Restart_LitRPG Series

by Dan Sugralinov

  I paused, contemplating his question. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to open up to him, at least a little. “Not much really. I have a few ideas though. I seem to be pretty good at bringing people together. So I thought, why not open some sort of recruitment agency?”

  He drew on his cigarillo, waiting for me to go on, but I fell silent. He chuckled. He must have been relieved that I wasn’t leaving them to join the competition because he began showering me with encouragement,

  “I think it’s a brilliant idea! Well done! And what’s more, if you find someone really good, send them here first, okay? And I’ll tell Vicky — you know her, don’t you, the girl who works at HR — to send you our vacancies. Agreed?”

  He rose and proffered his hand, making it clear the meeting was over.

  “Agreed,” I said, answering his handshake.

  His grip on my hand tightened. “And if it doesn’t work out, just come back to us,” he said, locking my gaze with his. “We’ll find you a vacancy. You might even take Pavel’s place, you never know.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”

  “Very well. Now go.”

  On my way out, I popped into Vicky’s office just to check up on her. She wasn’t there.

  “She called in sick,” her workmate told me.

  I suppressed my impulse to phone her. It could be a gut feeling. Or it could be that I was just afraid of having another dry conversation with her.

  I did check her location on the map, though. Vicky was at home.

  Cyril and Greg had a meeting with a client, so I got the use of his laptop again. I needed it to collect as much data as possible on all potential buyers within our city limits. Using a smartphone would have taken me much longer.

  I studied the market, pinpointing those who might be interested, then ran several searches narrowing the results first by their packaging suppliers, then by price. That brought the list down to several eligible options. That done, I sat down to study their top management lists.

  Today was Wednesday. I had three days to work my way through the list. I decided against doing anything about the other list, the one I’d made for Marina and myself. It’s better that she had it, that way at least she had some work. I actually hadn’t even spoken to her yet. Pavel’s praise seemed to have given her wings, so much so that she’d dashed off to meet her clients immediately after the briefing.

  I’d better not waste time, either. I still had some house hunting to do in the afternoon. I’d already researched some hot real estate offers. After I’d broadened my search by raising my rent ceiling, I ran the city map through the search and came up with a perfect option directly from the landlord.

  Before contacting him, I called the Major just to find out whether I could still count on the apartment offered by Galina.

  “Comrade Major? This is Panfilov...”

  “Oh hi, Phil! Are you calling me about the old lady? Yes, we’ve checked it. Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can charge her granddaughter with,” he sounded well-rested, cheerful and even sincere, strangely enough. “Apparently, she was the only surviving relative of the deceased. She said she hadn’t bothered with the funeral expenses. According to her, she’d just had the old lady’s body taken to the dump, end of story. Sounds hideous, I know, but we can’t charge her with that. And as for the apartment, it’s not so simple. I shouldn’t bother if I were you. Formally, it belongs to no one at the moment as the direct heirs haven’t yet received the title deeds. My guys are looking into it now. The power of attorney, however, is a forgery. At least that allows us to charge her.”

  “I see. Thanks a lot, Comrade Major.”

  “Thanks don’t pay bills,” he joked, laughing. “And stop calling me Comrade Major. I’m a Lieutenant Colonel now!”

  “Congratulations, Comrade Lieutenant Colonel!”

  “Thank you, sir,” he replied in the same military vein, then continued in dead seriousness, “Have you looked at our site lately?”

  “I’m afraid not. I didn’t have the time.”

  “Shame. Well, just keep me posted. All the best,” he hung up.

  I dialed the new apartment’s owner straight away. His place had come up at the top of my search results. Everything fitted, from “90% probability of renting the place to the account user” to “criminality levels lower than elsewhere in the city”.

  The landlord was a man in his early 60s. He agreed to show me the place at any time, adding simple-heartedly,

  “I posted the ad last night but received no takers. It’s funny. I’ve just had it redecorated. It’s never been rented out before. Could it be the price? I’m sure we could come to an agreement.”

  “What if I have a look at the apartment first?” I suggested. “I’m working at the moment. How about 3 p.m.?”

  “Yes, of course. Here’s the address...”

  I didn’t need the address. Still, I pretended I was writing it down.

  I hung up and looked around. The office was quiet. Most of the workers were already out working. I was about to shut the laptop down when I remembered about my short story. I might just as well go and check if it had received any reviews.

  It had indeed.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine. I Can Do It!

  “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee!”

  Muhammad Ali

  I STILL REMEMBER my very first short story. When I was in middle school, our Russian literature teacher asked us to write an essay. She offered a variety of topics, from “My future profession” to “The works of Leo Tolstoy”. We also had the option of writing about anything at all. I think I was the only one who’d picked it. I wrote a short story about a little boy who had this particular superpower of always knowing the best places to fish. At the time, I was crazy about fishing. My Dad and Granddad always used to take me on their fishing trips. Whenever they returned home empty-handed, I was disconsolate because it had taken us a lot of preparation and a very early rise, often at three a.m., to make it to the river in time for the fish rising in the morning.

