I'm a Proper Student, I Only Drink Nine Potions a Day

"Enough. Shut your mouth."

His voice was not loud, but Lebon immediately fell silent.

A few minutes later, the office door was pushed open again.

The homeroom teacher and the head of the science department entered one after the other.

The homeroom teacher was named Kars. He was in his early forties, from a middle-class background, and dressed respectably.

His gray-blue suit was neatly tailored, and gold-rimmed glasses rested on a well-shaped nose.

Whenever he spoke, he habitually pushed up his glasses with his index finger, every movement carrying a carefully maintained air of refinement.

He was the sort of teacher who was popular at parent-teacher meetings: gentle, proper, and always on the side of "the majority."

The sequence of events was quickly clarified.

Four students had ganged up to bully Evan, covering his head with a blanket and pumping smoke inside through a pipe.

Evan had fought back, injuring one person.

After hearing the account, Kars glanced at the four students, his face showing a perfectly measured expression of disappointment.

Naturally, it was not because of the bullying, but because they had made fools of themselves.

Then he turned to Evan, his tone carrying a condescending displeasure.

"Arkham, your behavior was excessive."

Evan did not argue.

He knew perfectly well whose side Kars was on.

Lebon's father was an importer from the East District, Thompson was a rising star on the football team, and the other two also came from middle-class families.

And he, Evan Arkham, was a poor student in a patched jacket, an untouchable with syphilis.

On Kars's scales, those weights had never been equal to begin with.

He waited.

He waited for the science department head.

When the door was pushed open again, Professor Mons entered.

The old gentleman looked as he always did: bald, wearing reading glasses, a white shirt buttoned to the top, and a dark gray wool vest.

His gaze swept over everyone in the room from above his lenses, paused on Evan for a second, then settled on Kars's face.

"Kars."

His voice was not loud, but every word carried weight.

"Surrounded and attacked by four people, he fought back bravely, and you call that excessive behavior?"

Kars froze for a moment.

He had not expected Professor Mons to speak for Evan.

In his understanding, Mons was famously harsh and cold. He was equally demanding toward every student and never favored anyone.

Mons did not look at Kars again. He turned to the dean.

"What do you think?"

The dean was silent for several seconds, lightly tapping the tabletop twice with his fingers.

He did not want to make a big issue of this.

Four students attacking a classmate, covering his head with a blanket and pumping smoke into it—if that got out, it would be a heavy blow to the school's reputation.

Parents would make a fuss, newspapers would write about it, and the board would intervene.

"Both sides were at fault."

His voice was steady and formulaic, as if he were reading out a verdict prepared long ago.

"Arkham, excessive self-defense and participation in a fight. One written warning."

"Write an apology letter to the frightened female students. Compensate Lebon two dollars for medical expenses."

Two dollars. Evan's eyelid twitched, but he said nothing.

Other than the two dollars in medical expenses, everything else was within his expectations.

He had defended himself while outnumbered, and the only person injured had merely suffered a superficial wound.

The other three would hurt for a while at most. It was nothing serious.

The school still had to preserve the dignity of a prestigious institution.

They would not impose any severe punishment on him.

"Lebon, Thompson, one written warning."

The dean's tone suddenly became stern, his eyes shooting through his lenses toward the four students standing on the right.

"Ganging up to bully a fellow student has seriously damaged this school's reputation and constitutes a grave breach of conduct."

"If it happens again, there will be no leniency."

And just like that, there was no substantive punishment.

Faced with such blatant favoritism, Evan said nothing.

He knew very well whom the school favored, and he also knew that he was currently incapable of shaking this set of rules.

Two dollars in medical fees—half his savings, five days' worth of food.

But compared to having the school cause trouble for him, he was willing to pay.

"Do you accept the school's decision?"

All five spoke almost at the same time. "We accept."

And so the matter was settled.

At least, on the surface.

Everyone returned to their classrooms.

Because of his trousers, Lebon asked for leave and went home early.

As he hurried down the corridor with his head lowered, the bandage on his forehead and the damp stain around his crotch were equally conspicuous.

Every passing student saw him, but no one laughed.

They were afraid now, too.

Evan followed Professor Mons on the way back to the classroom.

The corridor was long. The soles of their leather shoes struck the marble floor one after the other, their rhythms different but their direction the same.

