Hero

by Dan Sugralinov

  Before heading for the meeting, I called our office and warned them I might be late. They were still in the same building — with the exception of a different girl at the reception desk.

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m Phil Panfilov from the Great Job Employment Agency. I have an appointment with Mr. Panchenko.”

  “I’m afraid he’s busy at the moment. You’ll have to wait.”

  Oh really? I’ve arrived on the dot, and he was the one who scheduled the meeting. I was about to explode. Still, I forced myself to remain calm. I could wait until the end of my appointment — which was thirty minutes, — then I’d just leave, delete the task from the list, zap his phone number and call it a day, dammit.

  After fifteen minutes, he emerged from Mr. Ivanov’s office and headed for his own.

  A couple of minutes later, the girl said he was expecting me. I rose from the couch.

  At the very same moment, Vicky came out of her own office. It just so happened that we bumped into each other by Panchenko’s door.

  “Hi,” I said. “I have a meeting with your commercial director.”

  “I know. I’m part of it,” she gave an ominous chuckle.

  What’s all this about? I thought as I entered Panchenko’s office.

  “Good morning,” said a young man, overweight for his twenty-seven years. He rose from his desk and offered me his hand. “Phil, I presume?”

  “That’s me, Sir. I’m glad you’ve found the time to see me, after all.”

  “I’d like you to meet Victoria, our HR director. The question you want to discuss is within her domain, as well.”

  Vicky and I sat down: she next to Panchenko, with me opposite the two of them.

  I studied the commercial director’s stats. His Interest in the meeting was lukewarm, his social status level 8. It didn’t bode very well.

  “Well then, I’m all ears,” he rubbed his hands, faking cheerfulness. “What do you want from us? Tell me.”

  “I need nothing from you. We, however, might be of some use to you.”

  As I told them about the services offered by our outsourcing sales department, Vicky smiled skeptically. Panchenko curved his lips, frowning, but didn’t interrupt me. I could understand him: if we took over the sales, his post would be surplus to requirements.

  “...so basically, that’s what we’re offering you. Considering we don’t charge a set fee but only a percentage of actual sales — which incidentally is the same as the amount you pay your own reps — you are in fact not risking anything.”

  “I’m afraid we are,” Vicky said. “And quite a lot at that.”

  “Please explain,” Panchenko said.

  “Excuse me, Mr-” she faltered.

  “Mr. Panfilov,” I offered.

  She ignored me. “How long has your company been active?”

  “About two months.”

  “Yeah,” Panchenko drawled. “You’re not serious.”

  “That’s what I think, too,” Vicky smiled, turning to Panchenko. “I think I’ve worked out his little scam. He wants to sign a contract with us — apparently with no real risks involved, — then he’s going to use the contracts they close to expand his portfolio of clients. You know what he’s gonna do? He’s gonna flaunt our client list in front of other potential customers to show them how cool they are to have already,” she stressed the word slightly, “attracted attention from such serious companies as us. And they won’t do jack shit for us. You know how it works? This guy goes on client meetings selling their services. And who’s gonna sell our packaging, then? They only exist for a few weeks...”

  ‘Wait a sec, Victoria,” I said. “We could always include penalties in the contract for the dereliction of our contractual duties.

  A sarcastic grin spread over Panchenko’s face. He already thought he’d sussed me out. Well, I had reasons to believe I’d worked this circus show out too.

  As I leaned back in my chair, I saw his hand resting on Vicky’s thigh. Now I knew exactly who’d set all this up.

  “I’m afraid, Phil, your offer doesn’t suit us,” Panchenko summed up.

  “I’m afraid, Sir, I’m not interested in working with you, either,” I noisily pushed the chair away and stood up. “Give my regards to Mr. Ivanov.”

  He blinked. “Do you know him?”

  So he didn’t even know I used to work for them? He hadn’t even bothered to investigate the person he was about to meet?

