A Proper Student Who Only Takes Nine Kinds of Potions a Day

The kind of person Zack would bow and scrape before, respectfully calling "Mr. Nock."

"Something wrong?"

Evan tensed, his eyes full of vigilance.

Nock turned his head and examined the young man before him through gold-rimmed glasses, reeking of sweat after four hours of grueling work at the docks.

His gaze moved unhurriedly from Evan's face to his shoulders, then to his work boots covered in dust and fish stink, before finally returning to his eyes.

Then he smiled.

The smile was gentle and restrained, like a decent gentleman showing goodwill toward a stranger at a social gathering.

"Nothing."

His voice was steady and calm, slow and measured, every word pronounced with perfect clarity.

"I'm just letting you know that Mary will never bother you again."

"You don't need to worry about Zack and the others either. We've handled it. The police won't come looking for you."

"One more piece of advice: as long as you don't interfere with our business, we won't bother you either."

He paused. His smile remained unchanged, but a thin edge entered his tone.

"I hope you understand where the line is."

With that, he slipped both hands into his suit pockets, turned, and walked down the steps. The soles of his leather shoes tapped against the stone at an unhurried pace, as though he were out for a stroll.

His two attendants silently followed. The three figures soon vanished into the night on Gooding Street.

Evan stood at the stairway entrance, watching the direction they had gone in silence for several seconds.

Pulis had made his move.

The pressured Gus Gang was flexing its muscles at him—and warning him.

But it was within expectations.

He didn't want trouble. At least, not yet.

After returning home, he took a shower.

Cold water poured over him, and the two bruises on his back hurt again under the stimulation of the stream, though much less than before.

His Regeneration had already begun to work. It was only a little, but it was genuinely effective.

Healing Church

After drying himself off, Evan stood in his bedroom and summoned his status panel.

[Class: Demon Hunter (Digesting)]

[Rank: None]

[Characteristic: Basic Sanguine 8%]

[Constitution: 1.903→1.915]

[Spirit: 1.004→1.025]

[Spirit Vision: 0]

[Talent: Power of the Nine Dragons]

[Regeneration: 108%→124%]

[Blood Quality: 104%→116%]

[Syphilis: 46%→48%]

[Pneumonia: 6%]

[Liver Damage: 41%]

[Digestive Tract Ulcer: 8%]

[Brain Nerve Damage: 13%]

Everything was steadily improving.

His Constitution, Spirit, Regeneration, and Blood Quality were all rising across the board.

But one number stabbed at his eyes.

"Fuck, the syphilis got worse."

It had gone from 46% to 48%.

While every other metric had improved, the syphilis had instead worsened.

"With an overall Constitution of 1.915, my strength and endurance have increased by around 35%, while my immunity has only risen by about 20%."

"The numbers still aren't high enough. My current immunity can't suppress the growth of the syphilis."

Evan glanced down toward his crotch and carefully checked himself, but found no warts.

"Thank God. But I need to deal with this quickly."

After showering, he twisted around in front of the cracked mirror in the washroom to examine his back.

Two purplish-red welts stretched beneath his shoulder blades, like two snakes lying under his skin, their edges dark with purple-black bruising.

But upon closer inspection, the welts were lower than they had been several hours ago, and their color had faded slightly.

"My Regeneration has already started taking effect."

As he left the washroom and passed through the hallway, he saw that the door to the second bedroom was open.

Inside was empty.

The sheets had been stripped away, the pillow was gone, and several empty liquor bottles Mary had not had time to take with her lay scattered across the floor, along with one torn stocking.

There was no choking cigarette smell, no cheap perfume, no irritating moans, and no dull thuds of a bedframe hitting the wall.

Silence.

Evan stood in the doorway for two seconds before turning and returning to his bedroom.

He swallowed two Phenobarbital pills, and the familiar reversal notifications appeared on his panel.

[Your memory has improved. Spirit permanently +0.001.]

[Your reaction speed has improved. Spirit permanently +0.001.]

Drowsiness washed over him like a tide.

He climbed onto the iron bedframe and pulled over the blanket. The instant his head hit the pillow, his consciousness cut out.

At three in the morning, Evan opened his eyes right on time.

The gate to his focus dropped, and the world became clear and quiet.

But the twisting pain in his stomach woke up with him.

The digestion of the Demon Hunter Characteristic had spread from his stomach to his intestines. His entire abdominal cavity felt as though someone had stuffed it with a ball of barbed wire, and every intestinal contraction was torture.

