Chapter 45 to Chapter 47

"Cough, cough..." The man lay on the ground, struggling to breathe. The sharp pain in his chest was unbearable—he knew his sternum had cracked, possibly even broken. Gritting his teeth, he reached for a syringe from his tactical belt and injected it into his thigh. The special potion coursed through his veins, temporarily dulling the pain.

Slowly, he pushed himself up, looking ahead. There, standing in front of him, was Natasha Romanoff—the target he had been tracking for years. But he hadn't expected this. Her strength, her speed—it all seemed far beyond what he had anticipated.

He recalled the arrow he'd shot earlier. The way Natasha had effortlessly dodged it and landed unharmed after falling several floors—something was clearly off. His well-honed instincts screamed danger. As a seasoned agent, he knew when to retreat, but even with all his precautions, she had managed to track him across such a distance.

Yelena arrived shortly after, breathing heavily from the chase. She took in the scene, seeing the man struggling to stand while Natasha stood before him, calm and unfazed.

"Is he going to kill us?" Yelena asked, her voice steady now that her emotions had calmed. She eyed the man warily.

Natasha shook her head. "Maybe just me." Then she turned her attention to him. "So, who are you?"

The man remained silent, gripping his compound bow and assuming a stance that indicated he was ready to attack. Yelena instinctively prepared to strike, but Natasha stopped her with a gesture. She could tell that this man wasn't just anyone. His gear wasn't the kind an ordinary organization could provide, and a wounded animal was always more dangerous. He might try to take Yelena down to shift the balance.

"Your target is me. Do we know each other? Are you from Eastern Europe? Western countries?" Natasha's questions came swiftly, her sharp eyes observing every micro-expression on his face. She listened closely, even to the rhythm of his heartbeat, using her heightened senses. "England? Germany? The U.S.? France?"

Her interrogation left both the man and Yelena momentarily stunned. Natasha's expertise in reading people, paired with her enhanced abilities, allowed her to detect the subtlest shifts in the man's demeanor.

"Are you with a special U.S. intelligence agency? FBI? CIA? Director of National Intelligence? NSA? DIA?" She rattled off the names, carefully observing his reactions. When she mentioned the FBI, the man tried to mask his response, but his breathing and slight twitch gave him away.

Natasha shook her head. "No, it's another covert agency, isn't it?"

Her eyes narrowed as she continued. "Is this about Dreykov? Are you targeting me because of him? Were you involved in his death in Eastern Europe?"

The man's composure faltered. He didn't need to say anything—Natasha had pieced it together herself, exposing the truth without ever knowing the name of his organization. He could barely contain his frustration as she calmly unraveled his identity.

"Fuck," the man muttered under his breath, feeling his composure slip. He hadn't said a word, but the woman in front of him had practically exposed every detail of his identity, all by thinking out loud. She hadn't even needed to know the name of his organization.

This woman was a monster.

Natasha's lips curled into a half-smile. "I doubt someone as tough as you will answer my next question, right?" she asked, her tone mocking. "So, your best option is to kill me."

The man tensed, hearing the deadly calm in her voice.

"You're impressive," Natasha added, almost as if she were agreeing with him. "Someone worth appreciating. So... goodbye."

And just like that, her aura shifted. The cold, ruthless assassin replaced the woman standing before him a moment ago.

Bang!

In the blink of an eye, Natasha vanished. The man's sharp, trained senses kicked in, and he immediately registered the shift in the air around him. An ominous gust of wind whistled past his side, but even though he could sense the danger, his body couldn't keep up. He was too slow.

A hand clamped around his throat, squeezing with a force that made it impossible for him to breathe. His face flushed red as he frantically reached for his waist, fingers trembling.

Just as Natasha was about to crush his windpipe, a sudden beeping sound came from the communicator on the man's chest. A calm, gentle voice broke the tension.

"Natasha Romanoff. If you can, give me a minute, and we can talk."

Natasha's grip loosened slightly, her brow furrowed, eyes flickering with thought. She considered for a moment—she could always kill the man later. "Who are you?" she asked, her tone sharp.

"We're from the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division," the voice replied, a note of urgency creeping in.

