Chapter 3.
On the fourth day, I finally decided to spend the WP. I had plenty of doubts, naturally, but sitting there hoarding it like a miser wasn't doing me any good either. I needed to understand how this worked.
So I pulled up the familiar interface again. At the moment, thirteen of the eighteen Traits had requirements I could meet, and I had one single WP to my name.
For three days I'd been mentally running through the options. And I'd arrived at the following conclusion. The overwhelming majority of Traits available to me right now, given my current condition and capabilities, were unlikely to do me any meaningful good. But "Nerves of Steel" — now that was something else. Something genuinely exciting. The thought of no longer feeling that dull, grinding pain in my ribs and muscles that had been my constant companion these past days was incredibly tempting.
Except it all came down to basic physiology. Pain is a biological process — it tells you something is wrong. And if, in my current state, I couldn't feel my limits precisely, I'd simply push my body too far and most likely end up crippled, or worse. So in the long run, that ability was excellent — for a future version of me. Right now, pain was my primary ally, paradoxically enough. It told me clearly and honestly exactly where my limit was. Silencing it would be pure suicide. So I set that option aside.
"Structural Thinking" was closer to home. My natural element, the thing I'd lived and breathed in my past life. And lately, too. Logic, analysis, programming — the things that were earning me money right now. But I looked around my apartment and remembered how every day I had to wrestle with myself just to get up a little earlier and start working, or take on one more job — to say nothing of pushing through workouts on sheer stubbornness.
*That one's also for the future. My primary and only project right now is my own body. And what it needs isn't an engineer — it needs a taskmaster with an iron will.* The voice inside me was clear about it.
So my eyes landed on "Iron Discipline." The condition was already met — I'd earned one WP. And now I could pick the tool I needed most.
*I don't need to feel less pain right now, or to be smarter. I need an internal spine that won't let me buckle and quit when it matters most. The system doesn't hand me strength for free. It's offering me a tool so I can forge that strength myself. And that tool is discipline.*
Decision made. I focused mentally on the line reading "Iron Discipline" and imagined dragging my single WP onto it.
Nothing dramatic happened. It didn't get easier. The physical pain didn't leave. The world didn't suddenly bloom with new color. No flash of light, no surge of euphoria.
And yet — something in my head cleared. That irritating, perpetually whining inner voice that had been whispering to me these past weeks — *sit down, rest, why are you even doing this, none of it means anything* — seemed to drift back to some far corner of my consciousness. It didn't vanish, but it grew quieter. Much less convincing. In its place came a simple understanding: *Yes, this is hard and painful right now. But if I stop now, I won't get better. No need to destroy myself — I just have to do exactly as much as I can without causing harm, and then stop. Precisely that. No self-pity, and no pointless, stupid heroics.*
I looked at the dirty floor. Today I'd do a light, very careful warmup — just enough to get the blood moving and loosen up some tight muscles. Then I'd go to sleep, because tomorrow I needed to be up early. And I knew, now, that I had enough of this new quiet willpower to make that sensible, if unspectacular, choice and stick to it.
---
The next two days passed in the same rhythm: warmups, work at the laptop, simple food, sleep. Except now I could feel clearly and concretely what had changed inside me. Before, any thought of a workout or a work session triggered internal resistance and a whole parade of excuses. Now, with "Iron Discipline" sitting in my head, it was different. It wasn't some magical rush of motivation. More like the nagging voice of laziness had been muffled — someone had turned it down. My thoughts were cleaner.
Instead of *ugh, these stupid exercises again, five more minutes of sleep would be better*, what surfaced was a rational assessment: *the muscles are almost recovered, three sets of three push-ups is the right morning load. Do it and you'll be stronger. Skip it and you'll stay weak. The choice is obvious.* And I did it. Not with enthusiasm — but without internal resistance. Simply because it was the correct next step.
The pain in my ribs had nearly quieted. Only a faint soreness remained on a deep breath. The bruising on my face had almost faded — just yellowish-green shadows now. My body had stopped complaining at every movement. I was even sleeping properly, not waking up because I'd accidentally rolled onto my side. Hell, I'd even started to actually feel my muscles during those push-ups — not just burning, but specific, real work. And that felt good.
And naturally, after a couple of days of testing the Trait, a simple and inevitable question surfaced in my head.
*If one WP produced this kind of effect, what would two give? Three? More?*
Appetite, as they say, comes with eating. And so I found myself wanting more. Real progress — not these baby steps.
So one morning I laced up my old worn-out sneakers and went outside. The plan was simple and idiotic: get to the nearest park and start running laps. Run until I dropped dead or until the system took pity on me and granted the precious WP.
Getting to the park turned out to be no trouble. A quick pace, steady breathing. The park was quiet: a couple of mothers with strollers, an old man on a bench. I picked a long paved path, did a few stretching movements, and started running.
First lap. Second. My breathing began to break apart, a stitch bit into my side. By the fifth lap I was gulping air like a fish thrown onto dry land. My legs had gone cottony, my mouth was bone dry. Every step took a serious act of will.
*That's enough, stop, you can't do this,* something inside me whimpered.
