Restart_LitRPG Series

by Dan Sugralinov

  The driver pulled up by the right entrance. The many steel buttons of the entry phone seemed to scowl at me. I dialed the apartment number.

  “Who is it?” a young but listless female voice sounded in the speaker.

  “Alina? Hi, this is Phil. I work with Greg-”

  “Thank you! Bye!”

  She hung up.

  I dialed it again.

  “What now?” her voice rang with bile.

  “I’m sorry, could you let me in, please? I need to speak to you.”

  “You can tell Greg he shouldn’t bother coming back, ever! Or sending his drinking buddies,” she hung up again.

  What could Greg have done to deserve this kind of treatment? It couldn’t have been just that one drunken night. That alone wouldn’t have merited this kind of castigation.

  I tried again. No reply.

  And again.

  “What now?”

  “Alina,” I said, investing all my sympathy for both Greg and her into my tone. She was only a pregnant girl disillusioned with her husband. “Could I speak with you just for five minutes? Please.”

  The front door lock clicked open.

  “Seventh floor,” her voice came from the speaker.

  The elevator wasn’t working. I had to take the stairs. I was fully prepared to combat the climb on rubbery legs, puffing and panting, but surprisingly I took the stairs two and three at a time and reached the seventh floor without even getting out of breath. I just loved this Stamina thing.

  The doorbell didn’t work. I tapped delicately on the door.

  A shadow flitted past the eyehole. The door opened a crack.

  I saw a pretty petite girl of about twenty years old with an already rather rounded belly. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail.

  “Are you Alina?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she cast me a wary look without inviting me in.

  “Allow me to introduce myself again. I’m Philip. I work with Greg. He’s a good guy, really. After you kicked him out, he’s been such a sorry sight. You know what I mean?”

  “Did he send you?”

  “He’s no idea I’m here!” I pressed my hand to my heart and activated every available point of my charisma, empathy and communication skills, as well as seduction and deception. “I swear!”

  She heaved an uneasy sigh and stepped away from the door. This could be understood as an invitation to enter. Then again, it might not.

  I entered slowly, giving her a chance to reconsider, then closed the door behind me. It felt like trying not to scare off a shy young deer. As I did so, I took the opportunity to check her profile,

  Name: Alina Chernik

  Age: 19

  Current status: unemployed

  Social status level: 3

  Unclassified

  Unmarried

  Children: pregnant with a male child. Term: 148 days

  Criminal record: yes

  Her Mood was normal. It didn’t look as if she was too upset about their breakup. Her Interest in me was quite high though.

  “Take your shoes off and come in. There’re some house slippers over there,” she said before disappearing into what was probably the kitchen and leaving me alone in a tiny hall.

  The apartment was an equally tiny one-bed. The house was new but the decoration left a lot to be desired. The ancient faded wallpaper was probably a Soviet-era leftover. The plinths were coming off the walls. One of the glazed room doors was split in two which was in fact a serious hazard. Apparently, Greg wasn’t the handyman I’d thought he was.

  I slid my feet into a pair of well-trodden slippers (probably, Greg’s) and followed her.

  The kitchen was equally shambolic. A tiny free space in between the gas stove, a cupboard, a dining table and a brand new Samsung fridge — which looked almost alien amid all the mess — was stuffed with garbage bags and a plastic washing horse. The dining table was heaped up with unwashed plates and food leftovers. A switched-on smartphone glowed next to an unfinished cup of tea, its screen showing some glitzy girly Instagram feed.

  She must have noticed the expression on my face because she hurried to explain,

  “The elevator doesn’t work. You know, don’t you? And I can’t climb all those stairs. Not in my state. Would you like some tea? I’ve just made some.”

  “Yes, please.”

  She moved the heaps of plates aside, freeing up some space on the table. Reaching into the fridge, she produced a small bowl of homemade strawberry jam. I noticed with embarrassment that the only thing she wore was a flimsy silky dressing gown which didn’t leave much to the imagination.