Natasha made sure to remember the name. The voice continued before she could respond.

"Three years ago, we learned about a spy named Natasha Romanoff. A female operative involved in numerous assassinations and espionage missions across Eastern Europe. You caused us considerable losses, so we sent agents to apprehend you."

"Just to arrest me?" Natasha's voice dripped with skepticism.

"Well, there were kill orders too. We wanted to learn more about you, and if possible, recruit you. But when you disappeared, we shifted our focus. We located Dreykov and completed his assassination."

The voice was surprisingly candid, revealing everything without hesitation. As an expert in psychology, Natasha could easily discern which parts of the story were true and which were exaggerated. She raised an eyebrow. "So?" she prompted, her tone cold.

"We're willing to offer compensation for the agent's reckless actions," the voice on the other end said, surprisingly direct.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. This organization, usually cold and ruthless, was now offering a compromise? It was unexpected.

Her thoughts raced—what was going on? Had they discovered something, or was this a calculated move?

"Ms. Romanoff, I believe we don't have to be enemies," the voice added.

Natasha wasn't intimidated by the organization, but Yelena's safety was a priority. She loosened her grip, and the man collapsed to the ground, clutching his throat, coughing violently.

"Stay out of our lives—don't disturb Yelena or me again," she warned before turning away.

Yelena, who had been about to speak, remained silent as they walked away.

…

After Natasha and Yelena left, the man clutched his neck, struggling to stand. He leaned against the wall and pressed the communicator on his chest.

"Coulson?" he muttered, covering his earpiece.

"Barton, are you okay?" Coulson's voice crackled through.

"Yeah... I just got beaten up without even putting up a fight," Barton replied with a helpless smile. It was the first time he'd experienced something like this. If other agents found out, they'd never let him live it down.

"What's your assessment?" Coulson asked.

"The target matches our analysis. Her skills are much better than an average agent's. But this woman, Natasha, she's different from the reports. Her strength and speed are far beyond that of a normal person. I suspect she's either enhanced or... maybe even a mutant."

"Maybe. You might've been a bit too hasty this time, Barton," Coulson replied.

Coulson's voice came through, calm but serious. "This mission was supposed to be a simple contact and capture of Yelena. No one expected Natasha Romanoff, missing for years, to suddenly show up."

Barton had initiated an attack, but it had gone beyond the mission's scope. While Barton had the authority to make decisions on the ground, facing two Black Widow-level spies was a daunting task, with a high risk of failure.

Barton nodded, replying, "I'll report to the director." Then, after a brief pause, he asked, "So, what's the next step?"

"The situation's changed. From what we've gathered, Natasha might've made contact with a mysterious force during her disappearance. We don't know much about it yet, but it's far from ordinary. We'll continue investigating and tracking her movements."

"Got it. Heading back to HQ to file the report," Barton confirmed.

"You won't need to. I'm in the headquarters," Coulson said.

"Alright."

He ended the call, walked over to his damaged motorcycle, righted it, and revved the engine, speeding out of the alley.

Unbeknownst to him, Natasha was nearby, hidden just out of view from the street surveillance cameras, silently watching. Her frown deepened as she observed him.

A moment later, Yelena approached from the distance, casually holding two ice cream sticks.

Yelena handed Natasha an ice cream and snapped, "You really don't trust my hiding skills?"

"Barton is an elite agent. You'll get spotted easily," Natasha replied bluntly, taking the ice cream. Her nonchalant response made Yelena even more frustrated. No matter what, in front of Natasha, she always felt like a little girl who hadn't quite grown up.

Just as Yelena was about to fire back, Natasha pulled out her phone, entering an encrypted passcode with one hand. Intrigued, Yelena leaned in, pressing her ear against Natasha's without asking, casually licking her ice cream as she listened in. Natasha shot her a look of annoyance, but Yelena wasn't deterred, shamelessly staying put.

With no other choice, Natasha allowed her to listen.

The call connected quickly, and a calm, magnetic male voice came through the line. "Have you had a good couple of days, Natasha?"

Hearing this, Yelena's eyes lit up with curiosity, her face full of gossip.

