Restart_LitRPG Series

by Dan Sugralinov

  That had been our parting scenario.

  I’d thought I’d never see her again barring a brief divorce appointment.

  Now I had the chance to bring this to a different kind of closure.

  “Here we are,” the driver said. “Red Rose Inn.”

  “Could you wait for us, please? We won’t be long.”

  “It’s ten rubles a minute,” he warned us.

  “That’s all right. Alik, mind waiting for me in the car, please?”

  “Yes, but are you sure-”

  “Sure I’m sure. I won’t be long.”

  I climbed out of the cab. The driver pulled off in search of a parking space.

  You wouldn’t know this was a hotel. Its sign wasn’t even lit. The single streetlamp cast its dull light on a crude wrought-iron depiction of a rose mounted on the wall.

  I walked in and looked around, searching for the reception desk. A guard was quietly snoring on a couch at the far end of a small lobby.

  I walked closer. A young guy was slumped in his chair behind the reception desk, his head hanging to one side. He too was asleep.

  I pressed the bell. With a startle, the guy jumped from his seat and stretched his lips in a smile. “Good evening... eh, good night... how can I help you?”

  “Good evening. Could you please give me the room number of Ms. Yanna Orlova?”

  Much to my chagrin, my mental map had denied me access to that kind of information. Most likely, I didn’t have enough Insight.

  The guy pulled out a large guest book from under the desk and paused, thinking.

  “I’m afraid, this is confidential information,” he said, setting the book aside.

  “Listen, Dmitry,” I said, reading the name tag pinned to his chest. “She’s my wife.”

  By then, the guy was fully awake and professionally vigilant. “I’m afraid we can’t provide that kind of information. It’s a question of our guests’ privacy.”

  “Then could you please give her a call? Ask her if she could come down or receive me in her room.”

  “I’d rather not disturb her. Do you know what time it is?”

  He was good. Nothing to say there. I had to try a different approach.

  I pulled out a wallet and laid one of the bank notes on the desk in front of him.

  He gave it a disinterested glance and pushed it back to me. “Thank you. I don’t need that. If you have no other questions, I’ll have to ask you to leave the building. Otherwise I’ll be forced to call security.”

  “Don’t bother,” a voice said behind me. “Security’s never too far away.”

  I turned round. A heavy-set goon in a crumpled business suit towered behind me, sporting a gold crown in his grin.

  “Come on, don’t play too hard to get,” he addressed the receptionist. “We have spare rooms, don’t we? Because it’s a room you want, sir, right?”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “How much did you say it was?”

  “Same as you have here,” he whispered cordially, nodding at the money on the desk. “We’ll keep it off the books, won’t we?”

  The receptionist stared at him, mesmerized by his nerve. He finally switched his gaze to me, looked at the money, then turned toward the key rack behind him. He took off a key on a fat barrel-like keyring marked “23”.

  Before I could reach for it, the guard took the key from the receptionist’s hand. “Allow me to show you to your room. Follow me.”

  He leaned across the desk and whispered something into the receptionist’s ear. The young man nodded and slipped the money into his pocket.

  I followed the security guard upstairs to the third floor, then along a narrow corridor reeking of stale dust until we reached room 33.

  “Your lady’s here,” he whispered conspiratorially. “I didn’t tell you anything! I’ll take a nap in your room while you two are talking.”

  The sounds of his footsteps faded down the stairs. I heaved a sigh and knocked on the door.

  I didn’t have to knock twice. The door swung open as if Yanna had been waiting for someone to arrive. She didn’t appear sleepy even though her hair was in disarray and her house coat, so familiar to me, hung almost open without concealing much.

  “You?” she sounded surprised. “What are you doing here?”

  Unwilling to disturb the other guests’ sleep behind the flimsy plasterboard walls of their rooms, I shouldered Yanna out of my way, walked in and closed the door behind me. “Let’s keep it quiet. Anybody else here with you?”

