Stanislav Semenovich Kuzmov

One fine morning, Stanislav Semyonovich was mending a fence near his house when he noticed a figure barely moving on the road. The young man, covered in bruises and dirt, could barely stand—it was Nazar D Iliya. He collapsed on the grass and began to cry quietly. The former general's heart gave out: he picked the boy up and led him into the house.
Maria Nikitichna immediately bustled about: pouring hot tea and setting pies on the table. While Nazar ate, his clothes dried by the stove, and his soul gradually thawed. After a hearty lunch, Stanislav Semyonovich fired up the bathhouse—he needed to wash away the road grime and treat his wounds.
Maria Nikitichna immediately bustled about: pouring hot tea and setting pies on the table. While Nazar ate, his clothes dried by the stove, and his soul gradually thawed. After a hearty lunch, Stanislav Semyonovich fired up the bathhouse—he needed to wash away the road grime and treat his wounds.
The next day at breakfast, Nazar, whom the family quickly began calling simply Ilya, told his incredible story: how he was swept away by a hurricane at the age of 17, how he survived in an alien world, plowing the land and picking berries, making jam, and extracting sugar from cane. He also told about his work at the Dawn of Mithra meat processing plant, his studies at the Neko-Stage Institute, and the attack by a pack of hyena-beastmen led by the recidivist lion Tetsuya Sakamoto.
Stanislav Semyonovich listened, frowning and caressing his pipe. Maria Nikitichna kept wiping away tears with the edge of her apron. When Ilya finished his story, silence fell over the room. Then the former general stood, placed his hand on the young man's shoulder, and said firmly, "You'll be our grandson. You have a family now." Maria Nikitichna nodded and hugged Ilya as if he were her own.
From then on, life took on a new course. Ilya furnished his apartment, but spent every weekend and the entire summer with his adoptive grandparents. He helped around the house: feeding the chickens and the cow, working in the garden, and in the evenings, the three of them would sit on the veranda.

After moving to Japan, Stanislav Semenovich spent a long time adjusting to his new life. He wandered the streets of Tokyo, admiring the unfamiliar architecture and occasionally popping into small shops. One day, he was drawn to the delicious aroma wafting from a small pastry shop—it reminded him of his childhood, of the pies his mother baked.
Maria Nikitichna Kutuzova stood behind the counter. Her kind smile and warm gaze immediately put him at ease. Stanislav Semyonovich ordered an apple pie and, tasting it, couldn't hide his admiration: "It's like being in Russia!" Maria Nikitichna laughed and admitted that she baked using old Russian recipes that she'd carefully preserved her entire life.
They got to talking. Maria Nikitichna explained that she had once lived in St. Petersburg, and then fate had brought her to Japan. Stanislav Semyonovich, in turn, recounted his military career and how he had sought peace in that distant land.
From then on, Stanislav Semyonovich became a frequent visitor to the shop. He came not only for baked goods but also for warm conversations. Maria Nikitichna listened to his stories of battles and campaigns, sometimes wiping away tears—so touchingly did he speak of his comrades. And he watched with affection how deftly she handled the dough and how delighted the customers were with her gingerbread and buns.
One autumn evening, just as the shop was closing, Stanislav Semyonovich took the plunge and invited Maria Nikitichna for a walk. They strolled along the river, chatting about everything under the sun, and both felt they never wanted to be apart again.
Thus, a quiet but strong love blossomed between them. Maria Nikitichna brought comfort and care into Stanislav Semyonovich's life, and he gave her security and the feeling of finally being home. They began living together, and their home always smelled of freshly baked goods, was filled with laughter, and long, heartfelt conversations—thus they ignited the hearth of a true family.

After receiving an honorable discharge, having saved enough money and tired of the hustle and bustle of war, Stanislav Semenovich realized a long-held dream: he moved to Japan, where a new, peaceful chapter of his life began. Here, he found what he had been missing for many years: peace, harmony, and the opportunity to do what brought him joy: fishing, reading newspapers, cooking hearty meals, and solving sudoku. Over time, he even mastered the computer and began blogging on the Japanese social network MIXI, sharing his thoughts and observations with his few followers. And his loved ones were always by his side: his adopted grandson, Ilya Nazar, for whom he became a wise mentor, and Maria Nikitichna Kutuzova, with whom he shared the comfort and warmth of home.

During Tsar Pyotr Tagirovich's inspection visit to the troops, an encounter occurred that would change Stanislav Semyonovich's fate. The monarch, inspecting the regiments, noticed a smart, confident lieutenant colonel who calmly and thoroughly answered all questions. The ruler praised the officer's straightforwardness and exceptional intelligence, and after inspecting the positions, he expressed admiration for his tactical decisions. Soon, Kuzmov received an unexpected offer – an appointment to the General Staff. Thus began a new phase in his life: from a field commander, he transformed into a strategist, now planning operations in the quiet of his offices, drawing on his extensive combat experience.