  The boy in my story whose name was Alexander (I’d told you I’d always hated my own name, hadn’t I?) always knew the exact places where to cast for the hugest fish possible. Thanks to his superpower, his Dad and Granddad never came home empty-handed.

  In the story, my little MC promptly lost his ability the moment he told a lie. That had been the condition set by the wizard who’d bestowed the superpower on him. The moment he lied, the wizard had said, he’d lose his magic powers. That was the extent of this rather controversial story which even had a bit of a moral lesson in the end.

  Our teacher gave me a D, then read the story to the class. As I now understand, her voice rang with some sort of sadistic enjoyment as my classmates rolled on the floor with laughter. You probably all know how it happens. We’ve all been to school at some point. I said red-faced wishing the earth could swallow me whole, counting seconds until she’d finished reading.

  “Absolutely and totally devoid of any writing talent,” she finally said. “What kind of mediocre reverie is this? What’s with the wizard? We can’t change our lives by waiting for miracles to fall into our lap! What were you thinking when you wrote this?” she demanded, shaking my notebook in front of me.

  Then there was my famed book and me publishing the first chapters on the writers’ portal. Nothing good had come out of that, either.

  So you can imagine my anxiety as I opened my story page on the site.

  The reviews were few but they very nearly made me reach for a non-existent pack of cigarettes.

  A very heartwarming story, thanks a lot.

  That sent goosebumps up my spine! You have a real talent.

  Excellent writing and storytelling.

  As I kept reading them over and over again, I struggled with the temptation to invest the remaining two system points into Creative Writing. It took all of my willpower not to do so. I had a better plan. When I got my Ultrapak money, I’d buy myself a very plain laptop and continue wri
ting for at least half an hour a day, practicing the skill.

  The moment I thought so, the idea added to my task list. Excellent.

  I closed the page, cleaned my browser history, shut down the laptop and set off for my meetings with clients. I had three of them scheduled for today and I fully intended to close all three.

  The first meeting at a small local grocery chain was textbook-perfect. By cleverly employing all the relevant skills, I managed to successfully talk my way past all the bureaucratic watchdogs and got seen by the director himself.

  My high Empathy levels now allowed me to tune into his mood and choose an appropriate approach. By seeing his Interest bar, I could promptly change the subject and speak about other things, raising his curiosity. My advanced Communication Skills made it easy for me to find common ground with anyone regardless of their social standing. My decent Seduction skills permeated all secretarial barriers with just a hint of flirt, doubling the effects of my Vending and Communication skills.

  The chain’s director knew what I meant the moment I spoke to him. He invited the company buyer in, discussed all the finer details with her and made the decision to sign up with Ultrapak in less than a quarter of an hour of me entering his office. After an exchange of handshakes, I pitted our lawyers against theirs and left them to work on a contract.

  My next meeting was in fact a bonus. The grocery chain’s director simply called his friend the butcher and insisted he see me.

  That happened even quicker. The butcher, a grim and swarthy Dagestani highlander, compared the prices, tut-tutted, checked the samples, spat through his teeth (we’d met on the street outside his business) and immediately gave orders to his people to drop their current supplier and sign us up instead.

  I continued going through my list. The third meeting didn’t go as smoothly. It had nothing to do with me though: according to their vice director, all their decision-makers were apparently on vacation. I didn’t have enough KIDD to double-check it; I did my best to convince her but she wasn’t prepared to accept the responsibility of such an important decision. All I could do was mark the date of her bosses’ return in my calendar and make a mental note to hand the client over to either Greg or Marina.

  The last meeting, however, was downright unsuccessful. The company owner didn’t take part in any internal decisions, delegating everything to his management team — who weren’t at all motivated to change anything at all. After some pointless looking around, I managed to find a guy who seemed interested enough. He listened to my spiel for a few minutes, looking utterly bored, then ripped a page out of his pocket notebook, wrote a large number “15” on it and moved it across the desk toward me.

  “Is this your cut?” I asked. “On top of our price?”

  He nodded.

  “I’ll speak to the director,” I said, then bade my goodbyes.

  I had big doubts whether Pavel would agree — but in this case, all I had to do was communicate the information to him.

  Not a bad result for half a workday! In the past, each successful sale had cost me hundreds of wasted calls and dozens of unproductive meetings. I used to close a couple of percent of my client base if I’d been lucky.

  In actual fact, should I stop spreading myself too thin, maybe? Why not concentrate on vending instead? By the end of this year, I could make it big trading in real estate, oil fields and crypto currencies. By the time my license expired, I could have made enough never to have to work again and live for the rest of my life on passive income.

  Still, something told me I didn’t need alien software to achieve all this. I had to take a different route. There must be more to life than joining the ranks of movers and shakers.

  It was about 3 p.m.: time for my apartment viewing. I didn’t have time for lunch so I just bought a carton of yogurt and drank it in the cab on my way.

  The apartment owner met me by the front door, visibly happy to see me. No matter how hard I’d tried, I was about five minutes late.

  “I’d lost all hope,” he said. “It happened to me before that someone phoned and said they would come and then they didn’t turn up. Can you imagine?”

