I'm a Proper Student, I Only Take Nine Potions a Day - Chapter 9

Under the kerosene lamp, it glimmered a dark, nearly black red, like congealed drops of blood.

"Could it be made from some creature's blood?"

Evan poured out one pill from each of the two potions and held them in his palm.

The pills felt warm to the touch, unlike inorganic matter. They felt more like something alive.

He stuffed both pills into his mouth.

The instant his tongue touched them, an intense rusty taste exploded across his mouth—fishy, sweet, and viscous, like he had bitten through his own tongue.

He grabbed the glass of water from the table and gulped down a mouthful, washing the pills down his throat.

[You consumed an unfinished Night Demon Potion. Duration: 12 hours.]

[Effect: Permanently increases Constitution by 0.2.]

[Reversal progress: 4 hours.]

[You consumed a Blood Potion. Duration: 12 hours.]

[Effect: While active, greatly increases your urge to exercise and anabolic activity; permanently increases Constitution by 0.1.]

[Do you wish to reverse the side effects?]

"Reverse!"

[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 been detected undergoing a chain reaction, producing terrifying side effects...]

[Do you wish to reverse the side effects?]

Evan's pupils dilated. "You're setting me up with a chain trap?"

"Reverse!"

[Reversal progress: 8 hours.]

Exercise? Why Not Carry Sacks?

"Eight hours. Fine!"

Evan set the panel aside and looked himself over.

The changes were obvious.

That familiar hypoglycemia struck again, though it was much milder than last time.

He carried the jar of brown sugar from the kitchen into the bedroom. After eating two handfuls, Evan carefully felt out the changes in his body.

The enhancements from the two potions were no longer limited to a particular area.

His entire body, from scalp to toes, every cell was coming alive and rebuilding itself at a speed he had never experienced before.

With the perception granted by the panel, he could clearly identify the source of that energy.

It was the Blood Potion.

It was not merely medicine. It was also some kind of energy source.

"How could a single potion contain such vast energy?"

"Could it have been made from some special material?"

As he pondered, a scorching restlessness rose from deep within his marrow. His heartbeat accelerated, his muscles tightened, and a nearly crazed impulse surged through his limbs.

He had to move.

It was not that he "wanted" to exercise. He "had" to exercise.

The urge was as irresistible as a drowning man's need to breathe.

Evan did not hesitate.

He rose from the chair, planted his feet shoulder-width apart, and began doing squats.

One, two, three.

His body was clearly a frail shell ravaged by illness, yet it showed no sign of trembling.

His knees bent, his thighs lowered, then he pushed himself back up. Each movement was smooth and steady.

He switched to push-ups, bracing his palms against the cold wooden floor as his arms and legs firmly supported his entire weight.

There was none of the fluttering weakness he had expected.

As he exercised, he could even feel his blood speeding up, as if some valve had been opened.

Oxygen surged efficiently into his alveoli with every rapid breath, seized by hemoglobin and delivered to every burning muscle.

Even such intense exercise did not leave him gasping for air.

Evan rolled over and sat on the floor, lowering his head to look at his arms.

Beneath his pale skin, veins were bulging up one by one, like tree roots pushing through the earth.

The veins in his forearms, which had once shriveled and sunken from excessive blood selling, were now full and swollen, tinged a faint blue-green.

Then he saw something even more astonishing.

His arms were expanding.

Before his very eyes, those arms, so thin that the contours of his ulnas had been visible, were filling out at an unnatural speed.

Muscle fibers wriggled beneath his skin, multiplying and layering over one another, as though an invisible hand were filling him out from the inside.

He felt like he had strength to spare.

Evan looked at the new buff status on the panel.

[Blood Wine Enhancement: Prepared Blood Wine is nourishing your body. Duration: 12 hours.]

"Blood Wine?"

A completely new term.

"Wine brewed from blood? No wonder. The Blood Potion really does contain supernatural power."

"So it isn't an ordinary drug. Is it blood prepared through some special method? Or wine?"

His mind kept thinking, but his body did not stop for a moment.

