At four o'clock sharp, the small-group class ended.
All fifteen students seemed to breathe a sigh of relief at once. The classroom filled with the rustle of books and notes being packed away, and the air of relief made it feel as if they had just escaped with their lives.
But their ordeal over course credits might not be over yet.
As a respectable institution of higher learning, Sage University naturally saw to both mind and body.
After classes ended each day, students had to take part in about half an hour of physical activity. Skipping it meant losing credits, with no room for negotiation.
At least they could choose the sport.
Running, baseball, boxing, rowing, American football... all of them counted.
With his slight build, Evan naturally chose running, which had the lowest barrier to entry.
At four o'clock in November, the setting sun had already turned dark red, stretching long shadows across the sports ground.
The temperature had dropped to around nine degrees as well.
Evan jogged with the group around the coal-slag track, loose grit crunching beneath his leather shoes.
It was noticeably easier than yesterday.
Yesterday, he had been gasping like a stranded fish after the first lap. Today, he did not start struggling until the second.
His legs had strength, and each breath no longer made his lungs feel like a bellows.
Could a 0.2 increase in physique make this much difference?
As he ran, Evan glanced across the group.
He noticed a dozen or so students trudging along listlessly, their steps dragging and their faces gray. A few even had an unnatural bluish tinge to their lips.
One tall, thin student suddenly stopped, bent over with his hands on his knees, and retched twice. A classmate supported him to the side of the track.
Evan knew two of those students.
Both had signed the Financial Aid Agreement and joined the potion trial with him.
If I didn't have the Power of the Nine Dragons, I'd probably look just like them.
The thought crossed Evan's mind, and his steps instinctively veered toward the tall student who had retched. He wanted to lend a hand.
But a moment later, reason smothered the impulse.
Take care of yourself first. Then you can worry about others.
Those people dare test magic potions on university students. If I stick my nose in and give myself away, I might be carried out of the school tomorrow.
At the very least... I need to become a Beyonder first.
He looked away, lowered his head, and kept running.
After much panting and a few stops along the way, the half hour finally ended.
Evan bent over with his hands braced on his knees, gulping down air.
Sweat dripped from his forehead onto the coal slag beneath his feet and vanished into it at once.
His shirt was soaked and stuck to his back. When the wind blew, it sent a chill through him.
His physique had improved, but a gulf still separated 0.7 from a normal person's 1.
It was already ten past five. The setting sun hung over the rooftops to the west, staining half the sky a murky orange-red.
The elm trees beside the sports ground cast long shadows, their leaves rustling in the evening breeze.
Normally, evening study ran from six-thirty to nine-thirty.
But Evan had decided to skip it today.
He had something more important to do.
After a short rest, he took Professor Pulis's leftover lunch, which he had packed up at noon, out of his bag.
The food that had looked and smelled so appetizing at lunch had now been mixed together into one lump.
The congealed fat looked like candle wax.
It tasted nowhere near as good as it had at noon, but it was still far more delicious than the black bread and mixed-bean soup he usually ate.
He wolfed it down, left the school, and squeezed onto a tram bound for the south side of the city.
The carriage was as crowded as ever. Workers heading home, housewives returning from shopping, and a few red-faced sailors who had been drinking all brought their smells aboard.
Clutching a hanging strap, Evan swayed with the tram for thirty minutes before hopping off at a stop near Gooding Street.
"Looking well, Evan!"
An old but hearty voice called out.
Evan looked up and saw Old Tom from the Shoemaker's Shop downstairs. He sat on a low stool by the door with a woman's leather boot clamped between his knees, punching holes in its sole with an awl.
The old man was in his fifties, with a messy head of gray hair and reading glasses whose temple had been wrapped in wire. His apron was covered in shoe polish and scraps of leather.
Evan smiled. "My teacher praised me today."
As he spoke, he crouched in front of Old Tom and lifted a foot.
"Old Tom, could you fix these shoes for me? The heels are different heights. They make me limp when I walk."
Old Tom set down the boot and peered over his glasses at Evan's faded leather shoes. He pinched the left heel with his thumb, then the right, and clicked his tongue.
"Take them off, then. Three cents."
