Chapter 33 - The Price

Somewhere deep in the frozen belly of Moscow, inside a crumbling Soviet-era apartment block, Ivan Vanko sulked by the thick iron door of his underground flat. The peeling walls and flickering fluorescent lights of the narrow hallway outside matched the hopelessness that weighed heavy in his chest.

Inside the small, cluttered apartment, the scent of machine oil and boiled potatoes lingered in the air. Wires and schematics lay strewn across the concrete floor like the aftermath of a madman's brainstorming. On a rickety bed in the corner of the room, Anton Vanko—his father—lay dying.

A cheap, old CRT television played in the background, the image fuzzy but unmistakable. It was the news coverage of Tony Stark's now infamous press conference—the one where he looked into the flashing cameras and declared, "I am Iron Man."

Ivan's jaw clenched at the sight. His hand gripped a pair of pliers so tightly that the metal dug into his skin. His father coughed weakly behind him, each ragged breath a slow reminder of the time slipping away. Anton's eyes were barely open, a blanket covering his frail frame.

The knock on the door came without warning—sharp, rhythmic: two short taps, one long.

Ivan looked up sharply, his brows narrowing. Who would come here? Who even knew they were here?

He approached cautiously, wrench now in hand. Pulling the door open just a crack, he saw a tall man standing in the dim corridor light.

The man was young, but his eyes looked far older. He wore a tailored black suit, a red tie, and black gloves. A long coat hung over his frame like a curtain of calm confidence. Moscow's chill didn't seem to touch him.

"Ivan Vanko?" the stranger asked in flawless Russian.

"Who's asking?"

"Name's Glenn Peterson. Some know me as the Handyman. I have something to offer—something that concerns Tony Stark."

Ivan didn't move at first. He studied the man's demeanor—the unbothered posture, the steady eyes. He glanced back at his father's dying body.

"Come in," Ivan said finally, stepping aside.

Glenn entered with composed steps. He had arrived in Moscow barely an hour ago. After the chaotic battle in Los Angeles, he had taken only a few hours of sleep before waking Skye with a call. She provided the intel and coordinates. Illyana, though sleepy and drained, opened a portal just outside the city, rolling her eyes and muttering about ridiculous errands before going straight home to sleep. From there, Glenn made his way to the flat by car.

Now, standing in this cold, damp apartment, Glenn felt like he had stepped into a scene from a dying play.

The TV still flickered in the corner as Ivan closed the door behind him.

"You said Stark. Why are you here?"

Glenn didn't answer right away. He turned to look at Anton, then stepped forward until he was at the foot of the dying man's bed. His gaze softened slightly.

"I can save him."

Ivan scoffed bitterly. "Unless you brought a miracle in your coat, you're wasting time."

Glenn met his eyes. "Something better. But it comes with a price."

Anton coughed again, a wet, struggling sound.

Ivan stepped forward. "What kind of price?"

"You work for me. You leave Stark alone. Forget revenge. I fund your work, build your lab, give you tools and resources to make something powerful. But it's mine. You build for me now. Not for petty vengeance."

Anton's hand gripped Ivan's. His voice, though faint, was filled with desperation. "Do it… Ivan. Please."

Ivan looked at his father, then back at Glenn. "We'll pay. Whatever the price is."

Without another word, Glenn slipped a vial from his coat—glass, sleek, and filled with a crystal-clear liquid that shimmered faintly under the dull lights. He uncorked it, leaned over Anton's mouth, and released a single drop.

[Mansherry's Tears]

It was an item he bought with his points in the system shop.

It hit the old man's tongue and vanished like smoke.

For a moment, nothing.

Then Anton's chest rose with a sudden, sharp breath. His eyes shot open. He coughed violently, his body jolting with life as his hands gripped the sides of the bed. Color surged back into his cheeks. He blinked and gasped like someone rescued from drowning.

Ivan staggered back in shock.

Glenn stood calmly, slipping the empty vial back into his coat. He adjusted his gloves.

"The deal is struck," he said, his voice cold and firm. "Don't make me come collect twice."

"I can't."

Glenn stopped and looked at Ivan.

"What's that? Didn't hear ya?"

"I can't give up my revenge, that family of thieves. That man have to pay for what they did to my family."

"Ahh~ you seem to be in the impression that I'm negotiating, Ivan." Glenn said smiling but there's a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"And if I don't?" Ivan smirked.

Bang!

Glenn didn't reply. He looked into Ivan's eyes like a predator, clearly pissed off. Then he suddenly released his conqueror's haki like a tidal wave. His coat bellowed in the air even though there's no breeze circulating inside the apartment. Cracks appeared on the floor where he stand, like any moment it would collapse. The same goes with walls as if the building itself was getting crumpled by an invisible giant hand in slowly manner. Metals creaked and spark flew. The old television exploded the screen now have s massive crack.

Anton who just recovered gasped and passed out instantly.

Ivan who was in front of Glenn, took the full brunt of the devastating aura of suppression. He felt it. The raw power of Glenn's aura. Heavy, dominating and firm like boulder pressing down on him. It was terrifying and suffocating at the same. His breathing started to get heavy and buckled over into kneeling position. He was on the verge of passing out.

Only now did he realized what kind of monster did he provoke. The devil to whom they sold their own soul to.

"I don't like the tone of your voice, Ivan. I offer you help and you pay me with defiance. I gave you and your father a second chance. I can easily take it away too."

