Chapter 25: Breakthrough in Physical Fitness

Jack hardly ever drinks, though he occasionally enjoys the aroma of a cigar. The case of fifty-two-degree Erguotou he had bought from a Chinese supermarket was meant for cooking, with twelve 600ml bottles in total.

It didn't take long for Hannah to sneakily drink two bottles. She said the taste reminded her of the potato whiskey her father used to make on their farm.

John's wound was still healing, so Jack only poured a small amount for him and himself. He then poured a third of a glass each for the other two, added some ice, and warned, "This is the Cerisian version of vodka. Don't drink it too quickly."

Everyone raised their glasses. Traditionally, a toast was expected, but saying "Cheers" for strong liquor seemed inappropriate. Hannah, craving a drink, quickly said, "To being single!" The other three laughed and echoed, "To being single!"

Unsurprisingly, the three sweet-toothed Americans praised the iced pork knuckles. They didn't leave the other dishes untouched either. By the time they finished two bottles of Erguotou, only a few vegetable leaves remained on the table; the rest had been devoured by the four carnivores.

John, rubbing his swollen belly, looked distressed. "My diet plan is ruined. Jack, how do you eat so well every day and still stay in shape? Is that the advantage of youth?"

Jack, busy wrestling a bottle from a slightly tipsy Hannah to prevent her from undoing their dinner, explained, "Hannah turned the guest room into a sparring room. Before I got hurt, I practiced Krav Maga with her every day. Staying here isn't free; I have to endure her beatings, cook, do laundry, clean the house, and take care of the yard."

Hannah, unhappy at the empty bottle, frowned and retorted, "I'm almost losing to you now. My coach says I'm ready for the E1 level exam in Israel."

Jack rolled his eyes. After enduring many beatings, the system showed his combat skills were proficient. He estimated that once his physical fitness broke through 20 tonight, he'd be able to pin her down tomorrow.

"So, what are your plans?" John asked, turning to Tim.

Tim shook his head, grimacing as he sipped his drink, clearly struggling with the taste but unwilling to set the glass down. "I don't know. Maybe time will sort things out. I have an irresponsible father, and I've always wanted to be a good husband to avoid his mistakes. But..."

Jack affectionately tousled Hannah's blonde hair, stopping her from opening another bottle. "Maybe it's harsh to say, but I think Isabella ended your marriage so decisively because she knows you too well. She's in hell and doesn't want to drag you down with her."

Tim wiped a tear from his eye, downing his drink in one gulp, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I've considered that possibility, but I still love her."

John agreed with Jack's assessment. "You've been a cop for years, dealing with addicts more than anyone. When Isabella left you, you should have known the woman you loved was already gone. Don't let a sense of responsibility bind your future."

Eventually, a heartbroken and drunk Tim was sent home by John. Watching the taxi drive away, Jack sighed. Addiction destroys lives.

After cleaning up, Jack saw Hannah asleep on the sofa and couldn't help but smile. Despite her acting like a heavy drinker, she could only handle about three to four ounces of alcohol.

As he scooped her up in a princess carry to take her to her room, he felt her body suddenly stiffen. He turned his head just in time to avoid a punch aimed at his face.

"Hannah!" Jack called out urgently.

Recognizing his voice, Hannah's unfocused blue eyes widened before relaxing upon seeing his face. She sniffed around like a puppy searching for a familiar scent, then wrapped her arm around his neck, snuggling closer.

Jack felt both amused and concerned. He couldn't tell if Hannah's attachment to him was more romantic or familial. Gently, he placed her on the bed, took off her shoes, covered her with a blanket, and quietly left the room.

Hannah's reaction wasn't new to Jack. Even with his basic psychology skills, he could identify her symptoms as typical PTSD. Coupled with her aversion to men, he had tried to probe her past, but she always clammed up, leaving him at a loss.

Back in his attic room, Jack lay on his bed, removed the bandage from his right leg, healed the wound with a healing spell, and opened the system. He used two gold coins to purchase one point in physical fitness, pushing it to 20.

There was no excruciating pain or expelling of foul black liquid. Instead, a tingling sensation started from his toes, traveled up his legs, along his spine, through his arms, and to his fingers and neck, finally converging at the top of his head. It felt like his entire skeleton had been reset to factory settings.

He took off his clothes and stood before the mirror, admiring a body that looked like an ancient Greek marble sculpture. His muscle lines were symmetrical and perfectly proportioned, and his skin was flawless, with even the scars from his adolescent acne gone.

Jack clicked his tongue in satisfaction, striking a few poses in the mirror. With his physique and mixed-race good looks, he joked to himself that he could put action movie stars in San Fernando Valley out of work.

That night, Jack experienced the benefits of having both mental and physical stats at 20. His sleep time was reduced to less than three hours, giving him over five extra hours each day for training, studying, or entertainment.

On the last day before his leave ended, Jack and Hannah visited Hunter and Didi again. Jack was grateful for the Colt Python Hunter had given him; without it, he doubted he could have left Bronson Tower alive. Well, aside from the shot in the calf, which was Tim's fault.

The only downside was that the Python only held six rounds, and even with a speed loader, reloading was cumbersome. Jack hoped to get his hands on a high-powered semi-automatic pistol to deal with foes wearing body armor.

Though his mastery-level handgun skills assured him of headshots within 20 meters, his current role as an ordinary patrol officer required him to keep a low profile.

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