  “Of course,” I said. “I used to work here. Why, didn’t Victoria here tell you?” I nodded at her. “It’s true I didn’t work for long. That’s probably why she didn’t remember me.”

  “I’m not complaining about my memory, Philip,” she snapped coldly.

  “And I’m not complaining about my exes.”

  I left the office under their flabbergasted stares, then walked out of the glorious Ultrapak building — this time, for good.

  * * *

  THE PROGRAM reprimanded me for committing a socially detrimental action and stripped me of 100 XP. I didn’t care: I’d just wanted to wipe that smug grin off Panchenko’s face.

  After I left, I decided not to take a taxi but just walked blindly following my nose. I felt hurt but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. In my mind, I'd let go of Vicky a long time ago. But my heart must have been stalling.

  I remembered seeing Yanna with Vlad. That didn’t hurt at all. I dug deeper into my soul trying to work it out but still I couldn’t understand what exactly was wrong.

  One thing was for sure: Ultrapak would never be one of our clients.

  Deep in thought, I stumbled into a strange side street. I decided to pop into a café to drink a cup of Americano and call a cab as my gaze lingered on a shop sign saying,

  Souvenirs and Rarities

  Mechanically I glanced at the silver ring gracing my finger. The Lucky Ring of Veles which I’d dug out in a shop just like this one. I really should go in and take a look.

  At first sight, the shop had nothing useful to offer. Tacky plaster figurines, bronze busts of unknown individuals, loose china sets... Still, my intuition drove me toward the far corner of the shop.

  There, in a large wicker basket among the heaps of junk, I discovered a tiny bone figurine. Barely visible in the pile of key rings, fridge magnets and other useless trinkets, it seemed to be calling my name.

  I focused on it to ID it.

  Netsuke Jurōjin

  Material: Ivory

  One of the seven Japanese gods of fortune, he bestows exceptionally good luck on the figurine’s owner.

  +5 to Luck

  Weight: 0.8779 ounces

  Durability: indestructible

  Price: 6,430,000.00 rubles

  Active when placed in the owner’s house

  I turned the figurine in my fingers, sensing a weak warmth coming from it.

  “Have you found something you like?” a young man asked me from behind the cash register.

  “How much is this figurine?”

  “This one, from the basket? All the items in it are three hundred rubles.”

  Lady Luck seemed to be kind to me today. Could the entire ridiculous scene at Panchenko’s office have only been a ruse to lure me into this place?

  I headed for the cash register to pay.

  “One moment,” the shop assistant took the figurine. “Well... I’m sorry to tell you this item must have fallen into the basket by mistake. This is a Jurōjin, a very rare piece. But,” he faltered, “it’s actually a fake.”

  “A fake?” I asked, indignant.

  “A copy. Sorry about that,” he mumbled as he put the figurine away under the counter.

  “So how much does this fake cost?”

  “One moment,” he tapped away on the computer. “Strange. It’s not in the database. We had similar items listed for thirty-nine hundred[55]. If you decide to buy it, I could give you a discount.”

  “I could take it off your hands for two grand, I suppose,” I offered magnanimously.

&nb
sp; “Deal,” the assistant agreed with suspicious ease, making me think I’d overcooked my offer.

  Then a gave myself a mental slap on the head. I’d just got myself a real magic item! Worth millions! For two! Thousand! Rubles! What was there not to be happy about?

  We parted ways quite happy with each other. I headed for the office.

  I spent the rest of the day solving a gazillion of pressing problems concerning the reorganization of the company, the finalizing of our constitutive documents and the renovation works. In the meantime, I still had to see clients.

  As I spoke with one of them — a middle-aged male lawyer who looked very self-confident and had an impressive work experience — I noticed there was something wrong with him. Just by looking at his profile, I realized that his Vitality was dramatically below average.

  While he studied the contract, I studied him. Outwardly, he seemed to be okay but still there was something intangible about him which set my alarm bells ringing.

