36: Chapter 36: The Breakthrough! Fists and Data Soar Together

At 5:00 AM on Thursday, Alex was jolted awake by an unusual sound outside his window.

It wasn't a warning from Environmental Perception Enhancement, but something more direct—the faint sound of metal scraping against the apartment's fire escape.

He was instantly alert. He rolled out of bed, moving as silently as a cat. Without turning on the lights, he used the faint city glow from outside to move into the shadows beside the window, slightly parting a slit in the blinds.

The street below was empty, but on the fire escape, a dark figure was trying to pry open the window of a third-floor resident—not his apartment, but the vacant unit next door that had recently been under renovation.

A thief? Or...

Alex didn't move. Crisis Intuition didn't send a sharp sting, indicating that he wasn't the target. However, he still noted the person's physical characteristics: a dark hoodie, medium build, and movements that weren't particularly professional.

The shadow spent five minutes prying without success, muttered something under his breath, and then slid down the fire escape, disappearing into the alley.

Alex released his clenched fists, his palms slightly sweaty. He walked to his workbench and added an entry to his "Threat Monitoring Log": "July 19, 5:07 AM. Suspected burglar attempted to break into the vacant unit next door; unsuccessful. Likely unrelated to the surveillance targeting myself."

After writing it, he chuckled. This was the damn United States—even threats had to be categorized and filed first.

---

At 10:00 AM, while Alex was editing the second episode of "student filmmaker survival guide," titled "Natural Light Magic," the doorbell rang.

The surveillance monitor showed Sarah, but she looked different today—she wasn't in her nurse's uniform, but in a sharp set of athletic wear, carrying a heavy-looking silver case.

"Surprise!" As soon as the door opened, Sarah set the case on the floor with a dull thud. "I got you some good stuff."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Inside wouldn't happen to be..."

"Open it and see." Sarah smiled like a cat that had caught a fish.

The case opened. It wasn't a weapon, but it was just as good: a professional-grade portable medical kit, including tourniquets, pressure bandages, emergency suture tools, and even a pre-filled epinephrine pen.

"Sarah, I'm just filming videos, not going to a battlefield."

"Give me a break." Sarah rolled her eyes and began listing the items like she knew them by heart. "I watched that 'Student Survival Guide' of yours, where you teach people to use aluminum foil as reflectors—that tells me you're often filming outdoors without any protection. My boyfriend said the neighborhood hasn't been safe lately; a crew got their equipment robbed in Griffith Park last week. So..."

She patted the medical kit. "Just in case—and I mean *just in case*—you run into trouble, at least you can handle it immediately. I'll teach you how to use the tourniquet in a bit; it only takes five minutes to learn. The epinephrine pen is for severe allergic reactions—don't tell me you're not allergic to bee venom, I checked your medical records."

Alex was stunned. This feeling of being meticulously cared for... it was a bit unfamiliar, but nice.

"And," Sarah lowered her voice and winked, "I also got some 'non-standard equipment'."

She pulled two small items from the bottom of the case: one looked like an ordinary keychain, but pressing the button would blast a 130-decibel ear-piercing alarm; the other was a legal high-intensity tactical flashlight, the kind that could instantly blind someone.

"Nurse's 'professional perks'," Sarah said proudly. "You can always get some practical little things from hospital suppliers. Don't ask; if anyone asks, they're just first aid supplies."

Alex looked at the pile of items and suddenly burst out laughing. "Sarah, you wouldn't happen to be my long-lost older sister, would you?"

"Get lost. I'm four years older than you; call me Auntie." Sarah shoved the alarm keychain into his hand. "Wear it. Next time someone corners you, press this first, then shine the flashlight in their eyes, and run—the 'Distress Trilogy' I'm teaching you is more useful than any martial arts."

"But last time you told me to go learn Krav Maga."

"That was to give you confidence." Sarah turned serious. "But when things really happen, running is always the best choice. Got it?"

Alex nodded. He looked at the small alarm in his hand, and a corner of his heart warmed up.

This feeling of being cared for in an "over-protective" way... it really wasn't bad.

---

At 1:00 PM, the second episode of "student filmmaker survival guide" went live.

The data began to grow at a normal pace, and the comment section was filled with gratitude and discussion as usual. But an hour later, things started to get unusual.

First, several major photography influencer accounts shared the video with the caption: "Finally, someone has explained natural light clearly!"

