I am a necromancer, and I absolutely love America.

Chapter 165 Continuing to Strengthen Debbie (10K long chapter, please vote and subscribe)

Christina frowned. "You're going to Seattle? Why?"

Daniel didn't know how to explain, nor could he reveal that Eugene had forced him to have the surgery, as that would only make Christina curious: How did you manage to do that? Why didn't you do it?

Because it involved Richard, he couldn't betray Richard, who was his future reliance.

"Eugene forced me to do some things, and when I refused, he threatened to send my incriminating material to the state attorney general, so I had no choice but to run away."

Christina understood Daniel's concerns. Richard was using Daniel to cover up his surgery, and Daniel was afraid to tell her. So she could only pretend to be clueless and ask, "Explain yourself clearly, what are you panicking about?"

Daniel opened his mouth as if to say, "You don't understand," but said nothing.

But Christina didn't give him a chance to interrupt: "Do you think Eugene will suddenly give up pressuring you? Do you think the incriminating evidence he has will just disappear on its own? How far do you think you can run? Seattle is 3,000 kilometers from New York, but the state attorney general's case will chase you all over the United States. Relax, I'll ask around for you, you'll definitely get through this." Richard is helping you solve your troubles, why are you running away?

Daniel hung up the phone in frustration.

Advisor, you have no idea how big the trouble is.

I can't have the surgery, but I can't not have the surgery either.

I'm too difficult.

No, I need to prepare.

He picked up the phone and called a familiar used car dealership: "How much would you pay me for that car?"

The CMCS organization expanded rapidly, gradually attracting the attention of some liberal and equal rights organizations.

A long article has appeared online, titled "Catholic Charitable Mutual Aid Association: Charity or Militia?".

The article lists several "issues" with CMCS:

It only accepts male Catholics, does not accept female members, and does not accept believers from other denominations;

The Thorn Knights' methods of operation were "clearly violent," and the scenes of them driving away gang members looked like some kind of paramilitary organization on patrol.

The article also stated, "This looks more like some kind of private armed group carrying crosses than a charitable organization."

The article was quickly forwarded hundreds of times.

Some liberal community accounts began to follow suit, and the language in the comments section became increasingly heated, with some people starting to link CMCS with "far-right Catholic militias".

Following this, a local LGBTQ rights organization issued a public statement on social media, claiming that CMCS "excludes women and sexual minorities under the guise of religion" and is a "discriminatory organization disguised as charity," demanding that CMCS publicly amend its membership terms to accept people of all sexual orientations and gender identities.

When Irving saw the article, he was at the CMCS base organizing the patrol schedule for the following week.

He didn't rush; he first read the article from beginning to end.

Andrew sat opposite him, and his expression told me something was amiss: "Is someone insulting us?"

"Some people are saying we're doing something wrong," Irving frowned.

Andrew took his phone, glanced at it, and then scoffed, "Don't these people want peace and order? Or do they think those petty thugs shouldn't be driven away?"

Irving's gaze turned serious: "They don't want this kind of security, and these writers don't even live in places like this; they're just talking without understanding the situation."

He knew the destructive power of these organizations; it was difficult to get them to accomplish anything, but far too easy to get them to mess things up.

Compared to the local insignificant gangs who don't even dare to use guns, those words were far more damaging.

That evening, Irving convened a brief internal meeting at the CMCS headquarters.

The membership has increased to more than 20 people, most of whom are devout Catholics. There are few young people; most are middle-aged or older adults in their 40s.

Recruiting members is faster in the early stages, but it slows down later. The best and most devout members join early on, while those who join later have various motives.

Therefore, this group of people is also the backbone of the entire CMCS, and Irving attaches great importance to them.

He shared the current public opinion and the opposing views with everyone: "In the coming period, we may not be welcomed by everyone."

A middle-aged man said, "Those liberals have been looking down on us for a long time. Those androgynous guys just make a mess of our streets."

Owen shook his head: "No matter what they think of us, what we need to do is let the people on this street know that they can come to us if they need anything."

Andrew hesitated for a moment, then said, "Owen, I think we should use a tougher approach. Many people simply don't understand human language. Your preaching is excellent, but some people don't deserve to listen! We should drive away and subdue those heretics and infidels, and those who remain will naturally be devout Catholics."

