The next morning didn’t start off great.
Waking up on my own at six in the morning (!) left me genuinely disoriented.
I usually slept until the last possible second and often sprinted into school right as the bell rang, openly dozing through first period, which the teachers overlooked thanks to my good grades.
Sure, I wasn’t a genius…
well, by Marvel standards — in Gennadiy’s world, people might’ve called me a genius, even if it’s a stretch — but I wasn’t just a “classic nerd” in looks alone.
Staring in surprise at the darkness only just starting to lift, I reach for my phone…
a flip phone, ugh!
And smack my hand against the nightstand!
Ow, damn it!
At least that woke me up fully.
But wait, I’m assimilating a basketball player!
Shouldn’t his coordination be better than mine?
So what the hell?
I’ve never hit my hand on that nightstand before!
The motion had just now been executed on autopilot, flawlessly, so why would this happen?
Whatever, doesn’t matter, what time is it anyway?
I check the time in shock…
“Six-fifteen?
What the hell?” I sigh, flopping back onto the bed before getting up anyway.
No point trying to sleep more, there’s not a trace of drowsiness left.
And besides, better to catch an employer early, get started right away…
and negotiate daily pay (though I doubt I’ll manage to talk anyone into that), or at least weekly.
Sure, need isn’t exactly breathing down my neck right now, thanks to my mother’s will and my savings…
which, technically, were also made from money my parents gave me.
But still, watching every purchase chip away at a resource with no current refill is unpleasant.
Then came the attempt to get dressed…
and weirdly, I felt fine overall, but I fumbled with my pants for a whole minute…
and still had this nagging sense that something was off.
“Aaah!” I clutch my chest, seeing another person in my bathroom.
Only a moment later did it click that this was the same mirror I’d looked into yesterday, meaning…
in all likelihood, this was still my own reflection…
though honestly, in Marvel any kind of nonsense could be happening, and maybe right now something else was reflecting back at me instead, something that decided to make contact?
But that was easy enough to check — a few test movements, watching the guy in the mirror react, along with inspecting whatever part of my body I could actually see myself.
“Alright, no more pants mystery.
Guess I’m heading back to the store today…
for clothes!” I admit with a sigh.
Ugh, more expenses.
But fine, that’s all minor stuff, for now, let’s take another look at myself.
Every day brings new discoveries.
My hair’s still curly, but no longer at “your average sheep” levels.
I’d even say the current curliness suits me.
The next thing that immediately caught my eye…
my eyesight.
Yoo-hoo, goodbye glasses.
Or wait — should I?
Maybe I shouldn’t be so obvious about it, showing off the changes all at once.
Thankfully I’ve got almost four months of buffer time, which is a lot at this age — a teenager really can change quite a bit in that time, just not usually this much.
Screw the height, though if the trend holds…
what was Taiga’s original height again?
Around 190 cm, I think.
I’m currently somewhere around 170…
and not exactly, a bit past that mark.
By the way, no major coordination issues, but still…
this morning’s nightstand incident clearly has that exact root cause.
I yank off my shirt and…
“Yes!
Oh my god, yes!” I say, practically radiating the enthusiasm of a full-blown narcissist mid-episode, staring at — and feeling up, honestly — my stomach, on which you can now make out the beginnings of “abs,” small ones still, not even six yet, more like four…
but god, even yesterday this was way beyond my wildest dreams!
But the biggest change — I’ve broadened out significantly in the shoulders, honestly, if I just piled a bit more muscle onto this frame, I could go shoot an underwear ad right now and rake in the cash.
Though nah, they still wouldn’t take me as a model, body aside.
My pimples have gotten a bit better, some patches have cleared up entirely, but my face is still nowhere near model material.
Still, if my looks used to be a 2 out of 10 (and maybe I’m even being generous to myself there, since I don’t want to be too harsh on myself either), now I’m at a 5.
I’d even bump that up a bit higher than average, if it weren’t for the stupid pimples eating up most of the credit I’d otherwise get from the rest of my body.
Then again, this clearly isn’t the end of the changes yet, judging by that same field on the first page.
