I'm a proper student; I only take nine kinds of potions every day.

Over the next ten minutes, the four students who had run away were brought back one by one by the staff of the Academic Affairs Office from various corners of the teaching building.

LeBon was found in the men's restroom on the first floor, squatting in a stall and refusing to come out.

Thomson was stopped at the edge of the playground. He was walking towards the school gate, clutching his buttocks, saying he was going to see a doctor.

The other two were hiding in a storage room at the end of the second-floor corridor. When the dean knocked on the door, their faces were ashen, like two rabbits pulled out of a hole.

When the four were taken to the academic affairs office, they were all disheveled and still in shock.

LeBang had a piece of gauze that he had temporarily borrowed from the school clinic on his forehead. Blood had seeped through the first layer, leaving a dark red mark.

But more noticeable than the wound on his forehead was the dark water stain on his pants.

The fabric rubs against the skin, making a slight rustling sound as it spreads from the groin down to the inner thighs. When walking, the legs spread apart unnaturally.

A faint smell of urine filled the air; everyone could smell it, but no one mentioned it.

After briefly questioning several students who witnessed the incident, the three teachers from the Academic Affairs Office quickly figured out the whole story.

The group was led into the dean's office.

The office was small, with an oak desk taking up most of the space. On the desk sat a green-shaded lamp, a stack of documents, and a brass ink bottle.

On the wall hangs a plaque bearing the motto of the University of Wise Men and a portrait of its founder.

Five students stood in a row, with Evan on the far left and the other four on the right, separated by a subtle distance.

LeBon spoke first, his voice sharp and trembling, like a string stretched to its limit.

"Teacher! Arkham is a murderer! He has a weapon! He's going to kill me!"

Ivan stood to the side without saying a word, but simply took out his pen and compass.

The dean of academic affairs, who was sitting behind his desk, looked up.

A man in his fifties, with a stern face, wearing black-rimmed glasses, and with gray hair that was neatly combed.

The dark gray three-piece suit was buttoned up to the top, and the tie was tied neatly.

He looked like he had stepped right off the cover of an administrative management textbook.

"Alright, shut your mouth."

The sound wasn't loud, but LeBon immediately fell silent.

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

The class tutor and the science supervisor walked in one after the other.

The class tutor was named Carls, in his early forties, from a middle-class background, and well-dressed.

The gray-blue suit was well-tailored, and gold-rimmed glasses sat on a straight nose.

He habitually pushes up his glasses with his index finger when he speaks, his demeanor exuding a carefully maintained elegance.

He was the kind of teacher who was very popular at parent-teacher meetings—gentle, polite, and always on the side of the "majority."

The cause and effect of the matter were quickly clarified.

Four people ganged up on Evan, humiliating him by covering his head with a blanket and pouring smoke into his mouth with a pipe.

Ivan fought back, injuring one person.

After listening, Karls glanced at the four students and showed a perfectly timed expression of disappointment.

It wasn't because of bullying, but because of embarrassing myself.

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

"Arkham, your behavior has gone too far."

Ivan did not refute.

He knew very well which side Karls was on.

LeBon's father was an importer in the East End, Thomson was a star rookie 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, a syphilis-ridden outcast.

On Karls's scales, the weights were unequal from the start.

He is waiting.

Waiting for the head tutor of science.

When the door was pushed open again, Professor Mons walked in.

The old gentleman was still the same: bald, wearing reading glasses, a white shirt buttoned up to the top, and a dark gray wool vest.

His gaze swept over everyone in the room from above his glasses, lingered on Evan for a second, and then landed on Kars's face.

"Karls".

His voice wasn't loud, but every word carried weight.

"To be surrounded and attacked by four people, and to put up a heroic resistance—is that considered excessive behavior?"

Karls paused for a moment.

He hadn't expected Professor Mons to speak up for Evan.

In his mind, Mons was known for being strict and cold, treating all students equally harshly and never showing favoritism to anyone.

Mons didn't look at Karls again, but turned to the dean.

What do you think?

The dean of academic affairs was silent for a few seconds, then tapped his fingers lightly twice on the table.

He didn't want to make a big deal out of it.

If word gets out that four students ganged up on a classmate, covered his head with a blanket, and forced him to smoke, it would be a devastating blow to the school's reputation.

Parents will complain, newspapers will write about it, and the board of directors will intervene.

Both sides are at fault.

His voice was steady and formulaic, as if he were reading a pre-prepared verdict.

"Arkham, excessive self-defense, participating in a brawl. One written warning."

"Write an apology letter to the frightened female classmates. Pay LeBang two dollars in medical expenses."

Two dollars. Ivan's eyelids twitched, but he didn't say anything.