"Gggggghhhhnnnn."

"Huh? What's that? I can't hear you?"

"I.....I will...ggggg do...what... you said."

After Ivan said his reply with difficulty, Glenn retracted his conqueror's haki.

Ivan gasped and took a mouthful of air. He was in all fours, drooling. He was heaving frantically as if he's just been saved from drowning.

"Don't lie to me, Ivan. I can see it in your eyes." Glenn said while looking down at him

Ivan's pupils constricted. He was about to make a promise when he heard Glenn continue.

"Fine! I will give you one chance to attempt your revenge. After that, there's no second chances any more. I will erase your sorry ass and your father's balding head from the face of the earth if you don't follow my orders. Remember, Ivan. You only have one chance. Don't say I didn't let you have your revenge. Although I doubt you'll succeed. But your father needs to leave ASAP. You don't want him get involved with your foolishness, do you?"

Glenn said as he was preparing to leave. He fished out a paper with an address in New York written on it.

"Give it to your father after he wakes up. I'll send you your papers in a few days. Legal stuff for your migration in New York."

Ivan sighed and nodded.

"Don't make that face. It's you who pissed me off, remember? I'm actually pretty easy to get along with. Just don't test my patience next time and do your home work, will you? I know you have access in the underworld so you can ask them about me, the Handyman. Just don't get too shocked on what you'll find out."

Then he patted Ivan's cheeks before turning around leaving the apartment with steady steps.

Click.

The door closes but Ivan stared at it for a long time.

"That was terrifying.. " He muttered.

--

Meanwhile, Glenn who is was walking outside were checking his rewards from his fight in Los Angeles. He spotted a nearby cafe and entered it. He sat at nearby window where there are few people.

Name: Glenn Peterson

Age: 21

Title: N/A

Points: 244,889

Techniques:

Soru (MAX)

Geppo (MAX)

Kami-e (MAX)

Shigan (MAX)

Tekkai (MAX)

Rankyaku (MAX)

Life Return (70%)

Skills: Yassop's Marksmanship, Voice of all things, Sleight of Hand (Nami), Law's Surgical Skill, Basic Armament Haki, Intermediate Observation Haki, Basic Conqueror's Haki.

*Quest*

*Shop*

—

Glenn selected the Quest, and the completed main quest popped up.

Quest Issued

Assist Tony Stark with his fight against the Iron Monger. Prevent any lives lost during the fight.

Reward: King's Punch

Status: Completed

Claim?

Claim!

'Hmmm... King's Punch? Isn't this the skill of a king in the arena during Dressrosa arc that can smash a fortress? This is pretty decent. I wonder when I'll be able to get Galaxy Punch? Hehehe.'

After closing his profile, he pondered for a moment and thought he already acquired all types of Haki and for now, he only needed to buy the next stages to level it up. But he wasn't in hurry. In the end, he decided to keep all the points for now until the end of the next event

which will be held in New York. This time, it will be more dangerous since he will be confronting an uncontrollable brute. And two at that. He wondered if the military will hire him for additional bonus, but one thing is certain. He needed to see it for himself.

After finishing a coffee, he got up and left the cafe. The Moscow streets were busier now. Sunrise had barely brushed the rooftops, and a layer of frost still clung to the cracked sidewalks. Glenn walked with calm purpose, though inside he was alert.

He noticed it quickly.

A shadow that crossed the same alley twice.

The glint of a lens just behind a fogged car window.

A heavy footstep where there shouldn't have been any.

He was being followed.

Glenn didn't panic. He never did. He adjusted his pace, subtly maneuvering through side alleys, crossing busy streets, ducking beneath scaffolding, and even looping back once to confirm his suspicion. Whoever it was, they weren't amateurs—but they weren't perfect either.

He ducked into a narrow alley and waited, his back pressed to the wall. Moments later, a figure rounded the corner and froze when he saw Glenn standing there casually, arms crossed.

"Lost something?" Glenn asked with a smirk.

The man stepped into the light.

Young, pale and curly brown hair. Definitely a British based on his bearing.

"…Wait, wait—don't hit me," the man said, both palms raised. "I—uh—I think I'm lost? Is this… is this still Moscow?"

Glenn blinked, "What?"

"Yeah, sorry, mate. Steven--Steven Grant," he said, tapping his own chest. "I was at the museum just a few hours ago. Think I blacked out? And woke up in a hotel here. Dunno how I got here but—look, I know your face. I think Marc knows you."

Glenn's eyes narrowed because he actually recognized him but he pretended to be dumb. "Marc?"

"Yeah, Marc Spector. You know, the scary one. You seem more his type."

Glenn stared at him for a long moment before exhaling through his nose. "Let me guess. You want my help."

Steven brightened. "Oh—yes! Yes, actually. That would be—"

Glenn punched him in the face.

Steven collapsed to the cobblestone, unconscious before he hit the ground.

A few seconds later, the body twitched.

And when the eyes opened again, they were different.

Marc Spector groaned and sat up, rubbing his jaw. "You just had to knock me out, didn't you?"

Glenn smirked. "Steven asked for help."

Marc rolled his neck. "Yeah, well. Next time, just text me."

"It appears that you owe me again." Glenn scoffed.

"No, it was Steven who asked your help. Not me."

"And you share the same bag of meat so..."

"Tch, fine!"