Chapter 47

join p@treon if you want.. for additional chapters(p@treon com / GreekGreenGlass)

...

In a single-family apartment in Chicago, Gennady and Sumarokov strolled in, laughing, their schoolbags slung over their shoulders. As they entered the spacious, minimalist-styled apartment, they caught the aroma of something delicious. Instantly, they knew that a friend had beaten them home.

Tossing their bags onto the sofa, they headed to the kitchen. Sure enough, there was Lomon Losov, wearing an apron and preparing dinner.

Gennady casually grabbed a small tomato from a bowl on the counter, popped it into his mouth, and grinned. "Man, with that apron, you're definitely gonna charm the girls at school."

Sumarokov, trying to maintain a straight face but failing, nodded in agreement. "Gennady's right," he said, high-fiving his friend.

Lomon, busy frying steaks, turned and gave them a helpless look. "Instead of teasing me, how about helping out? Unless you guys want to eat in two hours?"

The stronger the body, the bigger the appetite—height, frame, and muscle mass all play a role. Between the three of them, they could easily eat enough for ten grown men in one meal, which meant a lot of preparation for just one person.

Gennady and Sumarokov exchanged smiles and joined in to help with dinner. Thanks to their time in the Ural Wooden House Villa, where even the little ones learned fine cooking skills, they had mastered the art of preparing a meal efficiently.

With all three pitching in, dinner was ready in less than an hour. The large dining table in the living room was now filled with dishes: hairy crab, grilled chicken, fried steaks, lamb chops, chicken rolls, and more.

They sat down and began eating without hesitation, chatting as they dug into the feast.

"Two idiots from the basketball team tried to bully me today," Gennady said between bites. "They seemed a little racist. I beat them up after school, but I think they're holding a grudge. I was already thinking about killing them on the spot."

"Come on, Gennady," Sumarokov, always the calm one, replied. "We came to Chicago to study and make connections, not cause trouble."

Then he added with a grin, "But, as Boss Leon says, if you ever have to kill someone, make sure the police won't trace it back to you. You don't want that messing up your school routine."

Gennady chuckled. "True. Still, racial discrimination is a problem in Chicago schools. But most of those idiots are just cowards, only brave enough to talk behind your back."

Lomon Losov nodded in agreement, cutting into his steak.

However, anyone who dared to engage in racial discrimination in front of the three of them either had a death wish or some serious issues. With their Eastern European genes, enhanced by nutrient solutions and years of intense training, they were among the largest in their entire family. Each of them stood nearly 1.9 meters tall, with muscles that were impossible to hide. Their hands, stained from countless kills, and the cold, indifferent look in their eyes—almost as if they were sizing up a corpse—kept most people from daring to cross them.

It wasn't often that someone would confront them directly. More often than not, a single glance was enough to silence anyone foolish enough to start trouble. After all, they were just students, and even the most unruly among them had an instinctive fear of those who seemed capable of real violence.

Their time living in the mountains had left them a bit out of sync with modern society, yet despite their intimidating presence, the three were quite handsome and masculine. Their physical appeal didn't go unnoticed, especially by the girls at school. Gennady, with his outgoing personality, was particularly popular and had a few close female friends in his class. Naturally, this stirred up jealousy among the male students on the basketball team.

But Gennady didn't let the attention inflate his ego—he simply found their jealousy childish.

As the three of them were discussing the petty dramas of school, Gennady's phone suddenly rang. He raised an eyebrow and pulled the phone from his belt. "It's Boss Leon," he said, glancing at the screen.

The other two exchanged curious looks.

After the call connected, Gennady put it on speaker. "Boss Leon," he greeted.

Leon's voice came through clearly. "Gennady, are Rokov and Lomon with you?"

"We're all here, Boss. What's up?" Gennady responded.

"Come to the manor tomorrow afternoon. There's work to be done," Leon instructed.

"Understood!" Gennady replied, his eyes lighting up.

The three exchanged excited glances, their faces full of joy. While they enjoyed the peaceful routine of school life, the thrill of battle—blood pumping, adrenaline rushing—was what they craved most. The idea of action made their hearts race.

"Perfect! I've got two days off," Gennady said with a grin.

Once the call ended, the trio buzzed with energy. After finishing dinner and cleaning up, they immediately started booking their flights to New York.

The next afternoon, at Long Island Manor, the sky was overcast with light rain. The family members, who had been scattered, were all gathered back at the manor.

Sitting on the comfortable sofas, eating fruit and sipping drinks, they shared stories about their time at school. Though they stood out a bit, each of them was finding ways to adapt and fit in with campus life.

As for the four little ones, they had also started attending a private school nearby. It was pretty popular.

At that moment, Leon walked in through the door, dressed in a crisp white shirt and carrying a metal box. The once lively atmosphere in the living room instantly quieted down as all eyes turned toward him. Smiling slightly at the group, Leon spoke.

"Good, everyone's here except Natasha."

With that, he placed the metal box on the table and opened it, revealing more than a dozen syringes neatly packed inside soft plastic compartments.

"This is the super soldier serum, specially made for all of you. So, who wants to go first?"

A collective murmur of uncertainty filled the room. Despite their extraordinary abilities, they were still teenagers at heart, and the sight of those long syringes made them uneasy. There was something about needles that even they instinctively disliked. It brough back the memories of their painful lives in the Hydra base.

But it was an order from Boss Leon, and none of them would dare refuse.

Reluctantly, they each grabbed a syringe and injected the serum into their arms—grateful, at least, that the shot wasn't going anywhere near their backsides.