Police in Los Angeles

After listening to Jack recount the story of the unfortunate father and son, Zoe gave him a kiss on the lips as a reward. "Jack, you really are a kind person."

Jack sighed. In his previous life, although he had always been single, he had experienced hardship. If not for a friend's help, he might have never bounced back and lived as carefree as he did after 40. Helping that father and son today was purely for his peace of mind. If he were an independent investigator, he might have let the man go, knowing full well the notorious reputation of American child welfare services. They could very well take the boy away from his father for some ridiculous reason.

Of course, Jack had no desire or capability to change the economic decline and middle-class collapse in America. He wasn't that ambitious. His current biggest wish was to enhance his abilities through the system and take care of the girls around him in this strange world.

As for the future, he would decide once he fully understood the limits of the system's capabilities. Right now, he had a more serious and immediate problem to deal with.

After today's shootout, he once again found himself in a manic state and ended up exhausting Zoe in bed.

Previously, Jack had consulted a high school friend who was a top student. Following his advice, Jack bought several psychology books and even gained the skill "Psychology (Beginner)", but he still couldn't find an answer.

When Jack finished describing his problem, Zoe cupped his face, examining him closely, and gave a response that made him laugh and cry. "I've heard of PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) in the military, but I've never heard of what you're describing. I think maybe God made you too perfect, so he gave you this little flaw."

Then, the alluring older woman smiled mischievously. "Actually, you don't need to worry too much about it. I give you special permission. If I'm not around and you find yourself in a similar situation, you can ask little Hannah to help you out."

Jack's heart skipped a beat, and he blurted out, "Are you sure?"

Seeing his quick response, Zoe left a bite mark on his shoulder and said through gritted teeth, "Yes, you can also ask Maureen. I think she's very interested in you. After our meal, she kept asking about you. If she, as a psychologist, can't solve your problem, let her try another way."

"I love TV drama worlds. I love strong women," Jack thought, suppressing his excitement and putting on a hurt expression. "Darling, do you doubt me? I think I need further treatment from you."

Zoe rolled her eyes but then gasped, losing herself in the ensuing passion.

The next day, Jack went to the EAP counseling center as usual to see Maureen, not because he believed Zoe's outrageous suggestion but due to the police union's mandatory requirement.

"Basically, that's it. The symptoms persist until I... uh, release them." Jack looked slightly embarrassed.

"I hope this issue isn't recorded in my file. If I ever apply to the FBI or another agency, they'll see these records. I don't want to be seen as antisocial or sexually deviant."

Today, Maureen wore a knee-length white dress, simple yet highlighting her figure. Her makeup was lighter than last time, giving her a more ladylike appearance. She sat across from Jack, not behind her desk, and her bare legs, visible through her open-toed high heels, showed off pink nail polish. Listening to Jack, she occasionally curled her toes, which Jack found oddly endearing.

Jack didn't know why he was using the word "cute" for a woman in her thirties, and he wasn't a foot fetishist, but Maureen's outfit today made it hard for him to know where to look without feeling like he was disrespecting her.

After hearing Jack out, Maureen elegantly sipped her tea and adjusted her gold-rimmed glasses. "Rest assured, Zoe is my best friend. You have my guarantee that our discussions on this matter will never be recorded or written down."

Seeing Jack nod gratefully, she continued, "Can you describe in detail your reactions during life-and-death situations or extreme stress and what you think about when the symptoms appear afterward?"

Jack pretended to ponder, though there was no need. The scenes played out in his mind like a slow-motion movie, each frame vividly clear.

"The first time, a suspect shot at my patrol car with a semi-automatic rifle. I ducked to avoid the bullets, and one grazed my ear, embedding in the headrest. At that moment, I felt the adrenaline surge through me. Not only was my mind highly focused, but my observational and reactionary abilities, even my confidence, were significantly heightened."

"Until I killed the suspect, I didn't show any of the normal reactions to stress. Afterward, I forced myself to look at the body. Though I felt disgusted, I didn't feel like vomiting."

"The second time was yesterday when I saw a suspect aiming at Commander Gray. That feeling came back. I knew there wasn't time to grab the rifle from the backseat, but I could kill him from that distance. So I drew my handgun and emptied the magazine, even though I had only practiced shooting at 10-meter targets for the past month."

Maureen, reading a report, asked with interest, "So you did it? The report says you hit the suspect with all 15 rounds in the torso within five seconds using single-shot mode."

"Yes, it was an exceptional performance," Jack admitted, scratching his head, thinking it was the result of his mental strength breaking 20 and not related to the adrenaline.

"So what's the problem? As a law enforcement officer, having such an extremely calm mindset under pressure is a talent, isn't it? Do you know how many officers seek my help every year for combat anxiety? Most have to leave frontline duty," Maureen said with a hint of exasperation.

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