Calvin’s name suddenly exploded across various social media platforms. A clip of him calmly but devastatingly shutting down the shareholders' arguments during yesterday’s meeting went viral and trended within hours. What impressed the public the most was how Calvin managed to leave Kevin Lang completely speechless after enduring a series of insults. People began praising Calvin even more as a medical god with the heart of an angel.Meanwhile, far from the media spotlight, Kevin was sitting in a treatment room at Lang Hospital. His hands trembled as a nurse finished reattaching his severed pinky. The pain from Calvin’s brutal and unexpected act of cutting off his finger was unbearable—but the most excruciating pain wasn’t in his finger. It was in his pride. Kevin’s ego was shattered by the fact that he had to go to Calvin and beg him to return the severed piece.“This is all that bastard Calvin’s fault, Dad!” Kevin growled, his voice shaking with emotion. “He dared to humiliate me—me,

Destroyed buildings from the war greeted Calvin at every step as he walked through the city of Bacca. Debris was scattered everywhere. Barrion—his homeland—was now free from the tyrannical rule of Han Xin... but the remnants of destruction were overwhelming.Calvin's steps halted at a vast field, once known as the city center. Around him, nothing remained but rubble and charred pillars. His eyes swept over the scene, his expression difficult to read."I'll start by rebuilding the houses and structures in this area first," Calvin said."Please do, Sir," replied the President, who stood not far from him, nodding respectfully and giving Calvin the space to do as he wished.Without a word, Calvin stepped forward. He knelt down, pressing his palm against the ground. Instantly, the earth trembled, compacted itself, and began to rise, forming solid buildings with supernatural precision. Wooden elements emerged from the soil, weaving into walls, rooftops, and sturdy pillars, creating rows of

The night air felt cold, piercing Calvin's skin even though his body was wrapped in a thick, warm blanket. The chill came from a dream slowly dragging him back to a childhood he had nearly forgotten.In his dream, Calvin stood in the hallway of his old house. The white walls had begun to yellow, and the carpet on the floor looked worn. He heard the soft laughter of his younger self, probably around seven years old. Moments later, he saw little Calvin running around aimlessly before he collided with a young woman carrying a cup of tea."Calvin, don't run around the house! It's dangerous if this hot tea spills on you," the woman gently scolded. Her face was warm. Her hair was loosely tied back, and her eyes looked at Calvin with a tenderness that always made him feel safe.Mom... adult Calvin whispered in his heart. His blood rushed at the sight of his mother and hearing her voice again—the voice that had long disappeared from his memory—filling his chest with a tight, aching longing."

Although the System had successfully neutralized the Kalasert venom, Calvin’s recovery was anything but swift.It took twelve agonizing hours.Twelve hours of lying on the frigid floor, barely conscious, feeling like every breath was a battle. His muscles had locked up. His organs throbbed with residual trauma. Even his thoughts came slow, as if wading through molasses. Rising from the edge of death wasn't just a physical feat—it was an act of war against the body itself.But Calvin Hudson was not the kind of man who surrendered to the pain.He wasn’t wasting a second.Even as his body lay still, cocooned in sweat and blood, his mind was sharp—digging, sifting, hunting. He entered a deep meditative trance, slowing his breathing, silencing the screaming nerves, and turning inward. The halls of his mind unfolded like a well-kept library, and he marched through them, pulling memory after memory off their metaphorical shelves.“Come on… think,” he murmured to himself, his voice hoarse. “W

A moist, sour breath rasped over Calvin’s palm as he throttled the masked assassin. Up close, the latex smelled faintly of glue and rancid greasepaint. The man’s eyes—pale gray, rimmed with burst vessels—bulged with fury rather than fear. And then he uttered a phrase in a rapid series of clicks and consonants—so quick it could have been mistaken for a choking fit.“Serpent … sheds … skin,” the assassin whispered.Three words. It meant abort and flee in an extinct coastal dialect—one that only the inner circle of Han Xin’s court still practiced.Across the aisle, President Lee’s head jerked up. His face—already chalky in the candlelight—lost what little color remained. Recognition flashed in his eyes. Then survival instinct devoured everything else.He bolted.“Guards!” Lee shrieked, pitching his voice with theatrical tremor as he shoved through monks and mourners. “Protect me—he’s gone mad!”The effect was instantaneous. Panic detonated like fireworks beneath a silk canopy. Gasps ripp