Others echoed his sentiments.

"Yeah, Kyrie!"

"You've done a great job!"

"Yes! Owen! Let's get rid of those damn liberals! Let's turn these three streets into the Lord's ranch!"

As the number of CMCS members increased, their actions became more unified, and they had money and manpower, most members developed the idea of ​​suppressing them by force and were too lazy to waste any more words with those people.

Irving shook his head: "No, then what's the difference between us and other gangs? God loves the world, everyone is a Catholic, and we should help them convert."

Everyone fell silent.

Irving's prestige was too great; they dared not oppose him.

Andrew pursed his lips, thinking that Owen was wrong, but he didn't say anything.

So far, Irving has been successful.

As long as we succeed, the direction is right. Even if Andrew has some reservations about Irving's advice, it won't disrupt the overall plan.

The next morning, Irving visited a few residents on the street corner as usual.

He didn't mention the comments online, but simply knocked on doors, asked about the situation, and noted down those who needed help, just like always.

Some people remained wary and unwilling to get close to them.

People watched from a distance.

.

Some people mocked and insulted him, saying, "Stay away from my house!"

A few people also began to get close to them.

An elderly woman grabbed his hand and said, "Owen, my son said he saw some people online insulting you. Don't pay any attention to those guys!"

Irving crouched down to meet her gaze. "Don't worry, madam. God guides us to do the right thing, and He won't stop us because of what others say."

But Irving was also aware that online rhetoric was spreading, and the CMCS was being portrayed as an "armed Catholic far-right."

This is just the beginning; as its influence grows, all sorts of troubles will come knocking.

I need to do something.

Richard put away his phone and pushed open the side door of St. Carlisle Church.

The sound of the organ flowed from the main hall, deep and resonant. Debbie stood in front of the altar, wearing a white robe with light gold embroidery on the collar.

Guided by Calvin, she bent down, put her hands together, and recited the response. Her movements were much more practiced than a few months ago, but her eyes were still unfocused, and she seemed a little dazed.

Today is the day she fulfills her promise regarding the Virgin Mary scarf.

Calvin stood beside her, his voice steady and deep.

He had gained some weight and the wrinkles on his face had smoothed out.

Things were getting better at St. Carlisle's Church, and his life became much more comfortable.

The church was packed with people, with some even standing in the back.

Most people had their eyes closed, their hands clasped in front of their chests, and their lips moving silently.

Richard sat down in the last row, against the wall.

A large number of undetermined believers floated in the church.

Richard began converting the "Fresh Flesh and Blood" in the "Crater of Blood" to an abundance of 20.

The maximum number of units in the Blood Box has been increased to 31.

Strengthening the "Fresh Flesh and Blood" at Baytop Manor is always a very time-consuming process.

Because there are very few unclaimed believers at Baytop Manor, the speed at which magic power is restored is very slow. It often takes him 10 hours to fully strengthen all the fresh flesh and blood in the Blood Box.

Here it's different; you recover exactly what you consume, and Richard's consumption rate can't keep up with the recovery rate at all.

He enhanced 15 units of [Fresh Flesh and Blood] to 20 abundance in one go, then rested for more than half an hour. When the Mass was about to end, Richard enhanced the remaining [Fresh Flesh and Blood] to 20 abundance.

Taking advantage of the final moments of faith during the Mass, Richard almost instantly regained his full mana.

Richard was satisfied and rested, waiting for Debbie's Mass to end.

Just then, the side door of the church was gently pushed open.

A person, like a torch of faith, walked in, his steps unhurried yet steady.

It's Kyrie Irving.

He exuded an endless, undetermined faith, like someone carrying a torch into a room lit only by candlelight, strikingly conspicuous.

Irving wore a clean, dark coat instead of his old jacket. His expression was serene and solemn, and his demeanor became even more composed. He walked to an empty seat in the last row, bowed his head, and prayed. He was simple and quiet, and the flame of piety above his head was brighter and "thicker" than when I last saw him, but it did not give rise to a new "leaping soul".

Richard did not disturb Irving's prayer.

The Mass is over.

Under Calvin's guidance, Debbie completed the final blessing ceremony. The believers stood up one after another and bowed to Debbie to express their gratitude and respect.

Others walked out in twos and threes, some talking in hushed tones, others still praying with their hands clasped together.

