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Chapter 26
The Lost Memories, Part 2
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Nikolai was always a gentle boy—despite being noticeably bigger than most children his age. His height and stocky build made him appear intimidating at first glance, but it was his face that truly made people uncomfortable.
He bore six symmetrical scars across his face, so prominent and unusual that people instinctively stepped back the first time they saw him. Four fang-like scars—two on his upper lip and two below—gave him a permanently snarling look, even when he smiled. Two more deep, diagonal slashes crossed each of his eyes, running from his temples down to his lower jaw, as though something once tried to tear his face apart and failed.
Yet, if one could look past those unsettling features—if they could see beyond the damage—they would find a kind-hearted, bashful, and earnest soul beneath.
"Ah! Yobany urod! Blyat!" Nikolai swore in his thick Russian accent, hopping on one leg as he held his foot. He had stubbed his toe on the wooden doorframe of his classroom.
…
Well—if you ignored his penchant for colorful language, inherited directly from his father—he was a good kid.
Academically, he wasn't exactly what you'd call a straight-A student. In fact, he was barely above average. But in mathematics, he stood out with surprising brilliance. Numbers made sense to him in a way words didn't. Equations danced in his mind like second nature, and among his peers, he always scored the highest on math tests. It was clear to everyone that it was his favorite subject.
Unfortunately, where there is a favorite, there is also a hated subject.
English.
He loathed English.
First of all, the teacher was completely incompetent—always stammering through grammar lessons and teaching half-translated phrases that made no sense even to the adults. And secondly—"Who the fuck speaks English in a remote Russian village?" he often muttered under his breath.
Out of sheer desperation, he had asked his mother to teach him. But she was no better. His mother, a strong and radiant woman, only spoke Russian and a strange language he could barely pronounce—Māori. English was as foreign to her as it was to the local livestock.
So yeah… Nikolai hated English with a burning passion.
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"Nikolai," his teacher called out, holding up a test paper. "Full marks again! Well done." She smiled warmly and handed him his math test.
Nikolai's face lit up like the sun, a rare and honest joy gleaming behind his scars.
'I can't wait to show this to Papa and Mama,' he thought, gripping the paper proudly.
But then the teacher continued.
"That being said… I just wish you could do as well in the other subjects."
Nikolai's smile faltered. His excitement vanished as he looked down, his shoulders slumping.
"…But teacher, I tried my best. I'm just too dumb," he muttered, voice barely above a whisper.
The teacher placed a hand on his shoulder and bent down slightly to meet his eyes.
"I know you did. But you're not dumb, Nikolai. Not even close." She gave him a gentle smile.
"Just remember this—the fruit of hard work is always sweet. You'll get there. Just don't lose hope along the way. Okay?"
"…Okay, Teacher."
"Now, off you go."
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"Hey, Nikolai!" a cheerful voice called from across the cafeteria.
Nikolai turned to see Mikhail, his closest friend, jogging up with a lunchbox in hand. His skin was a light caramel-brown—unusual in their village—but no one ever questioned it. Mikhail was as Russian as borscht and vodka.
"I told you to wait for me!" Mikhail huffed, plopping down opposite Nikolai at their usual table. "So what's for lunch today?"
He leaned over, trying to catch a whiff of Nikolai's lunch, but his permanently blocked nostrils betrayed him.
"Smells like… well, I don't smell anything, but I bet it's better than mine."
"Butterbrod, blyat," Nikolai said with a proud grin, lifting the lid to reveal a simple, homemade sandwich.
Mikhail frowned. "Just butterbrod? Your mama always makes you awesome lunches. What happened?"
Nikolai's chest puffed up with pride. "I made this one," he said, placing his hand on his chest. "All by myself. Mama said it's perfect."
Though it was nowhere near as good as his mother's cooking, she had smiled and praised him when he offered her a bite earlier that morning. That praise meant everything to him.
"She said I could be a great cook one day," he added with a proud glint in his eye. Then he pushed the sandwich toward Mikhail. "Try it. You're first customer."