  “It’s my mom’s jam,” she said, struggling to squeeze her body through the narrow space formed by the table and a chair rubbing against the fridge. “How’s Greg?”

  I took a sip of tea. “Not good. Last night I invited him and some workmates to the restaurant to celebrate a bonus I’d received. Later, Cyril — he’s another workmate of mine — told me that when I’d left, Greg was desperate to come and see you. He wanted to apologize.”

  “That‘s exactly what he did!” Alina’s voice rang with emotion. “He arrived here in the middle of the night, drunk as usual! Nothing new there!”

  “And what did you do?”

  “What do you think? You really think I should have let him in?”

  “Mind if I ask you something? Are you two officially married?”

  “No. Why? What’s that got to do with it?”

  “Just wondered. Didn’t Greg ask you to marry him?”

  “Yeah, sort of,” she grumbled. “He wanted us to have a registry office wedding. That’s not what I want! I wanted a proper wedding with lots of guests, a limo and a honeymoon. Not just sign our names on some stupid piece of paper...”

  As we spoke, I began to get a better view of the whole setup. A perfectly clear view, even. A young uni student from a one-horse backwater town who’d managed to land an older guy, also a stranger to the city but with prospects of a stable job and a place to live. She’d promptly got pregnant, fully expecting him to tie the knot. Although admittedly smitten, Greg had failed to handle the unexpected change to his status with enough enthusiasm. Still, he’d gone through the motions and proposed to her.

  Now that she’d made it, she was supposed to be happy. Only she wasn’t. Because the newly-baked father of her child wasn’t really ready to marry anyone, was he? He kept on partying with his buddies every weekend; he wasn’t even making preparations for the big day, just a boring registry office ceremony. Apparently, Greg believed lush weddings to be a waste of time and money. That wasn’t how she used to envision the start of her marital life back in her small workers’ town.

  As I’d gathered from her rambling story, her own father was the henpecked type. His rare protests against her control-freak mother’s rule usually manifested themselves as garage drinking sessions, sharing a bottle of beer or vodka — or both — in the company of a few friends. After each such session, her mother would turn him out, forcing him to sleep rough outside. In the morning, he’d arrive with a bouquet of flowers, beg her forgiveness and be on his best behavior for the next six months or so, catering to his wife’s every whim.

  That was apparently the marital scenario which had been imprinted in little Alina’s young brain. So imagine her astonishment the first time she’d turned a drunk Greg from the door. He refused to come back at all and “spent a whole week groveling somewhere”.

  “You mean he didn’t even call you?” I asked in surprise.

  “Yeah, sure he did. I didn’t pick up. Why should I?”

  Good question. “Do you work?”

  “I’m four months pregnant!”

  “And this?” I pointed at the space around myself. “Is it him who pays the rent?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Does he leave you enough money?”

  She snorted. “If you call it money. This is money,” she nonchalantly picked up the phone and scrolled through her Instagram feed, showing me
the pictures of overdressed and overly madeup girls. “We can barely make ends meet.”

  This “we” was a good sign. It meant she still considered Greg and herself a family.

  “You didn’t answer my question. Does he provide for you?”

  “Yeah. So what?”

  This “So what?” of hers was the last straw. “What do you mean, so what? You’re pregnant. You rely on him to provide for you and your future child. And you dare turn him away from the door as if he’s a mangy dog. Could you please put your phone down for one moment? He loves you and does his best to provide for his family. He overdid it a couple of times with his workmates, I agree, but-”

  She snorted. “Workmates! They’re useless lowlifes just like himself.”

  I got the impression she was just repeating her mother’s own words without even realizing what she was saying. “You do understand, don’t you, that the more you call him an alcoholic and useless lowlife, the sooner he’ll become one? It’s you who keep bashing this idea into his head!”

  “He drinks!”

  “And the more you keep going on about it, the more he’ll drink! Don’t tell me you’ve never touched alcohol.”