*No. One more lap. Just one more, I can do it,* the other part of me fired back immediately.
And I ran. Sweat poured into my eyes, my back was soaked through. I couldn't see anything around me anymore — only the pavement ahead. The world had narrowed to the rasp in my lungs and the dead weight of my legs. Another lap. And another. I was nearly stumbling over my own feet, but something inside kept making me plant one foot and take the next step.
I was starting to feel it — the edge. Just a little further, just a bit more, and I'd get my WP. I gathered the last of what I had for one final push—
And the world exploded into a cacophony of sounds that broke through even my half-detached state.
First — a deafening roar, like a jet fighter screaming directly overhead. Then — a deep, bone-heavy impact, and the ground trembled.
I stopped, hands braced on my knees, nearly coughing my lungs out onto the path. From behind me, from the direction of the street, came the crack of something structural giving way, the shattering of glass, and people screaming.
I turned around. Out on the street, directly opposite the park entrance, something was happening that defied easy description. Chunks of brick were flying. A car had flipped onto its side, black smoke pouring from it. Something green flashed — something huge and green—
My brain, fogged by exhaustion and oxygen debt, issued its belated diagnosis:
*The Hulk. That's the goddamn Hulk. And that is very clearly above my pay grade.*
Every survival instinct I had, drowning everything else out, screamed:
*Run. Get out of here as fast as humanly possible.*
I tried to bolt, but my legs gave out. They shook and folded under me. My breathing wouldn't level out, dark blotches swam across my vision from exertion. All I could manage was a hobbling shuffle, feet moving fast but covering ground at the speed of a sick tortoise.
The screams around me were building. People ran past, shoving me out of the way. Someone's shoulder caught mine hard — I barely stayed upright. A chunk of asphalt whistled through the air and slammed into a tree a few meters away. My heart was hammering now — not from the run, but from pure, animal fear and adrenaline. I moved with my head on a swivel, trying to track every threat at once. My muscles burned like fire, but the Trait I'd bought kept me from surrendering to the panic entirely, kept me from freezing in place. One thought looped continuously in my head:
*Move. Step by step. Danger is behind you, keep going forward, almost there.*
There — the park exit. Police cars and ambulances were already lining the curb. I exhaled slightly, feeling a fleeting sense of relief. Safe here, then. Then a muffled notification sound chimed, and I suddenly noticed the faces of the people in front of me. They had gone still and were staring, horror-struck, at something behind my back.
I turned.
A car was flying straight at me, bouncing and spinning as it came. Every thought left my head. There was only terror, and a complete, clear understanding that I was about to die. My feet were rooted to the ground. I couldn't have moved even if I'd wanted to.
*So this is it, Lyokha. This is how it ends in the Marvel universe…*
Then a sharp sound hit my ears — like jet engines. Something red and gold flashed between me and the incoming car. A deafening impact, the shriek of tearing metal, and the car was hurled sideways, crashing to the ground, where it came to rest with a final groan and stopped being a threat.
Iron Man. He was standing between me and the wreckage, and for a single moment he turned his head toward me — as if checking whether I was intact — and then shot back into the heart of the chaos.
Another notification chimed. I stood there without moving, staring at the spot where I had been about to die. Tears were running down my face. I hadn't noticed when I'd started crying.
Police officers ran up to me.
"Hey — kid, you okay? You hurt?"
One of them took me by the elbow and steered me toward the ambulance. All I could do was nod at their questions. I couldn't form a single word.
They led me to the back of an ambulance and sat me down on the rear bumper. A foil blanket was draped over my shoulders — it was warm and pleasantly heavy. A paramedic, a tired-looking woman of about forty, quickly checked my pulse and shone a flashlight in my eyes.
"Shock," she said. "He needs a sedative—"
I nodded, not entirely sure if that was a question or a statement. Something sweetish and astringent was administered. Then someone handed me a bottle of water — I took a few swallows, and the water tasted incredible. Gradually my body began to let go. The shaking subsided little by little.
"You want us to take you to the hospital?" one of the medics offered.
Memories of my insurance problems surfaced on their own.
"No… no, thank you. I… I feel better. I'll just — I'll walk home."
They didn't argue. They had plenty of other people to deal with. It was time for me to get out of their way as well. From the direction of the street, what I could hear now wasn't screams but sirens and clipped commands. Apparently, the Hulk had been contained.
I limped home, keeping a hand on walls and fences and railings along the way. Every muscle in my legs registered the overexertion with its own specific complaint. I walked and mentally cursed this entire world, its superheroes and supervillains alike — the ones whose fights nearly got ordinary people like me killed under the wheels of airborne cars.
And then, almost at my building, I suddenly remembered. The system. I'd run until I had nothing left, past the edge of my ability. And then there had been the insane stress, and the very real possibility of death.
I stopped at my front door, leaned against the grimy wall, and mentally, almost like a prayer, whispered:
*Status.*
The interface materialized. I looked immediately to the WP line.
---
*[Will Points: 2]*
---
Two. Two whole points. The system had counted both the beyond-limit run and everything that followed.
