Chapter 9

25 Years

At twenty-five, my broker delivered a jaw-dropping piece of news: all my shares combined had skyrocketed to a value of one billion dollars! Imagine that—I had once seriously considered becoming a professional football player. I used to think, “What could be better than football?” But now I knew: nothing beats the kind of wealth that falls into your lap without any effort. No work, no worries—just leisure, travel, women, and everything else you could ever want. With money, the world is at your feet.

The past seven years of my life had been the best anyone could imagine.

After graduating high school, I hit my parents with the news that I had no interest in going to university. After a long series of arguments and disagreements, we compromised: I’d enroll in a university, but only as a part-time student. Getting into one wasn’t too difficult.

At the graduation party, I pulled a repeat performance with Alice. Yes, I gave this girl my virginity for the second time. Some things from my past life suited me just fine. Not waiting for the moment when she’d dump me again, I waved goodbye to both her and my parents and moved to the capital. With Max's help, I rented a modest apartment, using the money I’d won at another football championship. I assured my parents I’d gotten a job. As for university exams, I handled them by slipping cash to the right professors.

In 2008, I celebrated my long-awaited eighteenth birthday. This came with a host of new advantages. First of all, Max could finally transfer all my shares to my name, which he did as a birthday gift. Now I didn’t need to call him to contact the broker to make financial moves. The same went for my football bets. I could go straight to the bookie, flash my ID (they didn’t believe I was of age at first), and place my bets.

That year also marked the global financial crisis. I was well-prepared for it. By summer, I’d sold all my Apple shares at $24 apiece, leaving me with $720,000 in my account. I sent $10,000 to my parents, so they’d think my "job" was going great. The rest I set aside.

When the crisis hit and the dollar surged from five to twelve against our local currency, I immediately sold all my dollars. After the crisis, the dollar settled at around eight, and I bought back the currency. In the end, I had over a million dollars in my account. I used some to buy an apartment—property prices had plummeted—and invested the rest back into Apple stocks. Those had also tanked, almost halving to $13 per share. So now I had a whopping 75,000 shares in my portfolio, not counting my Facebook stocks.

To cap off a successful year, I got myself a passport and started traveling. Over the next seven years, I saw half the world. I visited all the places I’d only ever seen in pictures before. I toured all of Europe, Asia, and half of the Americas. I vacationed at the most famous—and some not-so-famous—resorts on the planet. I watched football championships from the stadium instead of the TV. I mastered English and even picked up a little Italian and French.

I didn’t forget about my name either. Leonas Rudzitis officially became Leo Rutis once again. I decided not to mention this to my parents—they might think I was ashamed of my connection to them. Which I wasn’t. I just liked my short and exotic name. Deal with it.

As I earned the prestigious title of "billionaire," I decided it was time to fully embrace the wealthy lifestyle. My stocks hadn’t yet peaked, but I had more than enough to live lavishly. For seven years, I’d been spending my money, selling off Apple shares or winning football bets, but I never touched my Facebook stock. Now, the time had come to cash in on that.

My broker was practically sweating bullets when I gave the order to sell off $500 million worth of stocks. He had never seen commissions like that in his life. The first thing I spent the money on was a house for my parents just outside the capital, the one they’d been dreaming of for a while. On top of that, I transferred a hefty sum to their bank account—enough for them to live comfortably for the next hundred years. When they asked, "Where did all this money come from, son?" I had to spin a story about some wise investments I made years ago that were finally paying off.

After moving in, my father immediately retired, and my mother quit her job. They could finally relax and enjoy life. They deserved it.

Next, I began treating myself. With a simple click to transfer funds, I became the proud owner of a private island, where I hired two hundred people to build me a grand estate. But you need something to get from the mainland to your island, right? And what’s better for that than a gorgeous, luxury yacht? Exactly—nothing. So, I added that to my shopping list as well. But then there was still the issue of getting to the mainland in style. It wasn't really a problem, but I suddenly felt like flying there without other passengers and in maximum comfort. So, the next item on my list was a small but very slick private jet.

Even after splurging on these luxury purchases, not to mention several houses in different countries, a dozen sports cars, and plenty of other things, I still had an enormous pile of money left over.

Since endless leisure had started to bore me, I decided to get into film production. The perfect choice for someone who knows exactly what movies will be hits. I had always loved movies and had watched a ton of them over the years. Now, I had the chance to meet many of the people I had only ever seen on screen. The whole idea promised new experiences, which I had been craving after years of boredom.

But! Before I took my fortune to conquer Hollywood, there was one important thing I had to do first.

Charity!

I never thought I'd be interested in something like this. But once I got rich, this strange desire awoke in me. I wanted to know what it feels like to give away a large sum of money to those who truly need it, without expecting anything in return. I didn’t have to look far to find people in need. Back when I worked at the factory, every year the management would, in a not-so-voluntary way, send employees to a charity event. I was always on that list. Everyone had to buy something made by children, and all the money went to support those same kids. You gave whatever you could spare.

At the time, I hated going to those events, but now I was heading there willingly. In my bag, I had a hundred thousand dollars ready to buy some kid's painting. I also planned to find the account number where I could transfer an additional thirty million. That should last them for at least a year. After that, we’ll see.

