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

After hearing Evan's answer, the classroom fell silent for a moment.

Several students couldn't help but glance at him a few more times, somewhat surprised.

Professor Mons' expression remained calm; he simply nodded, as if confirming a fact that should have been so.

"Okay, sit down."

Ivan sat back down.

The chair creaked, and the student in the front row with the side-parted hair glanced back at him again, but this time he didn't smile.

Mons turned around and wrote another line on the blackboard, the sound of chalk hitting the board crisp and clean.

He put down the chalk and faced the whole class.

"What is the order of the Mendeleev periodic table? Why do the properties of elements in the same main group change? Explain using halogens as an example."

The classroom fell silent once again.

The forty people seemed to have collectively developed a kind of selective deafness, their gazes shifting downwards, staring at textbooks, desks, their own fingernails, and anything that wasn't Professor Mons.

The old man took a deep breath, his chest brimming with the angry roar that was about to erupt.

Then that withered hand was raised again.

"I can."

Mons's gaze swept past the crowd and landed on the corner of the last row.

He paused for half a second, then nodded.

"Arkham, tell them."

Ivan stood up for the second time.

"Sir, the periodic table is arranged in order of atomic weight, and those with similar properties are grouped into the same column, that is, a group."

"From fluorine to iodine, the atomic weight increases, the atomic volume increases, the electronegativity decreases, and the reactivity decreases."

Fluorine is the most reactive, reacting violently with water and hydrogen; chlorine is next, and iodine is the mildest.

"At the same time, the acidity of its hydrides increases from HF to HI, and the solubility of silver salts decreases accordingly."

AgF is soluble, while AgCl, AgBr, and AgI are progressively less soluble, with the precipitate color gradually deepening.

Mons raised an eyebrow slightly.

A subtle hint of surprise appeared on that old face, which was etched with deep wrinkles from years of sternness.

"Oh?" He took off his glasses, wiped the lenses with the hem of his vest, and put them back on, as if to make sure he hadn't mistaken the person.

"It can also be linked across properties, from activity to acidity and then to solubility."

This shows that they truly understood it, and it wasn't just rote memorization.

He nodded, his tone a degree or two softer than before.

"Very good, Arkham."

If the first question represents the duty of a student from a lower social class who wants to transcend their social class—that is, to do their homework and memorize what they are supposed to—then the answer to the second question has gone beyond the scope of that duty.

The ability to readily connect different knowledge points is not something that can be faked through rote memorization.

But the other students in the classroom did not show any admiration.

More often than not, it was mockery, contempt, a condescending, superior sneer.

The meaning behind those gazes was quite clear, almost directly translated into words: This idiot, after contracting syphilis, has nowhere to turn, no friends, no social life, and can only bury himself in books all alone.

Mons noticed those looks.

The old man snorted coldly, his gaze sweeping over several mocking faces behind his glasses, which he thought were well hidden, but he said nothing more.

At this university, some things are harder to change than chemical equations.

He turned to face the blackboard and picked up a new piece of chalk.

"Now we'll begin today's lesson: Mercury compounds."

The chalk landed on the blackboard, and writing began.

The four classes in the morning passed by like a fully loaded freight train, rumbling and rolling by.

The Night Demon Potion was fully absorbed, and his constitution level reached 0.701.

[The health condition has improved further, and the patient's mental state has naturally recovered.]

【Spirit +0.2】

Ivan immediately understood.

"It seems that before reaching level 1, no additional upgrades are needed, as the spirit can recover along with the health status."

At noon, the bell rang for the last math class. Evan packed up his notebook, which was full of writing, and stuffed it into his canvas backpack along with his textbook. He fastened the buckle, slung it over his shoulder, and headed to the cafeteria.

He used to skip lunch.

Five cents for breakfast and tram fare is already the biggest expense of the day, so I'll skip lunch and wait until I get home at four in the afternoon to worry about it.

After all, the drug trial had already caused him to lose his appetite and he didn't have much desire to eat.

But not anymore.

The Night Demon Potion is being digested, the body is rebuilding, and the boiler needs fuel.

He could feel his stomach growling; it was no longer the habitual emptiness, but a real, urgent hunger from deep within his cells.

The cafeteria is located on the first floor of a two-story red brick building at the back of the campus. Push open the door.

Inside was a long, narrow hall with a high ceiling and several cast-iron chandeliers hanging from it.