He rolled over again and continued doing push-ups. The floor creaked beneath his palms as his pace grew faster and faster.

Just as Pulis had said, digesting the Blood Potion required a great deal of exercise.

His body was like a furnace running at full capacity. The potion was fuel, and exercise was the bellows. Neither could do without the other.

But soon, Evan sensed that something was wrong.

Pain.

His entire body hurt.

The side effects of the two potions had not taken effect because of the Power of the Nine Dragons.

But the physical impact of violent supernatural energy surging and crashing through his thin body could not be reversed.

It felt as though someone had poured molten iron into his veins, every muscle fiber being forcibly torn apart and rebuilt.

His periosteum felt as though it were being sanded down, while his joints felt stuffed with shattered glass.

Evan gritted his teeth and looked at the status bar on the panel.

No negative status had appeared.

That meant this pain was neither an illness nor a side effect. It was simply the unavoidable price of his body rebuilding itself at high speed.

Like demolishing and rebuilding a house—there would always be dust when it came down.

With that thought, Evan rolled over and sat up, reaching for the leftover medicine from his test doses a week ago.

He twisted open the bottle, poured five tablets into his palm, stuffed them all into his mouth, and swallowed them with half a glass of cold water.

[You consumed a large dose of Aspirin. Duration: 6 hours.]

[Effect: Your pneumonia has improved, 12% → 9%; while active, your pain perception is reduced.]

[You reversed the side effects of Aspirin.]

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

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

The medicine took effect quickly under the enhancement of the two potions.

Under normal circumstances, Aspirin would take around thirty minutes to work.

But now, his metabolism seemed to have been sped up sixfold. In less than five minutes, the stabbing pain throughout his body began to fade.

The pain receded from the tips of his limbs like an ebbing tide, leaving behind only a warm, bearable soreness.

"Nice."

Evan rolled his shoulders, his joints cracking.

He was about to continue his push-ups when a thought suddenly flashed through his mind.

He stopped.

"Wait."

"I have such a powerful urge to exercise right now, and my body is digesting the potions at high speed. I need plenty of exercise to keep up."

"So why am I doing push-ups in this dump?"

"I should go make money."

Moving cargo, carrying sacks, loading and unloading—warehouses in the dock district were always short on hands.

Wasn't that kind of repetitive, purely physical labor the best possible exercise?

With that thought, Evan resisted the urge to run a hundred laps on the spot and walked over to the wardrobe.

At the very bottom of the wardrobe lay two sets of work clothes his father had left behind.

Denim overalls, worn white at the knees but made from thick, durable fabric.

A rough canvas shirt, its collar and cuffs frayed, still carrying a faint smell of engine oil.

Evan shook them out and changed into them.

The waist of the overalls was a size too large, and he had to tighten the straps by two notches before they barely fit.

He hid the potion bottles beneath the mattress.

After putting on his steel-toe work boots, he threw open the door and rushed outside.

By six in the evening in November, the sky was already completely dark.

The kerosene streetlamps had lit up, their dim yellow halos bleeding into the smog caused by industry like blurry patches of light floating in the air.

Gooding Street was still lively. Workers getting off work flooded into taverns and cheap restaurants, while cart vendors at the corners hawked roasted chestnuts and hot apple cider. Steam rose from their pots and quickly condensed into white mist in the cold air.

Evan jogged all the way through Gooding Street toward the southeast.

Once he left the familiar neighborhood, the smell in the air began to change.

The scents of coal smoke and food were gradually replaced by something stronger and more primal:

The salty stench of seawater, the sharp bite of tar, the mildew of rotting wood, and fish—the fishy reek of fish everywhere.

Hain Street.

This street ran alongside the docks. From the roadside, one could see the churning black sea across the street and the enormous freighters moored in the harbor.

Rust on the ships' hulls glimmered dark red beneath the dock lights, while residual steam still drifted from their smokestacks.

The steel arms of cranes stretched into the night sky like a giant's fingers, their cables swaying slightly in the wind and giving off metallic creaks.

The workers who had finished dinner were already heading back to work one after another.