Restart (Level Up Book #1) LitRPG Series

by Dan Sugralinov

  Yanna had always been popular in all kinds of social circles, from old college friends to accidental encounters with spoiled rich brats.

  Now, however, the tables had turned. In Vlad’s eyes, he was now the boyfriend trying to get rid of an overeager admirer.

  The situation was ridiculous. I needed some sleep. I hadn’t slept well for several nights in a row now.

  “Listen, Vlad. How about you get lost? I’m trying to get some sleep. Call back in the morning and I’ll give you the address.”

  Funny he had to ask. He'd come here to collect Yanna’s stuff, hadn’t he?

  “What did you say?” he slurred, drunk as a skunk. “Who do you think you are? Where are you now? I want the address!”

  I began to seethe with righteous anger. The Nicotine Withdrawal debuff must have played its role in this too, as I seemed to be going into spontaneous Enrage. I needed my sleep, too. And now there was this moron, thinking he had the right to order me around!

  I was about to give him the address, then meet him with a sword. A proper real-life sword, a replica Frostmourne[26] which I’d had made to order by a top craftsman for top bucks.

  I opened my mouth to give him my address. Still, it didn’t feel right. I’d do it differently this time.

  “I’m in Leafy Hollow. Kulikova St 256,” I offered a fictitious street number. “You can come if you think you’re brave enough.”

  A new system message popped up.

  Congratulations! You’ve received a new skill level!

  Skill name: Intuition

  Current level: 5

  XP received: 500

  “Who’s brave enough? Me?”

  As I studied the message trying to work out how my last words could have affected the development of my “sixth feeling”, Vlad went on and on, promising to inflict all sorts of problems on me, including lots of pain and suffering.

  “You wait there, you scumbag! I’m on my way,” he hung up.

  But seriously, what did you want me to do? Judging by my upped Intuition, the mysterious game system seemed to be happy with me.

  Or was I supposed to apologize to him saying I was only a husband who wanted to talk to his wife and ask how she was doing? Should I try to appease an idiot who hadn’t even bothered to ask her who’d called? I don’t think so! He could go and stuff himself. Also, I wasn’t quite ready yet for any physical confrontation. I couldn’t expect Alik to arrive conveniently on the scene every time I needed some assistance.

  So if the guy didn’t learn his lesson and kept calling me, I might just remind him of my real address. Let him come. We had a few things to discuss “man to man”.

  As soon as I’d made this decision, I received another message,

  Congratulations! You’ve received a new skill level!

  Skill name: Decision Making

  Current level: 5

  XP received: 500

  What was this, Christmas? I had a mere 2,000 XP left till level 8, courtesy of Vlad and his uncontrollable bouts of jealousy. Thank you very much, man. Great job.

  But still he’d ruined such a great dream for me. I’d been dreaming of having a family picnic in the countryside: my parents, Kira and little Cyril, Vicky, her daughter and myself. We’d just started a nice BBQ and then... and then that bastard had called.

  I tossed and turned for another half-hour, unable to sleep. I kept thinking about Vlad, wondering if he’d already left.

  Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer so I opened the map.

  Oh no. He was sitting in some Irish pub. Yanna wasn’t even with him.

  I checked her location. She was still at her parents’. In which case, how could he have used her phone? Had they had an argument? Had he taken her SIM card just to spite her? Talk about soap drama.

  Thus thinking, I finally fell asleep, perfectly dreamless this time.

  My mental alarm clock awoke me at 4.50 a.m. The room was very cold. The sheets didn’t keep me warm. A leaden sky hung low behind the window, spitting chilly rain. The balcony door was open.

  My entire body ached. The sheer thought of having to climb out of bed and get ready for the gym, then walk there under the cold rain, walk the dog, press my business suit and go to work, then spend all day pitching to clients... Why was I doing all this? Did I really need it?