Apart from the two dollars for medical expenses, everything else was under his control.

He was outnumbered and outgunned, and his only injury was a minor superficial wound.

The other three will only feel pain for a while; it's nothing serious.

After all, schools still need to maintain the prestige of being prestigious institutions.

They won't take any drastic measures against themselves.

"LeBon, Thomson, one written warning."

The dean's tone suddenly turned stern, and his gaze shot from behind his glasses to the four students standing on the right.

"Gathering a group to bully classmates seriously damages the reputation of our school and is a serious breach of professional conduct."

"If you do it again, I will not let you off lightly."

And so, there was no real punishment.

Faced with such blatant favoritism, Evan said nothing.

He knew very well who the school favored, and he also knew very well that he couldn't change the rules at the moment.

Two dollars for medical expenses, half of his savings, and five days' worth of food.

But he was willing to pay the money compared to being harassed by the school.

Do you approve of the school's handling of the situation?

The five people spoke almost simultaneously: "We agree."

The matter was thus resolved.

At least that's how it appears on the surface.

The group returned to their respective classrooms.

LeBang took leave early due to a problem with his pants.

As he walked briskly down the corridor with his head down, the gauze on his forehead and the water stains on his crotch were equally conspicuous.

Every student who passed by saw it, but no one laughed.

It wasn't out of sympathy, it was out of fear.

Ivan followed Professor Mons on their way back to the classroom.

The corridor was long, and the sound of two people's leather shoes tapping on the marble floor came from one after the other, with different rhythms but the same direction.

Professor Mons only said one sentence from beginning to end.

Study hard.

Ivan nodded without saying anything more.

As soon as the classroom door opened, forty pairs of eyes turned to look at us.

The classroom fell silent instantly.

The quiet was different from yesterday.

Yesterday it was whispered mockery; today it is breathless with awe.

Every pair of eyes conveyed the same thing: shock.

Ivan's old canvas backpack slung over his shoulder, the broken strap temporarily tied with a piece of rope, crooked and twisted.

There was a dark red bloodstain on the side of the backpack, already dried, standing out starkly against the gray canvas.

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

He put his schoolbag on the table, took out his textbooks and stationery, and acted as calmly as if nothing had happened.

Professor Mons walked up to the podium, opened his lecture notes, and glanced at the entire class.

"Yesterday we learned about the application of heavy metal compounds in medicine."

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

"Now, can anyone tell me the chemical formulas, valences, and solubility of calomel and mercuric chloride, and why the former can be taken internally while the latter is highly toxic and only for external use?"

Unlike his reserved demeanor yesterday, Evan didn't wait for others to fall silent today.

He immediately raised his hand.

"Professor, I know."

Mons nodded.

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

Calomel is mercurous chloride, with the chemical formula Hg₂Cl₂. Mercury has a positive valence of +1, is almost insoluble in water, and has mild properties. In the past, it was used as a laxative and anthelmintic, and could also be taken orally in small doses.

"Mercuric chloride is mercuric chloride, with the chemical formula HgCl₂. Mercury has a +2 oxidation state, is easily soluble in water, and ionizes to release a large number of Hg²⁺ ions. It can strongly coagulate proteins and kill microorganisms, therefore it is highly toxic and can only be used as an external disinfectant and wound washing solution."

The core difference between the two lies in their valence state and solubility.

Hg₂Cl₂ is difficult to ionize, and most of it is excreted unchanged after entering the digestive tract, resulting in low toxicity.

HgCl₂ readily ionizes, releasing mercury ions that directly damage body tissues, causing irreversible damage to the kidneys and digestive tract.

Professor Mons nodded in satisfaction.

"Very good. You understand it very well."

The morning classes were still spent in a busy atmosphere.

After chemistry came physics, and after physics came a biology class taught by Professor Price.

The vampire stood on the podium, his hooded trench coat replaced with a dark suit vest for indoor wear, and the curtains were, as usual, drawn tightly shut.

His voice was deep and calm as he lectured, at a pace that was neither too fast nor too slow. Occasionally, he would draw a precise anatomical diagram on the blackboard, so accurate it looked like a printed image.

There were no abnormalities.

Without giving Ivan a second glance, without making any hints, he was elegant and restrained, like a true scholar.

If it weren't for the "Base Vampire 2%" label on the panel, Evan would almost have doubted whether he was overthinking things.

At lunchtime, Evan sat down in the cafeteria with his lavish lunch of twelve cents.

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

There was still no one around.

The table within a two-meter radius was empty, as if an invisible wall separated him from the others.

But the content of the whispers changed.

Previously it was "syphilis," "filth," and "prostitute disease."

