Chapter 2.
The food situation at home was bleak. The fridge was almost empty, my stomach ached, and my body was demanding rest and energy. And as far as I could remember, there was still money in my account.
*Damn, they took my phone. Along with my wallet. I need to block the card and the SIM immediately.* The obvious, belated thought surfaced in my head. *And I need to get something into my stomach.*
I reached for the laptop again.
Thank God my memories turned up both the login and password for my mobile banking app, and Lyokha had kept everything saved in the browser's autofill anyway. I got in. A little under three hundred dollars sat in the account. I transferred the money to an e-wallet and blocked the card. It wasn't much, but it was enough for a few days of normal life. He'd — I'd — paid the rent a week ago, going by my memories, so the roof over my head wasn't something to worry about for now.
Then I found a food delivery site. I picked something simple but filling — cheap pasta with chicken, a small slice of cheesecake, and two bottles of water. I placed the order to my address, which also turned out to be somewhere in my memory.
The SIM card situation was trickier — I needed to call the carrier, and I had no phone. I grabbed a couple of dollars and went, limping, to appeal to the grumpy old woman next door, Miss Garcia, with whom Lyokha had, according to scattered fragments of memory, a strained relationship at best. I knocked. From behind the door came muttering, then the click of a lock.
The door opened on its chain. A single eye appeared in the gap, rimmed in black eyeliner.
"What do you want, Russian?" she asked, not warmly.
"Hello, Miss Garcia. I was robbed recently — they took my phone. I can't call my carrier to block the SIM, or call work to let them know what happened. Could I make two calls from your phone?" I tried to speak as politely as I could, even though my voice was still rough.
The eye examined me, clocking the bruises.
"Kids today…" she muttered, but she opened the door anyway. "Make it quick. My phone's on the nightstand. And don't you dare be on there too long."
"Thank you, Miss Garcia."
I shuffled into her apartment, grabbed a landline telephone with enormous buttons, and dialed the carrier's support number. While I waited to be connected, Miss Garcia didn't take her eyes off me, arms folded across her chest.
When someone picked up, I explained the situation and asked to have my SIM blocked and a replacement issued. It all went quickly and without any trouble, and the moment the call ended I dialed the second number from memory. After a few rings, a man with an accent answered.
"Hello? Arman's store."
"Mr. Arman, it's Alexei Vetrov."
A pause on the other end.
"Alexei? God, kid, where have you been? Three days without a call or a message — I've got orders falling apart over here!"
"I was robbed. In the Bronx. They beat me, took my phone, my bike, my bag…" My voice wavered on its own. I wasn't performing — my body just remembered the pain and the humiliation.
Another pause, this one more sympathetic.
"Oh, damn. Well — at least you're alive. Bruises, broken bones?"
"Bruises. Ribs hurt, but they seem to be in one piece. I barely made it home. I'm only now more or less back on my feet."
"Look, kid… The bike and the phone, that's a loss, no question. But you're alive, and that's what matters. Don't worry about it. I'll write it off against your account. Your pay from the last week should cover part of the damage. Get better, come back when you're up to it. There's always work."
I actually let out a breath of surprise, because I'd been bracing for yelling and threats, and instead I got… something almost human.
"Thank you, Mr. Arman. I really appreciate it."
"Yeah, yeah. Take care of yourself."
The moment the call ended, something inside me loosened up. Turns out this world wasn't made entirely of terrible people.
"That's all I needed. Thank you again, Miss Garcia." I reached into my pocket and found the couple of dollars. "Here — for the trouble."
She took the money, eyed it with suspicion, and tucked it into her housecoat pocket.
"All right, off you go. And be more careful. Times are dangerous these days — first aliens, now men running around in tights. Good thing we've got Captain America. Now there's someone the youth today ought to be looking up to…"
Still grumbling, she closed the door behind me. I finally let out a proper breath of relief. Two problems down.
The delivery arrived shortly after. The smell of hot pasta and meat hit me in the face, and my mouth flooded with saliva immediately. I grabbed the bag and hurried to the apartment's only table. When I opened the container, steam rose up into my face carrying the smell of garlic, cheese, and chicken.