I parked my brand-new Porsche outside the building and strutted in with a sense of importance. Inside, as always, there was a crowd. People were gathered in small groups, admiring the children's artwork. I glanced toward the far corner and spotted some familiar faces—former coworkers from the factory where I had worked before my "rebirth." Among them were a few of my old friends. Memories came rushing back, especially of all the times we used to get together and drink. How could I leave without saying a word to at least one of them?

"Well, look who it is!" I approached one of my old buddies and extended my hand. "Hey, Pasha, how’s life?"

Pasha squinted at me in confusion.

"Do I know you?" he asked, shaking my hand.

"Come on! We were drinking together just last week, and you’ve already forgotten?" I made a wild guess. At the factory, nobody drank less than three times a week.

"Uh, not really..." Pasha started to say, but I cut him off.

"You need to slow down on the booze, man. You’re already forgetting people. How’s the wife? Daughter doing alright?"

"Uh... yeah, they're fine," he replied uncertainly. "Do you work at the factory?"

"Don't scare me, Pasha! Have you been working too hard? It's me, Leo. I’m in Block B. Even Nitka sent me here, told me to come help the kids. But when it comes to showing up himself, he's suddenly too busy. Some people, huh?"

Nitka was what we called our boss, whose last name was Nitochkin—makes sense, right? Hearing that familiar nickname, Pasha smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"How’s your back? Feeling any better?"

"Yeah, it’s almost healed," Pasha said, clearly trying hard to remember when he had told me about his back problems.

"Great! Now just get rid of that hemorrhoid, and you’ll be set for life, right?" I patted Pasha on the shoulder, and he let out a frustrated sigh.

"Time to quit drinking."

"Couldn’t agree more," I said, then turned away. "Miss!"

A young woman, who was handling the painting sales, walked over to me.

"I’ll take this one. It’s excellent," I said, pointing to a painting in front of me. It featured a surprisingly well-drawn German Shepherd.

"I was going to buy that one," Pasha said.

"Come on, my daughter loves dogs. I told you, didn’t I?" I quickly made up an excuse.

Last time, it was Pasha who bought this painting. He beat me to it by literally a minute. Among all the others, the drawing of the German Shepherd seemed like the coolest. And now, it was mine. Take that!

The young woman removed the painting from the wall, and we stepped over to a table to finalize the purchase.

"I'll take it for a hundred," I said.

"As you wish," she responded with a sweet smile, "you name your own price."

I pulled two thick stacks of cash from my bag. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her eyes widen.

"Exactly one hundred thousand dollars. Feel free to count it."

The woman, with her mouth slightly open, took the stacks in her hands and looked at me.

"I’ll take your word for it," she said, clearly stunned.

"Where can I find the bank details for donations?" I asked.

"There's a stand by the exit," she said, pointing towards the door while clutching the money like she was afraid I might take it back.

"Thanks. Have a great day."

I grabbed the bag with my painting of the German Shepherd and made my way towards the exit. I was filled with incredible emotions, something I had never experienced before. Something new and unusual. It turns out, giving away huge amounts of money for a good cause is just as satisfying as getting rich, especially when you're helping orphans. Maybe I felt this way because I had lost my parents at one point too and wouldn’t have minded receiving such help. Either way, changing someone’s life for the better brought me immense satisfaction. The world just got one more philanthropist!

I squeezed through the crowd towards the stand and grabbed one of the brochures. I made sure it had the bank account number for donations.

"You bought a wonderful painting," a voice suddenly came from beside me.

I turned and saw another familiar face. Standing before me was a cheerful-looking guy, a bit older than me, with a hairstyle straight out of Donald Trump's playbook. I tried to quickly recall where I knew him from but couldn't place it.

"I had my eye on that one too, but I was too late," the man continued.

"You’re not the only one," I replied.

"How much did you pay for it?"

"Gave a hundred."

"Ah. I was planning to offer more."

I doubted that, but I kept quiet.

"I come here every year and always buy something," he said. "The kids need help, and sometimes you find really good stuff. Do you come here often?"

"Uh, well... no, it's my first time." I racked my brain again, and suddenly, it hit me! In my previous life, I met this guy in this very building. We struck up a conversation, and later, along with my coworkers, we went to watch football at a nearby pub. What really stood out, though, was his invitation to a cigar club where he had a membership. I never made it to the club though. A few days later, I committed the robbery that landed me in prison.

But! I wouldn’t mind trying to get into that club again! Not that it was a problem for me now—I could probably start my own club if I wanted. But why bother when I could get a friendly invite? I just had to earn it again.

"I was just passing by, to be honest," I continued. "Figured it was better to buy a painting than blow it all on beer and snacks. Though I did leave enough for one pint. There's a match on tonight, you planning to watch?"

"My friend and I were just heading to the pub."

"By any chance, is it the one around the corner?"

"Yeah, that’s the one."

"Looks like we’re heading in the same direction," I smiled. "We can celebrate our successful purchases too. By the way, my name’s Leo."

I extended my hand.

"Trofim," he said, shaking my hand firmly.

At the pub, I experienced multiple déjà vu moments. Same match, same crowd, familiar conversations. Workers from the factory, including Pasha, sat nearby. I confidently acted as if I was one of their colleagues, and they readily believed me, allowing us to chat freely about anything.

In the end, everything went smoothly. I had a great time, and more importantly, I achieved my goal—Trofim invited me to his cigar club once again.