Then, a top cinematographer with eight million followers shared it, with a comment that was only one sentence: "This Asian kid knows light better than most of our film school graduates."

Alex's phone began to vibrate crazily.

The video views surpassed a million in the third hour, and in the fourth hour, it climbed to the 27th spot on YouTube's overall trending list—the highest ranking ever for the "Photography Tutorials" category. The subscriber count was ticking up like crazy, with thousands of new followers every minute.

Even more outrageous was that several professional equipment brands he had contacted before without getting a response suddenly all appeared.

The marketing director of RED Digital Cinema sent an email directly: "We saw your video. We are willing to sponsor you with a RED KOMODO 6K camera kit, on the condition that you use it to create at least three 'Survival Guide' style tutorial videos within three months—unlimited budget, just list whatever accessories you need."

ARRI was not to be outdone: "We can provide a more flexible sponsorship package, including technical support and masterclass auditing spots."

Sony, Canon, and even Zeiss all sent over expressions of interest for collaboration.

Alex stared at the screen, a bit dazed for the first time. This wasn't just "getting popular"; this was like setting a forest on fire with a flamethrower.

Then, the most exaggerated part came.

Kevin, the brand manager from Horizon Outdoors who had been working with him, called, his voice cracking with excitement: "Alex! Did you see the email? Headquarters just approved it! We're going to turn your 'Student Survival Guide' into an independent sub-brand series! We'll specifically develop a 'Student Filmmaker Lightweight Gear Line' centered around your design philosophy! The profit-sharing ratio—guess how much?"

Before Alex could speak, Kevin shouted it out: "Fifteen percent of the net profit! And we're giving you global sales royalties! Our legal department is drafting the contract; we can sign it next week!"

Hanging up the phone, Alex leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath.

He summoned the system interface.

The [popularity] numbers were scrolling upward at a speed he had never seen before. It felt like watching zeros being added to a bank account balance—no, it was more thrilling than that, because every point of growth represented more power and more possibilities he could redeem.

The 50% efficiency boost from [Hundred-Point Halo] created a terrifying multiplier effect when it encountered truly viral content.

He unhesitatingly redeemed [Firearm Mastery (Basic)], which he had his eye on. This wasn't to become a gunman, but so that he could have a "reasonable" and rapid rate of progress after completing that shooting course. The moment the redemption was complete, knowledge about safe firearm operation, basic grip postures, and aiming principles flooded into his mind, forming a solid foundation of muscle memory.

popularity was still rising. He looked at his next goal: [Neural Reaction Enhancement (Intermediate)]. It wasn't cheap, but at this rate, he could save enough by the weekend.

Just then, a special notification popped up on his computer.

Taylor Allison had shared his video.

It wasn't from her main account with tens of millions of followers, but from her "creator alt account"—one with only a few hundred thousand followers, but all of them were industry insiders and hardcore fans.

Her caption was simple: "He teaches better than my music production teacher. #SoThisIsHowLightWorks"

She didn't @ him, but everyone knew whose video it was.

Alex's phone crashed in the next second—too many messages were flooding in, causing the system to freeze up completely.

---

At 6:00 PM, Alex decided to go out for some fresh air and pick up some ingredients at the supermarket. Sarah's medical kit had reminded him: it was time to restock on some "survival supplies" for himself.

As he walked out of the apartment building, Environmental Perception Enhancement sent a faint sense of warning.

He pretended nothing was wrong as he walked toward his car (that second-hand Honda Civic), his peripheral vision scanning the street corner. Two men in hoodies were leaning against a wall smoking; when they saw him come out, they exchanged a look.

They weren't the thief from early this morning. These two were more muscular, with a certain street-thug swagger in their posture.

Alex maintained his pace, unlocked the car door, and sat in the driver's seat. While buckling his seatbelt, he saw the two men walking toward him in the rearview mirror.

He started the engine but didn't drive off immediately.

Sure enough, the two men walked up to the car, one on each side. The man on the driver's side tapped on the window.

Alex rolled down the window, leaving a two-inch gap. "Can I help you?"

The man was about thirty, with a scar on his face and a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Alex Su? Our boss wants to talk to you."

"Which boss?"

"You'll know when you get there," the man on the passenger side chimed in, his hand resting on the door handle.