Despite the exhaustion, the aching muscles, the shock still working its way out of my system — the most foolish, most genuine smile spread across my face. I'd done it. I'd survived, and I'd gotten my reward.
In that excellent mood I limped into the building, and when my apartment door closed behind me, I leaned against it with my back, catching my breath. Silence, and the familiar smell of the place — after the chaos outside, it was almost blissful. My body hummed, and every movement pulled at the overtaxed muscles of my legs. The adrenaline had receded, leaving weakness and a low-level physical ache behind.
Only now did I realize how hungry I was. I dragged myself to the kitchen corner, filled the kettle with water and set it to boil. While it rumbled, I tore open a packet of the cheapest instant noodles, poured boiling water over them, and pressed the lid down. Brewing tea was a familiar ritual by now. I sat in my only chair and worked through the food, which gradually quieted the trembling inside me and brought reality back into focus.
And while I ate, one single thought kept turning over in my head:
*That was the Hulk and Iron Man. I survived their throwdown and got two points. Two goddamn Will Points. So — where do I spend them?*
My first thought, naturally, was "Iron Discipline." It had already proven its worth. Level Two had to be even better, right? But I caught myself immediately. No. Not yet. Discipline was valuable, but today had made something very clear: I could be the most disciplined person on the planet and it wouldn't matter if, in the critical moment — like today — fear turned my legs to water and I stood there like a rabbit in front of a snake. I would have been smeared across the pavement today. Iron Man didn't save me because I was disciplined. He saved me by pure chance.
The image of the car flying at me surfaced again behind my eyes, draining the warmth from my fingers. That animal, paralyzing terror. No. I couldn't let that happen again. I needed something that would let me function under pressure. Something that would keep fear from switching my brain off.
I called up the interface and stared at the Traits list.
*"Nerves of Steel — Raises the innate pain threshold and the ability to maintain clarity of thought under stress and discomfort."*
That was exactly what I needed. If I'd had that today, I wouldn't have stood frozen — I would have moved. I might not have made it in time, the odds were bad, but I would have at least tried. Instead of standing like a post waiting for the end.
Alright. The first point was clear. "Nerves of Steel."
The second WP was trickier. I could hold it in reserve — who knew what tomorrow would bring? Or I could put it into something useful right now.
My eyes landed on "Structural Thinking." I'd already turned that Trait over in my mind and could see the direct benefits. If I chose it, I could take on more complex jobs and complete them faster. And money meant food, it meant a gym, it meant the possibility of moving to a safer apartment in a better neighborhood. It was the foundation for everything else. Without money I'd die here in this slum, never even making it to Thanos's Snap.
And honestly, as a starting combination, it was fairly optimal.
The logic chained together clearly in my head. Fear was the most immediate threat. "Nerves of Steel" would address that. Money was the foundation for survival and growth. "Structural Thinking" would handle that. Clean. Perfectly logical.
Decision made. Two points. Two Traits.
I finished the tea, pushed the bowl aside, and focused. I mentally highlighted "Nerves of Steel" and spent the first WP.
At first, nothing. And then — it was strange. I didn't feel a surge of courage or anything like that. More like the background noise went somewhere. The constant, barely perceptible anxiety that had been sitting deep in my gut since the moment I woke up in this body suddenly went quiet. It didn't disappear entirely — but it pulled back, muffled. The aching in my leg muscles softened, as though someone had turned down the volume on the pain receptors. I took a deep breath and found that I could fill my lungs completely, and the pain in my ribs was barely there at all. The world hadn't changed — but my perception of it had become calmer. More detached.
Now the second one. "Structural Thinking." I dragged the second WP onto it.
A pressure appeared at my temples immediately. Not painful — more like a light, insistent heaviness. A few stray thoughts flickered through my head in quick succession: the wiring layout in the wall, the mechanism of the lock on the door, the structure of an algorithm I'd been working on recently. The thoughts moved fast, in fragments, but each one left a sharp, clean impression behind. No knowledge came pouring in from nowhere — but the knowledge I already had reorganized itself, sorted itself into neat stacks. The world around me hadn't changed, but it had become more legible. Just slightly — but more legible. Like I'd been staring at a complex machine all this time, and had suddenly noticed gears that had been invisible before, and begun to understand how they meshed and what they were for.
My head was a little swimmy from the sudden new sensation. I swallowed and stood up to clear the table. My movements were slightly mechanical but, surprisingly, precise.
That was that. Both WP spent. I was now fractionally less cowardly and fractionally more analytical. It sounded like a modest achievement, but for this world, right now, it was exactly what I needed.
Exhaustion crashed over me the moment I finished with the dishes. Today had wrung me out completely. First that beyond-limit run, then the encounter with the Hulk, the flying car, Iron Man — and then this internal upgrade on top of everything else. I'd had enough.
So I took a shower, refreshed and loosened up a little, and then simply and without ceremony dropped onto my mattress, pulled the blanket over myself, and was out almost instantly. The last thing I felt was a faint, pressing heaviness in my temples — and an unfamiliar quiet inside myself, where fear and pain had always lived before.