59. Meditation Level 1, New Friend

Page 1 of 3

A morning in July.

Inside a hospital ward.

Dean was overseeing the muddle-headed couple, Rust and Britney, as they practiced SAT questions to prepare for the autumn exam.

"Half an hour left for the test," Dean announced, glancing at the quartz watch on his wrist. He summoned back the 'Shadow' that had been circling like a kite in the air, then turned to his two friends hunched over the 'Reading Comprehension' section by the hospital bed. "By the way, have you two picked your target schools yet?"

"University of Arizona, you know I’ve always loved stargazing since I was a kid," Rust replied, chewing on the end of his pen. "So I've applied for the astronomy department."

"Ambitious. That's not an easy one to get into. I suggest you line up a few more options, at least five applications," Dean advised.

Rust nodded. "I know the odds aren't great, so I've already got a backup plan."

"What about you, Britney?"

"Philosophy," the girl replied with a bright smile, poking her hair with her pencil. Then she shot back, "We haven’t seen you do any practice questions with us these days. You’re always buried in that volunteer training manual. Are you planning not to go to college?"

Dean didn't deny it.

Rust’s expression tightened. "Don’t tell me you’ve already abandoned the 'Future College Alliance' and are planning to become a cop?"

"Not necessarily a cop," Dean shook his head.

His outlook had changed dramatically since first arriving; after witnessing supernatural powers, he had little appetite for spending years idling on a college campus.

Besides, he'd already been through college once in his previous life. This time, he intended to live differently:

First, volunteer to get a sense of the basics, then maybe private detective, spiritual medium, freelancer—all good options.

Try everything possible, work on developing his system and strengthening his abilities.

If necessary, he could always attend a community college later.

"Does this mean we won’t see each other as often?" Rust’s handsome face wrinkled with a look of grievance and reluctance.

"Relax. No matter where I end up, I’ll always come find you guys for a get-together. Besides, there’s still a whole year until graduation. You really think you won’t see me?"

...

The beginning of July slipped by in this diligent, orderly way.

July twentieth, discharge day.

Bright sunlight poured through the window onto Dean’s face.

He blinked, awakening from meditation, and the faint red sphere that had lingered far away was now replaced by a gentle white light.

At the same time, a prompt flashed before his eyes.

Proficiency +1, Balanced Meditation lv0 (100/100)

Upgrade available?

Yes!

Balanced Meditation lv1 (0/200)

Your low Will attribute has increased, 11.2 → 12.2.

...

An increase in Will wasn’t as intense as the boost in Perception; it was just a brief, cool sensation passing through his mind.

Dean closed his eyes and recalled the terrifying pale ghost face of Alexander Raphael, but this time his heart was utterly calm, as if seeing a cheap and shoddy mask.

He tried thinking about his girlfriend Caroline’s graceful curves after a month apart, but unlike before, there was no rush of blood or restless desire.

"Increasing Will lessens interference from emotion and desire."

Still, his thoughts wandered.

Page 2 of 3

After all, he’d been cooped up in the hospital for a month without vigorous activity, and with the energy built up from Balanced Meditation and his Ironman specialty, he was practically a walking stick of dynamite waiting for a spark!

...

Aside from progress in meditation, a month’s persistent mental training and the daily 1-point proficiency boost from the spirit board had yielded results: Shadows of the Past lv0 (13/100 → 43/100).

He had also read through all the materials Holden had sent—law, first-response emergency care, police scenarios, and physical training.

...

After organizing everything, Dean left the hospital.

Beneath the long-missed gentle sunshine, the tall white Bronco, with its big tires, square hood, and headlights, felt like an old friend.

Beside the Bronco, Rust and Britney, both dressed in couple outfits, greeted him with broad smiles.

"Buddy, welcome back! Had enough of lying in that hospital bed? Come join us for a tour of California’s passionate mountains and gentle beaches! Everyone’s waiting for you—we’re setting off soon!"

Rust was beaming with joy.

Dean was caught off guard. "In such a rush? Are you sure you’ve packed all your camping gear?"

"Of course, we’ve got a camping expert in the group, and a stunning beauty to boot. Tents, air mattresses, sleeping bags, cameras, hiking backpacks, lighting and fire-starting gear, high-calorie snacks, water—everything was bought in advance, including your share. Generous, right?"

Rust’s face was flushed, his eyes sparkling. He was as proud as a rooster, a little too excited.

"And this advisor is reliable?"

"She’s a veteran—gone camping over a dozen times, not a single accident!"

"Alright then, but don’t rush off just yet—I need to head home to grab some clothes and personal stuff."

"We’ll meet at my place in a bit."

...