Alex's brain whirred at high speed. The stinging sensation of Crisis Intuition was intensifying, but it hadn't reached a danger level yet. The other party was clearly prepared, but they didn't seem to intend to make a move in public.

He remembered the alarm keychain Sara had given him and gripped it tightly in his pocket.

"What if I don't want to go?"

The scarred man's smile turned cold. "Then we'll have to 'invite' you. You wouldn't want anything to happen to this beautiful car of yours, would you? Or... your nurse neighbor?"

Alex's gaze instantly turned cold.

They had investigated Sara.

"Location," he asked briefly.

"Follow our car." The scarred man pointed to a black Dodge Challenger across the street. "Don't try anything funny."

The two cars drove away from the block one after the other. While driving, Alex used one hand to blind-type a preset emergency text on his phone screen and sent it to Lena and Sara. The content was a simple location share and: "In trouble. If no word in an hour, call the police."

After driving for twenty minutes, they finally stopped in front of an abandoned industrial warehouse in South Los Angeles. It was far from the main road, surrounded by vacant factories, and not a soul was in sight at dusk.

A perfect place for a "talk."

Alex got out of the car and was led into the warehouse, sandwiched between the two men. It was vast and cold inside, the air thick with the smell of machine oil and dust. At the end of the warehouse was a dilapidated table, and behind it sat a person—

Derek Winston.

"Surprised?" Derek stood up, his face filled with undisguised smugness. "I told you, you need to know who the master is here."

Alex scanned the surroundings. Besides the two who brought him, three more stood in the shadows of the warehouse, five in total. All carried the thuggish air of street brawlers, and some were playing with baseball bats in their hands.

"So you hired thugs." Alex's tone was as calm as if he were discussing the weather. "Does your father know what kind of people his precious son is hanging out with?"

Derek's face darkened. "Don't bring up my father. Everything that happens here today will just be an 'attempted street robbery, lucky escape'—an Asian kid accidentally stumbled into a place he shouldn't have been, that's all."

He stepped closer and lowered his voice. "I want you to withdraw from the collaboration with Horizon Outdoors, publicly admit that your video ideas were 'borrowed' from my friend's work, and then... vanish from my sight. Transfer schools, or crawl back to your East."

Alex smiled. "That's it?"

Derek was stunned.

"I thought you were going to say something creative." Alex shook his head. "In the end, it's just the same old threats, intimidation, and bullying. Derek, has your father's years in politics taught you only this?"

"You motherf—" Derek raised his hand.

But Alex moved.

Not backward, but forward—with the boost from Neural Reaction Enhancement, his movements were faster than an ordinary person's. His left hand grabbed Derek's swinging wrist and twisted it downward, while his right elbow drove into the other man's ribs. He didn't intend to cause serious injury, but rather to create pain and imbalance.

Derek cried out in pain and stumbled back.

"Get him!" someone roared from the shadows.

Five people lunged at him simultaneously.

Time slowed down in Alex's perception.

This wasn't a metaphor—under the dual boost of Neural Reaction Enhancement (Primary) and Dynamic Vision, he could clearly see everyone's movement trajectories, speed, and even the tendency of their center of gravity to shift.

But he didn't have the one-against-ten martial arts from the movies. He only had what Coach Mick had taught him: create space, create chaos, create opportunity.

The first person swung a baseball bat at him. Alex sidestepped to avoid it, not meeting it head-on, but instead kicked the side of the person's knee—not to shatter the kneecap, but to make them lose balance. The man fell to the ground screaming.

The second and third persons flanked him simultaneously. Alex grabbed a discarded oil drum lid nearby as a makeshift shield to block the attack from one side, while leaning his body to the other side and ramming his shoulder into the third person's chest. At the moment of impact, he felt the power advantage brought by Physical Sublimation—the opponent was bulkier than him but had an unstable stance and was knocked back several steps.

But the fourth person lunged from behind and put him in a chokehold.

A sense of suffocation instantly hit him. Alex didn't panic; he remembered Coach Mick's teaching: when choked from behind, the first reaction isn't to struggle, but—

He snapped his head back violently, his crown slamming hard into the other man's nose.

"Ah!" A scream came from behind, and the grip on his neck loosened. Alex broke free, turned around, and took the man down with a leg sweep.

The fifth person—the scarred man who had brought him—pulled out a switchblade.

The blade glinted coldly in the dim warehouse.