  Without opening my eyes, I curled up in my comfy little hole under the sheets and started thinking. The only reason I’d had to get up so early was because I had a job to go to. Had it not been for that, I could have had as much sleep as I wanted. I could go to the gym at some other time more convenient for me. How about Richie? Well, if he got really desperate while I was asleep, there was always the balcony. He was going in three days’ time, anyway.

  What else? Ah yes, money. I actually didn’t need that much. My freelancing gigs earned me enough to pay the bills and buy groceries. And now that I had my interface, I really should try and search for some treasure — like a missing object of art, for instance. Or start a missing-persons bureau. Or become a bounty hunter. I could even open a recruitment agency offering a 100% employment guarantee.

  If push came to shove, I could always level up my poker playing and start winning millions in online competitions. True, bad luck could thwart any amount of skill. But in the long run, my expertise would play its part, allowing me to raise my stakes a few hundred at a time, methodically increasing my bank roll while living within my means.

  Any of the above scenarios would allow me to spend much more time leveling up. It especially concerned vital skills such as Insight. You never knew what it might offer me once I’d made the next level. I might be able to locate new mineral deposits or even detect sunken treasure ships. Or I might open a dating service guaranteed to find you the perfect partner. All these things made up part of the universal information field, provided you knew how to look for them.

  Thus daydreaming, I’d lost a precious quarter of a hour that morning and very nearly gone back to sleep.

  No matter how logical my musings might have seemed to me, the fact remained I was lying to myself. To add to this, I was breaking my commitments, thus lowering my social status. In other words, I’d relapsed back into my old habit of coming up with larger-than-life excuses in order to justify my own laziness.

  By signing a work contract with Ultrapak, I’d given them a promise to turn up. They weren’t just an abstract name for me, either. They were all real people: Vicky, Pavel, Mr. Ivanov, Greg, Cyril and Marina among all the others. I’d promised them to be part of their team: one of the many cogs in the mechanism which ensured its reliable function in society.

  I’d promised to help Marina, too. I still needed to know what was happening to Cyril healthwise. I’d promised to take care of the dog: he was my responsibility.

  Also, it would be nice to move to a better apartment. Nothing too extravagant: all I needed was a clean place, well furnished and well maintained, preferably in one of those new builds.

  I know it might sound petty like some sort of middle-class suburban dream. But then again, why not? What was wrong with wanting a pretty place with an Italian shower, a large-screen TV on the wall, a cool coffee maker and a clean elevator with all the buttons working? Was it too much to ask our alcoholic neighbors not to relieve themselves in the lobby or stop drinking in the playground in front of the children? Having said that, seeing them drinking behind the shabby rows of dilapidated communal garages behind the apartment block didn’t please the eye, either.

  Thus thinking, I suddenly realized I was standing in front of my bathroom mirror, violently brushing my teeth. I was really pissed with myself for having lost these precious minutes. By now, I could have already had my coffee and been on my way to the gym.

  Yes, I was in a hurry. I threw my gym equipment into the bag and rushed out into the rain. I pulled the hood over my head, slung the bag over my shoulder and ran, leaping over the rain puddles.

  It had already become a habit for me to review all the pending quests and
past events. The Optimization process should have already started, too. I tried to remember my last WoW boss tactic just to check it.

  A boss. Which boss? Dammit! I’d forgotten everything about my last instance raid. Did that mean the Optimization process had already started?

  I tried to recall my WoW class and abilities. They seemed to be all right. I still remembered their names as well as all the buttons and rotation. Very well. It was early days yet.

  Once I got to the gym’s locker room, I changed into my workout clothes and jumped on the scales.

  How much? I couldn’t believe it! According to the scales, I’d lost over 4 lb. since my last gym session.

  My coach wasn’t there, replaced by a colleague: a stocky Caucasian highlander[27] called Arslan. He asked me a few questions about what I used to do earlier, then sent me to do the warmup.

  The session was over before I knew it. I felt good. I managed to add some more weights to my presses: from 5 to 8 pounds, depending on the type. Alexander had been right: my shriveled muscles, shrunk from years of disuse, were now greedily absorbing all the exercise I could throw at them, jumping at their chance to grow and expand.