From beginning to end, Professor Mons said only one sentence.

"Study hard."

Evan nodded without saying more.

When he pushed open the classroom door, thirty-nine pairs of eyes turned toward him in unison.

The classroom instantly fell silent.

It was not the same silence as yesterday.

Yesterday, it had been filled with mocking whispers. Today, it was the held breath of awe.

Every pair of eyes held the same thing: shock.

Evan's old canvas schoolbag hung from his shoulder, its broken strap temporarily tied together with a piece of rope, crooked and uneven.

There was a dark red blotch of dried blood on the side of the bag, glaringly conspicuous against the gray canvas.

Under everyone's watchful eyes, he walked to the corner of the last row, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

He placed his schoolbag on the desk and took out his textbooks and stationery, his movements as calm as if nothing had happened.

Professor Mons walked onto the podium, opened his lecture notes, and swept his gaze across the class.

"Yesterday, we studied the medical applications of heavy metal compounds."

He picked up a piece of chalk and wrote two chemical formulas on the blackboard.

"Now, can anyone tell me the chemical formulas, oxidation states, solubility, and the reason Calomel can be taken internally while Mercuric Chloride is highly toxic and may only be used externally?"

Unlike yesterday, Evan did not wait for everyone else to fall silent first.

He raised his hand directly.

"Professor, I know."

Mons nodded.

Evan stood up, his voice clear and steady, without the slightest hesitation.

"Calomel is Mercurous Chloride. Its chemical formula is Hg2Cl2, with mercury in the +1 oxidation state. It is nearly insoluble in water and relatively mild in nature. It was once used as a laxative and antiparasitic drug, and could also be taken internally in small doses."

"Mercuric Chloride is HgCl2. Mercury is in the +2 oxidation state. It dissolves readily in water and ionizes to release a large quantity of Hg2+ ions. It strongly coagulates proteins and kills microorganisms, which is why it is highly toxic and may only be used as an external disinfectant or wound-washing solution."

"The core difference between the two lies in oxidation state and solubility.

Hg2Cl2 is difficult to ionize. After entering the digestive tract, most of it is excreted unchanged, so its toxicity is low.

HgCl2 ionizes easily. The mercury ions it releases directly damage bodily tissues, causing irreversible injury to the kidneys and digestive tract."

Professor Mons nodded in satisfaction.

"Very good. You understand it thoroughly."

The morning classes continued to pass in a flurry.

Chemistry was followed by physics, and physics by a biology class taught by Professor Pulis.

The Vampire stood at the podium. His hooded trench coat had been replaced by a dark suit vest suitable for indoors, and the curtains were drawn tightly shut as usual.

His lecturing voice was low and composed, his pace unhurried. Occasionally, he drew an anatomical diagram on the blackboard so precise that it looked printed.

There was nothing unusual.

He did not look at Evan even once, nor did he give any hint. He was elegant and restrained, like a true scholar.

If not for the "Basic Vampire Lineage 2%" label on the panel, Evan would almost have suspected that he had overthought it.

At lunchtime, Evan sat down in the cafeteria with a lavish twelve-cent meal.

Black bread, butter, bean soup, milk, and an apple.

No one was around him as usual.

The tables within two meters of him were completely empty, as if an invisible wall separated him from everyone else.

But the content of the whispers had changed.

Before, it had been "syphilis," "filthy," and "whore's disease."

Now there were new words: "gang," "thug," "mafia," "I heard he has people in the Dock District," and "I heard he carries a knife."

Evan chewed his bread, his face full of ease and comfort.

Rumors always traveled faster than the truth.

A familiar scent of sandalwood and bergamot drifted over.

Pulis appeared in the chair opposite him like a breeze. He gently set down his tray, every movement precise and soundless.

"How was it yesterday?" His voice was as calm as ever, as though he were asking about the weather.

Evan put down his bread, his face breaking into undisguised excitement.

"Great! Professor, I feel so strong now it's frightening!"

He lowered his voice, but he could not suppress the excitement in his tone.

"I even went to the docks yesterday and worked as a laborer, carrying cargo for five hours! I feel like my body is getting stronger every moment!"

He waved his fist, then added, "And today, I carried out a brilliant counterattack against the people who bullied me!"

Pulis gave a quiet hum, picked up his fork, cut off a small piece of fried fish, and put it into his mouth.