Neural speeds? Seven gears?

The threshold is at third gear, but one must reach fourth to become a transcendent male escort?

Heath pondered, watching Devin's serious demeanor. Could this transcendent talent test be akin to some sort of psychological assessment?

After all, a male escort spends his days with a variety of female clients. Without a strong inner self, it's easy to falter and cause all sorts of trouble.

It's just that Miss Ayane and Devin, lacking professional psychological knowledge, resorted to such rudimentary methods...

"Besides, this drink will do you no harm," Devin added. "It's great for muscle gain, hair growth, and... enlarging certain parts."

"It can enhance that too?" Heath's eyes widened, suddenly quite spirited, almost spitting out his drink in surprise.

Why didn't you say so earlier? He had wasted a drop on his collar just now.

It seems the so-called "transcendent male escort" is someone who can always keep a hold of himself but leaves the clients unable to do the same...

Why the secrecy that had him worried?

"Alright then." Taking a deep breath, Heath slumped onto the wooden sofa in the corner and began watching the TV.

As expected, the more he watched, the more potent the drink's effects became, nearly bringing him to the brink of howling.

It must be the liquor causing hallucinations, as a swirling orb of light unexpectedly appeared in his mind, absorbing all the alcohol's strength, quelling the restlessness, discomfort, and boiling sensation, soothing every nerve.

Was it the effect of meditation? Distracting his attention?

The swirling orb grew brighter and more tangible...

Within the vortex, a prompt-like message appeared:

【Alert, neural hyper-speed gear, alert, neural hyper-speed gear】

What was this, a subconscious pursuit reflected in a hallucination?

His subconscious desired to reach hyper-speed, so his conscious mind, fueled by alcohol, satisfied the need? Quite the clever trick.

Heath felt odd, yet it seemed he had found a strategy!

According to Devin, the longer one could endure this test, the higher the talent gear they could attain.

With this hallucinatory vortex as support, he wouldn't go crazy from the alcohol or pass out completely.

"Hmm." Devin, busy mixing drinks, observed Heath with a stoic face. Of course, as soon as you mention the possibility to enlarge certain parts, they pounce, not stopping to consider if it's true or not. Such is human nature.

This talent test focused on neural performance.

As the effects of the drink took hold, those reaching third gear couldn't stay still; as for hyper-speed, in his many years, Devin had seen it only once during a talent test.

The subject's face was veined with throbbing blue lines, their head looking as if it might explode—a terrifying spectacle.

But now, Heath was merely restless, with not a single vein visible on his forehead...

It didn't look promising. Devin sighed silently. The kid's talent was mediocre at best, his nerves not particularly sensitive.

Judging by his current state, Heath was somewhere between second and third gear, barely squeezing into the third...

With such neural potential, even if he became a transcendent, his prospects were limited.

The accuracy of the drink was impeccable. Devin didn't need or like to use those expensive and potentially harmful neural helmets on ordinary people. Besides, after years of testing countless geniuses and fools, he had never been wrong in his overall assessment of someone's talents.

It seemed Kumiko had misjudged this time...

Silence fell upon the izakaya, with only the TV making noise.

After a while, a series of rapid footsteps approached from outside the door. Before a figure appeared, a wild female voice rang out:

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"Devin, I heard Fish Pond has a new male escort? Where is he? Come out and entertain me!"

Heath saw a young woman stride into the shop with agility.

She was a mixed-race beauty with green eyes, a high nose bridge, and a mess of short black hair.

Among her hair were many decorations resembling wires and silicon strips, intertwined with her dark locks. She wore a black leather jacket and blood-red denim pants, her figure no less impressive than the supermodels on TV.

On closer inspection, her right hand was missing from the shoulder down.

She was like an incomplete midnight blood moon.

Behind her followed a group of other fit women, each resembling a warrior.

And on their leather jackets was a unified emblem—a bloodied knife. Were they part of a gang?

These women didn't all enter, just stood by the door, some smoking, others fiddling with large mobile phones.

"Lorna, the commander, Fish Pond is not serving right now," Devin said, his tone cautious.

He sensed a wild, bloodthirsty aura from the blood-knife group—they had just returned from hunting an alien species...

"Don't want to entertain our mercenary group? Kumiko said I'm always a VIP at the club."

The woman's hawk-like gaze found Heath on the sofa, "Is that the kid? Just him?"

She looked disdainful at once, "He's not bad-looking, but too skinny, huh? Not even as heavy as me, right? You all see, he'll probably be panting after a few strokes, no strength, no stamina, what good is he for a woman's pleasure?"

Laughter came from the female mercenaries at the door, smoking and playing with their phones, ignoring the commotion.