Richard walked up to Irving: "Hey! Irving! What are you doing right now?"

Irving smiled, his smile as warm as ever: "I'm doing God's work."

His tone was calm, as if he were talking about something ordinary.

Richard asked, "The Lord's work? You went to the monastery?"

Irving didn't answer directly, but just smiled and said, "I'm doing the right thing. The world shouldn't be like this. This is not what God wanted to see."

Richard frowned.

He knew that Irving was heading down a dead end.

The ugly truth has changed in this era.

A hundred or two hundred years ago, you could stir up a huge wave in your own country before other countries could react. As long as you were fast enough, you could establish a great empire before other countries could gather their armies and prepare to intervene.

However, that was in an era without satellites, mobile phones, or global live streaming.

Things are completely different now.

The satellite was watching from above, and everyone was wiping their cell phones.

Any slight disturbance between the two parties will be reported to all parts of the world in the fastest possible speed.

The world today is like a group of predators eyeing each other, with all countries watching each other closely, waiting to devour one another.

Whenever any country experiences turmoil and reveals its weakness, a swarm of predators will arrive.

If it's a small country, that's one thing; a large country might not care and let you cause trouble however you want.

But this is America, the most powerful nation on Earth.

Whenever Miao Mo, the prime minister, appears, all countries will intervene without hesitation, and the final outcome will be a battle between the proxies and the prime minister.

Ultimately, the best outcome is that the country splits into multiple countries, and the worst outcome is that it breaks into one or two pieces, which is even worse than Africa.

Even so, this is assuming that Irving can make it to the final stage.

In reality, given the suppression capabilities of modern weaponry and the speed of information dissemination, Irving would never have made it that far before being suppressed.

"You've chosen a dead end," Richard said in a deep voice.

Irving said calmly, "No matter how difficult the road is, someone has to walk it."

He did not refute or argue; he simply stated his position.

Richard sighed and said, "OK, good luck."

Debbie finally escaped and stepped down from the altar, the hem of her robe sweeping across the stone bricks. She smiled and found Richard: "Hi! Owen."

Irving stood up, bowed slightly, and made the sign of the cross with his right hand in front of his chest.

He was incredibly respectful to Debbie, like a believer turning to a god.

"Your Highness."

Debbie waved her hand awkwardly, "Don't call me Your Highness, just call me Debbie."

Owen paused for a moment, then began, "Your Highness, I've been doing some things lately—many people don't understand my choices, nor do they understand what I'm doing. No matter how I explain, they don't approve. What should I do?"

Debbie tilted her head and thought about the question seriously for a moment.

She recalled her experience in the Giants' Shaking Team, from being ridiculed and isolated when she first joined the team, to now standing firmly in the center position.

What has changed?

One's own strength.

Debbie confidently replied, "Then keep doing it, just do it well. Once you've done it well enough, people will naturally believe in you."

Irving stood on the second floor, as if struck by that eternal words.

He looked at Debbie, his gaze momentarily blank.

The answer was too simple, but he heard about Bureau C's method.

Keep going.

No explanation or argument is needed.

As long as the direction changes, the only question is whether it will last long or be done in large quantities.

As expected of Saint-Debbie!

"But..." Irving chose his words carefully, "Someone is attacking me, attacking my career online and in the media. What should I do?"

Is this even a question? Debbie looked at Owen with a puzzled expression, as if to make sure he wasn't joking.

How come he's even dumber than me?

"If I have training problems, I go to the coach for help. If I have religious problems, I go to Father Calvin and Archbishop Sawyer for help. If I have public opinion problems, I should go to the person in charge of publicity for help. They may not be able to solve it, and if they can't solve it, I certainly can't solve it either. I don't understand those things; all I need to do is dance."

Kyrie Irving's eyes lit up.

Debbie's words were simple, yet they seemed to pull him out of a narrow passage.

He was constantly worried that Meryl wouldn't be able to handle the public outcry.

But Debbie pointed out a question he had never considered.

If Meryl Streep can't handle the online backlash, can she handle it herself?

It can't be solved.

Meryl has the resources and expertise, and if she can't handle that, how could I possibly manage it?

So if that's the case, what am I still worried about?

Worrying won't solve anything.

Leave the mess to professional and trustworthy people, and just focus on doing your own job well.