"Chicken you!~"

Accompanied by the strange cry of springs, Evan gritted his teeth and sat up, grabbed the bottle of Aspirin, and poured some into his palm.

Three white tablets rolled out of the bottle, leaving only eleven inside.

He tossed the three tablets into his mouth and swallowed them dry.

[You have reversed Aspirin's side effects.]

[Your digestive function has improved. Constitution permanently +0.001.]

[Your hearing has improved. Constitution permanently +0.001.]

"Study first. The financial crisis has eased for now. Today's main goal is to get medicine."

He sat at the desk, opened his textbook, and began writing rapidly as the tip of his fountain pen flew across the paper.

After four hours of efficient study, the first grayish-white light of dawn seeped through the gap in the curtains.

Evan set down his pen and began planning his Saturday.

"First, I'll go to Yuri Clinic and look for work testing drugs."

"Then I'll go to Byron Company's drug-testing site and see if I can get some free Aspirin and other medicines."

After settling on the plan, Evan put on a gray shirt and patched jacket. Just as he was about to leave, a violent cramp twisted up from deep within his abdomen.

He braced himself against the doorframe and bent over, cold sweat instantly beading on his forehead.

"This potion really hurts. Three pills can't hold it down anymore."

Six Aspirin tablets last night had allowed him to endure eight hours in relative comfort.

Today, he had only taken three. The four hours of focused study had barely ended before the pain came roaring back, deeper than before.

It had spread from his stomach all the way to his intestines, as though someone were slowly wringing out a wet towel inside his abdomen.

After taking another three pills, he reversed their side effects.

[Your digestive function has improved. Constitution permanently +0.001.]

[Your hearing has improved. Constitution permanently +0.001.]

He stuffed the more-than-half-empty Aspirin bottle into his jacket pocket and left.

At seven in the morning, Gooding Street was already bustling.

The Iron Head boots of dockworkers thudded over cobblestones, newsboys shouted today's headlines at the top of their lungs, cargo wagons struggled to pass one another on the narrow street, and wheels splashed muddy water as they rolled through gaps in the stones.

The air carried its usual blend of smells: horse manure, coal smoke, fried fish, and cheap tobacco.

As usual, Evan turned into the Lucky Bee restaurant and spent sixteen cents on a hearty breakfast.

Two sausages, a large piece of black bread, a glass of milk, a tomato, and a cup of black coffee.

His body needed fuel, and digesting the Demon Hunter Characteristic required even more nutrition. This was not money he could save.

After eating, he headed west through the noisy crowd.

The intersection of Gooding Street and Miley Street was one of the few relatively respectable places in this mixed-bag district.

At the corner stood a renovated four-story townhouse. The brown brick walls had been freshly repointed, the window frames painted white, and there was even an electric lamp installed above the porch.

It was currently the only building on Gooding Street with electricity. Amid the surrounding drab old buildings still lit by kerosene lamps, it stood out conspicuously.

For that very reason, the ground and second floors housed several relatively respectable businesses.

A clinic, a law office, a labor agency, and a small shop selling secondhand typewriters.

Yuri Clinic occupied the third and fourth floors of this building.

It was also where Evan had sold blood and contracted syphilis.

As he approached the stairway, the crowd thickened.

People of every sort were packed into the narrow passageway like a pot of stew slowly simmering.

There were brokers holding handwritten signs recruiting blood sellers and drug-testing volunteers, the crooked letters still wet with ink.

There were patients with pale faces and purple lips, leaning against the walls and weakly pleading for something.

Several shifty-looking men moved through the crowd, their eyes fixed intently on other people's pockets.

There were also several nuns in pristine Monk robes, completely out of place amid the dim, noisy crowd.

Their white robes were so clean they seemed as though they could not possibly have passed through the air of Gooding Street, with pale golden cross patterns embroidered on their collars and cuffs.

Uniform bronze badges hung from their chests, engraved with a dove spreading its wings and holding a chalice beneath its claws.

They belonged to the Healing Church.

They had set up a simple folding table beside the stairway, with an open wooden box on top containing neat rows of dark medicine bottles.

Leading them was a middle-aged nun in her forties, with a dignified and compassionate face, fine lines at the corners of her eyes, and thin yet resolute lips.

Her voice was steady and penetrating, remaining perfectly clear amid the noisy crowd.

"Convert to the Heavenly Father and enjoy good health."