A Serious Student Who Only Takes Nine Potions a Day Chapter 7

The students privately called him "Bat," though of course no one dared say it to his face.

"Did you take the medicine?"

There was no small talk, no preamble.

His voice was low and cold, as if he were verifying experimental data.

Evan put down the bread in his hand and nodded. "I took it, Professor."

Pulis studied him.

Behind his lenses, those pale blue eyes narrowed slightly. His gaze swept from Evan's face to his neck, then to the wrist exposed beneath his cuff,

like an invisible scalpel, ready to peel back his skin layer by layer and inspect what lay beneath.

"You seem to be in good condition."

Evan's expression brightened. "Professor, right after I took it yesterday, I immediately felt stronger."

He instinctively lowered his voice and leaned forward slightly. "Thank you, Professor."

Pulis gave a cold hum, picked up the fork from his tray, cut off a small piece of fried fish, and placed it in his mouth with elegant composure.

"Any side effects?"

Evan thought for a moment and chose his words carefully. "A spell of dizziness, then low blood sugar, and after that, my muscles felt a little swollen.

Other than that, I didn't feel anything else."

Pulis paused mid-chew for half a beat, then continued.

He nodded.

"Mm. Keep taking it once a day for four days."

Evan hesitated. His already lowered voice became even quieter, carrying a cautious note of probing. "Professor, are there any other medicines?"

He looked into Pulis's eyes, trying to appear sincere and eager. "As long as it can make me a little healthier, I'm willing to fully cooperate with your experiments."

After saying that, he paused, then added in a deliberately awkward tone:

"After taking the medicine you gave me, I felt more energetic for most of the day, and more confident.

I even stopped caring so much about what other people thought of me."

An Experiment to Overcome Sunlight

Pulis set down his fork.

The corner of his mouth curved up in an extremely subtle arc, so faint it was almost imperceptible.

It was the satisfaction only an experimenter showed upon observing interesting data.

"Are you not afraid of death?" His voice remained calm.

"Experimental drugs are dangerous, after all."

Evan gave a bitter smile, carrying just the right amount of bitterness and madness. "Professor, in my current condition, if I don't take a chance, I'm probably doomed to never get anywhere."

Of course Pulis knew about Evan's syphilis.

The entire school knew. He fell silent for several seconds, his gaze behind the lenses seeming to make some sort of calculation.

"Come to my laboratory before this afternoon's practical class."

The two of them then quietly finished lunch.

Pulis ate very little. Most of the food on his plate was untouched, though he did finish his milk.

When he got up to leave, Evan noticed that his gait was peculiar. His steps were so light they made almost no sound, as if the soles of his leather shoes had never truly touched the ground.

Looking at the soft white bread, grilled sausage, and fried fish, Evan directly took Pulis's tray.

Under the sneering and strange looks of the surrounding students, he packed it up to take away and save for dinner.

After all, this meal would cost at least twenty cents at a restaurant outside!

At ten past one in the afternoon, Evan arrived at Teaching Building No. 2 on time.

The stairwell was filled with the smell of lime and old wood. His leather shoes stepped on the marble stairs as he climbed floor by floor.

By the time he reached the fourth floor, he was slightly out of breath, but compared to yesterday's miserable state of needing to brace himself against the wall after just two steps, he was much better.

Pulis's laboratory was at the end of the corridor.

There was a heavy oak door with no nameplate, only a brass room number.

Dim light seeped out from beneath the door.

Evan knocked twice, and a brief "Come in" sounded from inside.

He pushed the door open and entered.

The laboratory was about a hundred square meters, far more spacious than an ordinary classroom.

The curtains were drawn tightly shut, and the overhead lights had been turned to their dimmest setting. The entire space was shrouded in amber gloom.

Tall wooden storage cabinets lined the walls. Their doors bore handwritten Latin labels, and through the glass panels, dense rows of bottles and jars could be seen.

Some contained liquids, some held powders, and several large glass jars soaked with unidentifiable dark objects floated in formalin.

The air carried a complicated scent: alcohol, herbs, metal, and something deeper, a sickly sweetness that defied description.

Pulis stood behind a long lab bench, his graying hair gleaming silver beneath the dim light.

Hearing Evan's footsteps, he did not look up. He merely picked up a small black glass bottle from the bench and held it out to Evan.

"One pill at a time, once a day, for four days. Remember, the two medicines work better when taken together."

Evan accepted the bottle and weighed it in his palm.

It was slightly larger than yesterday's bottle. Like the previous one, it had no label, and its stopper was sealed with black wax.