Just like the things I'm doing, am I really confident in them?

No.

Knowing the future was bleak, did he just give up?

to do.

So, if you know Meryl might not be able to do it well, does that mean you shouldn't let her do it?

Of course, we should let her continue doing it.

Owen humbly lowered his head, and when he raised it again, his gaze had changed: "Saint-Debbie, your wisdom is as vast as the sea."

Debbie blinked twice, completely bewildered, having no idea what had just happened.

She glanced at Richard, as if asking, "Is your former colleague an idiot?"

Richard stood two steps away, his lips twitching slightly.

Who knows what Kyrie Irving is imagining this time!

He could see that the flame of piety on Owen's face had grown even brighter; clearly, he wasn't just going through the motions with Debbie, but genuinely believed her lies.

The Mass is over.

After saying goodbye to Debbie and Richard, Irving stood at the church door for a while.

He didn't pick up his phone until most of the crowd had dispersed.

The scope of this collaboration has been expanded beyond what was initially defined.

As previously agreed, the resources of Eternal Music Television Network should only be used within a simple "promotional" framework.

Now, he needs the help of Yongheng Lingtang to resolve the issues he has encountered online.

Irving was worried that Meryl would feel he was taking advantage of her resources.

He pondered his words for a moment before dialing Meryl's number.

He answered the phone after it rang twice, much faster than he had expected.

"Hi! Owen!" Meryl's voice came through the receiver, sounding cheerful.

"Hi Meryl! CMCS has encountered some issues online, and an equal rights organization posted a long article online..."

""

"I noticed!" Meryl said quickly after hearing this. "I'll come over and discuss with you as soon as possible how to resolve this trouble. This kind of thing will happen again in the future, and we need a complete contingency plan."

Meryl didn't shirk her responsibility and took the initiative to do the task, which surprised Irving greatly.

Owen paused for a moment: "—Don't you need to check with the Eternal Hall about your permissions first?"

Meryl confidently replied, "I'm in charge, and I can make all the decisions regarding the cooperation with CMCS. Please wait a moment, I'll be there as soon as possible!"

The phone hangs up.

Irving watched the screen go dark, somewhat puzzled as he wondered why Meryl had been so proactive.

He was completely different from the people he had met before.

Anyway, it's good news.

Irving drove back.

I paused briefly at the door of a familiar grocery store, went inside and bought some food—bread, milk, and canned goods—which I packed in a paper bag to take to the poor people on the street.

About half an hour later, he arrived at the Second Gate and saw a girl standing at the gate.

It's Meryl.

She was so cold that she curled up in a ball, like a teddy bear.

The cold wind ruffled Meryl's hair a little, and she raised her hand to brush it back. Seeing Owen's car, she jumped for joy and waved, "Here! Open the door! I'm freezing!"

Irving parked the car on the side of the road and got out.

The girl's face was pale from the cold, and her nose was a little red.

Owen suddenly found the little freckles on her face so cute, a wonderful feeling he had never experienced before.

"Why did you get here so quickly?" Owen suppressed the pounding in his heart.

"It's my job," Meryl said calmly, glancing furtively at Owen. When she noticed him looking at her, she pretended to be nonchalant and looked away.

Irving, however, felt that the answer to the question shouldn't be that.

"Hurry up and go inside to warm up." Owen handed the front door key to Meryl and took food out of the trunk.

Meryl opened the door and quickly came over to help him move the load.

Irving looked at Meryl beside him.

Meryl smiled happily: "Let's go distribute these foods together, and then discuss how to deal with those guys online, shall we?"

Irving didn't shy away from the question, simply smiling and saying, "Okay."

At night, the headquarters building of the Bellow Group looks like an upright black stone monument.

Only a few lights were on inside the building, as if security guards were on duty at night.

Richard stopped his car 500 meters away and looked away.

Christina then sent him a series of shady stories about the big medical aesthetics company.

Of these things, the Bellow Group must have done a few over the past decade, perhaps more discreetly, perhaps more crudely.

For example, the autologous fly cell anti-aging project caused a great stir five years ago.

At the time, the project was very immature and still in the experimental stage. In order to recoup its investment as soon as possible, Bellows charged patients under the name of "experimental therapy," with each case costing between eight thousand and thirty thousand dollars. However, the project never received formal approval from the FDA.