  “That’s none of your flippin’ business,” she replied even though I could see perfectly well she was alone.

  The room was quite small. A droning TV was casting uneven light on its walls. An open suitcase sat on the floor, heaped with her stuff. A half-empty whisky bottle stood by the bed.

  “Well, come in, then,” she turned round and walked back to the bed in a purposefully hip-swaying catwalk-style gait.

  I slumped into an easy chair opposite. “I won’t be long. Your mother called me. She’s worried sick about you.”

  “That’ll teach her! First she ruined Dad’s life and now she’s doing the same with me! She just can’t keep her nose out of my business, can she? Cigarette?”

  I shook my head.

  “Oh come on now! What’s wrong with you? Come here and let’s have a smoke together. Just like we used to.”

  “I don’t smoke anymore, sorry. Just give her a ring now and tell her you’re okay, and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Oh really? So you’re bossing me around now?”

  “I’m not. And you shouldn’t be drinking.”

  “That’s my business!” she announced with drunken panache. “Want some?”

  “No, thanks.”

  I rose from the chair and walked around the room in search of her phone, intending to dial my mother-in-law’s number, switch it to conference mode and leave it there. I’d done all I could here. Alik and the cabbie were probably already fast asleep waiting for me.

  “You’ve lost weight,” she noticed. “You look almost like the guy I fell in love with all those years back. Your haircut suits you.”

  She reclined on the bed, blowing smoke rings up to the ceiling as she sarcastically watched me searching through the room.

  I finally located her phone behind the mini bar. The screen and the phone itself were cracked but it didn’t look too serious. I pressed the button, and the screen lit up, displaying the bitten apple logo.

  “Put it down now!” she snapped.

  I walked closer to the bed. “What’s the pin number?” I asked her calmly.

  “Anything else you wanna know?” her voice rang with the familiar theatrical notes of indignation. “Just leave it alone!”

  I typed in her birth date. The phone obligingly unblocked. Very smart of my clever ex-wife.

  Realizing what I’d just done, Yanna shot off the bed and grabbed the phone. Her nails sank into the flat of my hand as she tried to prize it free. “Give it to me now!”

  “Oh, take it! Now go to hell and take your mother with you!”

  I was thoroughly fed up. Let them sort it out between themselves. If she didn’t call her mother, I could always do it myself later.

  I let go of the phone and walked toward the exit, licking blood off my hand.

  “Call your mother,” I repeated. “I’m off now.”

  I strode toward the door.

  “Hey...” I heard behind me. “Phil?”

  I absolutely should not react to this, I thought. I had to open the door, leave the hotel and go back home to get some sleep so that in the morning I could start implementing my plan which brought me closer to my goal.

  I’d had enough of all those love innuendos. First Yanna, then Vicky, Marina... not again.

  I opened the door. Mechanically, I turned round — then couldn’t turn away again.

  Yanna stood at the center of the room. The house coat lay in a heap by her feet.

  I peered at her dainty profile. I knew I h
adn’t received any system messages. Which was weird because my Reputation with her had inexplicably grown from Animosity to Amicability. Her Interest in me was nearing 100%. Her Mood bar was going off the scale, soaring then plummeting non-stop. I didn’t know she was capable of that. She must have been possessed: either by a demon or by some psychotic time traveler.

  Strange I hadn’t received any Reputation messages, though. Earlier in the clinic, I’d received quite a few such messages about people I didn’t even know, even though they’d been a considerable distance away from me. I’d received no XP points for befriending her again, either.

  And what was that? A small buff (or debuff?) icon had appeared in my interface, with a brief prompt next to it. I focused on it.

  Aha. That was the Intoxication II debuff. It decreased all the characteristics and also lowered Self-Criticism and Self-Control while raising Sexual Arousal which in turn improved the likability of all objects of the opposite sex.

  “Phil, quit stalling. Come here to me,” her languid voice rang with the familiar commandeering notes.