  Finally, I put my finger on it. It was a small black spot which at a certain angle almost merged with his dark hair. I recognized it as an interface element — Insight, most likely.

  I was also pretty sure that this same spot — I’d no idea how it had become visible to me — was the reason for his malaise.

  “How do you feel?” I asked him once he’d finished reading the contract and signing it.

  “Never felt better,” he replied cheerfully. “Why?”

  “Do you ever have headaches?”

  “Yeah... sometimes. Just like everybody else, I suppose. If you think that it-”

  “Do you mind if I give you a piece of advice? It’s up to you whether you want to follow up on it or not. Do make an appointment with a doctor and have your head checked out. I’m pretty sure that your headaches are much more frequent now than they were before. I suggest you get an appointment ASAP. You know what I mean?”

  “What an idea! My health is absolutely fine. I don’t drink, I don’t smoke and I exercise regularly.”

  “Still I suggest you get a check-up. This has nothing to do with the contract you’ve just signed. I’m going to give you three vacancies now which are suitable for your profile,” I started printing out the search results. “As soon as you know they’ve taken you on, you’d better pop round to see your doctor.”

  He gave me a hesitant nod. I handed him the printout with all the contacts and bade my goodbye to him.

  I just hoped he’d listen to my advice.

  IN THE EVENING, we had a quick powwow for Rose to announce July’s financial results.

  “Romuald gave me all the figures as well as the contents of the cash box for the period that you worked on your own. In less than a month, you found employment for a hundred and sixty-three persons. Of those, thirty-eight were charged the set fee of a thousand rubles. The others signed a contract with the agency agreeing to pay us 10% of their first wage packet which is roughly the first ten days of August or September if they’ve been taken on on a trial basis. I estimate the agency’s returns for the month of July to be four hundred fourteen thousand five hundred rubles[56].”

  Her last words were drowned out by applause. Gleb and Alik, the two star clowns of our traveling circus, clapped the hardest. Still, one look at their joyful faces made me dissolve into a happy grin. We’d done it!

  “Also!” Rose raised a commanding hand. “The sales volume on Kesha and Veronica’s outsourcing contracts has reached-”

  I didn’t listen any further. It’s been my philosophy that money nor received is money not yet earned. We still had to see if we could get our cut. Also, we had more expenses than I dreaded to think of. The rent, the taxes, all the wages, the renovation works, the new furniture and office supplies, not to mention publicity...

  Still, it was too cool, don’t you think?

  Chapter Twenty-One. Smooth Jazz Will Be Deployed in 3...

  I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

  Frank Herbert, Dune

  IN THE ABSENCE of Kostya, I was forced to find another coach: a cartoon image of an old soak with a Tutoring stat going through the roof.

  His name was Ibrahim: an old Kazakh and a former Soviet Union champion who now trained little kids in one of the local sports schools. I had no problem finding a common language with him, asking him to prepare me for the tournament for a sum which, although small for me, made a huge difference to him.

  That’s how I became his student. We trained twice a day in addition to regular sparring with other guys in the gym.

  Courtesy of my stat booster, these two weeks of prolonged daily travails easily amounted to the equivalent of a year’s intensive training IRL. Up until now, I’d already had over a hundred sparring bouts.

  Not everything went smoothly, of course. I did lose, and did so often, especially in the beginning. My opponents’ technique varied: some of them came on aggressively while others hung back, waiting for their chance to launch a counterattack. Some of them were faster or stronger than me.

  Still, the old boy spent a lot of time teaching me the fight’s strategy. He made me study my enemy, searching for their weak sides and using them.

  “There’s no such thing as a perfect fighter,” he’d say. “Even the greatest weren’t so great in certain things. I want you to seek out your opponents’ vulnerabilities and use them against them.”

  And so I did. I’d lose again, then wait for the next fight to continue searching for their weak spots, changing my tactics only to lose again, then win the next time I tried.

