What did it feel like to wake up from hunger?
It felt like his stomach was being clamped in a vise, then twisted continuously through 360 degrees, 720 degrees—a kind of agony like that.
It was bad enough to make someone grit his teeth, clutch his stomach, and curl up like a cooked shrimp.
Of course, the person who woke up did not realize how lucky he was to have been awakened by hunger.
He only instinctively sensed that his surroundings were different: a different mattress beneath him, a different room before his eyes. But he did not think much about it. He simply saw it and felt it.
"You're awake, stranger."
GOOGLE Search TWKAN
The hoarse voice came from a thin, white-haired old man. Of his entire appearance, perhaps only his handlebar mustache had been carefully groomed. The rest was not exactly sloppy, but clearly had not received much attention.
He sat beside an unlit fireplace, holding a clear glass filled with cheap amber whiskey.
So he had been the one speaking just now?
As his thoughts came back online, a sharp pain stabbed through his head, nearly making him forget the cramps in his stomach.
But his brain, now reorganized into separate management zones, was no longer as chaotic as before. The awakened man did not know whether he had adapted or whether his superpowers had temporarily shut down. In any case, he seemed to have returned to normal and began carefully observing his surroundings.
So the old man had stopped speaking Russian and switched to English?
Having gone through exam-oriented education, he had studied English before. Unfortunately, his grades had been terrible. Even during ordinary conversations, he would miss things left and right, the sort who could not understand nine out of ten sentences.
The old man had just asked whether he was awake, right?
Huh? How had he understood it this time?
As soon as his thoughts took that sudden turn, another burst of pain struck his head, making him grit his teeth.
Although the old man received no reply to his greeting, he got to enjoy an expressive performance that rivaled face-changing opera.
First came a dumbfounded look, then pain twisted his entire face into a crumpled chrysanthemum. Next, he looked around in bafflement, filled with confusion and surprise. Finally, pain turned his face into something that looked like he had just stepped in shit.
The old man began to wonder whether he had brought home some kind of lunatic. These days, aside from those inhuman freaks that were obvious at a glance, the people one least wanted to provoke were the mentally ill.
With that thought, his hand slid to the shotgun hidden in the blind spot beside his chair, ready to give the patient a blast at any moment if he lunged at him during an episode.
At last, the awakened man remembered that he was so hungry his chest was sticking to his back. Seeing a round bread roll and cold French fries beside the bed, he grabbed huge handfuls and stuffed them into his mouth without a second thought.
If it had been an ordinary person's stomach, after prolonged starvation, only liquid food would have been suitable. Otherwise, indigestion would make them vomit.
But with his steel stomach, even if actual metal were fed to him, he could digest it for anyone to see, let alone a little bread and French fries.
There was not much food on the plate, and it was gone after only a few mouthfuls. Still, the process of eating was far from pleasant.
Beginning with his mouth, the organs and cells throughout his digestive system underwent another upgrade under the guidance of his super senses. If they did not, the cells would be unable to withstand the stimulation and would collapse.
At the same time, the process of cellular evolution, the taste stimulation brought by the food, and every change that occurred while eating—all that information flooded into his brain.
Fortunately, his brain, now back online and working in coordinated divisions, did not make his whole body lose control again because of those stimuli and changes. The chaotic influx of information merely left his thoughts in disarray.
The awakened man spent some time sorting through his thoughts and adjusting to all the stimulation.
It felt as if, once food entered his mouth, every process had changed from a video into a series of still images, played frame by frame.
And every image came with detailed annotations for everything in it. Whether the information was needed or not, it was all crammed into his head at once.
Though this vast amount of information seemed redundant, it actually contained quite a few blind spots.
For example, once a French fry entered his mouth, he could tell that most of it consisted of starch. Yet there were many flavors and components that could be distinguished, but whose contents remained unknown.
It was not that this world lacked analyses of those components. He simply did not know them. Neither this world's version of himself nor his previous life had any relevant memories.
It was like a jigsaw puzzle that should have formed a complete picture, but was missing many pieces, leaving large blank spaces.
Naturally, that left him confused, and even a little irritated.
But for some reason, that "emotion" acted like a stabilizer, allowing his chaotic thoughts to find a loose thread. From there, he untangled everything and organized it into a set of mental rules, rather than allowing his thoughts to spiral out of control.
In reality, the entire process probably took less than a breath in the old man's eyes. He merely saw the man on the bed regain his composure.
Then the man realized that he was completely naked! Startled like a little girl, he yanked up the blanket and clutched it over his chest.
The old man was speechless at that reaction. Still, he could not say nothing, so he explained:
"When I found you yesterday, you were lying naked on the beach, getting washed by the seawater.
"I figured normal people do not bathe like that, so I went through the trouble of dragging you into my car and bringing you back.
"Drying off your body, which was nearly hypothermic, and throwing you onto my only bed already used up most of my strength.
"You can't expect an old man who's about to die to dress you too.──"
As he spoke, the old man tossed a set of clothes onto the bed.
"──I saw you didn't have any other luggage, so just make do with these."
In his previous life, he had been the kind of loser who watched pirated American TV shows and still had to look for versions with subtitles. Yet he had somehow understood the old man's entire speech just now.
Without another word, he grabbed the shirt and tried to pull it on. But he still had not adapted to this damned strength. With one lapse in control, he shredded the shirt while pulling it down over his head.
Looking at the strips of cloth hanging from his body, which could barely provide even the most basic cover, the man on the bed and the old man stared at each other in awkward silence.
The old man did not think much of it. He casually grabbed another shirt from a pile of clothes that may or may not have been washed and tossed it over.
Judging by the smell, the clothes had been washed. They simply had not been folded properly.
This time, the man knew to control his strength. He carefully pulled the shirt on, then dragged the pants beneath the blanket and put them on one leg at a time. There were no underwear to wear, but he could not worry about that now.
The clothes belonged to the old man and were actually a size too small for the man on the bed. But because the newly awakened man was gaunt beyond recognition, he could still wear them. Only a small bit of his wrists and ankles showed through the cuffs and hems.