"I found Yelena, but..." Natasha began explaining the recent events. There was a brief pause on the other end before the voice replied, "I see. Looks like they've noticed us, but as long as they don't provoke us, we won't pay them any attention."

Stolen story; please report.

"What are your plans now?" the voice asked.

"I want to find Melina," Natasha said after a short pause.

"Go ahead. We'll support you, Natasha," came the warm reply.

"Thanks," Natasha responded, her face softening. Yelena's nosy expression grew even more exaggerated.

When Natasha finally ended the call, she turned to see Yelena, still licking her ice cream, staring at her with a mischievous, gossip-hungry grin.

"We can go." Natasha said, irritated, as she headed toward the street. Yelena followed closely behind, chirping away with endless questions.

"Who was that? Your lover?" Yelena teased.

"I can't believe you've actually fallen for someone! What does he look like? What's his job? Is he just an ordinary guy?"

"You can shut up," Natasha snapped, her patience wearing thin.

The two figures gradually faded from sight as they walked down the street.

....

Meanwhile, on the lawn of his estate in Long Island, New York, Leon sat in a chair, placing his phone on the table next to him. His eyes drifted to the four little ones on the grass, deeply engaged in a 1v1 battle.

His mind lingered on his recent conversation with Natasha.

"Keisha," Leon called out.

"I'm here. What are your orders?" Keisha's voice responded instantly.

"Get inside the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division's headquarters. I need to know what Nick Fury and Coulson are up to."

"Understood. Intrusion successful. Would you like the virtual screen transmitted?" Keisha asked.

"Transmission," Leon replied.

With a quiet whoosh, the scene in front of Leon shifted. Suddenly, it felt as though he was inside an office filled with advanced technology, within the heart of the SHIELD headquarters building.

Standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the office was a one-eyed Black man, wearing a black trench coat, his bald head gleaming under the light. Behind him stood a middle-aged man in a suit. The two were in conversation.

"Director, Barton's mission failed. Natasha Romanoff appeared, showing superhuman speed and strength. Barton suspects she might have undergone an enhancement procedure or possibly awakened mutant abilities," said the middle-aged man—Leon recognized him as the future SHIELD Director, Phil Coulson.

The bald man was none other than Nick Fury, the current Director of SHIELD.

Leaning back, Leon sipped his iced juice, listening intently to their conversation.

"So, she's finally shown herself? Just as I suspected. Her disappearance was not a simple matter," Fury responded, turning to look at Coulson, his one eye reflecting deep thought.

"Director, based on what we know, Natasha Romanoff, though a highly trained operative, shouldn't be capable of this kind of power. Yet, she's showing much more strength than expected after disappearing. Could it be that the organization she's working for has a way to enhance humans?" Coulson speculated, his eyes searching Fury's for answers.

"Perhaps," Fury mused. "Remember the Stryker incident? We investigated that base and found those bodies. It wasn't the work of the X-Men. Most of the kills were done with cold weapons, and the victims didn't even have a chance to resist. Instant kills."

Fury paused, his voice lowering slightly. "And despite our efforts, Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters stayed silent. It's clear there's some kind of understanding between them and these new players."

"Over the past few years, our investigative efforts have only led us to believe that their base is likely somewhere near a few Eastern European countries," Coulson said with a note of frustration. "Their ability to stay hidden is beyond anything I imagined."

It wasn't just empty words. Coulson knew SHIELD had immense reach, with networks spanning the globe and connections even in the East. Typically, when they set their sights on a person or organization, it didn't take long to uncover the truth. But this mysterious group had left them with nothing—no leads, no trace. At times, Coulson had wondered if his investigation was on the wrong track, or worse, if these people didn't even live on this planet—perhaps they were hiding at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.

"Now, at least we have a clue," Coulson continued. "Natasha might be connected to them. We need to keep monitoring her closely; she could be our way in."

Fury nodded. "Yes, keep an eye on her. Through her, we may be able to understand these people better."

As the global supervisor of supernatural events, Fury's job was to maintain stability, ensuring that the world's balance wasn't disrupted by hidden forces or exposed to the public. His mission was clear: control the chaos from behind the scenes.