  The System seemed to have noticed it too:

  You’ve received +1 to Strength!

  Current strength: 8

  You’ve received 1000 pt. XP for successfully leveling up a main characteristic!

  The above message had found me in front of the locker room mirror as I dried my hair. I just couldn’t help it: I stood up and struck a Schwarzenegger-type pose, flexing my non-existent muscles.

  A bodybuilder who happened to walk past chuckled good-naturedly. Sorry, man. I might look puny next to the real Arnold — but compared to how I’ d been two weeks previously, I looked slightly better already. No wonder my jeans belt was falling off me.

  My Agility training seemed to have garnered some results too. I’d gained 6% since my last practice. The fact that I was losing weight must have had something to do with that too.

  From the gym, I hurried straight home. I had fifteen minutes to walk Richie and I had no desire to stay in the rain any longer than necessary.

  As I walked, my phone rang. It was Yanna’s number again.

  “Yes?” I answered it cautiously, not knowing who I might be speaking to.

  “It’s me,” Yanna’s voice said. “Did you call Saturday night?”

  “I did. Is our meeting on Tuesday still on?”

  “I don’t think so. We seem to be having a conference which would last through Tuesday and Wednesday. So it’s probably Thursday or Friday. Is that all right with you?”

  “I suppose so,” I replied, slightly disappointed that this divorce thing seemed to be dragging on and on.

  “Good. Talk to you later.”

  “Yanna, wait. You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m flippin’ fine! Why would you ask?”

  “Well, probably because it was you who called me Saturday night.”

  “Ah. Don’t worry about that. That’s nothing. I was hanging out with the girls. We’d had a few drinks and I remembered how I used to trust you all those years. The faith I’d had in you. I spent the best years of my life supporting you. It just felt so unfair.”

  “I understand,” I wheezed as I tried to walk fast.

  “You okay? Why are you out of breath?”

  “Fine. I’m walking home from the gym. I need to go to work now. Are you having an affair with that Vlad person?”

  “That’s none of your flippin’ business. Did you say the gym?”

  “Well, if it’s none of my business, then he’d better stop calling me drunk in the middle of the night. He wanted to know why I’d called you. Does he know we’re still married? Which is my second question.”

  She didn’t reply. There was a long pause on the phone.

  “Yanna?”

  “Don’t worry. He won’t call you again. I’ve just sent him packing. Bye.”

  She’d sent him packing! She was simply teaching him a lesson. She’d keep her distance for a couple of days, ignoring his texts and phone calls, then she’d kindly deign to forgive him. Been there, done it.

  I walked Richie, then left my apartment again, followed by his indignant barking. I could understand him. He was lonely. I’d read somewhere that dogs didn’t have a sense of time. And if so, Richie must have been really suffering from those extended periods of solitude. The company of Boris didn't count, even though Richie seemed to consider her a member of his new pack with me as top dog, he as beta and Boris, as a miserable omega misfit.

  “Courage, Private!” I crouched and patted his chops. “Only three days left, then you’ll be back with your family! Behave yourselves, you two. Boris, that especially applies to you. Keep your claws away from that couch before it falls apart!”

  Boris theatrically turned away and began grooming herself free from my ungrounded accusations.

  I took a minibus to work. I could read the book as I rode. Reading non-fiction is quite different from reading fiction. With non-fiction, you can’t just skim the pages, impatient to find out what happens next. I forced myself to take my time over each paragraph. Although it slowed down the reading process itself, it allowed me to absorb much more information, thus leveling up Intellect. The last book had brought me 300 XP points which was an excellent motivation to spend every spare moment reading.

  It was actually amazing how everything seemed to fit together. The process of reading improved your Intellect while every finished book brought you more XP which added to your existing numbers, bringing you closer to your next level. And every level gained gave you a stat point you could then invest into any characteristic of your choice — like Strength, etc.