I ate without thinking, shoveling spaghetti in with a fork. It was a feast fit for gods as far as I was concerned. My stomach, which had received nothing but water for the last several days, responded with a warm, spreading sense of fullness. And for dessert there was cheesecake. Sweet, rich, and soft. I washed everything down with the bottled water in long gulps. For the first time in days, I felt not like a person trying to survive, but simply like a person who had eaten dinner.
The fullness brought clarity of thought with it. I called up the system interface again. To start training I'd have to work myself to the breaking point, and my body was barely functional right now. A couple more days. I needed a couple more days of rest, decent food, and sleep. Otherwise I'd simply die at the first workout — possibly quite literally.
But sitting with my hands folded wasn't an option either. The money was slowly but steadily running out. And that's when I remembered freelancing. Lyokha had tried to pick up work that way, but he hadn't done particularly well — he'd lacked the knowledge and experience. But I… I had both. I pulled up his profile on one of the platforms. His reputation was modest, reviews scarce. But the main thing — I started comparing the programming languages I knew against what was in use in this world. My heart beat a little faster with anticipation.
Java. C++. Python.
*It's all here. Same syntax, same paradigms — which means I'm not helpless. I can work.*
The next four days passed in a monotonous rhythm. I'd wake up, brew tea, eat whatever food I had left — I'd been ordering in large batches to save on delivery fees — and sit down at the laptop. I looked for simpler jobs: fixing someone's code, finding a vulnerability, writing a short script. I charged low rates, but delivered fast and clean. Reviews started trickling in. Money, not much, but money, began accumulating in the e-wallet.
I slept twelve hours a night. As much as I wanted to sit at the computer around the clock, common sense told me that a sick body needed rest. I ate, worked, and slept. And with each passing day, the bruises on my face faded from purple to yellow, the pain in my ribs dulled to something bearable, and something closer to belief in a better future began to take shape in my thoughts.
On the fifth day I woke up and knew — that was enough lying around. My body still ached, but it was doing what I told it to. Time to move. I decided to go for a walk. I changed into the plainest, most nondescript clothes I could find, tucked a few bills in my pocket, and headed out.
---
It was daytime, and the sun was out. The air was cool but fresh. The neighborhood was no prize — trash here and there, walls covered in graffiti — but there weren't many people around and everyone moved with somewhere to be. I just walked, looked around, breathed the air. Ordinary people. Small shops. Cars. No supervillains. No brawls. Just life. It was… normal.
*Almost like home.* The thought brought a quiet calm with it.
I came back tired but satisfied. And on that positive note, standing right in the middle of the room, I looked at my sorry little stats and thought:
*I need to start. And the most straightforward thing is probably push-ups.*
I planted my hands on the cool, dirty floor. Did the first push-up. My muscles complained immediately. A second. A third. By the fifth my breathing was off and my arms had started their treacherous shaking, and thoughts began to surface:
*That's it. That's my limit. That's a reasonable stopping point. Besides, if I push further, I might actually hurt myself.*
But I remembered the system and the Will Points. They came from overcoming. From going past the edge.
I made myself do another one. And another. My breathing went ragged, my temples throbbed, black spots drifted across my vision. Each new repetition was exactly the kind of thing I needed — a genuine pushing past myself. I could barely feel my arms anymore, only the burning in the muscles and the leaden heaviness in everything. One more… and one more… And then the strength left me entirely. I collapsed onto the floor, unable to move hand or foot. Tears ran down my face — from the pain, the weakness, the helplessness.
And in that moment, somewhere deep in my consciousness, a sound chimed softly but clearly. Like a notification coming in on a phone.
I pulled up the system interface immediately. In the line where it had read *[Will Points: 0]*, there was now the number 1.
*Yes. I did it. I earned my first point.*
But the joy was immediately swallowed by a wave of savage exhaustion.
*God, I feel terrible. I'll sort out the WP tomorrow.* And under that very sensible thought, I somehow dragged myself to the mattress, pulled the blanket over myself, and passed out without even eating dinner.