  “Alcohol? I’m pregnant!”

  “Excellent. Very commendable. And before that?”

  “Well... maybe...”

  “Do you love him?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose so.”

  “You do or you don’t?”

  “Yeah... I do.”

  “Then I’d like you to listen to me. He’s not an alcoholic,” I began, enunciating every word to make sure they embedded in her mind. “He works hard to provide for you and your baby. When you showed him the door, he didn’t go rogue. He’s currently crashing with our other workmate, Cyril. He loves you and has no intention of ever leaving you. But if he sees he can’t sponsor your Instagram dreams, you might just push him over the edge. Then he will leave you. He might even find another woman, not as-”

  Bang! A new system message crashed into my view,

  You’ve dealt critical damage to Alina Chernik: verbal injury

  -30% to Spirit

  -30% to Confidence

  Oh wow. How could that have happened? Apparently, the thought of Greg ever dumping her had never crossed her mind. That’s how deeply she was invested in the false image of her own father.

  Her eyelashes fluttered. Her lower lip began to shake. Had I driven her to tears? I must have done.

  A tear slid down her cheek. “Does he have anyone?” she asked over suppressed sobs.

  I paused. Let her ponder over it for a while. I took a sip of my tea, all the while monitoring her stats. Her Mood had plummeted. Which was a good sign, I suppose.

  I finished my tea and glanced at my watch. Time to move it.

  “No, he doesn’t,” I said. “He loves you. He will change too, provided you stop nagging. Because that’s the reason he drinks, not vice versa. He can’t stand to see you unhappy. And you two could be very happy together.”

  Silence fell. Finally, she seemed to have calmed down a little. She wiped her tears and poured me another cup of tea.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  Alina jumped to her feet, accidentally pushing the table. Spilt tea flew everywhere. “That must be my neighbor. Don’t worry, I’ll answer it.”

  “I must be off, anyway,” I said, rising. “Thanks a lot for the tea. Take my advice and let Greg back. You’ll see how happy you two can be.”

  “Okay,” she agreed, heading for the front door.

  Congratulations! You’ve received a new skill level!

  Skill name: Power of Persuasion

  Current level: 2

  XP received: 500

  That was strange. Only level 2? With my profession? How on earth had I managed to sell anything at all, then? Or could it be that my selling only advanced Vending, and that the Power of Persuasion only concerned more haughty matters?

  A male voice came from the hall, husky and distinctly Georgian,

  “Here, Alina, light of my life, take a look at what I’ve got for you! Here’re some salmon eggs so your baby can grow faster! And fruit, look: some oranges, apples and bananas, best quality, I hand-picked them myself! And the rump steak, not a trace of fat! You’ll see when you cook it- Who the hell is that?”

  He stared at me from under his large flat cap, uncomprehending.

  Name: David Leonidze. Age: 48. He was short and stocky, a picture-perfect Georgian complete with a traditional mustache and flat cap.

  “It’s Greg’s workmate,” Alina hurried to explain. “He’s already leaving. Mr. Leonidze, this is Phil. Phil, this is Mr. Leonidze, our upstairs neighbor.”

  “Phil?” Mr. Leonidze gave me a long scrutinizing look. “And what might he be doing here, I wonder?”

  I smiled, noticing a wedding ring on his finger which only confirmed the “married” status in his data. “What I’m doing here? I could ask you the same question. Are you taking your chances with married women? Your wife have any idea where you spend your lunch break?”

  Mr. Leonidze turned crimson. He set the shopping bags down by the coat rack and threw his hands in the air. “Who do you think you are? Why do you need to pry into other people’s lives? I’m a neighbor! I’m here taking care of a pregnant girl whose husband has dumped her, and now I have to listen to your allegations! You’ve any idea who I am? I don’t think you do! And you, who are you?”

  “What if you get stuffed,” I said slowly, unexpectedly for myself.

