Lone Cultivator In Another World

"I haven't done anything yet! Thank me later."

Anna blew a lock of hair out of her face and blushed, realizing their position. She was straddling Michael's h.i.p.s, and nothing about it looked innocent. She carefully got up and turned away, looking at the floor.

"Tell me, have you been practicing?" he asked.

"Mm, twice a day."

"Good," Michael nodded. "How's Richard?"

"Oh, he's the best puppy ever!"

They shared a laugh, remembering the husky's antics, and the awkwardness between them disappeared. Anna hurried to the laboratory, and Michael kept working on his image.

With the infofield's help, he learned the situation with the governments wasn't as bad as he had thought. There were countries where Alters suffered, like in Saudi Arabia and North Korea, but more often, they were treated well.

Developed countries such as Sweden or Canada cooperated with their Alters and treated them like a valuable resource. In fact, Switzerland belonged to this group, too. It wanted topartner with Michael to invite more Alters to consent to non-invasive experiments.

Agent Weismann who chose the forceful approach had been severely punished.

The Swiss' friendly intentions were the reason Michael had been so bold with promising Gregory Almond a license to practice law there.

Russia was the only country that had reason to suspect Michael of being more than a simple Alter. They were the only ones who had a record of him healing his father and Anna's mom. The most disturbing fact was, there were people surveilling him outside the school.

In the evening, Michael immersed himself into Tai Chi level 6. He searched for ways to use pressure points, and after learning, he applied the knowledge in the mindscape.

When night descended, the cultivator left his apartment dressed in comfortable dark clothes.

…

The butler opened the door.

"Mr. president!" the head analyst greeted in Russian, the one language everyone here spoke.

"Hello, Bodrov. Please, take a seat."

President Myshkin was eating dinner in his chic apartment in Moscow. To his left was the pudgy man, head of Project Indigo and Bodrov's direct superior. Seeing as the head analyst arrived precisely at 7 o'clock, the fatty had come early to bootlick.

Myshkin cut into his rare rib eye steak, paired it up with a side of veggies and chewed with gusto. He kept eating as if he forgot about the topic of discussion.

Bodrov watched the president eat without speaking. Situations like this weren't new to him. The pudgy man, on the other hand, grew restless.

After twenty minutes, the president finished his dessert and wiped his lips.

"Did you want some?" he asked in an innocent tone.

"Another time, sir," Bodrov nodded.

"Ah, no-no, sir, how could we?" the pudgy man shot him a glare. "Remember your place, agent. We still haven't talked about you ignoring the chain of command and reporting directly to the president!"

"Forget it," Myshkin waved his hands. "Tell me about Healer again. Michael North."

"Turns out, he's not a healer at all. He's a strength-type freak," the fatty rushed to explain.

"If you don't mind, sir. My analysts believe there is a high chance he is both. There, we have two possibilities. First, he might be special as the oldest known Alter, with remarkable power. Second, he might have a genetic advantage that allows him to utilize multiple abilities."

Myshkin inclined his head. "But our working theory is, he's special?"

"Yes."

"What if we're wrong?" retorted the fatty. "I suggest we move carefully. Remind the freak about his homeland, ask him to return. Then, he's as good as ours!"

"And what do you think, Bodrov?"

The ex-KGB agent frowned, weighing his options. His experience was telling him something smelled fishy here. But faced with another world-class agent, Myshkin himself, Bodrov could only grit his teeth and repeat his analysts' words, "If Michael North has a gene that can help us unlock second abilities in our Alters, he's worth more to the country dead than alive."

Myshkin nodded again.

The pudgy man panicked, noticing that the president was leaning towards Bodrov, so he doubled down on his bigotry, "Stop using that stupid word! You've been hypnotized by their agenda! Freaks are freaks, and we have to be smart in how we use them to our benefit!"

Myshkin grinned and sat back, watching the two men's faces. Bodrov was acting like nothing happened while the fatty was huffing and puffing, sticky with nervous sweat.

A thin aura of killing intent condensed around the president.

"I agree," the he said. "I trust the analytics. Let's kidnap the kid. As for you," he turned to the pudgy agent, "there's no need for you to continue on this project. Bodrov will take over from now on."

"Ah… I understand."

The fatty got up, said his goodbyes and left, crestfallen. He would probably get demoted. The butler opened the door for him with a sympathetic expression, and they left the room together.

When the butler accompanied the fatty, Bodrov understood the whole picture and closed his eyes.

Bang!

The butler returned, cleaning his pistol.

"I know why you bypassed him with your report. He liked to steal others' achievements. There was no way your subordinates would've gotten any recognition for their work if you reported to him first," Myshkin said, leaning on the table.

He stood up and approached the window.

"I also agree with your position, Bodrov. It's been over half a century since we've pushed back Hitler. Russia has stabilized, and we're ready for the new age. An era where others will fear and worship us like they did before. This is not the time to be indecisive."

"Sir," Bodrov answered quietly, "taking the boy won't be easy. He's become well-known in one day."

"Take his parents. Take his girl. I don't care!" Myshkin bit back at his fellow ex-KGB agent and lifted an eyebrow, "Can you do that for me?"

A confident nod.

"Good. I'll leave you to it. And Bodrov!" Myshkin glanced at the door and the blood pooling underneath it, "Clean that up for me, will you?"

After Bodrov saw the president off, he opened the door and winced at the pudgy man's body. His head had almost been blown off by a high caliber bullet.

The agent sighed. He got the message, no mistakes allowed. Normally, he was happy to fight for the country he loved, but at times like these, he wondered if the country loved him back.

…

Michael left the house through a second-floor window and hid in the shadows. Evading the building's façade, he headed towards the place where he knew a watcher lay in wait.

The school's apartment buildings were on the outskirts of the town, with very few other houses nearby. From the images Michael received from the infofield, he knew that three Russian agents rotated in 8-hour shifts and kept his house under surveillance day and night. Fortunately, they had no way to peek into his apartment.

Michael soon came up from behind and saw a middle-aged man lying in thick bushes, immersed in his duty. Except, his binoculars were set on the wrong building.

"The damn kid is already asleep, but the lady is very much awake," he muttered, breathing heavily. He sat up, unbuttoned his pants and fished out his gross thing. "Oh baby, are you lonely?" he cooed, touching himself, "The moment I'm done with this assignment, I'm gonna pay you a visit, sweetheart!"

Michael wanted to facepalm. 'Are these the people working for Project Indigo? Peepers and perverts? If all of them are like that, I'm in no trouble.'

He waited for over an hour, keeping his distance. Michael used his superhuman eyesight and hearing to monitor the Russian spy from a safe place where he wouldn't be discovered.

At midnight, another man traded places with the pervert. Michael was interested in searching their hideout, so he followed the first man back.

The keys jingled in the pervert's hands as he opened the door. After the lock clicked, he pulled on the handle, but a mosquito sat on the back of his neck. Its sudden bite made the spy numb. In a moment, his conscience faded, and he fell in Michael's arms.

"It worked better than I expected," Michael smiled, looking at his fingers. What the pervert thought was a bite, was in fact Michael pressing on one of his pressure points.

"Impressive as always!" someone said from behind his back.