TL: Chapter 66 was an author note unrelated to the story.

“You… uh, killed, killed my brothers. Day after day, in the vegetable market, using rat-catchers’ guns… uh, killing, killing my brothers. I—I want you to pay in blood!!!”

At the instant this last sentence fell, the man’s body completely aberrated, turning into a Ratman with eight scarlet eyes on his face.

By then, the officers at the station were already fully armed, crazily raking the Ratman with all kinds of heavy‑power firearms.

Unfortunately, the Ratman was extremely quick and nimble, constantly seeking cover to evade the attacks, making him hard to hit.

However, the officers hadn’t planned to hit him anyway—they only meant to suppress him and stall for time until a Cyborg arrived to clear the scene.

This Ratman’s brain didn’t work too well; failing to realize this, he kept shrieking about avenging his brothers, again and again trying to break through the hail of bullets to slaughter the officers ahead.

“Director, headquarters responded that all Cyborgs are out on missions. It’ll be about ten minutes before they can send support. We’re low on ammunition—we might not last until backup comes!”

One member of the Security Team said in a panic.

Their Security Office was only at street level, with a pitiful ammunition stock—nowhere near enough for sustained heavy fire.

“Keep up suppressive fire. I’ll bring the vehicle around, then we’ll all get in and lure this Ratman to the outskirts—buy time until support arrives.”

Tossing down these words, the Security Office Director hurried off to bring the patrol car.

He had realized the Ratman wasn’t very bright, hell‑bent on killing officers to avenge the dead rats.

Based on that, as long as they drove off with all officers aboard toward the outskirts, this not‑so‑clever Ratman would surely chase the car.

Soon, the Director pulled up the patrol car and had everyone pile in.

Then he stomped the accelerator and sped for the outskirts.

Sure enough, the Ratman immediately sprinted after the car, vowing not to stop until everyone aboard was dead.

After about three minutes of pursuit, the Cyborg dispatched from Security Headquarters finally arrived.

Seeing this, the Director floored it, shaking off the now‑winded Ratman behind them and leaving room for the Cyborg to operate.

Once the car had shaken him, the Cyborg hovering high above immediately unleashed full firepower, pouring every bit of onboard munitions onto the Ratman.

Only after emptying everything did he descend. Gripping a custom alloy long blade, he strode into the billowing smoke.

Frowning, he discovered there was no trace of the Ratman on the ground.

All that remained was a bottomless, pitch‑black hole in the earth and blood and chunks of flesh scattered around.

The Ratman had tunneled away under bombardment.

The good news was, judging from the blood and flesh, the Ratman was certainly gravely wounded and shouldn’t have gotten far—there was a chance to hunt him down and eliminate him.

With that assessment, the Cyborg re‑engaged the thrusters, rose into the sky and began circling like a hawk, searching for the Ratman’s tracks.

* * *

After dinner and a short rest, Lin Zichen went upstairs to his room for high‑intensity training.

His methods were varied now, no longer limited to push‑ups, sit‑ups, squats, pull‑ups and other basic moves.

They expanded to many finer actions—training fingers, wrists, neck and so on—comprehensively working every muscle of the body.

He trained for four hours straight.

Feeling a bit tired, Lin Zichen ended the night’s workout.

He wasn’t sweating much, his breathing wasn’t ragged—just a trace of fatigue.

These were changes brought by long‑term, year‑in‑year‑out training under the blessing of Use It or Lose It.

His stamina had grown stronger and stronger, more and more resistant to fatigue.

Sitting on the floor to rest, Lin Zichen picked up his phone and opened the author's backend to check numbers.

He’d been writing for over half a month, steadily updating more than 4,000 words a day. It was now close to 100,000 words.

The stats were very good, with over ten thousand favorites.

Most importantly, reader response was great; many said they would definitely support with subscriptions after it is available.

‘There are still several new‑book recommendations I haven’t gotten yet. Once those roll in, the data will be even better. I wonder how much I’ll earn in the first month after launch…’

Looking at the dashboard in Writer Assistant, Lin Zichen couldn’t help but smile with expectation.

Then he got up, took a clean set of clothes and went to shower.

After washing up and drying his hair, seeing it was about time, he turned off the lights and went to bed.

Before sleeping, remembering he hadn’t measured his body stats in a month, he grabbed his phone and set an alarm for 3:00 a.m.

He planned to head out at midnight to test and see how much he’d progressed.

* * *

At exactly 3:00 a.m. the phone alarm rang on time.

His will firm, Lin Zichen didn’t linger in bed. He got up, dressed and—as always—put on a cap and mask to cover his face.

Then, carrying his measuring gear, he slipped out.

He moved along the usual routes to avoid cameras.

Before long, Lin Zichen reached a deserted area on the outskirts. After confirming no one was nearby, he immediately began testing.

* * *

A bit over ten minutes later, the numbers were in:

100‑meter sprint in just 3.43 seconds.

Vertical jump reaching 7.22 meters.

Able to lift a roughly 1,750‑kg car one‑handed.

The improvement was quite obvious.

If he could maintain this rate, then by next semester he’d likely break the 3‑second mark for the 100‑meter sprint, the 8‑meter mark for the vertical jump and the 2,000‑kg mark for one‑handed lifting.

All of this was achieved purely by his own flesh, without aid from Mechanical Modification, Gene Fusion, or other external powers.

The progress was remarkably steady.

If it continued like this, Lin Zichen felt he would sooner or later be happy with his body, then punch out Cyborgs and kick away Gene Fusers.

After daydreaming a bit, he snapped back, packed up the measuring tools and jogged home.

On the way, passing a garbage station on the outskirts, he saw someone squatting and rummaging through trash, seemingly starving and looking for food.

Looking closer, it was a man in rags, his body smeared with blood.

A homeless person?

Covered in blood—was he beaten?

He looked pitiful. Maybe call the Security Team to come help.

Thinking this, Lin Zichen took out his phone.

Just as he was about to dial, he suddenly saw an extremely horrifying scene.

The man in the trash heap suddenly reached out and grabbed a rat, hesitated in pain for a moment, then shoved it into his mouth and began gnawing it like bread.

Under his tremendous bite force, the rat exploded in blood and died on the spot.