  “Phil, you've got it all wrong,” Alina said, suppressing laughter. “I gave some money to Mr. Leonidze and asked him to get me some groceries. He works at the farmers market. I can’t lug the shopping up the stairs, I already told you.”

  Oops. It looked like this time I’d really put my foot in it. If only I’d had that Lie Detection ability! But even without it, I could feel I’d gotten the wrong end of the stick.

  Then again, you couldn’t be too sure. This Mr. Leonidze might have had his own agenda. Otherwise why had he reacted so aggressively to seeing me? Had he taken me for a rival?

  “I see,” I said. “Sorry, Mr. Leonidze. Greg is an old friend of mine. That’s why I jumped to conclusions.”

  He reluctantly shook my proffered hand. “I though the same about you,” he admitted. “So what about Greg, is he planning on coming back? He’s chosen the wrong time to chase skirts. Or did he expect me to take care of his pregnant wife?”

  Aha. It looked like Alina had spun him a different version of the story.

  “He’s coming back tonight,” I said confidently, looking at the girl. “Isn’t he?”

  “Well, if he apologizes properly and-” she began listing the conditions on which she might have him back.

  “Alina, light of my life, what are you talking about?” Mr. Leonidze interrupted her. “This is the father of your child, sweetheart! You two promised to be together in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health!” he thundered ceremoniously like an MC at a wedding. “He’s part of you!”

  Was it my imagination or had she just blushed? Had we managed to get through to her? Dear Mr. Leonidze. His words couldn’t have been more timely. They’d fallen on soil already prepared by me.

  Alina nodded. “Okay. He can come.”

  “Wait a second, sweetheart!” Leonidze, that seasoned old wolf, kept instructing the girl. “What do you mean, ‘He can come’? Philip isn’t a radio transmitter! Here, take your phone and give him a ring right now! Tell him you love him! Tell him you miss him!”

  Wow. He must have critted her verbally too because Aline turned round and went into the kitchen to get her phone. We heard her speak,

  “Hi, Greg? Will you come home... please?”

  Leonidze and I exchanged satisfied nods. Trying not to make a noise, we both left the apartment. Leonidze wished me luck and headed upstairs. I walked down the steps, feeling so happy for Greg.

  As I stepped outside, I received a system message awarding me 2,0
00 XP for a socially meaningful action. Now I had only 350 pt. left till level 9. I could easily make that by upping any skill of my choice.

  I called Greg just to see if he was all right. Judging by the excitement in his voice, he was.

  “Hi, Greg... No way! You don’t mean it! Excellent! Well done! Don’t forget to bring some flowers! Exactly! And you know what? I have a funny feeling it’s a boy. Just a premonition. Oh come on, what celebration are you talking about? It can wait! Go and see her now! Surely Cyril can cover for you? Good! See you tomorrow, man!”

  Once that out of the way, I called the real estate woman — her name was Galina — and double-checked our viewing appointment. It was still valid, so I headed straight there.

  A short plump woman was waiting for me by the house. I looked around and quite liked it. The courtyard was neat and green. The apartment block was relatively new and appeared to be in good condition.

  I peered at the woman. One look at her stats was enough to tell me I had to be doubly careful.

  Name: Galina Pakhomenko

  Age: 39

  Current status: real estate agent

  Social status level: 4

  Class: Fraudster. Level: 4

  Unmarried

  Children: Andrei, son

  Age: 22

  Criminal record: yes

  A fraudster? Very well. I might need to double-check all the paperwork. I made a mental note to watch how I paid the deposit.

  “Are you Phil?”

  “That’s right. Nice to meet you. Are we going to see the landlord?”

  “That’s not necessary. I have the keys and a power of attorney. Follow me. I’ll show you everything. Are you planning to live on your own? What do you do for a living? The apartment is a dream, I tell you!”

  She went on and on, showering me with information about the apartment as well as herself, her vast experience and her happy clients, interlacing her story with questions about myself. She used her magnet key to unlock the front door and shepherded me toward the elevator.