The day turned out to be filled with a string of joyful events, and it concluded with an unexpected surprise. As we were all heading out of the pub after the match, I suddenly saw... HIM. For a moment, it felt like my legs were rooted to the ground. I even briefly panicked, thinking I had somehow ended up back in maximum-security prison.

Just a few meters away, sitting at a table surrounded by friends, was none other than Jan Titov himself! A stocky man with sharp facial features and the most menacing eyes I'd ever encountered.

He was happily finishing his beer, chatting with someone about the successful outcome of the match. I stared at him for several seconds, unable to believe my eyes. What were the chances of running into the person I hated most in one of the pubs in this massive city? Apparently, even in my previous life, we had watched football in the same room, just days before he began tormenting me in prison.

Yes, Jan Titov, in my previous life, was the head of security in the very prison where I was unlucky enough to spend five long years. Why did I hate him so much? It's not something I can explain in just a few words—it’s a whole story. And it’s one worth telling in detail.

Only then will the motives behind my future actions become clear to everyone. Because time doesn't always heal, it doesn't always make you forget and forgive. Jan is one of those people I will likely never forget or forgive, even though in this new life, he hasn't done anything to me—yet.

So, I guess I'll start from the very beginning.

Here we go.

***

As I mentioned earlier, in my first life, I wasn’t exactly a model citizen. And to be completely honest, I probably deserved the prison sentence. My parents passed away early, and I spiraled downhill from there. I didn’t get an education, got a job at a factory, drank heavily, fought often, and gambled on cards. I saw gambling as my only shot at making good money, and that ultimately led to my downfall.

One time, I got too caught up in the game and lost big, owing a dangerous lowlife with a ridiculous nickname—"Mast." My options were limited: either pay up or risk losing the integrity of my bones. There really wasn’t much of a choice—I was very fond of my bones. So, I resolved to get the money by any means necessary. "By any means" naturally implied theft, as no better ideas came to mind.

I wasn’t cut out for bank heists, but robbing the payroll from the factory I worked at? Now that was within my reach. I set about devising a plan and, over the course of a month, I expanded it to grandiose proportions. As the days went by, the focus of my plan shifted drastically, and by the end, Mast was no longer even a factor.

I had firmly decided that repaying my debt wouldn’t improve my life. I’d end up broke, jobless, and almost certainly behind bars. They’d search for me, and I’d be caught, and I had no desire to end up in prison.

It seemed like there was no way out. I couldn’t stay put—they’d break my bones. Fleeing the country without any money wasn’t an option either—you wouldn’t get far. If I stole the money and paid Mast back, I’d still go to prison. The only viable choice was to steal and disappear—stay healthy, keep the money, and have a shot at a future.

So, that’s exactly what I did. I knocked out one of the guards, broke into the office, and took the cash. That same evening, I was already behind the wheel of an old Lanos I’d rented.

Every few minutes, I scratched my chin—the fake beard I was wearing was irritating my skin. In the rearview mirror, I could see my hair, dyed gray, and my face, aged with deep wrinkles. Anyone who looked at me wouldn’t have doubted for a second that I was an elderly man. All thanks to the impeccable work of the makeup artist from the apartment next door. She had spent over four hours crafting this masterpiece.

Without her professional makeup skills, I wouldn’t have had a chance of crossing the border. My photo was already hanging at every checkpoint. So, during the planning phase, I had endured sitting in the makeup chair twice in one month while she transformed my appearance. The first time was for the fake passport photos. With that passport in hand, I was now ready to leave the country in search of a new life.

The long line at the border was moving slowly. The guards were meticulously inspecting every vehicle. As I inched closer to the gate, my hands started to shake more. I tried to calm myself down, glancing occasionally at the back seat, where I had hidden the stolen money. It was one of the most secure hiding places I could come up with.

I had spent part of the stolen money on the fake passport, a rental car, and a generous payment to the makeup artist. But I still had most of the money, and it was more than enough to start over.

"Good evening, your documents," said a border officer as he approached my car. Having used the long wait to calm my nerves, I handed over the passport with a steady hand.

"Why did you change your passport?" he asked, flipping through it.

"Oh, I lost the old one," I said, slightly distorting my voice to make it sound older. "Had to get a new one, you know."

"What’s your reason for leaving the country?"

"Going to visit my daughter, for her birthday. She’s turning forty-five, and I had to make the trip. Wouldn’t want to miss it."

"Open the trunk, please," the officer said with an impassive expression.

"Of course, as you wish." I got out of the car and opened the trunk. The officer began inspecting it with a flashlight. Inside was just some random junk—nothing that would catch his attention. Satisfied, he asked me to return to the car. I complied and headed for the driver’s seat. And then, something went wrong.

He shined the light on the back of my head for far too long, as if trying to figure something out. What exactly, I realized only later. When I got back behind the wheel, the officer whispered something to one of the armed guards standing nearby, then returned to my window, leaning on it with his hands.

"I have one last question for you."

"Of course, ask away," I said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Have you seen the movie The Diamond Arm?"

At that moment, I knew something was off. The words "Oh, crap" echoed in my head.

"Well, sure, who hasn’t? Great film. Why?"

Suddenly, in one swift motion, the officer painfully ripped off my beard.

"Your beard was coming loose," he said, grinning as he waved the fake beard in the air.

Just then, two armed guards appeared in front of my car, guns aimed at me.

