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... hed forth his hands expectantly.

He knew it was morning judging from the sunlight hitting his face and habitually at his place, the housekeeper always made sure to be present to serve him a glass of water whenever he rouses from sleep.

As expected, he felt a solid weight on the inside of his palm and grabbed it. Lifting his head up a bit, he brought the cup to his lips.

But he spat the liquid out the moment it touched his tongue and his sleepy eye snapped open at once.

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Hello, everyone. My name is Shen JianGuo. I’m a night school teacher. I mainly teach the subjects of (Marxist) philosophy and ethics. I occasionally review new policies and measures for the students. I never see my colleagues and students during the day. The training institute classrooms are all abandoned schools, hospitals, or houses. The bus number is 444 and it always appears in front of my door at 12 midnight and disappears before 5am.

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Comparing my spells to those of other professions, I couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast. Mages wield “Doomstorm” and “Ice Age,” swordsmen boast “Sword Rain: Homecoming” and “Wind-Cutter Slash,” while archers showcase “Arrow Rain: Shooting Stars” and “Storm Arrow.” Yet, my ultimate spells are disturbingly named “Cancer Cell Proliferation,” “T-Virus Infection,” and “Rabies Outbreak.”

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15 years ago, his elder brother was killed right in front of him in the middle of the night – killed by their most trusted driver. Since then, Stefan had a hard time sleeping and often got nightmares. He learned not to trust anyone.

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