Lone Cultivator In Another World

President Myshkin watched Michael's press-release in his apartment. After he saw how successful the boy was with deflecting his questions, he lay down on the sofa and closed his eyes.

"Something's not right."

"According to our analysis, Michael North's healing might be an extension of his primary ability. It's possible, but the chance does not exceed 15%," Bodrov reported right away.

These days, the middle-aged spy noticed the president grow more and more worried each day. He monitored Michael North closely and kept Bodrov at his side at all times.

"It's not that. I don't believe for a second the boy is too weak to heal a scar. He ought to do it in a blink of an eye. No, it's something else… Ah!" the president shot up. "Graves! They work together!"

"You mean, him finding out about our people wasn't a coincidence?"

"The boy tipped Graves off, and the bastard killed our spies. And now they're all chummy, acting like old friends! It was Graves who opened communication between North and the Swiss government!" The whole picture was slowly forming in Myshkin's head.

"Shall I increase our efforts on the kidnapping?" Bodrov sat at the table, taking notes.

"Also, use that professor," Myshkin nodded. "What's his name, the teacher?"

"Kamyshov."

"Right, him. Let him serve his country."

The two men spent an hour redrafting their plan to drag Michael to Russia. After they finished, Bodrov gave a crisp nod and left.

Myshkin waited until he heard the door close and turned to his butler, "Is she asleep?"

"Yes, sir."

With a sigh, the president walked out of the guest room. He passed a private lounge, a long hall, and entered his personal bedroom. There, near his own bed, was another door. He put a hand on the doorknob and turned it quietly without knocking.

The door led to yet another small room. Inside, there was a bed surrounded by several top-of-the-line medical equipment. A young girl was resting on the bed, hooked up to the machines, and tubes went inside her body in numerous places. One in her throat, one in her c.h.e.s.t, three more in her stomach covered by a blanket.

Myshkin c.a.r.e.s.sed her forehead and brushed back a lock of dirty hair from her face. His lips trembled when he heard the hitch in her unsteady breathing.

Even now, when he looked at her yellow skin and greyish lips, Myshkin saw the pearly-white smile she wore every day before the comet.

He guarded her sleep for a while. Suddenly, footsteps sounded from his bedroom. Myshkin's butler was prohibited from disturbing him, but with Myshkin's hearing rivaling that of Graves, the butler only had to make some noise.

"What is it?" the president asked after leaving the girl and closing the door behind him.

"Bodrov returned, sir."

In the guest room, the head of project Indigo waited for the president with furrowed brows.

"Why are you back? Have we missed something?"

"News just broke. The boy has legally changed his name to Michael North. Didn't issue a statement," Bodrov informed.

Myshkin stared at the wall for a minute and asked, "So what? Just like we thought, he is a traitor with no respect for his home country. Citizen of the world, he says? Let's see if the world cares about him when he disappears."

Bodrov nodded and turned to leave, but Myshkin continued, "Again, make sure to take him alive. I want Healer to be able to heal before we take him apart for research."

…

That evening, Kamyshov got a call from the security team that manned the gates.

"Mr. Kamyshov, there's a woman here to visit you. Says she's your wife, but our dossier says you've never been married. Would you like to see her, or should we throw her out?"

The old Russian professor's eyes widened as he exclaimed, "Wait! That might be an old friend of mine, she often jokes like that. Let me see if it's her."

"Of course, sir. Some joke that is, if you ask me."

Kamyshov got dressed and ran out of his apartment only to see his tormentor. Ever since Kamyshov had blackmailed the wrong person, this younger teacher was always around to demand small favors. It had been going on for months now.

"Old man, I thought we agreed on this. I don't want you talking to anybody else. Why is this woman here?"

"How… how do you know?!" Kamyshov whimpered, taking a step back and hitting a wall.

"I told you we had her under surveillance. We didn't interfere when she left Spain, but we always have eyes on her."

"Please, I don't know! I just got a call from security!"

The younger man gave an insidious smile, "Fine! Go meet with her. Just remember who holds you by the balls. It's not the Russians, it's me!"

Kamyshov nodded, looking at the ground, and his tormentor stepped aside. With a heavy heart, the old professor hurriedly ran to the gate.

"Sir! There you are. We put her in a holding room, let me accompany you," said a young security guard with a thin moustache.

He led Kamyshov into a locked room and gestured at an attractive woman in her forties handcuffed to the table, "Do you know her?"

"Yes. It's the friend I told you about. Please let her go."

"Great!" The young man uncuffed the woman and left, saying, "We can issue her a pass onto the grounds, but you have to tell us in advance."

Kamyshov gave an absent nod. When the door closed, he scrambled to grab the lady into a hug.

"Oh, how I missed you, dear! Did you bring Marco?" she smiled, tearing up.

"No. He hasn't seen you in so long, I don't want you to meet in a stuffy cell."

Despite feeling all sorts of emotions after meeting the mother of his child after a very long time, his tormentor's warning was still in the back of Kamyshov's mind, "Why are you here?"

"Oh!" the woman seemed to remember only now, "What are you involved in? Some Russian man told me to pass this note to you. Said, if I opened it, people would get hurt." She reached inside her cleavage and retrieved a small folded piece of paper. "Thank the Lord they didn't search my clothes."

Kamyshov opened the letter. His eyes followed the lines of familiar handwriting.

"It's all gibberish!" the woman frowned, stretching her neck to sneak a peek.

"No, it's code. Bodrov wants to move on…" he stopped, noticing his beloved's astonished expression.

"Code? Has the government been using you?! You're not a spy!"

Kamyshov caught her flailing arms and pressed them to his c.h.e.s.t. The mistakes of his past were catching up to him, and if she knew about his methods, she was sure to hate him. How could he tell her the truth?

"No, it's… something else. Just a message from a student to his teacher."

"Really?" she c.o.c.ked her head. "All right. So there's nothing I need to worry about?"

He laughed, masking a lie, "Of course not! If they approach you again, tell them I said yes. That's it."

She nodded, and her shoulders relaxed. Leaning into another hug, she whispered, "How have you been? How is Marco?"

"I promised you I'd get him into the best school, didn't I? He's doing fine. He's friends with a few good kids," Kamyshov kissed the woman's hairline. Hearing her breathing quicken, he insisted, "We should stop. This is not a good place."

She nodded, blushing crimson. Despite the distance between them, she stayed faithful to her lover. Even in his older age, he always kept her satisfied.

"You'd better leave now. I don't want Graves to investigate you. Marco might run into problems," Kamyshov lied. It had happened long ago. But with the two different powers keeping an eye on them, it was best if the couple didn't appear too attached.

As he watched the love of his life exit the room with a naughty wink, Kamyshov felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

The Russians wanted Michael North, and they sent his woman to let him know it was time. The old professor didn't care about Michael, but her… If the operation failed because of him, she would probably lose her life.

On the other hand, there was the younger teacher and the British lord behind him. They had their own agenda which Kamyshov knew nothing about. All he knew, they intended to use him somehow, and his cooperation with Russians didn't fit in their plans.

Work with Bodrov and suffer the ire of the British, or refuse Bodrov, and his beloved dies. Both sides were using him because of somebody he had blackmailed in the past. If only Kamyshov could go back, twenty years or so, he would do so many things differently.