The year 1677 was a turning point for Stanislav Semenovich. In the midst of a major military campaign, his battalion found itself in the thick of battle: under heavy enemy fire, troops had to cross a river and gain a foothold on the opposite bank. Kuzmov personally led the crossing. Under fire, he maintained an icy calm, issuing clear orders, which helped minimize casualties. But in the final minutes of the battle, when victory was already within reach, a bullet struck him—a severe wound to the shoulder knocked the officer unconscious.
He spent several weeks in a field hospital, where conditions were harsh: there was a shortage of medicine, and doctors worked without rest. It was during these long days, lying on a hard bed and listening to the groans of the wounded, that Stanislav first seriously considered the transience of life. He recalled his fallen comrades, his victories and mistakes, and understood that even the most experienced soldier is not immune to fatal accidents. In the hospital, he befriended an elderly paramedic who smoked a pipe in the evenings and told stories from his long service. One day, the paramedic handed Stanislav his pipe, and thus began a habit that would remain with Kuzmov for the rest of his life. Slowly blowing out smoke, he found peace in this activity and a chance to collect his thoughts.
After being discharged from the hospital, despite his still-healing wound, Stanislav returned to duty. His courage and fortitude did not go unnoticed: he was soon promoted to lieutenant colonel. His responsibilities now included not only command on the battlefield but also training young officers—he generously shared his experience, warning them against the mistakes he himself had once made.
By the late 1680s, Kuzmov's reputation was impeccable. Soldiers called him "the conscience of the regiment" for his integrity and concern for his subordinates: he always ensured that his men were well-fed and warmly dressed, personally inspected the quality of provisions, and did not tolerate injustice.

Stanislav Semyonovich's youth coincided with a challenging yet eventful time—years when the Russian Empire was engaged in several protracted campaigns, and the army was in dire need of capable officers. Immediately after graduating from the cadet corps, the twenty-year-old Stanislav was assigned to an infantry regiment on the western border. His first months of service proved a harsh learning experience: he had to not only command a platoon during training exercises but also navigate operational matters, from provisions to uniforms.
In 1666, his regiment was transferred to the Caucasus, where heavy trench warfare was taking place. It was there that Kuzmov first demonstrated his tacticianism: during a night raid, he proposed an unconventional maneuver—outflanking enemy positions along a little-known mountain trail. The operation was successful, and Stanislav received his first award—the Order of St. Anne, 3rd Class. His comrades respected him for his composure: even under fire, he remained calm and gave precise orders.
But not everything was smooth sailing: his independence sometimes irritated senior officers. Once, contrary to command orders, he delayed an advance after spotting signs of an ambush—and he was proven right. However, this formal violation of orders nearly earned him a reprimand. Only the intercession of the regiment commander, who appreciated the young officer's talent, softened the punishment.
Alongside his military career, he didn't neglect his hobbies. During his rare breaks in the garrison, he would solve puzzles he'd ordered from European magazines—they were distant precursors to Sudoku. And on his rare vacations, he'd go fishing, finding in this activity the same concentration he'd experienced on the battlefield.
A turning point came in 1677, when, during a major campaign, he suffered a serious shoulder wound. While hospitalized, he began to seriously consider the transience of life for the first time. It was then that he began smoking a pipe—a habit that would remain with him for the rest of his life. After being discharged from the hospital, he returned to duty and was soon promoted to lieutenant colonel.

Stanislav Semyonovich Kuzmov was born in 1645 in a small town near St. Petersburg, into a family whose traditions of honor and service to the Fatherland were passed down from generation to generation. His father, Semyon Petrovich Kuzmov, was a career officer in a guards regiment and raised his son with strict discipline, instilling in him the concepts of duty, discipline, and courage. His mother, Anna Lvovna, came from a long line of apothecaries: her father owned a pharmacy in the center of St. Petersburg and was renowned for personally preparing rare potions and infusions. Anna Lvovna managed the household, and in her rare free time, she translated French novels. Thanks to her, Stanislav developed a love of literature from childhood, learned to speak French fluently, and appreciate fine literature.
Stanislav's childhood was spent constantly on the move: his father received new assignments, and the family followed him—sometimes to a garrison on the western border, sometimes to a fortress in the south of the country. Young Stanislav developed an early passion for military discipline: from the age of eight, he practiced shooting and horseback riding, and by twelve, he could already disassemble and reassemble a rifle. On the road, he learned to find joy in simple things: morning fishing on an unfamiliar river, evening conversations around the campfire, stargazing. It was then that his love for silence and solitude was born—qualities that would later help him solve complex puzzles.
As a young man, he joined the cadet corps, where he proved himself a capable, albeit wayward, student. He excelled in mathematics and tactics—skills that would later prove useful not only in the military but also in his passion for sudoku. His comrades respected him for his forthrightness and courage, while his mentors sometimes complained about his excessive independence of judgment. After graduation, he immediately entered the military and quickly earned the respect of his commanders for his composure and ability to find a way out of difficult situations.