looked pitiful.

He was already afraid ever since the last time the Virgin Mary's veil was passed down.

This is a true saint!

He dared not say it was too heavy.

Debbie listened to Sawyer's cautious advice, but the fire in her heart burned even brighter.

"I understand!" She hung up the phone before Sawyer could finish speaking.

Richard silently observes Debbie.

Debbie was indeed an unintentional choice on his part, and it was certainly not a good fit.

It has now been proven that the path of becoming a saint is viable. If Debbie really doesn't want to continue being a saint, he can find another girl to train, a more obedient one.

The trouble is getting bigger and bigger, and if Debbie really can't adapt, Richard is willing to respect her decision.

Debbie vented her anger for a while, and finally calmed down.

Richard asked, "So, do you want to continue being a saintess?"

"I..." Debbie hesitated.

If she didn't become a saint, she wouldn't be able to get into Princeton, and she wouldn't be able to be with Richard in college.

Those little bitches on campus are no good!

Just then, a call came in from an unknown number.

"I am Langdon Jacobs, the public relations director for the Giants. Given the current public opinion, I strongly advise you to withdraw from the interview tomorrow."

"Withdraw on your own? Why! By what right!" Debbie's defenses crumbled completely.

She has worked hard for more than ten years to become the best cheerleader. Now that a perfect opportunity has finally been presented to her, she is about to be kicked out because she is dating someone else!

Langdon-Jacobs said coldly, "Why? The Giants can't afford to take that risk, just to avoid offending the Catholics. Debbie, listen, it's better for both of us if you back out. Otherwise, you'll definitely be rejected during your interview tomorrow, and without any respect!"

The phone hangs up.

Debbie's fingers trembled violently, and her eyes were bloodshot.

Richard looked at her and asked again, "So, Saintess or cheerleader, which do you choose?"

Whichever she chooses, Richard has the ability to help her achieve it.

"It really is time to make a decision..." Debbie's voice trembled. "I choose..."

'

Just then, another call came in from an unknown number.

Debbie answered angrily, her voice extremely rude: "Who is it now! Why are there so many calls from unknown numbers today!"

The voice on the other end of the phone was gentle and calm, like an elderly person talking to a child.

"My child, I am Celestine VI."

Debbie was stunned for a moment, not quite understanding.

Celestine? VI?

What kind of weird name is that?

Catherine whispered a reminder from the side: "Pope."

Debbie's expression shifted from anger to shock to panic within seconds.

But she still harbored resentment: "Your Holiness! Greetings! What brings you here to instruct me?"

Celestine's voice remained calm, but every word carried an unquestionable authority: "Child, the church will protect you. Remain silent, remain humble, and tonight will pass. Goodnight, child."

The phone hangs up.

Celestine said that the past will naturally pass.

As the Pope of the Catholic Church, he wields an influence that is unimaginable to ordinary people.

The Church does not have an army, but in certain times and in certain areas, the Pope is more powerful than the army.

Richard continued to observe Debbie, trying to discern her deepest, most genuine thoughts.

"What if I say no?!" Debbie's anger could no longer be contained.

Why is everyone rejecting my choice?

"Netizens disagree!"

"A writer, for no apparent reason, disagrees!"

"Sawyer disagrees!"

"The team director disagrees!"

"Now some old man who just popped out of nowhere is also disagreeing with MF!"

"Why choose either a saintess or a cheerleader?"

"Why should I?!"

"Who are you all?! Why should I have to choose between you two?!"

Debbie gritted her teeth.

All she wanted to do was dance, all she wanted to do was be with Richard, all she wanted to do was fulfill her promise to Clara; she didn't hurt anyone.

Everyone's saying she's wrong now!

Catherine was a little worried. She saw that Richard didn't stop Debbie, but just kept watching and didn't dare to do anything.

Debbie picked up her phone and recorded a short video.

Her voice trembled, but every word seemed to be squeezed out from between her teeth: "Who says a saint can't fall in love? Who says a saint can't have a boyfriend?! And who says a saint's boyfriend can't be Asian?! Is it you? Is it that Bible? Is it that old man in the Vatican? How did the Virgin Mary get pregnant without a boyfriend? Are you stupid or blind?! You all just watch! I, Debbie Dixon, am going to be a saint, and I'm going to fall in love!"

After saying that, she immediately sent the video out.

Then, Debbie collapsed onto the sofa, as if all her strength had been drained away.

Her heart pounded, and slowly, it calmed down. In less than a minute, she said with a mournful face, "Richard, I think I messed up, didn't I? I can't keep my promise to Clara, and I can't go to Princeton with you."

Richard laughed, a truly hearty laugh: "Once you make a choice, the world will make way for it!"

Debbie burst into laughter through her tears: "Playing tricks, as if you can control everything."

She took a deep breath and said in a defiant tone, "What business attire! I'm going to dress up beautifully for my job interview tomorrow."

"Even if I fail, I'll fail standing in front of those bitches! I can't let those two bitches, Delia and Elsa, watch me slink away in disgrace. Delia was the first bitch to post the photo! I know!"

Richard smiled but said nothing.