"Don’t move!" they shouted. "Hands out the window! Now! We’ll shoot without warning! Now!"

And that was it. I got busted because of a slightly loose beard. Staring nervously at the guns, I slowly put my hands out of the window. The officer immediately slapped handcuffs on them.

***

Chained up, I was led out of the prison van. The guard grabbed my arm and guided me toward the building where I was to serve my five-year sentence. After passing through several steel-barred doors, we stopped at a small window where I was handed a faded gray prison uniform—my everyday attire for the foreseeable future. They turned me toward the next set of doors, but one of the guards suddenly blocked my path. With a smug smile, he stepped closer.

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"Welcome to your new home," the guard said, nodding at the escort, who immediately stepped aside, clearly understanding the unspoken command. "The name’s Jan Titov. I’m the head of security in this dump. We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other. What do you need to know about this place? If you’ve ever watched those brutal prison movies, well, it’s like that here—sometimes worse. If they threw you into this hole, you must’ve done something truly shitty. Care to share so I don’t have to dig into your file?"

"I robbed a factory and beat a guard half to death," I replied.

"How much did you take?"

"About a million."

"Not bad. So, you’re here for what, ten years?"

"Five."

Jan raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Whose ass did you kiss to get your sentence cut to just five years?"

"I had a good lawyer. Plus, I sincerely repented and apologized."

That much was true. Admitting guilt and showing remorse helped me a lot. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to keep me out of prison. Jan burst into laughter, and the other guards joined in.

"And what’s our thief's name?" Jan asked, calming down a bit.

"Leo Rūtis."

"Jesus Christ, we’ve got a celebrity! You some kind of American?"

"It’s short for Leonas. I’m from Lithuania. Actually, Leo is a Spanish name."

Jan’s smile disappeared instantly, and his face turned menacing as he stepped right up to me.

"Are you trying to act smart, or am I just imagining it?"

I held his gaze for a moment but decided against antagonizing him on my first day. After all, he was the head of security, and making an enemy of him wouldn’t do me any favors.

"You’re imagining it," I answered.

"You better hope I am," Jan said, his voice full of threat, "and you better hope I don’t get that impression again."

He stared at me as if trying to hurt me with his gaze alone.

"Take this scum to his cell," Jan ordered.

One of the guards immediately grabbed my arm and led me toward the door. That was my first encounter with Jan Titov, the man who would become my mortal enemy for all the lives to come.

***

The first two days of my sentence went by relatively smoothly. Sure, the food in prison was terrible, and time outside was rare—most of it was spent locked in our cells. But I got lucky with my cellmate, which, frankly, was a huge plus.

I tried to keep an optimistic mindset: I was twenty-five, and by the time I got out, I’d only be thirty—still a lifetime ahead of me. Besides, there was an old Lanos rental car waiting for me in a lot somewhere, its seat stuffed with a pile of money. They hadn’t even bothered to tear the car apart looking for the stolen cash.

Trying to stay positive, I found myself wandering the prison yard during one of our short daily walks. I observed the other convicts, grouped together in small cliques, and started contemplating the idea of joining the prison’s soccer team.

My cellmate, who had already served two years of his three-year sentence, excitedly told me about the team’s existence. All thanks to the prison warden, who was obsessed with soccer and had organized a tournament between the two prison blocks. Each block had two teams, competing for a spot in the final match.

Playing soccer was not only fun but also beneficial. Players were allowed more outdoor time for training. It was exactly what I needed—fresh air and a bit of competition to make the time pass faster.

While deep in thought, I didn’t even notice Jan sneaking up on me.

"How’s life, DiCaprio?" the head of security quipped.

"Slow and steady, boss," I replied.

"Listen, I’ve been digging through your file, and found some interesting inconsistencies. Remind me, how much did you steal from that safe?"

I tried to squash the wave of panic that started rising inside me and felt like I managed it pretty well. With a confident look, I met Jan's gaze and gave nothing away.

"Around a million."

"That’s a hefty sum. Where did you blow it all in a day?"

"I owed a lot from poker games. I stole it to repay the debt. And I did."

"Save that crap for the judge," Jan snapped, his tone growing sharper. "No one’s letting you rack up a million in debt. My brother dabbles in underground poker too. He once told me there’s an unwritten rule in those circles: they won’t lend you more than what you came in with, sometimes maybe double or triple that. Which means you’d have needed at least three hundred grand to start. So where does a factory worker get that kind of cash?"

"I was on the hook for a long time, and the amount piled up," I said, improvising on the spot.

"So, you're telling me you only stole as much as you owed? Didn’t keep anything for yourself? What were you planning to live on once you fled the country?"

"I’d have managed."

Jan stepped in closer, his voice lowering to a threatening whisper. "They didn’t find any money on you, but that just means you stashed it somewhere. And my gut’s telling me you hid a decent chunk. So here’s the deal: you tell me where it’s at, and I’ll make sure your time here feels more like a vacation. I can do that. We’ll diagnose you with some illness, move you into the cozy infirmary—softer beds, better food. Hell, I might even get you a TV over time. What do you say?"

I stared at the ground, my mind racing. The money hidden in the seat of that rented Lanos was the only thing keeping my hope for a better future alive. My naive plan was to serve the five years, get out, track down that car, and start fresh.

Of course, that was if they didn’t find the money before I did, and if the car was still around. But hope was all I had, and I needed something to keep me going for the next five years. The money was my motivation.

