Chapter 49
***
I sat at my desk during the lecture, only half-listening to the professor. The thoughts in my head flowed sluggishly, going around in circles. Always the same circle. What was all of that? A dream? Just an incredibly detailed, drawn-out dream, experienced with all my senses? Then why did I remember English, Japanese, Chinese, Siamese, French, German, and a dozen other languages as if I had actually studied them personally, complete with extensive practical experience among native speakers?
It was convenient, of course. I fell asleep an ignoramus and woke up in the morning as... who knows what.
The same applied to the rest of Victor's knowledge, accumulated over two hundred years. The *knowledge*, anyway. When it came to skills and abilities, things were a bit more depressing. I had no healing factor, and my strength was on par with an average guy my age who hadn't undergone any serious training. I had no martial arts skills.
Well, that wasn't entirely true either. I still had the muscle and motor memory, but it required adaptation and fine-tuning to the specific parameters of this particular body. My current physical condition was completely insufficient to execute even the simplest techniques and strikes from Sabretooth's arsenal.
Overall, though, things weren't bad. I was alive, I was healthy, and I possessed the memories of a two-hundred-year-old "eternal student" who doubled as a martial arts master. I had all his knowledge, absolutely none of his enemies, and, most importantly, none of his feral rage and bloodlust. With cards like these, why not play the hand?
My mood was strange. It was simultaneously bright and melancholic. Bright because I was back in Russia, back in my hometown. It might sound foolish to some, but even the air here felt different. The sensations, the colors...
The sun shone in a way it didn't anywhere else.
There were two months left until the end of the spring semester of my third year. The first class ended, followed by the second and the third. Even before that night, I hadn't had any close friends at the institute, so no one bothered me with attempts at "socializing." I wouldn't have been able to hold a normal conversation right now anyway; my head felt too heavy. Or perhaps the opposite: too light.
The third class was the last one on today's schedule. I didn't want to go home. The weather was pleasantly warm. Tossing my notebooks and pens into my bag, I simply wandered the streets of my hometown, a city I hadn't seen in two hundred years... or was it just one night?
What did it matter? I suddenly decided. I am Victor freaking Creed. What difference does it make what name is written in my passport? What does it matter if I have a healing factor, mutant strength, a nearly two-meter stature, and hypertrophied fangs on my upper and lower jaws? I'm no philosopher or soul-searcher! I perceive surrounding reality exactly as it is, rather than agonizing over what it could have been!
To hell with the doubts! I was a student again. I could learn again. And that was pure happiness. I didn't have to fight, didn't need to blow off steam or keep my inner Beast in check. I could just live and study! My dream, my Dao, my Zen...
This body might be weak right now—no strength, no flexibility, no speed, and no stamina. But that could and should be fixed! Immediately. I needed to start right now, because "a journey of a thousand li begins with a single step."
I happened to be walking through the park at that moment, so I stopped and dropped my bag, jacket, and shoes onto the young, newly sprouting grass. I took my starting stance and began going through a Wushu warm-up routine...
***
My name is Victor Creed. I am a little over two hundred years old. (If you only count Sabretooth's life from his birth in Canada, it's 208. Add Vasily's twenty-one years of life up to this point, and it makes 229.) And right now, I am living under the name Vasily Kirin.
A year had passed since the night I woke up in this body. Nowadays, it was no longer the pathetic sight it had been at the very beginning. I had stretched out—gaining at least two centimeters in height—and bulked up. The grueling daily workouts were doing their job. I was getting closer and closer to the level of mastery I possessed in the Marvel universe. (I preferred to believe that it had actually been another world, rather than just a dream or a figment of my imagination.)
I was especially good at various forms of meditation, since the Beast was no longer interfering by pumping white-hot rage through my veins. I was still wary of moving on to Qi techniques, however. They required a solid foundation of pure physical fitness, which I simply hadn't built up yet. Rushing it could lead to severe injury, or even leave me permanently crippled. But I would get to them. I would definitely get to them.
What had happened to me over this past year? A lot of things, but then again, not much at all. In short: I studied, and I trained. After all, if there was one thing I had learned to do over my two hundred and something years, it was exactly that—learning and training.