  “More passion!” he demanded. “There shouldn’t be any mercy in boxing! Passion makes you stronger! He who’s the most passionate, wins!”

  Passion was something I did lack at first. I needed to get a good clobbering or even lose in order to build it up. It took me a dozen fights just to learn to be passionate enough to win.

  The old boy made me work till I dropped. Strangely enough, it hadn’t really affected my physical stats. My Strength, Stamina and Agility seemed to have frozen.

  My Boxing skill, however, had reached level 10. I still had one skill point stashed away since the last time I’d leveled up. Now I invested it into Boxing. Kostya — who was due to be discharged from the hospital the next morning — was level 8. I was now level 11.

  I put much store in the upcoming tournament. As a participant with the lowest ranking, I was to enter it on Saturday at 9 a.m. to have a few elimination fights with other amateur beginners like myself.

  The city’s sports center was bustling with out-of-town teams: all those loud young men cracking jokes and making fun of each other. I stuck out of the crowd like a sore thumb. Still, I was pretty confident. They may have been young and loud but their Boxing skill was no higher than 5 or 6. The stronger fighters would be coming later, once the elimination fights were over.

  I signed on and headed over to the weigh-in. With my 182,6 lbs, they shoved me in with the light heavyweights: 175 to 200 lbs. I was quite prepared for this scenario even though it was less than favorable. I should have lost a few lbs. in order to drop a weight class and fit in with the middleweights. In any case, it was too late to do anything about it now.

  I could already see I wasn’t going to have it easy. I studied the other guys’ stats in silent awe. Their Strength, Agility and Stamina were at least the double of my own. My only hope lay with my high Boxing skill — and with my improved Perception which had given me my super-human reaction times.

  They brought us together and made us draw lots to find our prospective opponents. In order to make it to the main grid, I had to get three wins behind me at the elimination stage.

  “Ah, you’re here too?” a familiar voice called out to me.

  “Hi, Mohammed, hi Zaurbek,” I nodded to the
two Dagestani brothers.

  “Are you competing?” Zaurbek asked.

  “Yeah. You too?”

  “Sure,” Mohammed replied. “Only we’re going straight to the main grid. We’re here to root for our little brother. Mustafa!” he called. “Come here!”

  “Hi,” their brother joined us, casting me an appraising look. “Light heavyweight?”

  “Yes. You too?”

  “Yeah,” he nodded.

  “I hope you’ll be pitted against him, brother!” Zaurbek guffawed. “He’s only been boxing for a month! He'll get hisself clobbered straight away!”

  “Maybe,” Mohammed said. His face darkened. He must have still remembered our fight.

  “Wait up! They’re announcing the results,” Mustafa turned away from us.

  The heaving crowd threatened to upturn the judges’ table.

  “Quiet!” the ref announced, then waited for the noise to subside. “Here’re your results. In light flyweight under 108 pounds...”

  My first opponent was a stocky guy in his forties. He wasn’t much of a boxer but he must have had one hell of a punch, judging by his 30+ Strength. If I took a right-hander from him, it would be lights out, for sure.

  I changed and gave my gym bag to the guys from the office who’d just arrived in full force to support me. Even Mr. Katz and Rose had come along.

  I was especially pleased to see Gleb. After all, it was his big day: his Gambling and Alcoholism debuffs had finally expired. All this time, I’d been monitoring his debuff counters with bated breath but Gleb hadn’t let me down. He hadn’t relapsed in any way. Now I was a hundred percent sure he wasn’t going to return to his old habits. He looked decidedly fresher; gone were the bags and dark circles under his eyes which were now radiating happiness. His complexion had taken on a healthy glow.

  He smiled and winked at me.

  “Be careful, Phil!” Rose said.

  “She’s right,” Veronica chimed in. “Keep your guard up!”

  Greg had arrived with his wife Alina who blushed and wished me luck.