[Taiga Kagami – 42%].
Meaning this isn’t the end of the changes, not even close to the halfway point, really.
Hm…
hope I make it all the way to Taiga’s original height.
Being that tall would be awesome.
And height itself isn’t even that remarkable — going by Gennadiy’s own memories, I can confirm that gaining an extra twenty to twenty-five centimeters “over a summer” at my age is entirely possible.
But if muscle piles on top of that too, like I’d spent a couple years in the gym — that’ll be noticeable.
Then again, baggy clothes will solve that problem…
especially since that’s what I always wore anyway, like pretty much every “nerd” at our school, and I’ll definitely be buying exactly that kind of clothing this time too, only now also out of necessity — sized to grow into, since buying something that fits right now means I’d just have to toss it and run out for new clothes again tomorrow.
Once the changes stop, I can think about whether to keep the old style or switch to something new…
or combine both?
Say, go back to school in the old style, then gradually start buying progressively less baggy clothes — from the outside, it could look less like I’m buying clothes that fit my new body and more like I’m slowly bulking up.
Hm…
sounds like a plan.
Maybe not the best one, but nothing better’s coming to mind.
I’m not exactly a “level-100 spy,” just a regular high schooler.
A bit out of touch with reality too, if I’m being completely honest.
And also…
it’ll be fun to see the look on Flash’s face when one of the guys he used to push around (and he definitely did, no denying it) can suddenly fight back.
Heh, and here’s the thing — besides being the football star, he’s actually decent at basketball too…
well, that’s what he thinks, anyway.
Remembering those games from gym class, I can say now that he plays, frankly, average at best, if not below average.
Heh…
maybe I should wipe the floor with him on his “home turf”?
Wait.
What is this cheerful sense of anger and this urge for a challenge?
I’ve never been like this.
And sure, thanks to Gennadiy’s memory I basically have front-row seats to hundreds of books and movies where a repressed nerd gets some power and completely loses it, but seriously?
Wipe the floor with him specifically in basketball?
Did I hit my head or something?
No, the thought of punching Flash’s lights out doesn’t trigger any resistance in me.
None at all.
But out-playing him at basketball?
And humiliating him with it?
Seems like my worries are confirmed — the assimilation really has had an effect on me.
Not critically — there’s no third “me” showing up in my head.
But…
damn, now I’m even more scared to approach Batman.
Mulling all that over, I got ready for a run on autopilot, dressed in what was now not baggy at all but a pretty snug tracksuit.
And I’d already headed out the door, thinking about pushing myself harder than a normal run, but cutting the time down, since I was starving.
More than that, actually, I wanted to EAT.
But I had to ignore my growling stomach, since running on a full stomach right after eating…
am I an idiot?
And if I put it off any longer, this wouldn’t be a morning run anymore at all.
Wait…
push myself harder how, exactly?
Where are these habits even coming from?
And what’s this about “cutting the time down”?
This is literally the first time in my life I’ve gone on a so-called morning run.
For both of me!
Lucian and Gennadiy alike!
While I was busy mulling things over, getting indignant, and honestly a little scared of these changes, my body had already made it to the nearest park, and I started running.
Once I realized that, I…
well, waved it off, figuratively speaking, not the worst habit to pick up, and it does speed up assimilation.
And honestly, sure, it’s a little scary for my sense of self, but so far all the changes seem positive, even trading fistfights for humiliating someone on a basketball court…
not bad.
Though I’d still rather have smashed Thompson’s face in — except I’m clearly not in shape for that yet, and I don’t know how to fight either.
Alright, one small downside does exist — this love of burgers clearly isn’t mine either, and the timing lines up, and there’s a second downside — these flashes of what might be paranoia, or something else, that started yesterday.
Annoying, but not critical, even though I had no idea Taiga was such a paranoid guy.
Plus, the higher the assimilation percentage climbs, the more I feel like I’m absorbing and processing the guy’s abilities and skills as my own.
Meaning, the analysis that Flash plays basketball poorly came from me, based on my memories, but filtered through the skills and perspective inherited from Kagami.
