She slammed the phone down.
I gave the room one last check. It looked clean and tidy. Except for a big scraggy dog, black as the devil, lying on the floor by the couch staring at me with his tongue hanging out.
My Reputation with Richie had already grown to Amicability. His owner Sveta Messerschmitt had resorted to sobbing when I’d sent her the dog’s picture: a grinning head with a moist black nose taking up half the screen. That way she couldn’t see how gaunt he really was. I’d made sure his wounds weren’t visible, either.
As it had turned out, she was away on vacation with her parents, due to return in two weeks’ time. As soon as we’d finished talking, Richie and I shuffled off to the nearest vet. He might have to stay with me for a while.
The vet had given Richie a thorough wash with flea shampoo, treated and dressed his wounds, cleaned up his eyes, given him a few injections and fed him a vermifuge pill. I paid unhesitantly, using up most of whatever was left on my card and spending the rest of it on some meat scraps from the market butcher’s. I also bought a packet of spaghetti for myself. It was a good job I’d quit smoking, otherwise I might have bought some cigarettes instead. I just hoped that the Siberian pine nut producers had already transferred their payment to my bank account.
Boris the she-cat had greeted the canine newcomer from the strategic height of the back of the couch. The sound she’d made upon our arrival resembled the hissing of a boiling kettle rising to the wailing of a Banshee. She hadn’t yet realized that a fully grown German Shepherd was a far cry from a Chihuahua.
At first, Richie watched her curiously, tilting his head to one side. Then he sneezed and stood up, resting his front legs on the couch. Reaching out, he attempted to sniff the cat.
Boris gave him a hearty slap on the muzzle, then clung to the couch, her ears lowered, her tail swishing around. She was making weird guttural sounds reminiscent of the growling of the walking dead.
The dog opened his jaws and gingerly grabbed Boris by the scruff of her neck. Tilting his head high, he carried the cat toward the front door. Boris hung in his grasp obediently like a newborn kitten.
“Richie, no!” I snapped.
Richie spat the cat out and looked at me inquiringly.
Covered in the dog’s saliva, Boris darted off, climbed up the curtains and jumped onto the wardrobe. From its relative safety, she warily watched the new enemy’s movements while zealously licking herself clean. She stayed there for the rest of the day and even ignored her dinner.
I spent the afternoon contemplating my leveling strategy. I had to stop in the evening to take Richie out.
The dog had turned out to be remarkably smart. He knew all the commands. As I had neither a leash nor a muzzle for him to wear, I had to walk next to him holding onto his collar until we reached the park. There I took a look around to make sure there was nobody nearby and set the impatient, whimpering dog free to do his business.
I bet he received +100% to Satisfaction for his patience!
As for my leveling, I decided to concentrate on my urgent needs for the time being. I needed to earn some quick money in order to pay the bills and decide what I was going to do about Yanna.
Yes, you heard it right. In the last few days, I seemed to have calmed down a bit. My heart still clenched with the memory of the loss but... how sure was I that I really needed all this? Were we happy? I mean, really happy? Or was it just the convenience of having a female attendant in my life?
So far, I didn’t have the answers to that. The news about her planning to divorce me hadn’t changed much. We’d still have to sit down and talk. Even if we parted ways, we needed to do it properly, to make sure we didn’t have to turn away every time we ran across each other on the street.
You couldn’t really call this a leveling plan. Honestly, I hadn’t yet decided which stats I should concentrate on. Logically, it would be a good idea to start with physical characteristics, if only to bring them up to average. That would positively affect lots of things: my health as well as appearance and probably even self-confidence. As for improving such arcane characteristics as Intellect and Perception, I still had no idea what benefits it might garner.
The job of a sales rep required Charisma, Perception and Empathy, as well as Vending skills. You have to be able to feel your client. Question was whether I still wanted to do it. Not at the moment, but as a career choice.
I didn’t have the answer to that, either.
