“Damn it, Rachel is so outstanding, there’s definitely no shortage of people pursuing her. The Six-Eyed Revolver is expensive for us, but maybe not for others. There are plenty of rich folks in the Rose Society. I think the H8 from Wilson’s Gunsmith Workshop is even more badass—the soul power output is smoother, and it looks way cooler and flashier. If we go for the H8, I think our chances of success are much higher!”

Vance Tracy was stunned for a moment too. It did make sense. Rachel had said she’d invite her friends that day. What if someone else had the same idea? Of course, he believed Rachel was only interested in him, but those horny males were impossible to stop. H8 is good, H8 is even more lethal!

“Art, I’ve got a total of 6,500 on hand, but even the cheapest H8 costs 18,000, and a used one is at least 12,000!” Vance Tracy said, clutching his head in pain.

“Come on, how can you even think about buying second-hand? That’s an insult to the goddess! If you’re buying, it has to be the latest!” As he spoke, Frank Walker immediately scribbled something down and handed it to Vance Tracy.

“This is a potion recipe that can make us rich!” Frank Walker said with a solemn, devout expression. “Last night, I gazed at the stars and had a sudden revelation. I obtained this godlike recipe. Our chance to get rich and reach the pinnacle of life has arrived!”

“It was pouring rain last night, Rachel and I both got soaked. Where did you go to stargaze?” Vance Tracy looked disgusted, but quickly turned dazed. “When I walked Rachel back to the dorm last night, she was drenched from head to toe. I wonder if she’ll catch a cold…”

“Damn, stop drooling over her, I can’t take it! Just say if you’re in or not!”

“I’m in, I’ll do whatever you say!” Vance Tracy rubbed his face. H8 is good, only H8 is worthy of Rachel.

“In this world, what makes money the fastest? Of course, it’s brewing potions—huge profits! Now, you provide the capital, I provide the skills. Don’t say your bro never looked out for you. We’ll make money together, get rich together.” Frank Walker pointed at the messy list of potion ingredients. “Look, ten portions of each material on the list. Once you’ve got them, I can start making money for us.”

“Rhizome of Golden Thorn Grass, 80; petals of Earth Vine Flower, 50 grams; fruit of Ice Mist Water Lily, 50 pieces; Moonlight Vine…” Vance Tracy read aloud.

But soon, disappointment showed on his face. He’d never eaten pork, but he’d seen pigs run—martial artists often get injured, so he was familiar with some basic restorative potions. “Except for that weird Ghost Eye Grass, the rest are all pretty common. What can you even brew with this stuff?”

“That’s a trade secret. Even if I told you, you wouldn’t get it. If you think the Six-Eyed Revolver is good enough for Rachel, just forget I said anything.”

That last sentence instantly crushed Vance Tracy. Now he also felt the Six-Eyed Revolver was definitely out of the running.

Old Walker wore a sincere smile. What could he do? Rather than let some gold-digger take his savings, he’d rather contribute to brotherhood. He needed money too, and brewing potions was a relatively safe and quick way. He was fairly confident about it.

With a goal in mind, Old Walker clearly became more proactive and organized. But then again, was he forgetting something? Isn’t it standard for transmigrators to have a system? So where was his system? Was it because he hadn’t tried to activate it?

Suddenly, Old Walker felt a surge of excitement. Damn, if he had a system to help him, sooner or later Carrie Dean would be kneeling and calling him daddy. As for that little brat Sky Blue, he’d just cut him out and make himself the boss.

“Iris, bring up the control panel!” Frank Walker snapped his fingers and shouted, his heart pounding.

Systems are like magic doors—don’t overthink the incantation, it just needs to be direct and effective.

Three seconds later, the room was dead silent. The atmosphere was a bit awkward.

Vance Tracy stared at him blankly and swallowed. Ever since Frank Walker got blown up, he hadn’t been the sharpest tool in the shed. Was this investment a bit too risky?

“So… how long will it take before we start making money…”

“That depends on how fast you can gather the materials.” Old Walker shrugged indifferently.

No system, no super artifact, no fiancée who despises the poor and loves the rich—how is this even transmigration?

Not even a proper cheat—complaint, one star!

But, on the flip side, maybe this meant he had a better chance to fix this mistake.

…………

Other than that one part in the basement that was a bit inappropriate for kids, cleaning toilets was really nothing.

When Frank Walker was down and out in his previous life, he’d done all kinds of dirty and exhausting work. When he was hungry, he could even eat his own pride.

So cleaning toilets it was. But when Old Walker carried a bucket, humming a tune, and walked into the public restroom of the Martial Arts Academy he was supposed to clean, the bucket in his hand clattered to the floor.

Was this really a bathroom? Why was the Martial Arts Academy’s restroom so grand? What was this supposed to imply?

Four or five hundred square meters of spacious flooring, with stalls so big they were almost the size of Old Walker’s single dorm room. And the ceiling above was a full six meters high and hollowed out, making it even more intimidating—was this built for giants?

If you’re short, you couldn’t even reach the top if you jumped.