"What sense would it make to hide the money if I was leaving the country for good?" I argued.

"Don’t feed me that bullshit," Jan spat. "I can be your best friend here, turn this place into a resort for you. Or I can rip your balls off and make everyone believe they were missing when you got here."

Jan glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, though no one dared approach him, much less stand too close.

"Tomorrow," Jan said, "same time, same place. I’ll ask you the same question. Think long and hard about how you’re going to answer."

With that, Jan turned on his heel and walked away, leaving me in complete turmoil.

***

I spent a long time thinking about what the right move was. I could trade the money for an easier life in prison. But what would happen after the five years when I was set to walk free? Start over from scratch? Without money, it would be even tougher—no one hires an ex-con for a decent job. On the other hand, what guarantee did I have that Jan would keep his word once he got what he wanted? He could easily take the money and leave me hanging—it wouldn’t cost him a thing.

After weighing the pros and cons, I decided to stick with my original story. No matter how hard the next five years would be, I was convinced that after them, a better, more secure life awaited me. I was strong, ready to endure any trial.

Expecting Jan’s worst reaction, I waited for him the next day at the agreed spot. I waited for a whole hour, but he never showed. The siren signaling the end of the walk blared, and I joined the rest of the inmates as we lined up and, under guard supervision, headed back to the building.

Inside, we shuffled through a narrow corridor leading to the living quarters. I kept glancing at the guards, looking for Jan, but he was nowhere in sight.

“Maybe he’s off today?” I remember thinking, when suddenly I felt a hard shove from behind. I didn’t even have time to put my hands out to brace myself and slammed into the two-meter-tall brute in front of me.

“Sorry,” I quickly said.

The brute turned slowly, his eyes burning with fury. His gigantic, Neanderthal-like head, square, stubbled chin—strong enough to plow a field—and scars crisscrossing his face gave him a terrifying appearance.

“I’ll crush your skull, you sorry bastard.”

“Calm down, someone shoved me,” I pointed behind me.

“Who shoved you, scumbag?” a voice yelled from behind. “You high or something?”

Without warning, the brute’s massive hand wrapped around my throat. I tried to loosen his grip, but it was useless.

“You think I’m an idiot?” he growled.

“What’s going on here?” a guard shouted.

The brute immediately let go and shoved me aside.

“This idiot’s kicking around,” the brute said, raising his hands in a mock surrender.

I rubbed my neck, leaning against the wall. Two guards rushed over, grabbed me by the arms, and dragged me down the corridor.

“I didn’t touch him, for fuck’s sake,” I muttered, but the guards were already opening a side door and hauling me inside.

I found myself in a small room, where Jan sat waiting on a chair, smiling. Sure, I was ready for anything, but I hadn’t expected the trials to start so soon.

“Hello, ninja turtle,” Jan greeted me as he stood. He loved coming up with new nicknames. I wondered just how many ‘Leo’ associations he’d come up with.

“Sorry about that little show in the corridor,” Jan continued. “I just wanted to have a chat without any unwanted attention. Dragging you out in front of everyone without reason could start rumors. You understand.”

I stayed silent. The guards were still holding my arms. Clearly, they didn’t count as ‘unwanted attention’—probably hoping for a piece of the pie themselves. Too bad for them; they were in for disappointment.

“Alright, let’s get to the point. Have you thought about my offer?” Jan asked.

“I don’t have any money,” I began, but Jan sighed and hung his head. “I owed eight hundred thousand. The rest I spent on a fake passport and some other stuff. The last three grand were taken during the search. I’d love to make this place a resort for myself, but I can’t give you what I don’t have.”

Jan started laughing and looked over at the guards.

“What do you think, guys? Do you believe our little thief?”

“Not really,” said the first.

“Not a chance,” the second chimed in.

“See? My colleagues don’t believe you,” Jan said. “They think you’re holding out on your new friends. So, what should we do about that?”

Jan stared at me expectantly.

“I’ve got nothing more to say,” I replied.

“That’s a shame,” Jan said, nodding to one of the guards.

I felt a hard blow to my gut. I doubled over, but the guards yanked me back upright.

“You’re going to the infirmary either way,” Jan continued, “but you’ve got a choice: go there for real treatment or for a relaxing vacation.”

“Even during treatment, I can relax, right?” I quipped.

Not the best time for jokes.

Jan forced a chuckle, then nodded at the guard again. This time, I braced for the hit, but the pain still surged through me. The guard drove his knee into my stomach, then followed up with three rapid punches to the same spot.

“You’ve got quite the sense of humor,” Jan said. “But that’s okay; it’ll fade soon enough. Remember this pain, and multiply it by a thousand. That’s what the next five years will feel like if you don’t start thinking clearly.”

One of the guards grabbed my hair and yanked my head around to face Jan.

“Getting beaten up won’t make the money appear,” I gasped between breaths. “There’s no stash. There’s no hiding place.”

“Do you believe him now?” Jan asked the guards.

“Not really,” said the first.

“Still don’t,” said the second.

“You’re not very convincing,” Jan sneered, leaning closer. He stared at me for a few seconds, then straightened up. “Fix his face, but don’t break any bones yet.”

One guard twisted my arms behind my back while the other, still gripping my hair, stood in front of me and began smashing his elbow into my face with all his might. Jan stepped back, sat down, and watched with interest.

