"Alright, thank you, man, you're a real straight shooter."

The man nodded heavily, left the bookstore, and went off to embrace his "new life."

As for Eric Carter, he picked up his phone. After thinking it over, he decided he still needed to call the police—not to report the guy for trying to kill him (Ryan Cooper), but to report him for suspected theft.

Anyway, let the police investigate. If the guy really has a record or has done other bad things and gets caught, he deserves it.

Since he had taken over someone else's body, he figured he ought to do something for this unlucky guy.

Although, given the other party's good attitude in admitting fault and even paying his medical bills, reporting him under his real name was pretty low—almost like cursing someone to have a son without an asshole.

But just as Eric Carter dialed 110 and the operator's voice came through,

At the shop entrance,

That guy suddenly came back.

"One more thing..." As soon as he walked in, he saw Eric Carter holding the phone. He froze for a second, then pointed straight at Eric Carter, "You son of a bitch, you're still calling the cops, aren't you!"

Eric Carter shook his head.

"Let me see your phone. Give it to me!"

Eric Carter just kept shaking his head.

"You go back on your word, you bastard! I'm gonna kill you! Let's see if you die this time!"

The man instantly became agitated and manic. He probably had some mental issues, maybe from living the life of a gambler and being out of touch with society for so long. He was easily pushed to extremes by certain triggers.

He lunged at Eric Carter, who put down his phone and started backing away.

In his previous life, he was a doctor, not a fighter, and he'd never trained in martial arts. This body's a bit frail, too, so when it came to a face-to-face fight, he was honestly a bit panicked.

"Bang!"

The man slammed Eric Carter against the wall, pinning him there, and started choking him with both hands.

"You wanna call the cops? You wanna go back on your word? Fine, I'll kill you, really kill you this time! After I strangle you, I'll bleed you out. Let's see if you can still die!"

The man roared through gritted teeth.

Poor bookstore business—by the afternoon, there weren't even any customers, barely a soul passing by outside.

His neck was almost numb, and he couldn't breathe. Eric Carter struggled as hard as he could, and in the process, his fingernails suddenly turned black, grew longer, and curled up.

Then, Eric Carter wrapped his arms around the man's back.

"Hiss..."

The man suddenly shuddered, his eyes rolled back, and he let go of Eric Carter's neck. He staggered back a few steps, knocked over several bookshelves, and then collapsed with a crash.

Eric Carter managed to break free, rubbing his neck. Honestly, he hadn't been too panicked—after all, his nails could even hurt evil spirits in hell, so dealing with an ordinary person shouldn't be a problem, right?

But as for what exactly these nails were or what they could do, Eric Carter still wasn't entirely sure. He only knew they were probably "infected" to him by the old man he tried to save before the car accident.

Seriously,

Got a fungal nail infection, and now it's spreading to others.

He walked over, squatted down, and patted the man's face. Luckily, he wasn't dead—still breathing. Eric Carter shook his head, picked up his phone, and called the police again.

……

After finishing the statement at the police station, the officer told Eric Carter to wait in the small hall, because the case he reported was a bit odd. He said someone came to rob him, but the "culprit" ended up getting knocked out instead, and now that guy was in the hospital. They had to wait for him to wake up to confirm things.

At least, the officer didn't put handcuffs on Eric Carter.

Next to Eric Carter squatted a middle-aged man, his left hand cuffed to a radiator.

"Bro, you're badass! That guy tried to rob you and you took him down?" The scruffy-faced middle-aged man said as he scratched his greasy, dirt-caked bangs. "Reminds me of myself when I was young. With punks like that, you gotta beat 'em to a pulp!"

"Hey, behave yourself," a young police officer came over and scolded. "How many times have you stolen electric bike batteries since winter started?

I'm telling you, it's almost New Year's. Can't you just settle down? Or get a real job, earn some money, and send it home? You're not a kid anymore."

"Getting a job? No way, not in this lifetime. I don't know how to do business either. The only way I can get by is stealing electric bike batteries. Going to the detention center feels just like going home.

Everyone in there is talented, they talk so nicely, I love it in there!"

"Hmph." The young officer didn't want to deal with him anymore and turned to leave.

"Bro, how was my little speech just now?" The greasy middle-aged man winked at Eric Carter.

"Pretty interesting," Eric Carter smiled.

"Che Guevara is my idol. Che Guevara, you know who that is?"

Eric Carter nodded.

"I'm telling you, life should be..." The greasy middle-aged man paused, his gaze shifting to the entrance. "Holy crap, so pretty—is she a cop?"