He could not help asking, "Professor, what does this do?"

Pulis finally looked up. The faint light from the overhead lamp reflected off his lenses, obscuring the expression in his eyes.

"It supplements the previous health medicine and allows you to become stronger more quickly."

He paused, then added, "However, it needs to be paired with sufficient nutrition and high-intensity exercise to work.

Otherwise, you'll feel unbearably hot."

Evan tightened his grip on the bottle, undisguised excitement on his face.

To Pulis, that excitement probably looked like the expression of a desperate poor student clutching at his last straw.

"Understood!"

Pulis nodded slightly, signaling the end of the brief handover.

Evan carefully tucked the bottle into the inner pocket of his jacket, against his chest, then turned and left the laboratory.

The sound of his footsteps gradually faded down the corridor.

After the oak door closed, the laboratory was quiet for several seconds.

Then, from behind a row of storage cabinets against the wall, a figure silently emerged.

She was an ordinary-looking young woman in the white uniform of a laboratory assistant, her dark brown hair gathered into a simple bun at the back of her head.

Her features were so plain that she looked like the kind of person no one would spare a second glance on the street, but like Pulis, she walked without making a sound.

"Master." Her voice was low and flat, devoid of emotion.

"If the Night Demon Potion and Blood Potion are taken together, an ordinary person would likely die directly from anemia.

Even if he doesn't die, there's a high chance he'll mutate into a crippled Bloodthirsty Vampire."

She paused, then continued cautiously, "This is somewhat risky. If those people at Miskatonic University find out, they may cause you trouble."

Pulis did not turn around.

Standing before the lab bench, he stirred a dark red liquid in a beaker with a glass rod, his movements slow and focused.

"His side effects are milder than I expected." His voice was very soft.

"Within the first twenty-four hours after taking the Night Demon Potion, ordinary people will experience at least three severe bouts of dizziness and uncontrolled anemia.

But he only mentioned one episode of dizziness, low blood sugar, and muscle swelling."

The glass rod lightly tapped the wall of the beaker twice, producing two crisp dings.

"Perhaps this fellow has some kind of unusual drug resistance."

"After all, people who come out of Arkham City always develop some strange traits."

He finally turned around. Behind his lenses, his pale blue eyes gave off a cold, faint glow in the dimness.

"If he can truly endure it, perhaps he can become the final test subject."

He removed his glasses and wiped the lenses with his shirt sleeve.

"How are the other five?"

The female assistant's answer was equally flat, as if she were reporting the inventory of laboratory supplies.

"Two are dead. Their bodies have been recovered and are in the Underground Cold Storage."

"The other three all came to school today.

They all have severe anemia and ashen faces. One of them already needs to hold onto the wall to walk."

Pulis put his glasses back on, pushed the frame up the bridge of his nose, and nodded.

"Go dissect them."

He walked toward an iron door deep inside the laboratory that Evan had never noticed before. Taking a brass key from his vest pocket, he inserted it into the lock.

The lock cylinder turned with a dull click.

"I have a feeling."

The iron door opened.

Though the laboratory was on the fifth floor, behind the door was a flight of stone stairs descending downward.

"The potion that will allow us to overcome sunlight is not far away."

After getting the bottle, Evan did not rush to take the medicine.

He first went to the chemistry laboratory on the first floor to complete the afternoon practical class.

The experiment involved the preparation and identification of Calomel and Mercuric Chloride.

Standing before the workbench, Evan followed the steps Professor Mons had written on the board that morning, weighing, grinding, and heating everything step by step.

The blue flame of the alcohol lamp licked the bottom of the flask. The liquid in the glass tube slowly boiled, and steam carrying a pungent metallic smell rose into the air.

His movements were much steadier than before. His fingers no longer trembled, and he could see the markings on the graduated cylinder more clearly.

After the experiment, he put away the equipment and hurried to the small recitation class in the neighboring building.

The small classroom contained three rows of desks, filled with fifteen students.

The teacher leading the class was a young lecturer in his early thirties from the chemistry department, whom people called Professor Wright.

He had been Professor Mons's student and remained at the university as a teaching assistant after graduation.

His clothing was plainer than that of a full professor: a gray plaid shirt with the buttons at his cuffs fastened neatly.

His blond hair was cut short, gray eyes hidden behind thick round-framed glasses, and he was not very tall.

When standing at the podium, his posture was somewhat restrained, and he always cleared his throat before speaking.

"All right, let's take attendance."

He opened the roster, the tip of his fountain pen tracing down the list.

"Terry Morales?"

"Here."

"Jack Habini?"