One day, my time would come, and I’d sit back and watch his suffering in turn.

***

When they dragged me out of the room, my face and clothes were covered in blood. I managed to stay conscious and could see the guards hauling me down the corridor. As we reached the doors leading to the infirmary, Jan leaned down to my ear and whispered,

“You got into a fight in the yard. If you say anything out of turn, you won’t survive the night.”

***

I spent the entire next week on a hospital bed. My swollen eye gradually started to open, and the purple bruises on my face faded back to its normal color. The broken bridge of my nose was slowly but surely healing, and it hurt less by the day.

By the evening of the eighth day, the doctor informed me that I was being discharged. A guard came to fetch me and led me back to the living quarters. I was lost in thought about what awaited me next, mentally preparing for the upcoming trial. I had no doubt that it would be much harsher than the first.

But once again, I didn’t expect it to begin so quickly—right after I stepped out of the infirmary. As soon as we passed through the first barred door, I saw Jan. He approached the guard escorting me.

“I’ll take it from here. Thanks.”

The guard handed me over to Jan and quickly left. For the first two minutes, we walked silently down the corridor. After passing through a few more doors, Jan suddenly pulled out his baton and struck me on the bend of my leg. I fell to one knee and groaned in pain. Jan shoved me against the wall, grabbed my hair, and pressed the baton into my back.

“You son of a bitch,” he growled into my ear. “You won’t believe the incredible miracle that happened the other day. The money you didn’t hide in the car seat was magically found there. Only it wasn’t me who found it—it was the rental car employees.”

This news upset me just as much as it did Jan, if not more. Not only did prison threaten to turn into a living hell, but now I had no chances of a normal life after serving my time.

“You know, there are hundreds of bastards of all kinds behind these walls,” Jan continued, pressing me harder with the baton. “Rapists, maniacs, murderers, junkies. I can tolerate any of the most depraved tendencies. But what I can’t stand are liars. I hate being lied to. You could kill someone, rape, or rob, and I wouldn’t care. But if you lied to me, I’ll do everything to make the phrase ‘rotting in prison’ become literal for you. And you did lie to me, Da Vinci. Right to my face. You deprived me of my future new car. You took away my vacation abroad. And more than liars, I can’t tolerate those who take what’s rightfully mine. You’ve combined both of those despised qualities within yourself. Don’t think I’m so stupid as to let the guards work over you again. There are much simpler and more reliable ways to show you how dissatisfied I am. So, I’d be very surprised if you still have the ability to walk in a month.”

Finally, Jan pulled me away from the wall, stood me up, and led me further. I hobbled, barely keeping up with the chief.

“No, you won’t die,” Jan said. “I’ll make sure you spend all five years in agony and suffering.”

He stopped in front of the last door and bumped me against it with his chest.

“Oh, and by the way, I’ve decided your cell isn’t suitable for you anymore. So, you’re moving to a new one. Tonight, you’ll have a pleasant evening with your new cellmate.”

Jan opened the door and handed me over to a guard.

“Take him to Kos. He’ll be living with him from now on.”

The guard smirked, took me by the arm, and led me into the living quarters. After passing by a dozen cells where inmates were getting ready for bed, I stopped in front of my new living space. The heavy door swung open, and I was pushed inside.

“Meet your new roommate, Kos,” the guard said. “A little gift from Jan.”

The guard slammed the door behind me. From the bottom bunk rose the same two-meter-tall brute I had bumped into a week ago in the corridor. He looked me up and down and smiled.

“How nice,” Kos said. “I remember our first meeting didn’t go so well. But that’s okay; we’ll fix it all.”

Kos approached me and gently ran his hand across my cheek.

“We have a wonderful evening ahead of us,” the brute said.

In this, he was gravely mistaken. I hadn’t lost all hope for a successful life after prison. I had entered there as a man, and I planned to leave as one, no matter what it cost me.

I made the decision to endure the next five years with dignity. I knew I would manage. And to achieve that goal, I needed to act immediately.

I looked Kos in the eye, smiled back at him, then clenched my fist and swung an uppercut to his groin. As he doubled over, my knee flew up into his nose. I then shoved his head against the wall and jumped on him, furiously pounding my fists into his face.

Kos was instantly lost in space and could only emit pitiful sounds. The guard, who hadn’t gone far from the cell, rushed in at the sound of the fight. He called for backup, quickly opened the doors, and three prison guards pulled me away from my victim.

***

I spent a whole week locked up in solitary confinement, but I wasn't too upset about it. On the contrary, I found myself in a safe place where I could gather my thoughts. I had come to terms with the exhausting struggle for survival that lay ahead in the coming years.

In less than three weeks in prison, I had managed to acquire two formidable enemies. It was hard to say which of them I was more unfortunate to have. On one hand, the chief of security promised me a torturous life; on the other, Kos, who had been clearly fantasizing about my agonizing death all week.

I didn’t sit idly in solitary. Besides my constant thoughts, I spent my mornings and afternoons working on my abs, arms, and legs. A week isn’t a long time for serious physical training, but it was a start. Moreover, regular exercise gave me a growing confidence in my abilities.

On the seventh day, the doors of solitary confinement swung open, revealing the familiar, detestable face of the chief of security. In his own revolting way, he was smiling again. I stepped out of the cell, and Jan shackled my wrists before leading me to the living quarters.