Heath could tell at a glance this woman was unhappy, like many of his past clients, her heart in turmoil, yet she spoke loudly and behaved rudely, feigning toughness.

A mercenary group, they engaged in dangerous work, possibly involved in gang fights. The commander, Lorna, had even lost her right hand.

How could such a life not lead to confusion and pain? Losing a hand would make everything even more difficult.

Her current behavior was actually a cry for help, seeking attention and solace.

"He hasn't debuted yet, he's not seeing clients," Devin warned, setting down his bar tools, "You can go play at The Lustrous, but it's best not to make trouble at Fish Pond."

"Good evening, Commander Lorna," Heath quickly stood up and interrupted with a friendly smile, "I'm Heath."

Why was Devin being so hostile? As a psychologist, he couldn't stand it.

"You looking for trouble, kid?" Devin growled, "That woman's personality is unstable, she could go crazy at any moment!"

"Devin..." Now Heath was genuinely irritated. Even if you know Commander Lorna has a psychological issue and urgently needs treatment, you can't speak about it like that.

Building mental health always requires cooperation between the patient and the therapist.

The therapist must make the patient believe they are normal, capable of solving their problems!

Be positive, not negative!

"Yeah, I could go crazy at any time..."

Commander Lorna seemed provoked, forgetting to tease him, her gaze becoming more bizarre, her pupils bottomless darkness, "Scared? Good. When you meet someone like me, you should be scared..."

Heath, however, boldly approached her, reassuring her, "You look great, better than those supermodels. Maybe for me, dangerous women are the most attractive."

"You don't have the capacity to handle her, don't blame me if you die." Devin's face darkened, scoffing, "This isn't a metaphor, she's not normal!"

"She is." Heath just wished Devin would shut up.

Patients are normal people.

He had seen countless patients who initially closed off their hearts, but Commander Lorna had come to Fish Pond seeking help, giving the therapist a chance to reach her heart.

"Hmm?" Commander Lorna narrowed her eyes, surprised by the new male escort's courage.

The female mercenaries by the door were curious too. Why wasn't this guy afraid of their blood-knife group?

Heath led Commander Lorna to sit by the bar, suppressing the heat from the alcohol, and began a lively conversation:

"You seem a bit unhappy, and so am I. Just a few hours ago, I was almost killed by the Arcade Gang. What brings you here?"

The first part of his statement was about empathy, the second about goal-setting, both aimed at getting closer to the patient.

This was the professional lingo of a psychologist, not something rudimentary methods could match.

"What the hell?" Commander Lorna was confused, even looking at Devin, wondering what was going on with the kid.

Devin watched coldly, letting go of the situation.

The talent test could still continue, though. These mercenary women were far more stimulating and nerve-accelerating than any TV supermodel.

Patients often refuse to speak at first, but Heath wasn't surprised, continuing:

"Life has its ups and downs. I think it's normal for things to happen. Now that I can be a male escort, I'm quite happy. Have you had any happy moments?"

The first part normalized the issue, the second sought positive exceptions, looking for positive energy.

"Happy?" Commander Lorna raised an eyebrow, staring at him for a long time without intimidation, then reluctantly said with self-mockery, "Not really, I'm too pathetic."

"There is." Heath firmly believed, if she was willing to answer, then there was a way, "There must be."

"Is there?" She looked up, "When my scumbag parents were beheaded, I suppose I was a little happy."

"..." Heath was at a loss for words. Was her story that tragic?

Devin chuckled coldly, not knowing what he was getting into. Was this madwoman something a second-gear like him could handle?

But Heath understood; she was another person living in the pain of the past.

For such people, making peace with the past before achieving happiness is too difficult; they belong to the future.

He decided to employ the "Solution-Focused Brief Therapy" approach.

This therapy, unlike traditional psychological treatment, doesn't delve into the past with patients but focuses on the present and future, especially a hopeful future.

"Commander Lorna, if one day a miracle happened, and you woke up to find your life had changed. It became exactly the kind you wanted, what do you think that would be like?"

He asked casually, as if playing a game, allowing the patient to relax as much as possible.

The big move of Solution-Focused Brief Therapy: the miracle question.

"This..." Commander Lorna frowned, hesitating as if something was holding her back.

Heath simply offered gentle companionship, not rushing her, giving her time and space to take that step herself.

"Ha, you weakling, you're actually quite interesting." Commander Lorna suddenly laughed, "Sisters, bring me my right hand! Devin, open a bottle of thirty-year-old Fenggu! I'm going to have a proper drink with him."

Devin's face creased with surprise at her laughter, having never seen her smile before, and she didn't seem to be losing control... Thirty years of Fenggu? That would cost a pretty penny...

Heath was puzzled too. Wait, what did she mean by bringing her right hand over?