Wormhole Cultivation [Book 2] - Chapter 3: Old Friends (Patreon)

After coffee with Kate, I still had some time before meeting Zola. I decided to spend it shopping and restocking my fridge: ready meals, bug steaks, a few vacuum-packed salads, juice.

There had been another change as well. Spatial pockets could no longer be used inside shops. Once they became widespread, they had quickly turned into one of shoplifters' favourite tools. Now every store was equipped with formations that detected Space Qi.

Good thing I'd noticed the new signs and paid attention to them. Otherwise, I might have landed myself in trouble without even meaning to.

The shopping took longer than I'd expected, and after filling the fridge, I ended up having to run to my meeting with Zola.

I burst into Marco's feeling as though I'd spilled half my dignity along the way. It wasn't as if I were late for a battle, but knowing Zola, she'd definitely spend the next ten minutes giving me grief for making her wait.

It took me a moment to spot their table. Marco's was packed, the cafe buzzing with customers. Zola was sitting by the window, not far from where Kate and I had been earlier.

There were two people at the table. Dressed in a black jumpsuit, Zola was facing me, while the broad-shouldered man opposite her, presumably her new flame, had his back to me.

"Hi!" I called as I approached, already intending to ask about the jumpsuit.

The man looked up at me and said, "Oh! When did you get back?"

"Bao?!" I stared. "What happened? Did you swallow Johansson and get stuck with him inside?"

In the three years since we'd last met, Bao Feng had put on a tremendous amount of muscle.

Bloody hell. The scrawny kid had grown broader than me, and he looked genuinely intimidating.

"I just haven't been neglecting my physical training, unlike certain people," he shot back with a grin. "Why are you so skinny?"

"I'm not skinny!

"I've put on weight too..."

"Really? Doesn’t look like…" Bao said, wrinkling his nose.

"You little bastard!" I laughed, punching him on the shoulder. "You were supposed to still be in the Federation!"

"I got back three days ago." Bao shrugged, leaning back in his chair. Then he looked at Zola. "Was this all your idea?"

"That's right." She nodded. "I wanted to see the looks on your faces when you met.

"Though I was expecting a bit more drama."

"You were expecting us to burst into tears and hug each other?" I asked, dropping into the empty armchair.

"No. I was expecting you to have wild sex right here on the table."

Bao and I exchanged a perfectly synchronised glance, then both shuddered.

"You never change," I said.

I caught the smug grin suddenly spreading across Bao's face, as though I'd just pressed exactly the right button.

"Oh, on the contrary," he said, watching Zola roll her eyes with theatrical exaggeration. "Our Zola's switched to girls now."

"I thought you'd given up experimenting after you met that..." I couldn't remember his name.

"I think it was Tom," Bao supplied.

"Are you two planning to trample over every single one of my sore spots?" Zola demanded angrily. "You pair of virgin nerds..."

"Ooh, 'virgin nerds' — going straight for the heavy artillery," Bao commented.

A few years ago, that would have got under his skin. Apparently, three years in the Federation had done wonders for his self-esteem and given him a bit of experience.

"To be fair," I said, "we really can't compete with her experience."

"Compared to her, half the academy would look like virgin nerds," Bao finished mercilessly.

"Why do I even keep talking to you two?" Zola muttered, shaking her head.

"Because we know who you really are," I said.

"That's not exactly a secret any more." Zola waved the comment away.

I raised an eyebrow.

"Didn't you notice there are hardly any thin-horns left on campus?" she asked. "Novak kept his word. My people were all given new bodies. Everyone except the poor souls who'd already broken through to the Stage Four."

"That's wonderful news," I said, glancing towards the bar, where Marco usually stood.

Today, two young women were rushing about behind the counter instead.

"Depends who you ask." Zola shook her head. "The last bloke I was seeing dumped me when he found out I'd been Albert before I became Zola."

Bao and I exchanged a glance and silently agreed we'd poked at her sore spots enough.

"Sorry to hear that," Bao muttered.

"Does your girlfriend know?" I asked.

"Everyone knows. There's a note in my interface saying I've undergone a body change."

I opened her interface and found the relevant entry.

"Well..." I said. "Congratulations."

"Thanks," Zola muttered. Then, unable to resist, she added, "By the way, she used to be called Diego. Diego 098. You knew her."

"Diego from Fist Garden?" I asked in surprise.

"Now she's Diana from Fist Garden," Zola replied cheerfully.

Interesting. Had Diego, now Diana, also had her mind turned upside down like Zola? Otherwise, why on earth would the serious Diego have got involved with someone as flighty as her?

Naturally, I kept that thought to myself. Instead, I returned to the question of her clothes and gestured towards her jumpsuit.

"So they issued black uniforms to all of you?"

"Only to the most valuable specialists," Zola replied with a perfectly straight face. "The academy doesn't have many surgeons with my qualifications and experience."

"And your ego," Bao added under his breath.

"That's called healthy self-esteem," Zola objected. "Shall we order already?" She raised a hand. "Bao's paying."