  “You’re just as beautiful,” I said with a sigh, pulling myself together. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “What?” confused, she grabbed a sheet from the bed and covered herself with it. “What did you say?”

  “When you feel better, send me a message and give me the divorce appointment date.”

  I walked out, then added before closing the door, “And you really should call your mother.”

  The sound of the door closing shut coincided with a new system message reporting a new drop in my Reputation, followed by a furious torrent of f-words. Something smashed the door hard. Probably the phone.

  Your Reputation with Yannina “Yanna” Orlova has decreased!

  Current Reputation: Hatred 30/360

  That was okay, then. I’d been afraid that the program was getting glitchy. Or the local info field segment was. Or both.

  They were probably right saying that love and hate were just one step apart. I took that step as I’d crossed the doorway of her cheap and nasty hotel room.

  Half an hour later, Alik and I walked back into my apartment and collapsed onto our respective beds, intent on getting some much-needed sleep. Whatever was left of it.

  * * *

  AFTER I’D AWOKEN in the morning, I hurried to check my physical state. Despite last night’s trip across town, I felt well rested. My knee didn’t’ hurt at all. That ointment Alik had gotten from the drugstore must have been really good. Either that, or the program had been glitchy after all and its booster must have affected Recovery as well as leveling rate.

  In any case, the swelling had gone down. I bent the knee several times and felt nothing. Then I climbed out of bed. My body seemed to be in perfect condition. I could pack my gym bag, after all.

  Alik was still asleep, sprawled on his back like a child across the unfolded couch. He was still wearing his jeans and T-shirt. The sheets lay in a corner in a heap. It didn’t look as if he’d used them. Boris was standing on his broad chest, pawing it and purring like a tractor.

  Richie whined, desperate for his walk. I shook Alik awake. He sprang off the bed straight away — apparently a habit he’d developed while sleeping on park benches.

  “Morning,” I said. “Mind walking Rich for me? I’m gonna make us some breakfast.”

  “Yeah... Wait, let me wake up...” he mumbled, stretching and grunting. “Is it the 30th today?”

  “Yeah. In a day’s time, summer’s officially starting!”

  “That’s cool, man! They promised to pay me on the 1st for the days I worked in May!”

  Alik headed for the bathroom. Richie and Boris followed him and froze like guardsmen outside.

  “Come on, you freeloaders, breakfast’s served!” I called them.

  This wasn’t their usual command but they understood. Both rushed into the kitchen, shoving each other out of the way, Boris desperately voicing his protest at the silent but equally determined Richie. The mutt checked Boris’ bowl first, received a hearty slap on his cheeky black snout from the indignant puss, and turned to his own.

  While Alik was making himself presentable, I boiled a good dozen eggs, sliced some bread, cheese and ham and poured out the coffee.

  “Where’s the leash?” he asked.

  “It’s over there by the front door somewhere. Can you find it?”

  “I’ve got it! Rich, where are you?”

  “He only understands commands. Tell him ‘Come!’ or ‘Walkies!’,” I said.

  Richie pricked up his ears. Alik walked into the kitchen with the leash, hooked it up to the dog’s collar, grabbed a sandwich from the plate, then took the dog out, muttering, “Come, Rich, come, heel, good boy!”

  By the time they were back I’d had a light breakfast. No good stuffing my face now as I still had some exercise to do.

  As they walked back in, I was already lacing up my sneakers. Richie was panting. He stank to high heaven. Had they gone for a run or something?

  “Alik, the apartment keys are on a hook by the front door. I’m off to the gym.”

  “D’you pump iron?” he sounded surprised.

  “Sort of. I’m off now. See you in the evening! Don’t forget to lock the door, please.”

  The gym was uncrowded. Either everyone had already left on vacation or they’d all reached their weight loss goals. My coach Alexander was there, ready to work with me.

  No idea why, but this time I had a much better awareness of my own body. It could have had something to do with my improved Perception. As I performed deadlifts, I could literally sense every muscle involved in the exercise. That helped me a lot to perform it correctly.