As for Luck, I had no idea how to level it up. I remember reading some LitRPG book where the MC had managed to level up Luck by betting recklessly in a casino. Unfortunately, the lamentable state of my wallet prevented me from trying that out. Which was a good thing, probably. My common sense — or should I say my inner greedy pig? — prevented me from going down that route.
Should I go out and start collecting quests from all and sundry? Firstly, I still had no idea how I was supposed to receive them. And secondly, what would it give me? It could probably improve my social networking skills — or even help build a few “connections” by raising my Reputation with a large number of useful or influential people. Beggars can’t be choosers, can they? Still, the idea gave me a bad taste in my mouth. It was a bit like helping an old lady across the street simply to impress the girl you’re with.
I may be a smarmy bastard but all my smarm resulted from the several years spent trying to sell junk. And you can’t sell junk to people without sacrificing your integrity. But you still have to do it in order to put food on the table. You need to pay for modern-day luxuries which make the base of our consumer pyramid, such as quality food, fast Internet connection and flat-rate gaming plans. In my case at least.
So this was the outcome of my hectic day: my leveling plan for the next month, a dog sleeping on the floor by my bed and Boris howling her fury from the safety of the wardrobe.
Early next morning, I received a small but urgent job offer to edit a graduation thesis. The offered fee of two thousand rubles was enough to last us a couple of days. I agreed unhesitantly and spent until lunch working on it. The client paid straight away, followed by an online transfer from my Siberian pine nut customers. Time for the beggars to party!
Richie and I went to the pet shop and bought him a new leash and a muzzle, which consumed most of the thesis payment. Then we popped into the nearest budget supermarket and got ourselves some groceries.
I also bought a pair of the cheapest Chinese sneakers I could find. They stank but at least they added 1 point to Agility and were much more comfortable to jog in than the wretched Derby shoes.
Later that night, Richie and I walked out into the back yard for a bit of practice. I had Strength and Agility to level. I tied Richie next to the kids’ monkey bars and, much to the excited encouragement of our local gutter intellectuals in the face of Yagoza, Sprat and Alik, performed a free routine of parallel bars, wall bars and pull-ups.
I must have looked pathetic. Squirming and swaying, I performed zero pull-ups, zero bar dips and another zero leg raises. Yagoza was laughing so hard he fell off the bench.
That wouldn’t have been so bad but Richie immediately decided that the old jailbird was trying to aggro us and critted him with a dose of Stun Bark. Our audience was suitably impressed and tried to tone down its excitement.
Afterward, Richie and I headed for the park. I left him to do his business and went for a run. I ran till my teeth started to ache and only left when the evening air began swarming with mosquitoes.
I needed to buy a gym membership with my first available earnings, as well as some gym clothes and a pair of running shoes. I had a funny feeling that running was going to seriously improve Agility, Stamina and Sprint speed and probably also relieve my constant knee pain caused by having to lug around tons of excess weight. My Vigor might stop plummeting every five minutes, too.
When we came home, Boris habitually trotted out to greet me but barged right into Richie’s Aura of Fear. With a panicky howl, the cat scrambled back to the safety of the wardro
be where she stayed, watchfully eyeing the demonic hellhound.
Before going to bed, I decided to check out the latest heavily hyped flick. It turned out to be pure trash. My Satisfaction dropped to 3% halfway through it, forcing me to switch it off.
Then Kira rang.
* * *
AS I WAITED for her to arrive, I started reading a marketing tutorial. I was curious to see if it could have any effect on my stats. I’d made my way through a couple of chapters when Kira rang.
I answered the door, then promptly jumped out of her way as she barged in like a furious harpy. (Is there even such a thing as a harpy that’s not furious?)
Bang! she gave me a hearty slap across the head.
“Ghrrrr,” said Richie.
“Doggie!” Kira’s five-year-old son Cyril hurried to give Richie a bear hug.