Dean drove home, packed his things, changed into fresh jeans and a T-shirt, then grabbed his M1911A1, two boxes of .45 ACP ammo, a spirit board, and some sage incense. With the board, he could conduct a séance.

From now on, a loaded Colt and his spiritualist kit would be his standard travel gear.

All set.

Dean drove to Rust’s house, where a red Ford F-150 was parked out front, its bed piled high with backpacks and suitcases.

Next to it was a retro-styled Mercury station wagon with suicide doors and a handsome wood-paneled exterior that looked like a work of art.

Six young men and women were leaning against the two vehicles, chatting animatedly.

"Hey, ladies and gents, look over here—let’s welcome our final team member, the Savior of Lake Mead, Bruce Lee’s living heir, Dean Lou!"

Dean’s cheek twitched. What kind of nickname was that?

"Hey..."

The six greeted him with enthusiastic waves.

"This pair are Beck and Jenny, juniors like us. Good friends from the swim club—they were at Lake Mead too," Britney said, pointing to the couple cozied up by the station wagon.

The boy wore a floral shirt and jean shorts, his build strong. The girl had tanned skin and slightly curled black hair—obviously of mixed Black descent, with a cheerful personality and a rhythmic way of speaking as if ready to break into a rap to welcome Dean.

"Nice shirt, man," Dean noted, glancing at the boy's chest peeking through the shirt, thick with black hair—perhaps some Slavic blood there.

"I’ve been wanting to thank you," the floral-shirted Beck said, giving Dean a hug.

"Dean, anytime, anywhere, just say the word," Jenny, with her softly curling hair, bumped fists with him.

...

Leaning against the F-150 was another white couple: Long and Ashley.

Page 3 of 3

Long wore thick black glasses, a plaid shirt, sweatpants, and sneakers. Ashley was petite and sweet-faced.

Both were a bit shy, not talkative, but greeted Dean with warm smiles.

...

Finally, Rust introduced Dean to another pair in matching blue T-shirts.

"Hi! I’m Abby, a junior," said the slightly shorter, black-haired 'boy,' waving at Dean with a soft voice. Sunlight highlighted the acne on Abby’s face, giving a timid, self-conscious impression.

"Good morning," Dean nodded at her.

"And this is Gretchen, also a junior, our 'chief advisor' for the trip and Britney’s close friend. Britney and Rust always talk about you, praising you to the skies, calling you a genius." The girl beside Abby extended her hand, shaking Dean’s with a lively, sparkling gaze.

Her looks far outshone her companion—big eyes, a high nose bridge, striking features without any harshness, and a neat black braid trailing down her back. She stood nearly as tall as Dean’s 5’9”.

The blue T-shirt and gray fitted leggings highlighted her long, curvy legs and full chest—a tall, athletic yet sensual figure, evoking the legendary Amazon warriors.

But what stood out most were her pale blue eyes, pure and beautiful, making even the finest blue sapphires pale in comparison.

"Don’t listen to Rust’s exaggerations—I’m just average," Dean said, casting a discreet glance. Next to Gretchen, Abby looked like an awkward duckling beside a swan—the contrast stark.

After the introductions, Dean returned to his Bronco, opening the door as he half-joked to Rust, "What were you thinking? This is obviously a couples’ camping trip, and you insisted on bringing me, the odd wheel."

"What couples’ trip?" Rust looked puzzled. "Did you misunderstand?"

"You and Britney, Beck and Jenny, Long and Ashley, Abby and Gretchen—that’s four pairs. Why call me, the odd one out?"

Rust burst out laughing. "You got it wrong this time, buddy."

Next to him, Britney put her hands on her hips, puffing her cheeks like an angry hamster. "Abby and Gretchen are best friends, not a couple!"

"Pfft—"

Dean turned back awkwardly and apologetically.

The acne-faced 'boy' heard their conversation, face falling and head bowing.

Gretchen hugged her friend’s shoulders, offering quiet comfort while her blue eyes shot Dean a look of displeasure.

"Sorry, Abby, I didn’t mean it. Rust, say something, I’m not that kind of guy."

"It’s okay, Dean. I’m used to it," Abby said, taking a deep breath and forcing a smile. "I’ve always been a tomboy."

Dean couldn’t help glancing at her chest again—flat as a washboard, nothing to be seen even with the T-shirt pressed close, less developed than Beck’s chest hair.

With the androgynous voice and style...

Buddy—no, miss.

I’m truly, deeply sorry.

"Abby and Gretchen are your responsibility. Let’s get going, everyone!"

Rust called Britney into the F-150; Beck’s group piled into the station wagon.

Dean pressed the Bronco’s front seat forward to reveal the awkward backseat.

"Ladies, after you."

...

Three cars pulled out of Las Vegas, merged onto I-15, and headed west.