And the desire to humiliate Flash is also genuinely mine, but again layered with Taiga’s knowledge and memories — the optimal move really is to wipe the floor with him at basketball specifically, since I’m nowhere near beating him at other disciplines or in a fight just yet.
Wonder if I’ll end up challenging Thanos to a basketball game too.
Ugh, what kind of nonsense is my brain even coming up with…
someone please un-see the mental image I just conjured of “Thanos’s children” lining up in basketball uniforms, and Thanos himself, whistle around his neck like a coach, declaring, “I was prepared for this too, and preemptively assembled the best team.” Definitely just nerves!
After forty minutes of running…
god, I can’t even believe those numbers myself!
Feeling a pleasant kind of tired with muscles gently aching, I wandered first into a regular store, where I grabbed some sports drinks and a few protein bars, then headed to the nearest men’s clothing store.
No point going anywhere expensive or high-end, for two reasons.
First — clothes bought there would clash way too hard with the nerd image, and no matter how baggy or how loosely it hung on me, girls would clock the price of the clothes fast, and by the end of the same day the whole class would know, guys included, and that means Thompson too.
Second reason — there’s no guarantee this clothing sticks with me for long, since I don’t know exactly where my height and “bulking up” are going to level off, so there’s no point dropping hundreds or thousands of dollars on stuff that’ll end up in the trash in a day or two anyway.
Ugh…
and despite all my changes, and a workout shirt that actually outlined my modest but newly visible muscles pretty nicely, I got zero reaction from the saleswomen.
And come on, I’m a teenager, and what teenager wouldn’t want to get looked at with a little longing?
I mean, that’s not like, my personal thing, just a totally normal desire at my age, right?
Sigh, again.
Damn pimples, that’s gotta be it.
Well, that and the whole kicked-puppy look — one intense day isn’t enough to erase months of grief, and the crushing depression hadn’t fully lifted either, not completely, not without a trace.
But I need to keep moving forward.
And find the strength in myself to actually visit my parents’ grave, properly say goodbye to them, and…
honestly I don’t even know what’s hiding under that “and.” So many emotions, thoughts, feelings well up just thinking about going there.
But I have to.
Said and done.
After dropping the shopping bags off at home, sorting everything into the closets, and trying on my old clothes — some of which immediately got tossed, since not all of it had been baggy, and now some pieces were practically bursting at the seams while others just wouldn’t go on at all — I grabbed a bite (ate like three people, like some kind of Choji from Naruto) and changed into a black denim outfit, formal-ish in style but still denim, since showing up in something more upscale right now would’ve been dumb — I hadn’t yet given up my cover story that thoroughly.
I headed to the cemetery, buying flowers on the way.
As I got closer to my parents’ grave, a lump rose in my throat and my eyes started stinging.
And with maybe ten steps left, I stopped completely.
It was just too much.
I wasn’t emotionally ready yet.
Like the moment I got there, I’d have to fully accept that they were dead.
No!
I just couldn’t do it.
Yeah, I’m a coward!
A wimp!
But I just couldn’t push myself past it.
So I left the flowers on some random grave nearby, not even looking, and headed back, feeling anger at myself, frustration, and depression and apathy creeping back in again.
“Damn it!
Weakling!
Idiot!” I let my emotions out once I got home after taking a taxi, collapsing onto the bed.
In my frustration, I threw a few punches at the mattress, only managing to scrape my knuckles against the wall, and for a while the physical pain drowned out the other kind.
“Alright…
to hell with it.
Not now, later then.
Next time, for sure!
And no more running from reality!
Damn coward!” I told myself.
And to distract myself, I decided to pick up yesterday’s project again, already bracing for failure since nothing had gone right today.
But no.
I found yesterday’s job listings, still open, and after checking around a bit more, added a couple more, and started reaching out to employers.
And sure, not without some friction — one didn’t like how young my voice sounded, another didn’t want to hire someone with no experience (or rather, experience no company in this world could actually verify), and one employer was fine with everything but wanted an in-person interview instead of doing it this way.