“How was your week, Nimoy? Living the good life?” Jan asked, referencing the actor who played Spock in the old “Star Trek” series.

“Pretty much,” I replied evenly.

“Of course. After all, Kos couldn’t get to your ass while you were in there. You surprised me with your stunt. I’m almost afraid to imagine what awaits you upon your return. Did you know you broke his nose? I’ve never seen him so furious. They say he spent the last two nights pounding his fists against the wall, preparing for your meeting. And have you seen his fist?” Jan began to laugh loudly. “You won’t envy him.”

“Glad it brings you pleasure,” I said dryly.

“Oh, it does, you bastard. Don’t think that just because you complained to the prison chief about the attack and got yourself moved back to your old cell, that Kos won’t be able to get to you. Knowing that sick homosexual, he always gets the ass he wants.”

In reality, I hadn’t complained; a kind lady doctor had done it for me. She wrote a letter to the prison chief on my behalf, and he ordered my transfer. Jan had to reluctantly comply with management's orders.

We stopped at the entrance to the living quarters, where inmates were walking outside their cells in the permitted area. The entrance doors swung open.

“Good luck,” Jan said mockingly, removing my handcuffs.

I didn’t give him a glance and stepped forward. The doors slammed loudly behind me. I stood still, taking in the crowd. Right in the center, just a few meters away, stood Kos. The bruises on his massive face had yet to fully fade. His eyes, filled with rage, bored into me, but he didn’t rush to approach.

Behind me, through the barred wall, stood armed guards. They were actively watching for trouble, and that was what held Kos back from immediately tearing my body to shreds.

***

Kos waited a full three days before launching his attack. The chief of security played no small role in this, as he organized my work in the laundry, where it all went down.

I stayed alert the entire time, and when I was sent to wash the sheets, I immediately understood what was coming. I had previously stuffed some detergent powder into my pockets and began to wait. Kos appeared not alone, but with a buddy who seemed to share his orientation. They attacked me from both sides. The first one crept up behind me, wrapping his arms around me and lifting me off the ground. Kos charged at me from the front but ran straight into a kick from both of my legs.

I slammed my head back into the nose of the second guy, breaking free from his grip. Then it was time for the powder. I first blasted Kos in the eyes, then his friend. A few seconds of their confusion were all I needed to deliver strong strikes to the right targets.

***

For me, everything ended well that time, which only made Kos angrier. A few days later, he and his buddy attacked me again, and this time I was less fortunate. The attack occurred during outdoor recreation. While his friend held me down, Kos pummeled me with his massive fists. It took five minutes for them to stop, with Jan giving the order personally.

Once again, I ended up in the infirmary, where I stayed for a whole month. In addition to bruises and scrapes, I now had several broken ribs and a fractured jaw.

My conflict with Kos lasted about two years. I ended up in the infirmary about a dozen times with varying degrees of injury. My nose was broken several times, I had almost all my ribs fractured, and once I even broke my arm. The first years were the worst of my life. But I endured, never losing hope, and didn’t give Kos what he wanted.

With each encounter, I grew stronger. I kept working on my physique, even while lying in a hospital bed. Then one fine day, my biggest problem resolved itself. Upon returning from the infirmary, I received some wonderful news:

Kos was dead.

A cellmate, whom the brute had tormented for months, had stabbed him in his sleep. By that time, Jan’s anger had subsided; he had moved on and was no longer eager to ruin my life. Kos’s buddy turned his attention to a new prisoner who was unable to resist him. So, I finally had a chance to catch my breath and relax a bit.

The first thing I did was sign up for the football team—“Machete.” At my very first practice, the captain recognized my talent and put me in as a forward. Every three months, a tournament took place, and “Machete” had never won. But with my arrival, that changed. “Machete” became the season champion for the first time, beating “Granada” in the final, with all the goals scored by me.

In the next two seasons, I repeated my success, bringing the team two more victories. Because of this, I earned the respect of half the residents of my block and the hatred of the other half. But worst of all, I once again caught Jan's attention.

Before the final tournament of the year, I was returning from another practice when the chief of security grabbed me by the arm and pulled me into an empty corridor.

“How are things going, Messi?” Jan said, smirking—“Long time no see.”

“Not bad,” I replied.

“I’ve noticed. I recently ran into the doctor, and she was curious about when to expect you back in the infirmary.”

Jan laughed at his own joke, but I wasn’t in the mood to chuckle. I had a feeling he hadn’t brought me out here just for laughs.

“I see you’re doing well on the field,” he continued after he finished laughing. “You’ve become quite an indispensable player.”

I stayed silent, my face revealing no emotion. I just stared into Jan’s eyes, waiting for him to continue.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” he said. “You have a chance to redeem yourself in my eyes. You don’t think I’ve forgotten how you scammed me out of my money, do you? Well, now you can partially settle that debt with me. I want to share a secret with you, but you promise to keep it quiet.”

Jan looked at me mockingly, but he got no reaction in return.

“Security loves to place bets on every tournament. It started small, but now you freaks can earn us a second salary. I hadn’t participated in this nonsense before, but seeing your skills made me want to try. I want to place a bet on your opponent, ‘Granada.’ They have crazy odds; everyone is betting on you. That means you need to lose. Understand?”

I understood and continued to stare at Jan with an unchanged expression on my face, dreaming of smashing his face to pieces. But if I did that, they would definitely kill me in my sleep.