Evan took off his shoes and handed them over. Leaning a little closer, he lowered his voice. "We're neighbors. I've even played with your grandson before."
Old Tom had three children, two sons and a daughter, and now six grandchildren. The oldest was twelve, while the youngest was still nursing.
His skill at repairing shoes made his household fairly comfortable by the standards of the neighborhood. At least they never went hungry.
The old man seemed to be in a good mood today. He grinned, showing a few teeth stained yellow by tobacco.
"All right. Two cents."
He rummaged through a wooden box at his feet, pulled out a pair of wooden clogs worn black and shiny, and tossed them to Evan.
"Come back in an hour."
"Thanks!"
Evan caught the clogs and slipped them on. Their wooden soles clacked against the cobblestones.
He turned into the stairwell, climbed the creaking stairs in the clogs, and took out his key to open the door.
He had barely pushed it open a crack when a short, stocky figure stepped out.
Zack.
The gang leader had a cigarette between his lips, its tip glowing on and off in the dim hallway.
His shirt was buttoned crookedly, its collar open to reveal the distorted tattoo on his neck.
He smelled of sweat, cheap cologne, and the sort of low-grade perfume Mary wore.
"Hey, Zack!" Evan put on a familiar smile and stepped aside.
Zack gave a faint grunt without even raising his eyes. He brushed past Evan, his boots thudding down the stairs.
Evan went inside and pulled the door shut behind him.
Water splashed in the washroom. Mary was taking a bath.
Her off-key Irish tune started up again, mingling with the sound of water striking her body.
The two of them had left the living room in a mess.
A cushion from the canvas sofa lay crooked on the floor. Two empty bottles and a used glass sat on the coffee table, a little amber liquid still at the bottom of the glass.
Several cigarette butts were scattered across the floor, some crushed underfoot. A woman's stocking hung over the back of a chair like a shed snakeskin.
Evan had no time to clean up.
He went straight through the living room into the main bedroom and locked the door behind him.
The bolt clicked into place. He leaned against the door and let out a long breath.
Then he took the black medicine bottle from the inside pocket of his jacket.
The bottle felt slightly cool in his palm.
He held it up to the kerosene lamp and looked through it. He could faintly make out the outlines of pills inside.
Magic potions usually take twelve hours to digest, and you can't take the same one twice in a row.
He calculated quickly.
What if I take two at once? Stronger effects, worse side effects, but faster growth too.
Risk and reward tipped back and forth in his mind like the ends of a scale. He dismissed the idea almost at once.
No. Don't reveal that I'm different without good reason.
He twisted out the stopper.
A powerful smell of blood hit him, as strong as if he had put his nose over the drain at a slaughterhouse.
Evan frowned and looked into the bottle.
Seven blood-red pills lay at the bottom. Each was a size larger than the black Night Demon Potion pill, with a smooth, damp surface.
In the kerosene lamplight, they gleamed a dull red that was almost black, like drops of congealed blood.
They aren't made from some creature's blood, are they?
Evan poured out one pill of each magic potion and held them in his palm.
The pills felt warm to the touch. They felt less like inorganic matter than something alive.
He put both pills into his mouth.
The instant they touched his tongue, a powerful rusty taste burst through his mouth, metallic, sweet, and viscous, as though he had bitten his tongue.
He grabbed the cup of water on the table, took a huge gulp, and washed the pills down.
[You have taken an incomplete Night Demon Potion. Duration: 12 hours.] [Effect: Permanently increases physique by 0.2.] [Reversal Progress: 4 hours.] ... [You have taken a Blood Potion. Duration: 12 hours.] [Effect: Greatly increases your desire to exercise and anabolic activity for the duration; permanently increases physique by 0.1.] [Reverse the side effect?]
"Reverse it!"
[Reversal Progress: 4 hours.]
Before Evan could celebrate, another line of red warning text suddenly appeared on the panel.
[Blood Potion and Night Demon Potion have undergone a chain reaction, producing a terrifying side effect...] [Reverse the side effect?]
Evan's pupils widened. "A second trap?"
"Reverse it!"
[Reversal Progress: 8 hours.]