Eric Dawson's mom was silent for a moment, her voice tinged with a slight sob:

“We feel the same, your dad and I.”

“Hmph, you little rascal, do you have to make your mom cry?”

Eric Dawson couldn’t help but smile, his mood gradually calming down. “How would I dare? By the way, where’s Dad?”

After third grade, his dad’s company ran into trouble. Even as a key technician, he could only get basic wages. The family relied entirely on his mom running a street stall, earning hard money to keep things going—it was exhausting. By middle school, his dad finally steeled himself to go out and work odd jobs, but with his proud nature, he never got along with the bosses and couldn’t stay long in any place, wandering all over the country. The family depended on his mom’s support, and he saw all her hardships with his own eyes.

By high school, his dad’s pride and temper had been worn down by society. He returned home to work as a technical supervisor at a local company, and the family’s situation finally improved. But his mom couldn’t sit still either—she ended up working as a temp in the community, getting along well with a group of neighborhood ladies.

“You still don’t know your dad? Has there ever been a day he didn’t go play chess for an hour or two after dinner?” Eric Dawson's mom said, half exasperated, but was clearly more concerned about Eric Dawson's situation. She seized the chance to ask about every detail of his studies and life: Are your classes tough? Are the teachers good? Is it hard? Are your dorm mates easy to get along with? Anything you’re not used to? Have you been bullied?

Usually, Eric Dawson was impatient with these questions, brushing them off with a few perfunctory answers. But today, feeling calm and reflective, he answered each one honestly and seriously.

Eric Dawson's mom got more and more chatty, talking about family matters—from his maternal grandpa’s house to his aunt’s, from his dad’s unreliable relatives to who in the community was having a dispute.

Eric Dawson listened quietly, occasionally chiming in, a faint smile on his lips.

After their chat, Eric Dawson's mom was feeling generous and decided to send him another eight hundred yuan this month to help him adjust to college life faster.

“Who would’ve thought just calling home would bring such a reward…” Eric Dawson couldn’t help but laugh and cry at the same time. The anxiety and unease he’d felt before had settled down.

Since nothing had happened by now, it seemed the “Golden Core” really wasn’t that dangerous. As long as he was careful and reported any signs to the authorities, there shouldn’t be much of a problem…

With his worries fading, joy began to rise. Eric Dawson rubbed his stomach, and for a moment, his imagination ran wild.

With the Golden Core, at least his stamina would be enough to let him practice martial arts. If he worked hard, maybe he could reach amateur rank five or six soon, and impress Grace Bennett. Maybe he could even reach professional rank nine before graduating, giving himself more career options.

Of course, if the “Golden Core” turned out to be even more miraculous than he imagined, then—then could he, just like he fantasized as a kid, enter the real world of martial arts, compete with all those strong personalities, and win one of the five national titles everyone watched?

Uh, the way I’m rubbing my belly right now, if Little Mark saw me, he’d definitely ask, “Are you pregnant?”

As his thoughts drifted, Eric Dawson felt a new sense of confidence in life. Just then, the front door lock turned, and several voices noisily entered.

Eric Dawson knew his three “study maniac” roommates were back from self-study.

Chapter 006: Don’t Judge a Book by Its Cover

The first to come in was Peter Parker, Old Qiu—about 1.75 meters tall, roughly the same height as Eric Dawson, but broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, with knotted muscles. Every day, he loved showing off his physique and strength in the dorm. He was also a member of the martial arts club. Although he hadn’t had any formal martial arts training, with his build, he was already an amateur rank six, just a bit below Brian Carter.

He wasn’t rough or uncouth—actually, he was quite honest and simple. Aside from a fondness for watching a bit of adult content, he didn’t have any major flaws. He was also very rational, knowing that at the amateur five or six level in college, there was no real future in martial arts, so he focused on his studies and didn’t even attend the martial arts club’s welcome party.

“Orange, did they say anything at the welcome party? When are the weekly practice sessions? What times can we use the weight room?” As soon as Peter Parker saw Eric Dawson, he fired off questions, asking about the afternoon’s welcome party.

Eric Dawson was momentarily stunned before replying, “I left early, didn’t hear any of that. I’ll ask someone about it later.”

After everything that happened, he’d forgotten his earlier plans—forgot to chat with Grace Bennett!

“Then you might as well not have gone at all.” The second person to come in was Jack Miller, the dorm leader, “study role model,” and self-study maniac. He was of medium height and solid build, with thick eyebrows and big eyes. Eric Dawson genuinely admired his diligence and self-discipline in his studies.

“Yeah, who knew the martial arts club’s welcome party would be so boring.” Eric Dawson wasn’t about to say he’d actually gained a lot from the party and got Grace Bennett’s QQ number. He deliberately changed the subject. “Jack, what were you guys just talking about?”

Jack Miller replied seriously, “Old Qiu and the workhorse found a phone on a desk in the self-study room. Said it was a girls’ dorm looking to organize a mixer. I told them not to bother with that stuff and just focus on studying.”

The “workhorse” was the last member of their small dorm, Michael Bolton, a guy from the northwest—steady in character, and originally not bad-looking, but years of wind and sand had left his face pitted and rough, not something you’d want to look at too closely.

Michael Bolton followed behind Jack Miller, chuckling, “Don’t we still not have any girls’ dorms to mix with?”