Now there are some new terms: "gang," "thug," "mafia," "I heard he has connections in the dock area," "I heard he always carries a knife."

Evan felt relaxed and comfortable as he ate his bread.

Rumors always travel faster than the truth.

A familiar scent of sandalwood and bergamot perfume wafted over.

Priss appeared on the opposite chair like a gentle breeze, setting down the plate with precise and silent movements.

"How was yesterday?" The voice remained calm, as if asking about the weather.

Ivan put down the bread, his face beaming with undisguised excitement.

"Excellent! Professor, I feel incredibly strong now!"

He lowered his voice, but the excitement in his tone was impossible to suppress.

"Yesterday I even worked as a laborer at the docks, carrying goods for five hours! I feel like my body is getting stronger all the time!"

He clenched his fist and added, "Today, I also delivered a brilliant counterattack against those who bullied me!"

Pulis grunted in agreement, picked up his fork, cut off a small piece of fried fish, and put it in his mouth.

Behind the glasses, a pair of light blue eyes silently scrutinized Evan, as if reading a lab report.

"Are there any unusual urges or other side effects?"

Ivan stroked his chin, pretending to be seriously recalling something.

In front of a superhuman vampire, he dared not lie too much.

The highest level of lying is not fabrication, but selectively telling the truth.

"It's very hot. I have a strong urge to exercise. I have low blood sugar. I get hungry very quickly."

He paused for a moment.

That's all.

Pris's lips curled up slightly, the curve so small it was almost imperceptible.

"Very good, keep eating."

He put down his fork, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and spoke as if it were just a casual remark.

"By the way, you haven't taken any other medications these past few days, have you?"

Ivan scratched his head, looking somewhat embarrassed.

"I took some mercury pills and aspirin. My body ached a lot when I took both of those medications together yesterday."

Pris's gaze lingered on his face for a second.

"Stop taking those other things before you start taking the medicine I gave you."

Ivan nodded respectfully: "Understood."

Pulis then stood up and left.

He barely touched his lavish twenty-cent lunch, leaving most of the fried fish and vegetables untouched on the plate.

The milk was finished, though.

Evan watched his figure disappear at the cafeteria entrance, then calmly pulled the plate left by Priss in front of him.

The fried fish was still warm, and the butter on the vegetables hadn't solidified yet.

He mixed the remaining food together, covered it with his empty plate, and packed it up to take away.

A twenty-cent lunch—why not take it?

Back in the lab, Priss closed the door and chuckled softly in the dim light.

The laughter was soft and short, but it contained a lot of complex emotions.

There was excitement, greed, and the kind of determination that only a hunter shows when he finally confirms the value of his prey.

The ordinary-looking female assistant in white stood next to the locker, holding a notebook in her hand. She looked up when she heard the laughter.

"Just as I expected." Pulis took off his glasses and wiped the lenses with his shirt cuff, the movement slow and pleasant.

"He didn't mutate; instead, he absorbed the extraordinary properties of the potion."

The female assistant, whose face had been expressionless until now, showed a rare look of shock.

"Absorbed?"

Priss nodded, put his glasses back on, and his light blue eyes behind the lenses burned with a cold yet intense light.

"I sensed it. There are supernatural characteristics in his body that belong to vampires, faint, but definitely present."

He walked to the lab bench and took a wooden tray out of the drawer.

Several glass slides were neatly arranged on the tray, each coated with a thin layer of dark red sample. This was the finished product after the blood was drawn from Evan's arm last night, having been separated and processed.

"No mutations, no bloodlust, and no fear of sunlight."

"His fighting spirit is strong, and his physical activity has increased significantly."

He picked up a slide and looked at it under the light of the table lamp, and the smile on his lips widened even further.

"The side effects of anemia were almost ineffective; in fact, his blood quality improved instead of decreased."

He put the slide back on the tray, turned around, and braced his hands on the edge of the lab bench, his voice suppressing an almost trembling excitement.

"He became immune to the side effects."

"By blood father, I have finally encountered such a rare physique."

The female assistant's lips trembled slightly, and her voice was very low.

"Master, then...should we arrest him?"

Priss remained silent.

His excitement subsided within seconds, as if someone had tightened a valve.

His light blue eyes regained their usual indifference and caution.

"Need not."

He walked to the window, feeling the heat of the sunlight through the heavy curtains, and his voice calmed down.

"Let's find out in secret what kind of special constitution he possesses, and whether there's anything strange behind him."

He paused for a moment, his tone becoming meaningful.

"Don't forget the lesson we learned in Innsmouth."

The female assistant stiffened slightly and then remained silent.

That was more than just a failed experiment.

More than anything, it was a nightmare...