  “Sure I can. Sorry I was late. I was busy at work.”

  “Of course. I understand,” he started nodding so vigorously that I feared his gray head would drop off.

  I liked the place the moment I saw it. The lawns and freshly-surfaced tarmac in the gentrified little courtyard, the playground and the fondly whitewashed tree trunks. The good-looking front door complete with code lock. The lobby was light and spacious like that of a theater. I even liked the apartment owner, mild-mannered and slightly naïve.

  I could see that the house was new and quite expensive. Not exactly posh but not far from it, either.

  The landlord explained that they’d bought the apartment for themselves but that circumstances had forced them to move to the capital. Things were going really well for their only son so they wanted to be close to him to help with their grandchildren. As far as I understood, they didn’t want to sell the apartment, for two reasons: firstly, because they believed that real estate prices were still on the rise and secondly, because they just didn’t have the heart to sell something they’d invested so much effort and TLC in.

  The apartment was excellent, very light with high ceilings and two spacious rooms. Even though the place was absolutely packed with new furniture and electronics, it didn’t look cramped. I could see they’d put a lot of time and money in it. Bathroom taps were glistening as if they’d just arrived from the shop. Or maybe they had. More important, the apartment came with its own shower cubicle[33] which I’d missed in my old flat with its tiny flaking bathtub and leaky shower hose.

  The final touch was his bright red-and-chrome electric kettle. I’d seen one of those on TV, and the water had boiled almost instantly. Its futuristic design resembled a space rocket ready to take off.

  I walked around the apartment pensively. I could already imagine myself setting my books on the shelves and putting away my things. I already saw myself making food on their comfortable electric stove and drinking coffee on their covered terrace surrounded by potted flowers.

  The landlord must have interpreted my silence as indecision. “We could drop the rent a little if you’re not too sure,” he said. “It’s getting a bit urgent. We have a plane to catch the day after tomorrow.”

  “That’s not necessary,” I said. “The price is fair for this kind of place. I’d love to live here.”

  He couldn’t contain his happiness. His lips stretched into a smile. “Excellent! Mind if I give my wife a ring? She’s quite anxious.”

  “Please do. And please tell her not to worry about the plants. I promise I’ll water them.”

  Having spoken with his wife, he reached into his old briefcase and produced a rental agreement. Squinting shortsightedly, he entered my particulars into it.

  “Oh,” I remembered, “before we sign, I have a cat.”

  “You don’t mean it!” he said happily instead of tensing up and worrying about his furniture. “We have two, Coco and Bagheera. My wife dotes on them. Cats are great! What d’you call your cat?”

  “Boris,” I said, slightly taken aback by his reaction. “Only it’s a she.”

  “Nice!” he grinned. “She’s gonna love it here. You can keep her toilet on the balcony. We planned on doing the same.”

  I signed the agreement, paid him for the first month and promised to transfer two more monthly payments into his account the following week. He handed me the keys to the apartment and the lobby.

  He finished by imploring me to pay the utility bills on time, then left, leaving me in my new apartment.

  It was so clean I could simply move in and start living. I didn’t even have to buy anything. The place had everything, from modern micro-fiber mops to a full set of crockery. They had at least five skillets for every possible occasion.

  The thought of skillets reminded me of Yanna and of my promise to phone my mother-in-la
w. Without further ado, I checked her location on the map and realized I didn’t have to bother. She was already back at her parents’. I might have to call Yanna anyway, but I could do it tomorrow. I just wished this divorce thing was over already. We didn’t have kids or property to share so hopefully we could get it done quite quickly.

  I saw no point in delaying my departure. I searched online for a removal company; they were quite happy to come, pack everything up in boxes, load them, take them to my new place and unload everything. We agreed on the next day as soon as I returned Richie to his owners.

  I left my new apartment and walked to the nearest gym.

  This one was twice as expensive but it was worth it. It had a large swimming pool, a much broader choice of workout equipment and, most importantly, it had a boxing group.

  When I inquired about it, the gym manager asked the coach to come over.

  He was forty-five and a multiple champion — not just in boxing but also in kickboxing, SAMBO and mixed martial arts. He gave me a critical once-over and suggested I concentrated on my physical shape first.

  “We train fast,” he explained. “And don’t forget your age. You’re starting a bit too late in life. You might find it tough. Very.”

  “I can do it.”

  “I don’t think so, er...”

  “I’m Phil.”

  “Very well, Phil. This isn’t a weight loss group. All the boys have been training for a long time. Many of them compete professionally. If we take you, it means that we’ll have to lower the tempo. Which we can’t afford.”

  “Very well. How about one-on-one sessions, then?”

  “That’s possible. It’ll cost you two grand an hour[34].”

  I did some mental math. I should have enough. And if Mr. Ivanov lived up to his promises, I’d have even more.

  “Can we start straight away? Can I buy my training gear here?”

  “What, now?”

  It looked like I’d managed to surprise him. He dropped all formality. “What’s the haste? Ae you in a hurry to get even with someone? Or is it about a girl?”