Richie froze in bewilderment, drooling nervously but suffering my nephew’s familiarity in silence.
“Rich, no!” I exclaimed, worried about the boy.
“Cyril, no!” Kira screamed.
Boris glared at the scene from the heights of the wardrobe top.
I scooped Cyril up in my arms; Richie retired into a corner to recuperate from the penny damage he’d received. Kira rushed around the apartment like a hurricane searching for evidence — any evidence! — of my moral degradation: stacks of empty vodka bottles, overflowing ashtrays, bagfuls of dope, traces of lipstick on coffee cups, a call girl in my bed, a dead body in the closet...
She’d found nothing. Apart from a gaunt scruffy dog, that is.
“I shouldn’t have called you, should I?” she finally said. “I can see you got rid of the bottles.”
“Sure. Thanks for the tip-off,” I replied, peering at her name tag.
Kira Panfilova
Age: 42
Current status: Bank manager
Social status level: 21
Class: Financial expert. Level: 13
Divorced. Ex-husband: Leo Zosimov
Children: Cyril, son. Age: 5
Reputation: Love 1/1
I froze open-mouthed, refusing to believe my eyes. Kira’s social and professional levels were indeed impressive. But Reputation?
I reread the lines several times. Reputation, Love. One out of one.
Kira loved me? This Kira here? She who’d never once commended me or shown her affection to me? Kira the sourpuss who’d never had any compassion for my childhood tears or complaints?
“Phily, what’s with this looney look on your face?” she kept nitpicking. “Mind shutting your mouth? That’s it. Much better!”
“Let me go, Uncle Phily!” little Cyril demanded.
I lowered him onto the floor.
“Go to the bathroom,” Kira told him, “and wash your hands with antiseptic. What a terrible dog! Where did you get him from?”
I told her Richie’s story, reassuring her that the dog was here only temporarily.
“Thank God for that! You can’t look after yourself, let alone a big dog like that! This isn’t the kind of dog you keep in a city apartment, anyway. Are you even sure his owners want him back?”
Finally, we sat down. Or rather, Cyril and I did. Kira fussed around the kitchen laying the table. She expertly kicked the broken oven door shut as she rushed about, all the while showering me with questions. She wanted to know whether I was okay on my own. She demanded to hear my plans for the future. She asked matter-of-factly whether I was considering getting a job and a family.
I could see she wasn’t in a hurry to bring the issue to a head. This was our family tradition: no problems discussed at the dining table.
I looked at her affectionately. Stern and rigid, often too blunt for her own good — but she did love me, idiot that I was, with all the force of her sisterly love.
Love, 1/1. It meant that this feeling couldn’t be leveled. You either loved or you didn’t. The kind of love didn’t matter: it could be your husband, your parents or your sibling.
Unable to hold it in any longer, I rose from the table and gave her a hug.
“Are you nuts?” she demanded without rejecting my embrace.
“Thank you.”
“What for?”
“For raising me. For supporting me. For always being there for me. I wish I understood that at the time.”
She didn’t say anything.
“I want to see the doggie!” Cyril announced.
Kira didn’t reply. Her shoulders shook. She was crying.
We spent a long time just standing there locked in a hug. She was a good head below me, my tiny Sis, who was nevertheless so brave and ballsy. I didn’t need a better role model.
When she finally calmed down, she sat us all down to a quick dinner she’d cooked with whatever groceries she’d brought along. Cyril had finished his food first, so I found some kiddy channel on YouTube for him. With him thus immobilized, at least temporarily, we had tea in silence.
Finally, Kira sighed. “Tomorrow morning she’ll come around to get her stuff. She’ll probably have someone with her. She didn’t want to call you so she asked her mother to give you a ring. Apparently, her mother wasn’t too keen on talking with you, either, so she called me instead and put me in the picture. There’s one thing I wanna ask you. Please don’t start another argument with her. Be a man. Try and talk it over. Ask her to come back and give you another chance. Tell her you’re a different man now. Tell her you’re looking for a job. And if she doesn’t-”
“She won’t.”