In reality, they're using users as guinea pigs, and the users still have to pay for it.

At the time, dozens of treatments were performed. Later, it was revealed that at least four patients experienced varying degrees of rejection after the surgery, and one of their children's symptoms was recorded as "severe".

A near 10% anomaly rate means the project is essentially doomed.

Then the FDA discovered the matter, ordered Bello Group to cease the business, and compensate the patients.

Bello Group's approach was to have the patient sign a confidentiality agreement and then refund the money.

After that, no one knows whether the Bellow Group continued or not.

Nine times out of ten, they'll just keep going like this, otherwise how will they recoup their R&D investment?

Every medical group has done this kind of thing, but in most cases, they can't find any evidence and it just goes unpunished.

At that moment, a scarred puppet flew back and landed on Richard's hand.

He immediately accessed the Cangshang Puppet's memories from the past 14 hours.

The pale, scarred puppet stared at Barrow, the CEO of the Bellow Group.

Most of my memories are ordinary scenes of splashing water: looking at documents, answering the phone, slamming my fist on the table during a meeting with subordinates, and arguing about prices with a supplier on the phone.

No violations were detected throughout the process.

It's normal for CEOs of large corporations to be so busy that they don't have time for too many conspiracies.

He put the scarred puppet back into the iron box, and soon took back several more.

These fly puppets were respectively attached to the Chief Technology Officer, Chief Scientist, Public Relations Director, and Chief Financial Officer.

Richard also failed to obtain any valuable intelligence.

They will stay there for a whole year, and then come back with their memories.

Richard was not disappointed.

He hadn't expected to get anything from the first performer anyway.

Until then, the most useful thing Richard can do is wait; there's still some time until next Friday.

Richard started the vehicle and drove back to Wanding Mountain Villa.

Emma Blanchard, holding her phone, walked to the second-floor window and suddenly heard her leopard cat, Amy, let out a suppressed, discontented whimper.

She looked down and saw her large leopard cat, Amy, lying on the second floor in the courtyard. Her tail was swishing back and forth, and her expression was a mixture of annoyance, grievance, and helplessness.

On its sandy ground lay a small black cat.

The black cat's four paws were firmly planted on the leopard cat's head, and its tail was held high.

Amy tried to shake Mo off, but the black cat slightly adjusted its center of gravity and remained steadily on Amy's head.

The black cat is too small; it definitely can't bully Amy anymore.

Amy, the owner of the cat, seemed to love the little black cat very much and was reluctant to abandon it, but the black cat standing on the ground made it a little uncomfortable.

Emma watched for a while, amused, and muttered, "Whose black cat is this that Amy likes so much?!"

Just then, Shadow's ears twitched, as if it had caught some sound.

Without hesitation, it immediately jumped off the leopard cat's head, landing almost silently on all fours, leaping over the wall in two bounds and disappearing into the night.

Emma is very good at eating dry food.

This little black cat is so agile.

Amy ran to Emma's side, curled up at her feet, and called out.

Emma chuckled and stroked the cat, saying, "Alright, alright, I know you like that little guy. When I have time, I'll ask around the neighborhood and see whose it is, and bring it back to play with you."

Upon hearing this, Amy's fur stood on end, and she immediately burrowed into her cat bed, refusing to come out no matter what.

Emma was a little annoyed.

Just then, her phone rang. Her face immediately turned cold, and she picked up the phone and started yelling, "What happened to the last fashion show! What was that model's name? How could she not even control her weight! It's so unprofessional!"

Terminate her contract! Immediately!

Richard pushed open the door and entered the living room.

A black shadow darted out from the yard, circled his feet twice, its tail held straight up, rubbed against his trouser leg, then squatted down in front of him, looking up at him with a smirk.

Richard chuckled: "Who did Jinling bully this time?"

Shadow Pride II flicked its tail, trying to exude a kingly aura.

I've beaten all the cats and dogs in this neighborhood to a pulp!

Meow!

Catherine wasn't home; she and her husband were busy preparing for the opening of the Katrina Clinic.

Richard returned to his bedroom and saw that the door to Debbie's bedroom next door was ajar.

She lay sprawled on the bed, like a bag of cloth carelessly tossed on it, completely flat.