An organization capable of breaking into the Stryker base in under ten minutes was naturally under Fury's watchful eye. If this group harbored any ambitions, Fury was prepared to eliminate them at any cost.

"Yes, sir," Coulson responded before turning to leave.

Nick Fury resumed his work, processing documents, unaware that this private conversation was being watched by someone else.

Leon had heard everything. "As expected, SHIELD has caught on," he thought.

Leon knew that the world wasn't short on sharp minds—especially within SHIELD, where agents were like bloodhounds, quick to sniff out even the smallest clues. Despite Leon's best efforts to remain under the radar, any action left some trace. It was inevitable that SHIELD would start to piece things together.

However, what Fury and Coulson hadn't realized was that their entire investigation was heading in the wrong direction. They believed they were pursuing a powerful, secretive organization, but in truth, it was just a group of kids—none of them older than twenty.

The main reason SHIELD's attempts to track them had been so fruitless was because everything had been done with such precision and speed. SHIELD couldn't fathom that such flawless execution could come from a group of teenagers. This misconception stemmed from a fixed mindset.

Leon, aided by technology of the Angel Civilization, was like a modern-day internet God. With the power of advanced technology, he could erase any trace of a person in seconds. Even Tony Stark's cutting-edge AI, Jarvis, had nothing on Leon's tech.

The gap between SHIELD's capabilities and Leon's technology was evident, leaving SHIELD chasing shadows.

Since SHIELD had no intention of provoking him, Leon decided not to pay them any more attention. He had already instructed Keisha to make their presence disappear entirely, ensuring that if SHIELD wanted to track them, they would have nowhere to start.

Putting SHIELD aside, Leon turned his focus back to the sign-in system. After two years of waiting, he had obtained Sky Blade No. 7, a generous reward. Now, he was curious about how the sign-in rewards would evolve over time—whether they would become even better after three months, six months, or one year. By observing the pattern, he could figure out how long it would take to maximize and optimize the system's benefits.

But before diving too deep into that, there were other tasks he could take care of.

"Keisha, search for the super soldier serum formula."

"Searching... Search successful. One hundred and thirty-eight super soldier serum experimental formulas and related data detected across various locations."

"No need for details. How long would it take to develop a side-effect-free super soldier serum based on human genetics?"

"Please clarify the desired level of enhancement. If you aim for a divine body level, you currently lack a sufficient gene pool," Keisha responded.

"As far as human limits can go," Leon replied.

"Using the computing power of Sky Blade No. 7, the estimated development time for a fully optimized serum is one day, Captain Leon," Keisha responded efficiently.

"Let's get started," Leon instructed.

"Understood."

Keisha's response made Leon smirk slightly. The thought of Nick Fury came to mind—how easy it was for him to optimize and develop the super soldier serum using a celestial computer as advanced as Sky Blade No. 7. Its computing power, far beyond anything on Earth, made the process more efficient and accurate, a proof of the gap between human technology and the advanced angel civilization.

With the super soldier serum in hand, Leon knew he could easily transform Sergei and the others into super soldiers. But then, an idea sparked—why stop there? The marvel universe was filled with powerful races and civilizations, each with unique genetics: angels of the Tenth Realm, Hell Lords, dark creatures, vampires, werewolves, and even the Asgardian gods.

"These could all serve as gene pools," he thought, his mind racing.

Even the genes of the Eternals, like Thanos, could be recorded and integrated into Sky Blade No. 7's gene pool. And if the Sovereign could create Adam Warlock, Leon could record and fill in that genetic data as well.

The possibilities were endless.

Even if future sign-in rewards weren't as generous, Sky Blade No. 7 would serve as another trump card. If Leon wanted to build his own nation, he couldn't afford to overlook these advantages. The genes of gods and powerful creatures would be the foundation of his strength.

The more Leon thought about it, the more excited he became. Suddenly, he stood up from his chair, his mind racing with new ideas.

"It seems my future plans need to change again," he muttered to himself.

A golden light flashed in his eyes. He was determined now—he would create his own nation and power, and Earth would be the first step in his grand vision.

…

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.