“In that case, just let her go. Give her some time. You might try again after a while. And if it still doesn’t work... well, then it just wasn’t meant to happen.”
“Very well. I won’t pick another argument, I promise. I’ll talk to her.”
By then, she’d already cleaned the table and done the washing up.
Cyril was fast asleep in front of the computer. Gingerly I scooped him up in my arms and carried him to the car. We said our goodbyes and gave each other one last hug.
The car left.
I paused outside, enjoying the fresh air.
Alik’s drunken voice disrupted the silence,
“Phil! Dude! I can see you found yourself a new one? A single mother!”
“What? That was my sister!”
“Oops,” he said, visibly embarrassed. “Sorry, dude. Spare a smoke?”
“I quit.”
Back home I climbed into bed and read a couple more chapters of the marketing tutorial. Finally I closed my eyes but sleep wouldn’t come. I couldn’t stop thinking about Yanna coming the next morning. Who was she going to come with? How was I supposed to talk to her? What if she continued to ignore me?
I was almost asleep when the familiar small diamond-shaped black icon appeared in my fading mental view.
I opened it.
You have 1 characteristic point available!
In order to add it to a characteristic of your choice, open your profile window.
That was the point I’d received for making a new level. I’d forgotten all about it.
I opened my profile but saw nowhere to add it to. How were you supposed to invest it? Having said that...
I mentally focused on Luck. Immediately a new window popped up,
Accept / Decline
My mind raced. Luck affects all stats, Martha had said. Logically, it should be the one to invest into. In any case, there was no other way of leveling Luck, apart from making the right life choices. Then again, how were you supposed to know whether you’d made the right choice? Some people lived their entire lives without knowing how their life would have come out had they made a different choice. They were simply unable to think several moves ahead.
Then again, leveling Luck might improve decision-making too. And crits! Crits were essential, weren’t they? They were a must!
Very well, then. Let’s invest it in Luck.
Half-asleep, I felt my wobbly upper arm and the hollow chest. Didn’t they say that Lady Luck favored the strong?
> I deselected Luck and chose Strength.
Just as I zonked out, a red system warning popped up.
Chapter Twelve. Optimization
“Her gaze was begging, mournful, wet, hateful, defeated, anxious, disappointed, naïve, proud, contemptuous — but still it stayed blue.”
Frédéric Beigbeder, Love Lasts Three Years
I AWOKE in the dead of night, driven by inhuman hunger. I needed to find some food. This seemed to be the sole driving force behind my existence, my body’s single quest and purpose.
My field of vision was littered with alerts and debuff messages,
Extreme Hunger!
You’re starving!
-30% to Metabolism
Warning! Your glucose reading is critically low!
Warning! Your amino acids reading is critically low!
Warning! Critical threat of losing muscle mass!
Debuff received: Weakness II
-2 to Stamina every 24 hrs.
-2 to Agility every 24 hrs.
-2 to Perception every 24 hrs.
-2 to Intellect every 24 hrs.
-2 to Strength every 24 hrs.
-5% to Satisfaction every 2 hrs.
-5% to Vigor every 2 hrs.
-1% to Vitality every 4 hrs.
Extreme Thirst!
You’re parched!
-20% to Metabolism
Warning! Your body fluids reading is critically low!
Debuff received: Weakness III
-3 to Stamina every 24 hrs.
-3 to Agility every 24 hrs.
-3 to Perception every 24 hrs.
-3 to Intellect every 24 hrs.
-3 to Strength every 24 hrs.
-10% to Satisfaction every 2 hrs.
-5% to Vigor every 2 hrs.
-2% to Vitality every 4 hrs.
My mouth was so dry that my tongue grated against my palate. My throat rasped. It took me a good ten minutes to literally crawl the forty feet to the kitchen, taking frequent breaks.
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