She was wearing a loose T-shirt and shorts, her long legs stretched out, her golden hair cascading over the bed, and the faint flush of her recent shower still lingering on her forehead and cheeks.

She lay there motionless, only her eyes were still moving, staring in Richard's direction.

"What's wrong?" Richard asked.

"I'm so tired—" Debbie said dejectedly, "These two dancers each have four hours of physical training, and then they have to learn new choreography. My knees are throbbing after they finish. I can't move my knees at all."

Richard walked to the bedside.

Debbie complained about the amount of training, which she attributed to insufficient physical fitness.

Can it be strengthened using fresh flesh and blood?

High-intensity repetitive training not only requires strength but also consumes a lot of energy, greatly testing various physical qualities, such as the rate of ATP regeneration, acid clearance efficiency, and the recovery speed of the nervous system.

Richard mentally reviewed the possible directions.

ATP is the direct energy source for muscle contraction, and its sources include the anaerobic breakdown of glycogen and the aerobic oxidation of fat.

During high-intensity training, the proportion of anaerobic metabolism increases, and when the rate of acid production exceeds the rate of clearance, muscle contraction ability decreases.

To help Debbie recover quickly after high-intensity training, either her lactate clearance efficiency needs to be improved, or her ATP levels need to be shortened.

The regeneration time interval.

The simplest approach is to modify the density and distribution of mitochondria, or to adjust the buffering system within muscle cells, but this requires more precise control.

In addition, the core factors that determine anaerobic exercise capacity are phosphocreatine and muscle glycogen.

The former is distributed in fast-twitch muscle fibers, converting ADP back into ATP to complete short bursts of power, with ATP being consumed within 10 seconds.

The latter is mainly distributed in the sarcoplasm and muscle fibers of skeletal muscle and can be used for 10 seconds to 2 minutes of high-intensity anaerobic exercise.

The Shaking Team needs to possess both anaerobic explosive power and sustained endurance.

You can try.

Richard reached out and pressed on her shoulder, pretending to give her a massage: "Which side is sore?"

"Arms, back, and waist." Debbie rolled over onto her stomach, looked up, and said, "I feel like I've been beaten up."

Snapped!

Richard slapped her head down: "Lie down properly."

"Be gentle! This is my head! What if you make it stupid!" Debbie said angrily.

"Could you get any sillier?" Richard casually massaged her lower back muscles, actually using a flesh-and-blood remodeling technique to examine her: "Aren't your legs and buttocks sore?"

"I feel fine. Hmm, I didn't realize that until you mentioned it, my legs used to be even more sore after training, which is really strange." Debbie was a little slow to realize.

Richard's leg muscles, now enhanced to level 7, are stronger and eliminate lactic acid faster.

The method is simple: strengthen her waist, core, back, and arm muscles, which are muscles that the Shake Shake team often uses.

After being upgraded to level 7, it will naturally be able to adapt to greater physical exertion.

However, Richard's [Blood Box] only has 20% abundance of [Fresh Flesh and Blood] left, and it cannot be reduced to 7% abundance.

That would prevent her from strengthening her muscles, which would only make her perform too exaggeratedly.

A level 20 abundance of "fresh flesh and blood" can be used to strengthen the heart muscle. It has no outward manifestation, but it can make her heart stronger, naturally resulting in better performance and greater adaptability to high-intensity exercise.

However, simply strengthening the myocardium without simultaneously strengthening the blood vessels throughout the body is not enough; the modifications must be carried out in a synchronized and complementary manner, otherwise fatal physiological contradictions will occur.

After the heart's myocardial cells are strengthened, their contractility, stroke volume, and maximum pumping capacity increase significantly. However, the blood vessels remain the same and cannot withstand the increased blood flow pressure. The end result is that the capillary walls become thin and prone to bleeding.

Large arteries can experience vasospasm, and even stroke.

Richard pondered carefully.

Therefore, strengthening the heart muscle must be matched with strengthening the blood vessels.

Then, Richard realized there were even more problems ahead.

If you only increase the heart's pumping capacity but don't change the lungs' gas exchange efficiency, the upper limit of blood oxygen carrying capacity is fixed. No matter how much blood the heart pumps, there won't be enough oxygen to supply the muscles. High-intensity jumping and continuous lifting will cause rapid oxygen depletion, shortness of breath, and dizziness.

So we need to strengthen the lungs?

