Chapter 42

Sophia.

The sun shone brightly over the city, illuminating the vibrant streets and casting a warm glow over the scene. Everywhere you looked, streets, alleys, squares, and parks were hidden beneath a canopy of greenery. Rows of linden trees, Arabic rubber trees, French plane trees, and Canadian poplars lined the roads, perfectly arranged.

Bright flowerbeds and well-kept lawns adorned every corner of the city. In front of every house, under windows, and both in front and behind homes, flowers and plants bloomed in abundance. The scent of flowers filled the air, carried from the many shops that sold a variety of blooms along the streets. The whole city felt like a blossoming garden, with white and light yellow houses adding to its elegant charm.

On one bustling street, construction was underway on houses, with shops offering a dazzling array of goods, and the streets were filled with laughter and the hum of people going about their day.

Among the four- or five-story yellow brick buildings, one stood out in the middle of the street. Outside a house on the top floor, a woman with ash-blonde hair and a black leather jacket unlocked the door. She casually tossed her motorcycle helmet onto the table by the entrance. As soon as she stepped inside, her eyes sharpened, instantly alert.

Her entire demeanor shifted. Her body tensed, slightly hunched forward as she swiftly pulled a Glock 17 from the small of her back. Holding the gun in both hands, she assumed a textbook combat stance, moving cautiously and quietly as she began to sweep through the house.

She checked her bedroom, the kitchen, and the bathroom—nothing out of the ordinary. Only the living room and balcony remained.

A fierce glint flickered across her sharp features. Pressing her body against the wall, she pulled out a compact makeup mirror, carefully extending it just enough to survey the living room without exposing herself. The room appeared empty—no one was there.

Still cautious, she sidestepped into the living room, angling herself perfectly to avoid any potential sniper fire from the balcony. She moved toward a locker with a coded lock, quickly punching in the numbers. From inside, she retrieved several pieces of equipment.

Gun in her right hand, tactical grenade in her left, she advanced toward the balcony. The wind whipped the curtains, sending them fluttering wildly. Leaning slightly, she peeked around the corner, careful to maintain cover. No one was there. One final check—her side of the balcony.

With a sudden motion, she whipped open the curtain and aimed her gun—nothing.

Where had they gone?

Her brow furrowed in confusion. Could it have been a thief?

Just as her guard began to drop, a raspy voice sounded behind her. "Seems like you haven't lost your edge, Yelena."

Yelena's eyes widened in shock. She spun around, aiming at the source of the voice, but before she could react, her pistol was effortlessly snatched away by a powerful hand.

The cold barrel of the gun pressed firmly against Yelena's forehead.

The person holding it towered over her by half a head, dressed in a red coat, sweatpants, and white sneakers. Burgundy hair cascaded from the temples to the chest. Yelena's expression shifted when she recognized the familiar face.

Her eyes grew fiercer.

"Natasha... you finally showed up."

It was Natasha, her sister, who had been searching for her.

Natasha smirked slightly, her red lips curling upward. "You don't seem too happy to see me."

"Oh, trust me, I've never been happier," Yelena replied, her eyes blazing with intensity. As soon as she spoke, she jerked her head sharply, attempting to grab the gun with her right hand. But Natasha was ready. She pulled her arm back just enough to evade Yelena's grasp, keeping the gun aimed at her sister's forehead.

Yelena, moving like a swift cheetah, sidestepped the gun's aim while closing the distance between them. In one smooth motion, she drew a dagger from the sheath on her thigh.

The two sisters clashed in a fierce, silent struggle that lasted less than ten seconds. Close-quarters combat, joint locks, grappling, dagger strikes, and kicks were all exchanged in rapid succession. Each movement was calculated, every dodge and counter potentially deadly.

One mistake, and either sister could have found herself in a desperate situation.

Yelena's attacks were relentless and fast. She fought with a desperate edge, willing to risk injury in exchange for a chance to land a fatal blow with her dagger. However, Natasha's combat experience, especially against Yelena, was unmatched. What Yelena hadn't anticipated was that Natasha's physical abilities had improved dramatically over the years. Her reflexes were now beyond that of an ordinary person.

With every strike, Yelena became more and more shocked. All of her desperate attempts were effortlessly countered by Natasha, and several times she found herself nearly trapped, her life in danger.

As a fellow Black Widow, Yelena carried a deep dissatisfaction with Natasha. She didn't see herself as any less capable and, driven by both pride and personal reasons, wanted to prove she was just as strong, if not stronger. Yet, as the confrontation unfolded, she realized the stark difference in skill between them.

Natasha could have easily subdued or even killed Yelena at multiple points, but she didn't. Instead, she countered Yelena's attacks with a calculated ease that felt more like teasing, which only infuriated Yelena further.

Just as Yelena began contemplating a desperate move to finish the fight, Natasha seemed to anticipate her thoughts. With a knowing smirk, Natasha's speed and strength suddenly overwhelmed Yelena. Before Yelena could even react, Natasha knocked the dagger from her hand with a swift motion and disarmed her of the grenade she held.

In an instant, the muzzle of Natasha's Glock was once again aimed between Yelena's eyes, leaving her frozen in place.

"You..." Yelena gasped, her voice laced with disbelief. This level of power and speed was beyond anything she had imagined. Natasha, the strongest of the Black Widows, had always been formidable, but this... this was something else entirely.

Natasha shrugged slightly. "A sister will always be a sister."

The double meaning in her words made Yelena grit her teeth in frustration.

Natasha finally lowered her gun and smirked. "Not bad. You've made a lot of progress."

"Humph!" Yelena scoffed, saying nothing, but inwardly, she couldn't stop thinking about Natasha's extraordinary strength and speed. How did she get so strong?