Michael's expression was tense.

  He stared at the promotion notice on the corner of his desk, the one printed with the "4120G" salary standard, unease still flickering in his eyes.

  Michael curled the corner of his mouth in self-mockery.

  When Yang Chen wasn't in control, with this modified, brute strength, he could indeed easily take down a few armed gang members.

  Looking back now, it was all thanks to this body's baseline capabilities.

  But this "safety" was too fragile:

  While under his own control, it was one hundred percent awareness and safety.

  But if Yang Chen took over completely, the consequences were unimaginable.

  This time, it was two days.

  His consciousness had been completely shut off for two days!

  Thinking about it now still sent chills down his spine.

  What if next time, it was shut off permanently?

  Turned into nothing but a vessel for Yang Chen?

  What tangled him up even more was the transformation.

  He had a vague feeling that when he transformed into a werewolf, his consciousness might still be under his own control—at least, in No Man's Alley, the initial rage and resistance felt real.

  But the feeling was too blurry.

  Yang Chen lurked deep in his mind, like a bomb buried in the dark.

  Who knew if that bomb had a preset trigger?

  What if the transformation itself was a trap set by Yang Chen? It might seem under his control, but actually, seeds of consciousness infiltration had already been planted?

  Who could guarantee that the next time he transformed, he wouldn't suddenly lose dominance over his body, becoming Yang Chen's puppet to do as he pleased?

  The next time he encountered a tough fight, he couldn't pin his hopes on Yang Chen. He had to find a way out that was entirely his own.

  "If we leave this city..." Michael muttered softly.

  The small settlements outside were a hundred times more chaotic than the big city.

  Without Ivy Corp's order as a safety net, without legal constraints, gang wars and looting by drifters were daily occurrences.

  With this brute strength, he could protect himself for a while, but what about Mia?

  She was just an ordinary girl, defenseless.

  If they encountered a mutant stronger than the rhinoceros man, or a more ferocious gang, he couldn't expect Yang Chen to "step in and save the day" every time, nor dare he risk transforming lightly.

  No, he had to get stronger.

  From the last fight, Michael knew exactly what he needed:

  He needed combat skills.

  He needed to learn how to control that wild power in a completely sober state, without relying on Yang Chen, without transforming.

  He wanted to rely on this "human form" with its superhuman body, on solid skills, to confront any danger—that was the most reliable, the most unshakable confidence that no one could manipulate.

  Yang Chen wouldn't teach him.

  A figure suddenly flashed in his mind—Gunnar.

  An old colleague from the Eastern District sales department, who had joined the company three years before him.

  They had run a few errands together.

  Gunnar didn't talk much. His build wasn't particularly burly, but his eyes were exceptionally sharp.

  Rumor had it he used to make a living with his fists.

  The kind of fights with no rules, where people often died in matches.

  He retired after getting injured, then entered Ivy Corp for a steady meal.

  More importantly, Gunnar knew Kurt.

  They were in the same department.

  He was a rare exception who deliberately avoided Kurt.

  Had to admit, Kurt thrived in the Eastern District sales department.

  Michael abruptly stood up.

  The chair scraped against the floor with a jarring sound, startling a colleague at the nearby station who looked up.

  He paid no mind to the onlookers.

  His fingers flew over the keyboard, hastily wrapping up the unfinished report on his desk.

  Just some trivial tasks like inventory checks and client follow-ups.

  None of that mattered now.

  He needed to find Gunnar.

  The wall clock pointed to 11:45, fifteen minutes before lunch break.

  Michael shut down the computer, grabbed the jacket from the back of the chair and slung it over his shoulder, his steps hurried as he headed for the elevators.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Passing through the office area, Mia looked up at him, a flicker of confusion in her eyes:

  "Michael, where are you going? It's almost lunchtime."

  "Going to check on the store. Running an errand."

  Michael's voice was low, his steps not slowing.

  Mia's unease intensified. She felt Michael might have changed, ignoring her for the past two days until now.

  He had just said he was back to normal, yet even this "normal" version didn't want to interact with her...

  Mia seemed to dim visibly. It wasn't easy to find a man she liked, and now, in such a short time?

  Was he already tired of her...

  If you looked at her from behind, you could see her twin pigtails trembling...

  She was quietly sobbing.

  After two days, this simple girl had finally cracked...

  ...

  Michael dove into the corridor of the Eastern District sales department.

  He paused for two seconds at the corner, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the thousand-G note in his pocket, his mind calculating furiously.

  A 4120G monthly salary, doubled. But thinking about the expenses with Mia, he couldn't feel the slightest relief.

  The cream-filled bread she loved was 3.5G a bag.

  The hand cream she couldn't afford was 200G.

  Occasionally, he wanted to take her to that slightly cleaner diner at the slum entrance for a meal.

  Couldn't eat too shabbily, right?

  At the very least, 100G.

  Renting together would save quite a bit, though.

  He'd discuss it with her later; she'd probably agree, right?

  But was bringing up living together too soon?

  Maybe he should tell her about his difficulties?

  Thinking to himself, if he really saved, he could only spend 1000G a month himself, forcing himself to save 3120G.

  But even so, to reach the 100,000G goal, it would take 32 months, a full two and a half years.

  Two and a half years?

  He didn't dare think about it.

  With Yang Chen hiding in his body, Elena using him as a pawn—she could promote him two levels today, push him into the most dangerous missions tomorrow.

  He had to escape fast—one year was the limit, half a year would be best.

  But saving normally was impossible.

  He'd have to take risks, use his sales agent privileges to secretly sell off promotional items and damaged goods for cash.

  This gray-area path was risky enough;

  what if he got robbed by a gang...

  Shouldn't be a big problem.

  As long as he didn't run into a gang leader like the rhinoceros man, he didn't believe collecting protection money would involve important gang figures. Small-time thugs he could handle.

  He had to learn combat, and he had to do it cheaply.

  Outside martial arts schools charged exorbitant fees he couldn't afford. It had to be Gunnar.

  His rapport with Gunnar was decent.

  They'd run errands together in the Eastern District before;

  Gunnar had even helped him carry an overweight sample box.

  Their relationship was okay.

  Michael's mind was scheming:

  First, hand over this 1000G.

  Don't specify it's a monthly payment;

  treat it as a "meeting gift" or a "thank you."

  Given their past camaraderie, maybe Gunnar, remembering their friendship, would let him train for a year or so with just this 1000G.

  Now, every G saved counted.

  If he could get a deal, he wouldn't spend a G extra.

  It was a habit he'd developed from years of scraping by in the slums.

  Now, with his and Mia's future at stake, he couldn't afford to be generous in the slightest.

  Taking a deep breath, Michael pushed open the door to the Eastern District sales department.

  A wave of noise hit him.

  Employees were gathered in small groups discussing afternoon errands.

  The air smelled of cheap boxed lunches and coffee.

  He spotted the workstation by the window immediately—Gunnar was bent over sorting freight slips, the scar on his temple stark under the lights.

  He was diligent too, still working during lunch break.

  "Brother Wu."

  Gunnar looked up at the sound.

  Seeing him, he paused, then set down his pen, pointing to the empty chair opposite.

  His tone held the familiarity of an old colleague:

  "Well, if it isn't Michael? Moved to the Western District, got a promotion, and you still remember to visit us old-timers?"