Things have changed. Also, the oxygen-carrying capacity of red blood cells needs to be improved, otherwise they will not be able to carry more oxygen.

In addition, skeletal muscles also need to be strengthened. If the metabolic capacity of muscle cells cannot keep up, a large amount of oxygen cannot be utilized, and the accumulation of excess acid will still lead to rapid fatigue.

Furthermore, with the heart's pumping ability enhanced, blood pressure will inevitably spike during exercise. The existing blood pressure regulating nerves will then detect the excessive blood pressure and forcibly constrict blood vessels and suppress the heartbeat, wasting the enhanced effect.

Therefore, the nervous system must also be upgraded accordingly.

Richard began to scratch the surface.

Sure enough, once internal organs are involved, the problem becomes complicated, as a change in one organ affects the whole body.

However, this kind of reinforcement experiment is meaningful. When you reinforce it yourself, you will have a well-formed plan.

Debbie was challenged, and she was able to be with her.

If Richard strengthens himself and gets himself into a daze, then no one will be able to save him.

Richard pondered as he gently massaged the area.

A few minutes later, Debbie fell asleep, snoring softly.

Richard pondered for more than 20 minutes and finally formulated a new enhancement plan.

The heart is the core organ of the human body and should not be moved easily. Richard chose the lowest-risk solution: load-bearing structure → circulation pipeline → gas exchange → power heart.

First, strengthen her entire skeleton, cartilage, and connective tissue to prepare for the wear and tear that comes with a stronger body. Strengthening her skeleton will not make her invincible, but rather more durable.

Further strengthen blood vessels and red bone marrow.

Further strengthen the lungs and respiratory muscles.

The heart is last.

Furthermore, the heart also needs to be strengthened in stages to ensure that no serious problems occur.

Richard began strengthening all the cartilage and connective tissue in her lumbar spine, cervical spine, shoulders, elbows, and so on.

After consuming all the fresh flesh and blood, Richard checked the results of the previous enhancements.

He pressed the back of his thigh through his shorts; the muscles were elastic and there were no obvious lumps, indicating that he had adapted well and didn't ask any questions.

Richard pressed on the outside of her buttocks again, but the muscles didn't make a sound.

Richard examined her lower limbs inch by inch, from her buttocks all the way to her ankles.

Muscles, tendons, bones, and nerve signal transmission pathways are all normal.

well.

Richard was satisfied and withdrew his hand.

So far, the test subject is doing well.

well.

Debbie was still sleeping soundly.

Richard tiptoed to his feet, gently closed the door, and returned to his room.

Debbie suddenly opened her eyes.

The corridor lights were off, and no light shone through the cracks in the door.

She rolled over, sat up, and looked down at her own body, which had just been touched. Her face was still a little hot in the darkness.

"Shadow! He touched me!" Debbie happily reached out and pulled the dozing shadow beside her into her arms, giving it a few squeezes. "He thought I was asleep, so he secretly touched me! Hehehe!"

The shadow struggled desperately, its four claws flapping in the air.

meow~~

Let me go!

Debbie hugged it tighter, rested her chin on its head, and shoved it hard a few times, which angered Shadow so much that it kicked her face hard.

"Hahahaha!" Debbie laughed in a low voice, "You're usually so good at pretending, aren't you? You seem like you don't care about anything. But look what happened? You only dared to make a move after I fell asleep. Such a coward—"

Debbie buried her face in the shadow's fur and chuckled softly, repeating, "He touched me!"

Debbie buried her face in the pillow, chuckled softly, then rolled over and lay flat on her back, placing her hands lightly on the sides of her body where she had been touched, as if to confirm that the sensation was still there.

The shadow seized the opportunity to break free and jumped out of the open window.

Shadow jumped directly off the building. Debbie didn't chase after him or even look at him; she was used to being ugly.

For some reason, Shadow's physical abilities are much stronger than most cats.

Debbie smirked and pulled the blanket up to her chin.

She doesn't intend to stab Richard.

If he said "C," Richard would never dare to touch him again.

Pack!

Keep pretending!

hum~

coward!

Next time I'll pretend to be asleep again, let's see if you dare to be any bolder!

Richard frowned.

He could clearly hear the sounds coming from Debbie's room and her talking to herself.

This guy is pretending to be asleep?