Along one side of the wall is the food counter, where cooks in white aprons stand behind the steam, scooping food into plates with large ladles.

The air was filled with the mixed aromas of boiling beans, toast, and butter.

Evan stood at the food counter for a long time, scanning the price list three times before finally gritting his teeth and spending eleven cents to order a lunch that was a luxury for him.

A piece of dark bread. A small cube of butter. A bowl of hot bean soup. A glass of milk. A tomato.

Eleven cents.

That's enough for him to eat for two days.

As he turned around with his tray, he noticed that the crowd around him parted automatically, like water meeting a stone.

The news of syphilis had spread throughout the entire school.

The scene that occurred in PE class four days ago has been circulated and processed by forty mouths, and has probably been embellished into dozens of horrifying versions.

Wherever he went, students stepped aside to make way, some even picking up their plates and changing positions, their actions exaggerated as if they were avoiding a plague patient.

A low, mocking laugh followed behind him, like the buzzing of flies circling around rotting flesh.

Evan was happy to have some peace and quiet.

He found an empty table in the corner and sat down. There were no people at the three tables around him, and the area within a two-meter radius was his private territory.

He set the plate down and first picked up the glass of milk and took a sip.

The milk was warm, with a faint goaty smell and a slight sweetness.

As the liquid slid down his esophagus, he could almost feel his body greedily absorbing every gram of protein, every drop of fat, and every milligram of calcium.

The feeling was wonderful, like parched earth meeting the first spring rain, with every cell opening its mouth.

He spread butter on the black bread, ate a bite of bread followed by a sip of bean soup, and ate with focused quiet.

The tomato was eaten last. The moment he bit into it, the sweet and sour juice exploded in his mouth, and the fresh taste made his brows relax involuntarily.

Just as Evan was enjoying his meal, the chair opposite him was pulled away.

The scent of a high-end men's fragrance arrived before I did, a blend of sandalwood and bergamot that clashed with the cheap butter smell in the cafeteria.

A slender figure sat down and gently placed the plate on the table, his movements precise and restrained, without making any unnecessary noise.

He was wearing a dark, oversized hooded trench coat, the hood pulled low, covering most of his face.

Underneath the trench coat was a well-tailored pure cotton shirt, and over that was a black wool vest, with a section of a silver pocket watch chain peeking out of the vest's pocket.

The belt was made of pure cowhide, and the brass buckle was polished to a shine.

Needless to say, the luster of leather shoes cannot be achieved by shoe polish alone; it comes from the inherent quality of the leather itself.

He took off his hood, revealing a head of meticulously styled, white hair combed back neatly.

Black-rimmed glasses sat on a thin, pale face, behind which were a pair of light blue eyes, so pale they were almost transparent, making them quite unique.

Ivan's biology teacher.

The person who gave him the Night Demon Potion: Professor Pulis, a handsome gentleman who looks to be in his early fifties.

It is said that he suffered a serious injury when he was young, and since then his body has required medication to maintain its health, and his skin has become unable to be exposed to sunlight.

So he always wore that hooded trench coat, drew the curtains tightly when lecturing, and always kept the laboratory lights at their dimmest.

The students called him "Bat" in private, but of course no one dared to say it to his face.

"Did you take your medicine?"

There were no pleasantries, no preamble.

His voice was deep and indifferent, as if he were verifying experimental data.

Ivan put down the bread in his hand and nodded: "I ate, teacher."

Priss sized him up.

Those light blue eyes narrowed slightly behind the glasses, their gaze sweeping from Ivan's face to his neck, and then to his wrist, which was peeking out from under his sleeve.

Like an invisible scalpel, it peels back his skin layer by layer to see what's inside.

"He seems to be in good shape."

Ivan's expression brightened: "Teacher, after I ate it yesterday, I immediately felt stronger."

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

Pulis gave a curt "hmm," picked up the fork from his plate, cut off a small piece of fried fish, and put it in his mouth with elegance and composure.

What are the side effects?

Evan thought for a moment, carefully choosing his words: "A wave of dizziness, then low blood sugar, and then my muscles felt a little swollen."

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

Pulis paused for a moment while chewing, then continued.

He nodded.

"Okay. Continue eating, once a day, for four days."

Ivan hesitated for a moment, then lowered his voice, his tone hesitant and tentative: "Teacher, are there any other medications?"

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

He paused after speaking, then added, his tone carrying a deliberately feigned awkwardness:

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

I don't even really care what other people think of me anymore.