I woke up feeling like a steamroller had driven over me. And despite barely managing to roll onto my back, a stupid grin spread across my face anyway. My mood was excellent — downright magnificent. Through all the pain, a wild satisfaction was breaking through.
*It worked. I actually did it.*
Still lying on the mattress, I called up the interface right away. The white numbers hung clearly in the air:
---
*[Will Points: 1]*
---
One single point, earned at the cost of tears and pain. But it was mine. My first real victory in this world.
Then my attention shifted to that list on the right side — "Traits." Now that I had something to spend, it pulled at me like forbidden fruit. I mentally clicked the question mark, and another stream of information poured into my head — structured, dry, factual.
Everything was broken into sections. I settled into as comfortable a position as I could manage and began working through all four.
---
*[SECTION I: PHYSICAL SUPERIORITY*
*1. "Iron Foundation"*
*Level I: Marginally increases bone density and ligament durability.*
*Requirement: Endurance-4.*
*2. "Reed Flexibility"*
*Level I: Muscles and tendons gain increased elasticity.*
*Requirement: Agility-4.*
*3. "Indomitable Heart"*
*Level I: Improves the efficiency of oxygen exchange.*
*Requirement: Strength-4.*
*4. "Metabolic Balance"*
*Level I: The body absorbs nutrients slightly more efficiently and regulates energy expenditure more effectively.*
*Requirement: Endurance-4.*
*5. "Accelerated Recovery"*
*Level I: Marginally accelerates the natural healing process for minor wounds.*
*Requirement: Strength-4.*
*SECTION II: MENTAL AND SENSORY ACUITY*
*6. "Living Memory"*
*Level I: Accelerates the process of consolidating short-term memories into long-term ones.*
*Requirement: Perception-4.*
*7. "Critical Eye"*
*Level I: Allows the user to notice the smallest inconsistencies and anomalies in their surroundings.*
*Requirement: Perception-4.*
*8. "Still Mind"*
*Level I: Improves the capacity for concentration, reducing the influence of external distractions.*
*Requirement: Perception-4.*
*9. "Tactile Intelligence"*
*Level I: Improves proprioception and sense of balance, providing a clearer understanding of the body's position in space.*
*Requirement: Agility-4.*
*10. "Intuition's Whisper"*
*Level I: Sharpens the sixth sense, allowing the user to subconsciously detect hidden threats or opportunities.*
*Requirement: Perception-4.*
*SECTION III: MASTERY OF LEARNING AND CONTROL*
*11. "Language of the Flesh"*
*Level I: Provides an innate, intuitive understanding of anatomy and muscular kinesiology.*
*Requirement: Perception-4.*
*12. "Motion Analyzer"*
*Level I: Allows the user to more quickly visually deconstruct and understand complex physical movements.*
*Requirement: Perception-4.*
*13. "Structural Thinking"*
*Level I: Improves the capacity for logical analysis and the understanding of basic mechanical principles.*
*Requirement: Perception-4.*
*14. "Empathy Map"*
*Level I: Makes it easier to read and interpret basic emotions and body language.*
*Requirement: Perception-4.*
*15. "Iron Discipline"*
*Level I: The ability to ignore momentary impulses and urges.*
*Requirement: Earn 1 WP in a single event.*
*16. "Nerves of Steel"*
*Level I: Raises the innate pain threshold and the ability to maintain clarity of thought under stress.*
*Requirement: Endurance-4.*
*SECTION IV: LIMITS*
*17. "Limit Breaker"*
*Level I: Removes the cap on physical characteristics (Strength, Agility, Endurance), raising the limit to 11.*
*Requirement: One physical characteristic (Strength, Agility, or Endurance) reaches its natural limit (10).*
*18. "Mind Awakening"*
*Level I: Removes the cap on the mental characteristic (Perception), raising the limit to 11.*
*Requirement: The mental characteristic (Perception) reaches its natural limit (10).]*
---
And at the very bottom, in smaller print, was the note that made me feel a little ill:
*Each Trait has 5 levels. The cost of each subsequent level increases geometrically:*
---
*[Level 1 — 1 WP;*
*Level 2 — 2 WP;*
*Level 3 — 4 WP;*
*Level 4 — 8 WP;*
*Level 5 — 16 WP.]*
---
I let out a low whistle. Sixteen Will Points for the fifth level? To earn that many I'd have to — I don't know — stop Thanos single-handedly a few times over, or wipe out all of HYDRA. Brutal, honestly.