Richard was very unhappy.

But it's alright, next time I'll just use desire hypnosis to put her to sleep.

Early the next morning.

Outside the headquarters building of Bello Medical Aesthetics.

Richard sat in the car, examining the memories transmitted by several of the wounded birds.

CEO Bauer has been making a scene and secretly watched some NSFW content, but other than that, there's nothing worth paying attention to.

The chief technology officer, chief scientist, public relations director, and finance director are all working normally.

Richard Chou had waited for three actors.

The Katrina Clinic has opened, but they haven't been able to get their previous customers back.

However, Richard couldn't wait any longer.

Eugene's troubles must be resolved as soon as possible.

If we continue to wait like this, we may have to wait another week, two weeks, or even longer before we find any evidence of wrongdoing.

Daniel's time was also counting down.

With each passing day, the day when Eugene would force him to go to the operating table drew ever closer.

Or this kid might be scared away. He actually wants to go to Seattle? He's crazy. Does he want to become a talent?

Richard couldn't wait any longer.

Moreover, each Cangshang Puppet consumes magic power and fresh flesh and blood, which is a complete waste.

Since the Bello Group isn't making a move, I'll force you to!

Richard picked up his phone and dialed Christina's number.

"Master," Christina's voice came through the receiver.

"Do you have any way to provoke Bello and make them feel like they're being investigated?" Richard said. "I need them to take action themselves; we can't just sit here like coops."

Christina recalled for a moment: "I had a student at the FDA's Biologics Evaluation and Research Center who was in charge of reviewing some experimental therapies. He could send an information request letter to the Bellows Group," which was within his authority. The letter could be designed to say that the FDA was collecting information on all potentially non-compliant autologous fly cell projects nationwide and requesting Bellows to submit a self-inspection report. This wouldn't raise any alarm; it would only make them feel like they'd been flagged, and perhaps prompt them to take action."

After Richard finished listening, Fly interrupted crisply, "Let him send it immediately."

"6

Christina nodded: "Okay, Bello will receive that letter in the morning."

At 10 a.m. on Thursday, Bauer, CEO of the Bellows medical aesthetics chain, was reviewing a quarterly financial report in his office.

Suddenly, a new notification popped up in the lower right corner of the computer screen.

The sender's address ends in fda.gov and the subject line is "Notification Regarding Self-Inspection of Compliance of Autologous Fly Cell Therapy Program".

Bauer's gaze lingered on the headline for a moment, and his heart skipped a beat.

His first thought was that Eugene, that bastard, had started attacking again.

He immediately moved the mouse and clicked on it, looked at it for a moment, and then picked up the landline and dialed an internal number: "Coleman, come to my office now."

Chief Scientist Coleman walked in, and Bauer immediately forwarded the document to his computer.

"Take a look at this."

"OK." Coleman walked over, looked down and finished reading the email, without speaking immediately.

Bauer asked in a deep voice, "Do you think this time, we were just randomly selected for a routine inspection, or is someone targeting us?"

Bauer's fingers were unconsciously turning a page on the table.

He knew all too well what they had done back then, and if it were discovered, the Bellow Group would suffer a severe blow.

Coleman paused for a couple of seconds: "When our autologous fly cell project was sampled last time, the FDA usually notified us by phone. This written form is less common. If you suspect the news has been leaked, let me look at the data from our last autologous fly cell anti-aging experiment..."

He operated the computer, opened his account, and entered a series of commands.

The list of files on the screen begins to scroll.

Coleman quickly checked and confidently stated, "There is no trace of the data being opened. The access records show that the last time it was opened was three years ago, and there have been no abnormal logins or copy records since then."

Coleman glanced at Bauer and said confidently, "Either someone is bluffing you, or it really is just a random check, and we were just unlucky to be selected."

That's good! Bauer's shoulders relaxed involuntarily, and even his breathing became lighter.

After carefully reviewing the relevant documents, he reached out and patted Coleman on the shoulder: "Whether it's a test or not, encrypt the documents first and migrate them to the legal department's independent server. Keeping one copy in the background is enough."

Coleman didn't ask any questions and started operating, typing in encryption commands with his fingers, but said aloud, "I don't think it's necessary, Bauer, no one can see our servers."

On the Linghua board, a withered puppet lay in the corner, attracting no attention.

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