  “Excellent, Phil. Well done! Your technique is much better now,” Alexander commended me. “Let me add a few more weights.”

  Virtually all of the weights were at least five pounds heavier than what I’d used the last time but they felt almost the same. I had to work hard, sure, but I could still do it. I’d already noticed that leveling Strength came easier to me than any other characteristic. Its progress bar was already 50% full and growing. Another couple of gym sessions, and I might be able to bring Strength up to 9. And after another couple of weeks, I could finally reach level 10 that I so desperately needed.

  I finished my weight training with a brief cooldown to keep my blood pumping. I spent five minutes on a maxed-out treadmill until I ran out of steam and was forced to slow down.

  Now, Agility. Even though I’d received a new level the previous morning, the progress bar was already almost full. And I hadn't even noticed! That must have had something to do with the fact that I’d lost some weight.

  I jumped on the scales. Compared to the previous morning, I’d lost another two pounds. It could have been my active lifestyle and regular meals — this was a far cry from my WoW years when I’d constantly stuffed my face with chips and candy bars, washing them down with sugar-loaded drinks. Or could it also be my new improved Perception kicking in? Hadn’t Martha said something about the characteristics affecting each other?

  I finished off my training session with a few sets of agility exercises and headed for the shower.

  As I left the locker room, I reached for a towel off the rack. My foot slipped on the wet floor. My stomach churned. My heart dropped. I waved a desperate arm in the air and managed to restore my balance.

  The program must have deliberated on this for a while until it came to the conclusion I deserved a new level. Just like that!

  Your Agility has improved!

  +1 to Agility

  Current Agility: 6

  Experience points received for improving a main characteristic: 1000

  I drank another protein shake, refueling my body with everything necessary for its growth, said goodbye to the friendly receptionist and hurried home. I had big plans for today. No time to loaf around.

  Alik had already left. I changed into my business clothes and headed for work.

  As I a
pproached the office building, I saw Greg hovering on the steps smoking. He was dressed to the nines, his white shirt starched, his shoes polished, the pressed creases on his slacks perfectly straight and razor-sharp.

  “There he is!” he announced on seeing me. “I’ve got something to tell you! My wife and I, we’ve made up! Can you imagine?”

  “Judging by the way you look, yes,” I replied. “I’m very happy for you. Did you bring her flowers?”

  “Flowers! You should have seen the bouquet I bought her! So heavy I could barely carry it! And then we didn’t leave bed for hours!”

  “Excellent. Well done. So how did it happen?”

  “I’ve no idea!” he frowned, wrinkling his brow in thought. “Wonder if she just missed me?”

  “I’m sure she did. Where’s Cyril?”

  “He’s upstairs already. He’s quit smoking for good now. The other night in the bar he’d smoked so much he spent all night puking.”

  “I see. Let’s go in, then?”

  Once Pavel’s briefing was over, the CEO wanted to see me. It was Pavel who broke the news to me. He waited for all the others to vacate his office, then said,

  “Phil, please wait. The boss wants to see you. He needs to discuss something with you.”

  Mr. Ivanov was enjoying a cup of coffee and a cigarillo in his office, flicking the ash off into a massive bronze tortoise ashtray.

  “Ah, Phil. Come in and take a seat, boy.”

  “Good morning, sir,” I pulled up one of the heavy soft chairs lining the conference table and sat down.

  The CEO took a deep tug on his cigar. “So you’re leaving us, are you?” he squinted at me. I know, I know. Pavel couldn’t talk you out of it. So I’m not even going to try. I just want to tell you that you’re always welcome back. On Friday you can go to the bookkeepers and get your back pay. We added your J-Mart and a few other bits and pieces to the final tally. Pavel gave me all the numbers. If you close something else before the week’s over, we’ll add that to your pay as well. We never short-change our workers.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Nothing to thank me for yet. One more thing. What are you up to? Tell me. What are you going to do?”