Eddie rubbed his messy hair and bit his lip, lying through his teeth: "It's still in the polishing phase. You know how it is—a good story always takes a bit more time."
Heh, if I hadn't seen the movie, I might actually believe your nonsense.
Byrne took a sip of his drink and offered a "kind" reminder: "True enough. But I should warn you, you need to submit at least a hundred thousand words by the last day of this month, or you'll be in breach of contract."
"Don't worry," Eddie said. "I'll definitely turn it in on time."
Byrne nodded, then pointed to the pill on the table, asking with feigned curiosity, "Is that medicine you bought?"
Eddie froze for a moment before looking down at the pill and explaining: "Yeah. The writing pressure has been getting to me lately, and my head hasn't been clear. I ran into a pharmaceutical salesman just now who said this pill is very effective, so I figured I'd buy one to try."
Hearing this, Byrne laughed. "What a coincidence. I've been feeling quite out of sorts lately myself. Why don't you sell it to me? How much?"
Eddie was about to say eight hundred dollars, but then a thought struck him: the man in front of him was his editor. Since the pill had come to him so easily, giving it away as a favor would be worth more than the cash.
So, Eddie immediately changed his tune and pushed the pill toward Byrne. "It's just one pill; it's not worth much. Take it as a gift."
Ooh, not bad. This kid knows how the world works.
Seeing Eddie offer the pill, Byrne was overjoyed internally, but on the surface, he maintained a look of surprise. "Oh, I couldn't possibly..."
Despite his words, Byrne's hand shot out to snatch the pill from the table, as if terrified Eddie might regret the decision a second later.
Seeing Byrne accept the gift, Eddie felt a wave of relief and pushed Vernon's business card over as well. "Don't mention it. I might not have even used it anyway. That's the salesman's card—if it works well, just contact him directly."
Byrne tucked the pill into his inner shirt pocket and folded Vernon's card into a slot in his wallet before taking another sip of his drink. "Thanks. If it really works, I owe you one. I can give you a bit more breathing room on that deadline."
Eddie's eyes lit up. He had been agonizing over the lack of time to write, which is why he'd resorted to this "borrowed favor" tactic. Now, with Byrne's promise, he finally felt a weight lift and nodded with a smile. "Thank you, Mr. Byrne."
The two chatted for a while longer—mostly Eddie rambling about writing ideas while Byrne humored him with half-hearted responses. In reality, Byrne's mind had already flown to the pill in his pocket. Once Eddie was slightly tipsy, Byrne made an excuse to take his leave.
Returning home, Byrne collapsed onto his sofa, feeling exhausted. He pulled the plastic bag from his pocket and stared at the pill, feeling a sense of unreality. Because he knew the plot of Limitless, he understood exactly how staggering the effects of this tiny transparent pill could be.
In the movie, Eddie Morra was a talentless, third-rate novelist living in squalor until he ran into his former brother-in-law and received this miraculous drug. NZT-48 completely changed his destiny, giving him an extraordinary capacity for learning that allowed him to flip his life from failure to the "Wolf of Wall Street," eventually reaching the pinnacle of human success.
Having watched the film over a decade ago, Byrne had often fantasized about getting his hands on such a pill. He never expected that old fantasy to actually come true.
Byrne mimicked Eddie's action from the movie, tilting his head back and swallowing the pill in one go. It didn't taste bitter as he expected; instead, it had a faint, subtle sweetness.
Immediately after swallowing, there was no sensation, leading Byrne to briefly suspect he'd been given a fake. But after twenty seconds, a marvelous sensation surged directly into his brain.
If anyone had been watching closely, they would have seen Byrne's eyes transform—like two panes of dirty glass wiped perfectly clean—becoming exceptionally clear and bright.
Before the sweetness had even fully vanished, Byrne felt as if someone had gently tapped the back of his head. This sudden "tap" didn't hurt; instead, it brought an inexplicable sense of clarity, like a martial artist having their meridians cleared in a wuxia novel.
Memories buried deep in his mind burst forth like water from a breached dam. Details he would normally overlook were captured with pinpoint accuracy. As expected of NZT-48. This feels incredible.
The clarity lasted a few seconds before traveling down his spine like an electric current, spreading through his entire body. The room he previously thought was "clean enough" now looked unbearable under the lens of his superhuman vision.
Just like in the movie, Byrne began to clean. A task that usually would have taken hours was finished in less than thirty minutes under the influence of the drug, and he didn't feel the slightest bit of fatigue.
"Heh, the effect feels even more exaggerated than in the movie."
Byrne felt brimming with vitality and boundless strength. Having cleaned the house, he dove straight into his study. His desk was piled high with over a dozen manuscripts he hadn't yet processed.
At the very top was Rainy Night Without Footprints, a mystery novel by a debut author. He hadn't been able to get past the second chapter previously—the logical plot holes were as numerous as a sieve's pores, the character motivations were bizarre, and the basic narrative rhythm was off. Because there was so much to criticize, he hadn't even known where to start fixing it. Consequently, it and several other similar manuscripts had been sidelined for days.
Now, as he flipped through the novel again, Byrne found his reading speed was blistering. He wasn't just reading ten lines at a glance; twenty was no problem, and he didn't miss a single word.
In his eyes, the once-chaotic logic of the text was instantly parsed and deconstructed into countless segments by his overclocked brain. He picked up a pen and began making constant revisions on the pages.
Move the murder clue from Chapter 3 up to the coffee cup detail in Chapter 1... delete the female lead's abrupt revenge motive and add a flashback of her witnessing domestic violence in childhood...
Fifteen minutes later, Byrne had produced a long, clear, and logically consistent list of revision suggestions for the 200,000-word manuscript. He had even uncovered a subtle sub-plot that the original author hadn't managed to articulate clearly.
Byrne closed Rainy Night Without Footprints and set it aside, reaching for the next manuscript.