"I said I'd pay for you, not Jake. No offence, mate."

"I'm broke," I said. "I haven't had a chance to sell anything yet."

"Fair enough." Bao nodded. "But afterwards we should compare what we've both brought back, so we don't end up undercutting each other. I mostly stocked up on teas and seeds."

"I've got a bit of tea. Seeds?"

"For living weapons. Mostly vines."

"Then I'm no competition," I assured him.

We still had to wait for a waiter. The two women were struggling to keep up with the lunchtime rush, even though Marco's was a fairly expensive place.

The conversation flowed as easily as it always did between old friends who hadn't seen each other in years. Bao told us about his time in the Federation, he'd attended a different college, studying law just as he'd planned, but alongside that he'd devoted himself to Gravity Qi, focusing exclusively on its combat applications. I shared stories from Black Hole College, all the while feeling an increasing urge to see what the new Bao could do in a fight, while Zola complained that the arena's new protective formation had given her far too much work.

I gave Bao and Zola each a box of Old Well.

No, I wasn't exactly known for originality.

As it turned out, neither was Bao. In return, he gave me a tea with almost identical properties, only under a different name and from another part of the Federation. We both laughed at how similarly we thought. Seeing that, Zola made several cutting remarks about our level of development, so she ended up having to practically wrestle her own box of Old Well away from me, while Bao declared he was already regretting giving her the tea.

As we said our goodbyes, I mentally ran through the list of people I still wanted to see. It turned out to be shorter than I'd expected. I had plenty of acquaintances, but very few people I could call friends, even with a generous stretch of the definition. To my own surprise, one more name kept surfacing every time I tried to make that list.

Rene.

He'd been my instructor. I wouldn't exactly have called him a friend, especially considering how shamelessly he'd used every one of my victories to advertise his training hall.

I wondered whether he was still there.

I headed straight for the hall, deciding that if he was still training first-year cadets there, I'd surprise him. If he knew I was coming, he'd probably dream up some sort of promotion.

Besides, right after lunch the place ought to be quieter.

The hall greeted me with the same sounds I'd recognise with my eyes closed: the muffled detonations of training projections, the scuff of trainers across the floor, the occasional barked command. It didn't get any warmer or more familiar than that.

I spotted Rene immediately.

He was standing in the middle of a group of newcomers, doing what he'd always done best: complimenting them on the parts they'd got wrong, then burying them beneath an avalanche of tiny corrections that, taken together, changed everything.

"Good! Good! It's just your foot's in the wrong place.

"Not bad! Be more decisive. Put more energy into it."

I stopped just inside the entrance, not wanting to interrupt, simply watching with the same quiet satisfaction I'd always felt as he broke chaos down into simple movements.

Only then did I notice what should have caught my eye the moment I walked in.

Threes on Rene's collar.

Still only third stage. Even Kate had broken through, and she'd only been second stage when he was already at the third.

I didn't have time to think it through before Rene looked up from his trainees. His face instantly split into the same broad, predatory grin I remembered all too well.

Oh no.

Here we go.

"Well, well, well! Look who decided to drop by!" Rene bellowed across the entire hall, instantly drawing every novice's attention to me. "Take a break for a minute, kids!"

The first-years obediently froze, looking back and forth between their instructor and me.

"See this man?" Rene went on, pointing at me as though he were introducing a circus performer. "Four years ago, he was the star of this hall — the winner of our weekly and monthly tournaments.

"Novak's disciple!"

He paused for dramatic effect. The newcomers stared at him with wide eyes.

"Yes, that Novak. And he trained right here in our hall!

"You haven't heard much about him because he spent the last three years in Federation Ka."

Rene strode towards me with his arms spread wide for a hug. I knew there was no escaping it, so I embraced him, gave him a warm pat on the back, and quietly asked,

"Why the hell are you still third stage?"

"Quiet," he hissed without losing his smile for the audience. "You're ruining the advertisement."

"Bit of a small crowd," I murmured.

"The ones who are here will tell the ones who aren't," he whispered back at machine-gun speed. Then, raising his voice again, "A round of applause for Jake Sullivan! Looks like we may be about to see some changes at the top of the tournament rankings!"

A few of the first-years applauded, while others craned their necks to get a better look at me.

"Why, you bastard," I muttered. "I haven't even been back a full day, and you're already trying to shove me into the arena."

As I stood there under everyone's gaze, I couldn't help thinking that some things never changed. Not Rene's habit of turning me into a walking advertisement, nor the fact that, for some reason, I always let him get away with it.

"I'm not the one who'll shove you," Rene said. "You'll do that yourself."

"No, I won't.

"I've got a breakthrough planned.

"Which brings me back to my original question. Why the hell are you still third stage?"

"Everyone had a good look?" Rene asked the room, waving them away. "Right, back to work."

"My doctorate took a while," he said once the cadets had dispersed. "I didn't choose a technical field — I went into pedagogy. That means teaching. My trainees had to win tournaments. I only met the requirement this year. I'll be making my breakthrough in a few weeks."

"You should've gone into marketing," I mocked him.