“Your team used to be a bunch of losers; they never won,” Jan continued, pausing for effect. “You do all the work for them. I’m offering you a chance to take a break.”

“They’re not stupid; they’ll figure it out right away. They’ll slit my wrists at night if I refuse to play,” I replied.

“I know,” Jan drawled. “I’m not asking you not to play. Your job is to get kicked out of the game. As soon as possible. Play dirty, hit someone, provoke a red card. You could break your leg on the field; I don’t care. But by the twentieth minute, I don’t want to see you out there. In exchange… I’ll forget our disagreements and leave you alone.”

I silently stared at Jan, feeling my face flush with rage. The chief smiled, suddenly pulling out a baton and pressing it against my chest.

“I’ll take that as a deal. You’re a sensible guy. You wouldn’t do anything stupid for a stupid game in this hellhole, would you? Because if you do… remember I promised you wouldn’t die, but you’d lead a torturous life? Well, I’ll break my word. I’ll send you to meet Kos. And there, you won’t escape him.”

Jan tapped the baton lightly against my chest, then grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the corridor.

***

I decided to heed the guard chief’s advice, quite literally. I was planning to leave the field at the twentieth minute. But I had no instructions on what to do until then. For the first half of the first half, I charged forward and shot at the goal. My efforts resulted in two solo goals and an assist. By the eighteenth minute, “Machete” was leading 3-0.

In the nineteenth minute, I received another pass and decided to hold onto the ball a little longer. I intentionally went for a dribble against an opponent, pushed the ball a bit too far ahead, lost it, and dove into a tackle, putting my leg out for a hit. From the outside, it looked quite believable. I felt a blow to my ankle, fell down, and indicated that I couldn’t continue. I was helped off the field and taken to the infirmary. On the way to the building, I noticed Jan in the stands; our eyes met, and I tried to convey with my demeanor that I had fulfilled the terms of our agreement.

But as it turned out later, Jan did not agree. “Machete” won the match 3-2. That evening, the furious guard chief pulled me into a vacant corridor, cuffed my hands behind my back, and struck my leg with the baton.

“You filthy bastard,” Jan growled. “You think you’re a damn genius?”

The blow brought me to my knees. Jan pressed the baton against my throat and began to choke me.

“You’ve eaten up too much of my money,” the chief hissed.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything. I felt like I was about to die, but I wasn’t afraid. After years of beatings, fractures, and stays in the infirmary, I had learned to feel no fear of death. It had hardened my spirit.

“What are you doing?” One of the guards unexpectedly entered the corridor.

Jan glanced at him, then back at me, and reluctantly removed the baton. I pressed myself against the wall, gasping for air and coughing.

“This bastard tried to attack me,” Jan said.

“Attack you with his hands cuffed behind his back?” the guard asked.

“Put him in isolation!” Jan shouted angrily and hastily left the corridor.

***

After spending another week in isolation, I was returned to the living quarters. I had to stay alert and constantly look over my shoulder. There was no doubt that Jan would try to keep his word. But this time, I wasn’t alone.

One evening, I shared my problem with my cellmate, who was also a player on my team. The next day, the whole team knew about the danger threatening me. They quickly organized a constant protection detail and guarded me everywhere they could. Whether it was outside, in the cafeteria, or in the living quarters, I was off-limits to the pawns of the guard chief. Jan himself, openly or through other guards, no longer bothered me.

However, he still had the power to assign inmates to various types of work. I was sent to the laundry several times, where, predictably, attacks occurred. These attacks were more serious, with criminals intent on killing me. Jan would send an inmate with nothing to lose, someone serving a life sentence. I carried a shiv hidden in my sock and often had to use it for self-defense. I was hurt more than once, but my acquired skills were enough to keep me alive.

The attacks continued for about a year until Jan cooled off and shifted his focus to someone else. My fifth and final year in prison passed relatively well. I helped the team win almost all the football tournaments. I even helped one of the new inmates toughen up for survival. In the last twelve months, I was only attacked once, and that attempt came from a psychologically unstable player whom I had outplayed in cards.

***

The long-awaited day of my release finally arrived. I stood by the window, collecting my belongings. With a smile, I strapped on the watch that had long since stopped ticking. I joyfully peeled off the hated prison garb, pulling on jeans, a T-shirt, and a jacket. I was ready to leave the repulsive building, but Jan couldn't resist saying goodbye.

"Well, Leopold?" the guard chief said, blocking my path. "Looks like we couldn't get along after all. I'm surprised you managed to leave this place on your own two feet. If anything changes, feel free to come back. I’d be happy to have you here again. I have a feeling we'll meet again."

Perhaps that was the only thing he was right about. Not in that life, but in the new one.

***

I remembered how I had promised myself that if I ever crossed paths with Jan again, I would settle the score for all the torment I had endured. And here I was, watching him in a pub, fate giving me the green light. I could almost hear its voice in my head: "You’ve changed the lives of many kids for the better... in gratitude, I allow you to make Jan’s life a little harder. Go ahead."

Poor Jan, how unlucky he was that I was very wealthy, had an incredible amount of free time, and was feeling bored. I would devise the most intricate plan to make him feel at least half of what I had felt back then.

The difference was that my efforts would surely succeed far more than his ever did. I had managed to keep my integrity intact, but would Jan be able to do the same?