For some reason, Novak only ever invited me over in the evenings. But since I'd volunteered to take on two full days of duty in the block, we didn't meet right away. Then came my first cultivation session in the Flow Chamber, which I'd habitually scheduled for the evening – another day gone.

The cultivation didn't go particularly well. Before the tournament, I'd just passed a reassessment – added five minutes to the previous forty. Those new five minutes nearly killed me. The wounds in my abdomen, which had been completely sealed and closed, burned as if someone had shoved a red-hot poker into my guts. It made up for the whole tournament and every bit of painkiller I'd used. I crawled out of the Chamber. If a doctor had been nearby, I'd have gone straight to them. But if it had been anything critical, the system would've notified me. Although, from what I've heard, those notifications tend to come when it's already too late to do anything about it.

In any case, I only had energy for one journey – either home or the med block. I chose the dorm and bed.

In the morning, I felt like I'd been run over, but not enough to justify a trip to the med block. Instead, I began to ease back into my routine: Rene's gym, training with Kate. Nothing intense, nothing new, and everything done at half effort.

Kate wasn't pushing, since the armour still wasn't ready. Rene, on the other hand, had been so thrilled to see me a few hours earlier that he made everyone in the gym give a round of applause for the champion. I think he had a clear motive – to let everyone know that one of the tournament winners trained at his place.

I hinted that I understood the purpose of the performance.

"Well, you ought to be good for something at least," he whispered back.

"I need a one-on-one for the Monkey," I told him. "Put me on the list, you'll get your benefit."

We agreed to do the first session in a few days. Once again, it would be in the evening. My evenings were becoming quite crowded.

Still, the nearest evening was already booked – a visit to Novak. Just a tea meeting, really, though in some ways it was more draining than training. I had to explain to him somehow that tournaments weren't exactly profitable.

Only, my win had stripped me of any arguments.

Three hundred points! Oof! That was exceptionally profitable. I just wasn't sure I'd be able to pull it off again.

That evening, we visited Vaclav. There were only three of us in the room: him, Kate, and me. He greeted me reservedly, as though my victory was just another everyday event, and poured the tea.

Amber-red liquid swirled in my cup. I couldn't make out the smell or the taste. Something floral, but for some reason it conjured thoughts of wind, heat, and laziness. And it hit the brain like a hammer. I relaxed immediately after the first sip. The tension melted away from my head and my muscles. It felt like someone had given me a full-body massage.

Massage… Do they have massage here? There's no way a cultivation world wouldn't have massage.

I wouldn't mind a massage.

"… Sun," Novak said.

"Huh?" I replied, completely forgetting my manners.

Surprisingly, Kate didn't make any dramatic faces. She and Novak simply exchanged a knowing glance.

"This tea is called Evening Sun. It relaxes," he said.

"I noticed," I replied, taking another sip.

"It's perfect for recovery, but it has one side effect. It negatively affects concentration. Your thoughts won't settle, focus drifts," Novak said. "It's the complete opposite of Pure Thoughts. Don't fight it."

"All right," I agreed. I was far too lazy to fight it anyway.

There was something else I was meant to discuss with Novak, but I couldn't remember what it was.

Well, to hell with it.

I let myself relax, and by the time I came back to my senses, it was already morning. Kate had walked me all the way back to my room, just to make sure I didn't stumble into trouble along the way. Before we left, Novak handed me a red-grade Chain Punch card. Instead of backing out of future tournaments, I promised him that I'd go all in a week from now.

Had he deliberately drugged me?

Who knows, but I'd rested well, as if I'd been on holiday. I was brimming, overcharged with energy. Even the interface confirmed it.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Energy: 187/173

Would've been stupid to waste it on being angry. Better to spend it in the gym.

At the gym, I started laying the channels for the Monkey in my arms. I already had channels for Chain Punch and for the Hook there. They partly overlapped, partly repeated one another, but overall they seemed to exist in parallel worlds, not interfering with each other.

After finishing the Monkey, I moved on to Chain Punch. What sets a red technique apart from a blue one? The thickness of those damn channels.

When I pulled the 'thread of qi' toward the knuckles of my fist, I realised it wasn't a thread at all – it was a proper rope! The channel thickness shown in the training hologram was even thinner than my so-called 'thread.' Barely 3 or 4 millimetres. And even seeing them on the hologram was tough, let alone guiding an energy impulse along them!

But that exact positioning of those channels, with that thickness, is what qualified the technique as red-grade. Now it made sense why not every technique reached that level. The amount of work poured into creating and upgrading it was immense – years, decades, maybe even centuries of experimentation just to find that one perfect, precise layout for the channels.

If someone managed to create it, though – then I can damn well repeat it!

Not on the first try, of course.