The euphoria from having that one point began to slowly evaporate, giving way to some uncomfortable thinking.
Earning Will Points was brutally difficult. This wasn't like a game where you got experience for killing every rat and mosquito you came across. Here you had to genuinely tear yourself apart — and each time push further than before. And that was the central problem with my system. If my assumptions were right, then the stronger I got, the higher the bar would be set for each new WP. Yesterday, push-ups to complete failure were enough. Tomorrow, to get the same result, I might have to run a marathon. The day after — fight some knife-wielding gangster. And after that… after that, God only knew.
So I needed to think about strategy now. Dumping my first WP into something random wasn't lightening my load — it was making it heavier. And on top of that, a lot of the Traits had base stat requirements. With my current numbers, I was severely limited. "Structural Thinking" was available immediately — but would it actually help me right now? Possibly. "Nerves of Steel" or "Iron Discipline" sounded genuinely useful, because pain and laziness were my biggest enemies at the moment. A number of the other Traits were also accessible, but they held less interest for me right now — not that I didn't see their value.
Damn. This choice was hard. Too hard for my exhausted body and brain. So I decided not to rush and give it a few more days. Think it through properly. Maybe I could earn another WP the same way — through pain and humiliation in my own hole of an apartment. If I had two, it would be easier to decide where to invest — maybe even pick up a couple of Level 1 Traits at once.
I forced myself upright to brew tea and get something to eat. But the knowledge that this wasn't for nothing — that behind all this pain there was a purpose — made it almost bearable.
By evening, after a few hours at the laptop and enough rest to feel approximately human again, I looked at the floor once more. The idea was stupid, but I really wanted to test it.
*What if the system gives WP for the same type of effort? If I wring myself out completely again — do I get a second point?*
I pressed my hands against the cold floor again and did the first push-up.
*Oh, for the love of—*
It hurt just as much as yesterday. No — it hurt more. My muscles hadn't recovered. A second rep. A third. The same familiar burning, the shaking in my arms, the black dots creeping across my vision. But now I knew where I was heading. The thought of a possible second WP gave me something to push through — through the pain I was literally forcing my muscles to contract.
I pushed myself back down to that same place where my body refused to cooperate, and collapsed onto the floor, soaked in sweat, breathing hard. I lay there and waited. Waited for that quiet chime in my head.
It didn't come. Silence. Just the pounding of my heart in my ears and the rasp of my own breath.
And I understood. The system couldn't be gamed. It had given one WP for the first breakthrough — for overcoming myself. Now this was simply a hard workout. To earn the next point, I'd have to do something genuinely beyond the limit. Keep doing push-ups until I blacked out? The thought genuinely scared me. That kind of attempt might simply kill me. My untrained heart might not hold up.
Hunched over from the pain and a mild disappointment, I crawled to the mattress.
*So nothing ever comes easy. I'll have to find other paths. But first — sleep.*
I pulled the blanket over myself and sank almost instantly into a heavy, indifferent sleep.
---
The next three days I thought, worked, and recovered. The Marvel world with its heroes and villains carried on doing what it did — news sites flashed reports about some skirmish somewhere — but for me, that was just background noise. My battle was here, within the four walls of this pathetic apartment. A battle against the pain in my ribs, against the aching muscles after every attempt to push myself, against the temptation to give up entirely and just drift with the current. I ate cheap instant noodles, drank tea, and spent hours hunched over the laptop, searching freelance platforms for anything resembling a decent job. The money grew slowly — slowly enough that I could now almost afford the cheapest smartphone, just to stay connected. And through all of it, one question kept circling in the back of my mind.
*Where do I spend my one precious WP?*