And that last one didn’t work for me, for obvious reasons.
But in the end, out of nearly twenty listings, three came through, jobs I could easily handle remotely, all at the same time even, coordinating the spending plan and the ads themselves over the phone with the employer, or with whichever staff got assigned as my point of contact.
Though two of the three companies needed a campaign built from scratch, and across three platforms for one, two for the other…
plus negotiating cost-per-click, daily ad spend, desired placement, all the rest of it.
Basically, I had work lined up for today and tomorrow.
And that’s more or less how it went.
I finally got up from the computer well into the night…
after which I ran off to eat (again…
seems like all this muscle isn’t building itself out of nowhere), stretching along the way, since a full day at the computer had left my whole body stiff and cramped.
And honestly, only one company’s ad campaign was fully done…
four hundred goddamn ad placements, did they decide to plaster the entire internet with this thing?
The second company’s still got work left for tomorrow.
Plus I need to moderate the first and third, which are done, but the bidding on the ads shifts throughout the day, so I need to stay on top of it and react in time.
At least for the first couple of months.
After that, I won’t need to actively babysit it as much, trust will build up, and the ad management will eat less of my time, especially if I manage to push automation through with at least one company.
Or, failing that, jack up the rates and frame it as a good deal.
“Oh come on, are you kidding me!
I bought extra room on purpose!” I groaned sadly the next morning.
So, from 172 cm, I’m now at 185 cm, and a third of what I bought yesterday doesn’t fit anymore.
Annoying, but expected.
The shoes were worse.
Old ones straight in the trash…
honestly, all my old footwear’s headed for the trash, the new pairs still barely fit, but they’ll need replacing soon too.
This time the overall changes weren’t as dramatic.
My eyesight had already fixed itself yesterday, the curls are still there, no real change to those, though my hair did straighten out a bit more and got slightly less curly, but I was fine with yesterday’s look too.
Height?
I hadn’t even adjusted to the last jump, so I’m mostly just tracking the raw numbers (thank you, tape measure I bought yesterday), and how much taller I am compared to what I got used to over the past year and a half (since I stopped growing rapidly, which used to shock my parents, since my mother’s 183 cm and my father’s 192 cm, and here I was — a dwarf).
The muscle was the nice part, though hiding it is getting harder.
And I can feel this is nearly the end of the changes.
Makes sense, my height’s basically caught up, and my muscle mass already matches an athlete in good shape.
After all, Kagami might be a basketball player, but he’s not a bodybuilder, too much muscle actually gets in the way in that sport, so it’s more about ideal proportions.
And that’s basically what I’ve got right now too, might get a bit more defined by the end of the assimilation, but clearly not drastically, just going by the percentages shown.
[Taiga Kagami – 94%].
So now I can go ahead and buy a few full outfits, some for school, some for visiting family…
and for the relatives on my father’s side, I should probably show up “sharp.” Baggy clothes there would actually work against me, creating the wrong impression for a serious conversation.
And who knows where else, or in what role, I might need to show up?
So for now, let’s cover both bases and buy some slightly oversized stuff along with some well-fitted pieces.
For now though…
let’s celebrate!
No, seriously!
An idiot’s dream come true — I’m basically a hottie now…
though it looks like the pimples aren’t going anywhere completely.
The freckles, for their part, weren’t affected at all.
Ugh, fine, I’ll live with it, or I’ll assimilate someone else…
just not Batman, that one still gives me the creeps.
And I unconsciously glance over to where that card is still stuck in the wall.
I actually tried to film this whole phenomenon of a plastic(!) card stuck in a wall…
and even attempted it.
But neither my phone camera nor a regular one picked up the card at all, and as it turned out, after summoning it from storage among the other cards, devices in general just don’t register them.
My suspicion is that only I can see them.
I’ll need to test that on an actual living person somehow, but how?
After washing up and getting ready for a run and some shopping, noting to myself that I’d woken up before seven again, which isn’t typical for me, I headed out.
And how easily I ran this time!
Miles better than yesterday.
Except these flashes — not even a sense of danger, more like something else entirely — were starting to grate on me.