  If you followed this logic, a 22nd-century bookworm should be a mountainous bodybuilder. “Just look at that beefcake!” old babushkas[28] would gossip on a park bench. “What a wardrobe of a man! He must be an avid reader!”

  I made it to work almost on time, just as all the others were entering Pavel’s office for a briefing. I couldn’t see Cyril anywhere. I took a seat next to Greg.

  “Where’s Cyril?” I whispered to him.

  “He went to the clinic to take some tests this morning,” Greg replied. “He’s probably still there. I told Pavel about him.”

  “Thanks. How was your weekend?”

  “It was okay. I do miss Alina though,” he admitted. “I tried to make up with her-” he promptly fell silent, realizing something was wrong.

  Silence hung in the air. Dennis — Marina’s ex-mentor — chuckled.

  “Mind if I continue?” Pavel asked. “Or are you having your own briefing? Phil? Don’t you think it’s a bit too early to start ignoring discipline and subordination?”

  “He’s our new prima donna,” Dennis added his two cents.

  “No, I’m not,” I replied. “I was asking about Cyril who seems to be seriously ill. I’m very sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  “How mature,” Pavel commented, then went on with the briefing.

  An hour later, we set off to do our rounds. Marina had some good news. She’d been contacted by one of the companies we’d visited last Friday and offered an appointment. They seemed to be interested.

  We decided to go directly there.

  As I was about to leave the building, Daria the receptionist stopped me and told me to see the bookkeepers’. Did they want to pay me my bonus already?

  They did indeed. A portly payroll accountant handed me a fat envelope containing twenty-five thousand rubles. No signature required.

  I’d already forgotten the last time I’d been paid in cash. For the last year and a half, my freelance assignments had been my sole source of income, paid electronically or via bank transfers.

  “Spoiled rotten,” she grumbled in response to my thank-you. “You’ve only been working here for what, a few days? Are you Ivanov’s relative or something?”

  “Exactly,” I replied, peering at the stats that hovered over her head. “I
’m his tenth cousin fifteen times removed.”

  I was dying to play a prank on her but promptly reconsidered. Making fun of payroll accountants is never a healthy idea. “Are you related to him too?”

  “I wish!” the equally portly chief bookkeeper grumbled without raising her eyes from the paperwork in front of her. “Then we might be able to finally pay all the wages on time.”

  “Enough of your nonsense!” the payroll lady waved me away. “First cousin to the devil, you are.”

  As Marina and I walked across the lobby, we stumbled right into Cyril. Waving his hands in excitement, he began telling us all about his visit to the clinic.

  “Phil, I owe you big time, man! You saved my life, you know that?”

  “Why, did they find something?”

  “Something! They say it’s emphysema! One of the deadliest things around if it goes untreated! The things they did to me! They spun me around, kneaded me, listened to my insides and made me blow into a tube. Then they sent me for an X-ray which showed it up as clear as daylight. Another six months, and I might not have come out of this alive! Surgery isn’t always successful, they said. They’ve prescribed me a whole bagful of stuff: pills, injections, the works. I’ve got to quit smoking, I’m afraid. The whole thing has cost me a fortune. But at least I’ll live.”

  “Congratulations!” Marina and I repeated, sincerely happy for him.

  “This had been the worst weekend of my life,” he continued. “I was beside myself with worry. But at least now I can finally breathe. I’m gonna quit smoking and lose some weight. And I’m gonna take all their medications! I was just about to smoke my last cigarette. You wanna keep me company?”

  “I’m afraid we have an appointment,” I said. “We’re already late as it is. Actually...” an idea started to form in my head. I really needed to become friends with these guys. And now I knew how to do it.

  “I’ve just received my bonus,” I said. “How about we go somewhere tonight and celebrate?”

  “Count me in,” Marina said.

  Cyril grinned. “Me too. And Greg, if you don’t mind. Both of us could use a proper meal. You can’t survive on microwaved pizzas for much longer, if you know what I mean. Who else are you gonna ask?”