Mikhail looked at the sandwich warily. "You sure? I mean, this is your first time cooking. It's not poisoned, right?"
"What are you saying? Mama never lies. She said it was perfect, so it is perfect."
Mikhail hesitated. "Okay… If your mama said so, I guess I'll—"
SMACK.
Before Mikhail could take a bite, a hand came out of nowhere and swatted the butterbrod out of Nikolai's hand. The sandwich splattered across the dusty cafeteria floor, its simple contents ruined.
The two boys froze, then turned in unison to glare at the culprit.
"Vadim, blyat! You almost hit my face!" Mikhail snarled.
Vadim Petrov. Their upperclassman. Their tormentor.
He stood over them with that smug, punchable grin he always wore. Well-known as the village school's biggest bully, Vadim got away with everything. His father, the village elder, practically owned the school with his "donations." And just like the saying went—like father, like son.
"So what if I hit you?" Vadim laughed. "You should be thankful. Who knows what kind of voodoo shit this chernomazyy cooked up."
Mikhail stood up abruptly, fists clenched. "Hey! Don't call him that, you bastard!"
Vadim only smirked wider. "What are you gonna do about it, suka?"
"I'll show you exactly what I'll do—!"
Mikhail threw a punch, but Vadim ducked it effortlessly. The older boy sneered, unphased. Mikhail reeled for another attack, but Nikolai quickly wrapped his arms around him and lifted him clean off the floor.
"Let me go, Nikolai! I'm gonna beat this bastard into the dirt!"
"Calm down, Mikhail!" Nikolai grunted, struggling to restrain him.
Vadim cackled. "Yeah, calm down your little bitch, Nikolai! Hahaha!"
"Not funny, Vadim," Nikolai said coldly.
"Sure it is."
Once Mikhail finally stopped struggling, Nikolai set him down. His friend huffed, adjusting his jacket, glaring daggers at their tormentor.
"I just don't get it," Nikolai said. "Why do you always pick on us? What did we ever do to you?"
Vadim scoffed. "Do I need a reason to bully a chernomazyy freak like you?"
"For the last time… I'm not from Africa. And neither is my mama."
"She sure looks like it," Vadim sneered.
That struck a nerve.
Nikolai's fists clenched so hard, his knuckles turned white. His annoyance boiled, his breath growing heavier.
"Aw, what's wrong? Getting angry? Gonna cry to your exotic mama? Maybe crawl back to whatever dump she dragged you out from?"
"Hey! Don't you dare insult his mama!" Mikhail shouted, stepping forward again.
But Nikolai held out a hand, stopping him.
"Come on, Mikhail. We're leaving."
"But—he insulted your mom! He insulted our mom!" Mikhail exclaimed, his voice cracking with emotion. He wasn't just angry. He was hurt.
He had shared so many meals at Nikolai's home, received so much warmth from that woman. Her cooking, her hugs, the way she smiled and called him "sweet child." It felt like home. And Vadim spitting on that—was like spitting on his own mother.
"I said we're leaving," Nikolai said firmly. "Away from this bastard."
Vadim laughed again as they turned to leave. "Yeah, run away, coward! And don't forget to pick up your retard of a sister from the mental hospital while you're at it!"
…
…
…
Nikolai froze.
The air around him shifted.
Mikhail stopped in his tracks. His heart pounded.
Slowly… deliberately… Nikolai turned around.
His voice was low. Dangerous.
"…What did you just call my sister?"
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TO BE CONTINUED
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AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Hey everyone! Your author here. 😊
Apologies for the delayed update—this past week has been crazy.
Some updates for the timeline: Since canon begins in 2008, I've adjusted the story events to fit. Nikolai woke up in the cabin in 1998, and the current flashback takes place in 2005.
Bad news though—my exams start this coming Tuesday and will last for a week. So unfortunately, there won't be a new chapter for two weeks.
I really appreciate your patience and support! I'll be back with another chapter soon.
Thanks again for reading Rise of the Baba Yaga. Until next time—
Do svidaniya. 💀🕯️
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