At the institute, I managed to win back the scholarship I had previously lost. And not just the standard one, but the elevated merit scholarship. I dove deeply into the material being taught, remembering how difficult it had been for me to extract it from my head, systematize it, and apply it in that other world. I recalled the massive gaps in my knowledge that had been exposed back then. Now, I was eliminating them. I scoured the internet, pestered my professors, and dug through the library.
At the same time, I found a job. It was in the same place: the internet. Freelancing. I started writing various small programs and snippets of code on commission. It was good professional practice and decent money.
Aside from the institute, I trained. Constantly, every free minute, like a man possessed.
From the outside, it looked like an obsession, a kind of madness, but I didn't care. I was trying to catch up with my past self. I wanted to use my knowledge and methodological expertise in designing and executing workouts to compensate for two hundred years of lost practice, to regain what I once had... And beyond that, I just genuinely enjoyed it. I experienced an unimaginable high knowing that, every single day, I could execute a movement just a little bit better, more accurately, more efficiently, and more beautifully than I had the day before. The rest of them would never understand that.
Performing Tai Chi routines in that park became a habit, just like my long morning runs. It was a beautiful spot. Sometimes people would stare, point fingers at me, or film me on their phones... But more often than not, they just walked on by, barely turning their heads. After all, everyone always has enough problems of their own; they don't have the time to pay prolonged attention to some guy in a black Chinese training outfit and soft sneakers doing weird movements in a city park day in and day out, regardless of the weather or the season.
They got used to it. They just got used to it.
And I got used to it too. I was almost used to living in this world, where there were no monsters, mages, vampires, werewolves, mutants, aliens, or living Asgardian gods. Only in the evenings, right before bed, would I scroll through Marvel comics online, or watch cartoons and TV shows set in that universe... And from the wall of my room, posters of Tilda Swinton as the Ancient One from Doctor Strange stared back at me. On another wall, she was stepping out of a fiery portal, the peaks of the Tibetan mountains visible through the ring of flames...
***
Tomorrow is my graduation from the institute, which I'm finishing with an honors degree. I'll probably just pick up the diploma at the official ceremony and go home. I won't stick around for the drunken party that the graduates mistakenly consider the "real" graduation.
Why? I'm simply not interested.
Waiting for me at home are the long-delayed Qi techniques I've spent two whole years preparing for. That is far more important.
***
Today I received a draft notice from the military enlistment office. You could laugh or cry about it, but I'd have to go. It was the Law, and I didn't want any problems with the Law in my current situation. Especially over something so trivial. It wasn't like I could pretend to be sick to dodge the draft, either. With the body I had sculpted over the last two and a half years, that wouldn't even be a funny joke.
Should I buy a fake medical exemption? It was an option, of course. My freelancing brought in pretty good money (not by Sabretooth's standards, but definitely by the standards of our city). But who would I even bribe? You needed the right connections for that. And was it really worth it?
Unable to come to a decision, I ultimately just showed up for the medical board.
***
Tomorrow is my discharge. How did this past year go? In some ways, it was productive—I earned the title of Master of Sports in Army Hand-to-Hand Combat—but overall, it was a waste of time.
From the very first days, I managed to secure a spot at the gym. On paper, naturally, I was listed under a standard regular position: a machine gunner scout in the reconnaissance and airborne battalion of the airborne regiment. In reality, though, I only slept in the general barracks, ran out with everyone else during alarms, and did parachute jumps with my unit. The rest of my time was spent training, competing, and preparing for more competitions: Army Hand-to-Hand Combat, skiing, track and field, obstacle courses, war games, kettlebells, marksmanship, and so on. There are a lot of competitions in the army.
The base commander was happy with me, and so was the battalion commander. The company commander grumbled, of course, complaining that I was on the roster but never actually there, but even he was satisfied deep down. And why wouldn't he be? Just think of how many trophies, certificates, and medals I brought back to the unit from all those competitions.
Because of that, I'm entering the reserves not as a private, but as a full-fledged sergeant. They still don't want to let me go. They keep trying to talk me into signing a contract, promising me a squad commander position for starters... I might have stayed, but my time here is spent far too pointlessly. I could be dedicating that time to my own training and studies.
No. I'm taking my discharge.
***
It's been two years now since I became a free bird, equipped with a military ID and an honors diploma. I'm still getting by on freelance work, and I train, train, train...