"Kid, you're quite the fighter." The scarred man approached slowly. "But a knife and fists are two different things."

Alex's breathing was slightly rapid, and there was sweat on his forehead, but his eyes were calm. He was assessing the distance, the way the man held the knife, and the available environment in the warehouse.

The moment the knife thrust, he sidestepped again, but this time it wasn't as easy—the blade sliced through the sleeve of his left arm, leaving a shallow mark on his skin.

A stinging pain followed, but almost simultaneously, Primary Self-Healing began to work. The wound didn't bleed; it just burned with pain.

The scarred man was stunned for a moment, clearly not expecting the other party to dodge so nimbly.

Just then, the sound of sirens came from outside the warehouse.

Approaching from far to near, and more than one vehicle.

Everyone froze.

"You called the police?!" Derek's face turned pale.

Alex didn't speak. He had indeed sent his location, but according to the timing, the police shouldn't have arrived this quickly—

The warehouse doors were slammed open, and the blinding lights of police cars shone in.

"Everyone! Hands behind your heads and get down!"

Police rushed in, at least seven or eight of them, all fully armed.

But to Alex's surprise, the one leading them wasn't a regular patrol officer, but a middle-aged Asian man in plain clothes with a serious expression. He walked straight up to Alex and looked him over: "Alex Su?"

"Yes."

The plainclothes man nodded, then turned to Derek: "Derek Winston? You are suspected of hiring someone to cause injury, illegal detention, and planning a violent crime. You have the right to remain silent..."

When Derek was handcuffed, he was completely dazed.

The plainclothes man walked over to Alex and lowered his voice: "Someone gave us a heads-up in advance. You know Allison from 'Harmony Bridge'?"

Alex understood instantly. Taylor's team—or rather, the network of connections behind her—was protecting him.

"How's the injury?" The plainclothes man glanced at the scratch on his arm.

"A minor wound," Alex said. "Do I need to go to the station to make a statement?"

"Just come in tomorrow morning. For now..." The plainclothes man looked at Derek being loaded into the police car, "you have more important things to handle."

He handed Alex a business card: "My name is Detective Chen Zhiming, LAPD Asian Community Liaison Office. Next time something like this happens, call me directly. Some kids think having a father in office means they can do whatever they want—we need to let them know that's not how it works in Los Angeles."

The police cars drove away.

Alex was left alone in the warehouse, with the faint Echo of sirens in the distance.

He looked down at the scratch on his arm—the bleeding had already stopped, and the edges were starting to scab over. The effect of Primary Self-Healing was even better than he had imagined.

As he walked out of the warehouse, the setting sun had just sunk below the horizon, dyeing the sky blood-red.

His phone vibrated. It was a private message from Taylor's "creator alt account," with only one sentence:

"Are you okay?"

Alex leaned against the car, looking at the sentence, and suddenly started laughing.

He replied: "I'm fine. Thanks."

A few seconds later, a new message: "Are you free this weekend? Nashville, my studio. I have some things about light and sound I want to mess around with someone."

Alex looked up at the night sky of Los Angeles, feeling for the first time that those dim stars seemed a bit brighter.

He typed: "Send me the address."

Sent.

Then he pulled open the car door and sat in the driver's seat. Before starting the engine, he called up the system interface.

The popularity numbers were still jumping. The growth from the video going viral during the day, combined with a certain strange emotional resonance from the "actual combat" just now—maybe it was adrenaline, maybe something else—made the numbers jump up another notch.

It was enough to exchange for [Neural Reaction Enhancement (Intermediate)].

He clicked exchange.

The feeling this time was even stronger. The world in his eyes seemed to have been set to a higher refresh rate; his thinking speed, reaction speed, and information processing ability were all comprehensively improved. If the previous primary level was an "optimization," then the intermediate level was an "upgrade."

He gripped the steering wheel, feeling the power surging through his body.

Then he laughed, out loud.

That idiot Derek probably would never understand one thing:

You can hire thugs, you can play dirty tricks, and you can use power to suppress people.

But you can never stop someone who has a system cheat, has a superstar looking out for him in secret, and is also damn good at fighting.

The car drove out of the industrial area and merged into the flow of traffic in Los Angeles at night.

The city lights outside the window were as brilliant as a galaxy.

And Alex knew that the star trail belonging to him had only just begun to light up.