First, I needed to learn to make my 'qi thread' much, much thinner! And there was no way I could do that without Pure Thoughts.

After Rene, it was Kate and my first training session in the repaired armour. It wasn't much different from dozens of others, except that now, I was actively using the Mad Monkey. Dodging had become a lot easier.

After training, we took a break. I took care of the rest of my routine: lunch, a shift in the block, and then Kate and I paid Alan a visit.

For a change, the armourer was smoking his aromatic stick not from his mouth, but from a burner-stand. The wisp of smoke still floated neatly towards his nose.

The reason for the switch was the device clamped between his teeth: some sort of sensor aimed at a damaged chestplate, into which Alan was scratching with two handheld lasers. From time to time, he paused and shifted his eyes towards the sensor in his mouth, checked the readout, then continued with the lasers.

We waited patiently until he finally set them aside.

He pulled the device from his teeth and wiped off the saliva on his coverall before placing it on the table. The aromatic stick immediately migrated from the burner to his mouth.

"How can I help?"

"Got a tablet?" I asked.

Alan handed me a tablet, and I pulled up Marlon's fight, scrolling to the moment my roommate attacked and his opponent's defensive formation activated.

"This is the one I want!" I declared. "Can you do it?"

Alan gave me a wounded look.

"Can I recreate my own work?"

"How was I supposed to know it was yours?" I asked. "How much?"

"Sixty-five."

"Oi!" I said, clutching my chest theatrically.

Alan raised a brow and jabbed a finger at the screen.

"It's worth it," he snapped.

"Knock off ten!"

"Sixty-five!"

I shook my head, recalling one of our earlier conversations.

"You've clearly decided to drain my account dry!"

"I charge a fair price for my work. That formation is sixty-five."

Alan wasn't budging. There was no point arguing, so I had to give in, especially since the formation really was effective. The guy using it just put too much faith in it and let his guard down – a fatal mistake in a fight.

I relaxed a little myself after transferring the funds to Alan. Zola and I had arranged to sit down for a coffee at the Tangerine. Her mental state had improved somewhat, but she'd become a bit too chatty for my taste. We hadn't resumed our old tradition of shared lunches like we used to when she was still Nur. I didn't want to raise any suspicions. Instead, we opted for evening meetups at the Tangerine every few days. That cheap little cafe had a few delightful tables equipped with anti-eavesdropping formations, so Zola could open up, and it worked far better than therapy, where she'd have to second-guess what she could or couldn't say.

Something else rather interesting happened at the meeting.

The fact that our table had a formation didn't mean we couldn't hear others. First of all, you had to know how to activate the formation. And secondly, it didn't block incoming sound. So I unexpectedly overheard something rather interesting.

A second-period student had been accused of drug dealing and had taken his own life.

Zola didn't pay attention to the chatter of the two second-periods at the nearby table. But she immediately picked up on my reaction, even though all I did was perk up my ears.

"What is it?" she asked, suddenly alert like she was heading into battle, scanning the space around us.

"Quiet," I said, calming her with a subtle nod toward the second-periods, sipping the same cheap coffee we were.

Zola fell silent and started listening, though the look of comprehension never came to her face. Well, she'd missed the important part. Because of the formation at our table, we could talk about it.

"A second-year committed suicide after being accused of dealing drugs." I explained.

"Could be a coincidence?" Zola offered.

"They didn't say anything about expulsion from the School. Just an accusation – not exactly a reason."

"Maybe his fellow dealers took care of him?"

"Now that sounds more likely," I agreed.

"But you don't believe that," she smiled.

"Doesn't hurt to check."

"So, that's it for tonight?"

"Yeah," I nodded.

We turned off the formation and headed for the dorms, where our paths split.

I didn't go straight to my room. Instead, I called Liang Shi.

Outgoing call: S. Liang

"What do you want?" Liang grumbled.

"Any news on that name I gave you?"

"Well, I guess you've heard, if you're calling."

"So it was him?"

"Depends on what you mean. Yes, he committed suicide. No, we didn't find anything. We used a sharp first-year, not the idiot you suggested, gave him a cover story, set up a meeting, but the guy sensed something and tried to leave. We restrained him, but he had nothing on him."

"Nothing at all?" I asked.

"He had a trinket!" Liang Shi snapped. "A good-luck charm shaped like an old coin! No drugs."

"So you had nothing. No way to prove guilt?" I pressed.

"And why exactly are you asking me this?" he said, clearly boiling but still holding back. "I hope there's a good reason, because right now it feels like you're just stomping on my toes for fun."

"I'm saying he had no real reason to kill himself."

"He didn't kill himself!" Liang Shi snapped. "His colleagues sent him to the other side. I can't see any other explanation!"

Well, I could.

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