I can finally say with absolute certainty that I've mastered all of Sabretooth's techniques. I'm a long way from reaching his physical condition, since he is a mutant and I'm just human, but in terms of pure skill, I no longer fall short of my Marvel self. And besides...
I hadn't forgotten the Super Soldier formula from that other world. I even managed to synthesize it in the laboratories at my institute. Access to those labs cost me a lot of beer bought for the lab assistants, and naturally, I paid for all the reagents I "spoiled" out of my own pocket. I tested it on mice first, and then on myself. That was back at the end of my fourth year.
Without Vita-Rays, the effects stretched out over several years. Plus, the serum itself turned out to be a bit weaker in this world. However, the intensive training I subjected myself to throughout that entire "incubation" period provided a significant boost.
By this point, I had just reached the absolute peak of physical fitness granted by the formula. I had also grown another three centimeters, bringing my height to an even one hundred and eighty. Finally, I was starting to like how my body operated. It was an incredible rush.
I recently had a conversation with my father. I wouldn't call it a difficult talk, but he reminded me of my age: twenty-six already. It was time to settle down. Time to start thinking about grandkids. So what if I still looked twenty-two? Time was still marching on. And then there was that whole concept of a pension—something I obviously wasn't thinking about yet—which I risked never seeing at all with my freelance lifestyle. Well, maybe the government would toss me some crumbs...
I didn't argue with him. After all, he was right on all counts. At least, from every angle he was aware of. But telling him about the formula, let alone the name I called myself, would have been foolish. He did, however, give me an interesting idea: open my own gym and start training kids.
Actually, he phrased it a little differently. He suggested I go to the local youth sports school and get a job as a coach, since I liked all that "Eastern stuff" so much.
And the truth was, I'd probably follow that advice. Fortunately, I had both the experience and the desire. But first, I was going to take a trip to Japan. I needed to visit the Hombu Dojo.
***
It wasn't until six months later that I managed to pay my respects and honor the memory of the Great Teacher at the Ueshiba family temple cemetery in Tanabe.
It was hard. Hard and joyful at the same time. It was hard to look at the tombstone, knowing that I hadn't been able to save SUCH a man—a man who had become a friend—even in a comic book universe where immortality, returning from the dead, and resurrection were just normal, everyday occurrences.
It was joyful because he had been in my life. Because he had existed in this world, too. Just the fact that he had existed at all.
And there was another reason for joy. I now KNEW that death wasn't the end of the road, but merely the beginning of a new adventure. The Teacher had simply moved on to teach someone else. Or to learn something new himself...
I spent only half an hour at the cemetery, but I spent two full days meditating on a hill near the town. And I can't say that time was wasted. I understood something. Something important. But I wouldn't be able to put that something into words. In this body, of course, I didn't suffer from the same lack of eloquence that I did as Sabretooth, but it was still beyond my abilities.
***
I spent five months in Tokyo, attending classes at the Hombu Dojo every single day. It was expensive. I had to dedicate more time to my freelance work, taking on more complex but higher-paying jobs. Thankfully, the high rating I had built up over the years allowed me to do just that. But it was worth it. Or rather, I believed it was worth it, simply because I enjoyed it.
The fact that I officially earned my fourth dan during that time, complete with teaching rights, was just a nice little bonus.
I concurrently confirmed my second dan in Karate, thanks to the fact that the federation's central dojo was also located in Japan.
It took me another six months to verify my qualifications in Muay Thai and Kung Fu. I had to bounce around Asia to do it, even participating in a few tournaments, but those were all minor details, barely worth mentioning.
What is worth a brief mention, however, are the underground fights in Bangkok, where I earned the starting capital needed to open my own gym back in my hometown. I fought under the exact same moniker I used before: Sabretooth.
I ran into some complications afterward when trying to transfer the money across the border, but they turned out to be solvable. Bitcoin rules.
***
I returned home just in time for my twenty-eighth birthday.
My father was pleased with all the wastepaper I had brought back from my two-year journey. But he was even happier that I had actually bought a plot of land in one of the residential districts and had already begun constructing my own small gym there.
There was a mountain of bureaucratic red tape, of course. But knowing our system, how it works, and the fundamental principles of "you have to share the wealth" and "grease the wheels to make them turn," I eventually managed to handle that too.
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