After the incident with Shocker, I felt maximally protected in the car. The memories of him pounding on the car for about five minutes confirmed the safety of my vehicle, and all the hell I'd been through hadn't broken me, so my mood was good. Even the absence of escort vehicles didn't spoil it, because my father's "it's all resolved," said at breakfast today, guaranteed no problems from Fisk—if it was indeed him (though who else could it be?).
In the car, besides the driver and Linda, there was no one else, so—if you didn't count her constant jabs—you could say no one was disturbing my thoughts.
Linda was my personal bodyguard mercenary, who had arrived from somewhere in Europe. On the very first day, she took down Karl—a two-meter muscleman who was training me in the so-called basics—in a couple of seconds, after which half of the guards "died" non-lethally against her. All the while, a predatory and extremely satisfied smirk didn't leave Linda's face as she skillfully moved, beating up men who had been training for years... Linda was a young, tall blonde with short hair and huge... Hmm, and very beautiful blue eyes. She walked around in open, light clothing and didn't carry any weapons, so I could only guess about her abilities: most likely, she was a mutant. I didn't see any other options.
This world was very different from my past one, and only because of my position and a bunch of the harshest trash that happened to me right after arriving here, I didn't particularly notice this difference... In my past world, slightly more boys were born than girls, but due to our... not the most reasonable behavior, male mortality was significantly higher, especially before the age of 30. So, on average, the ratio of girls to boys was about 1 to 1. Ventilating this issue at the very beginning of my life in this world, when I saw Stark, I discovered that there was a slight imbalance here, 10-20% in favor of female births. That is, out of 100 newborns here, there were 60 girls to 40 boys. The imbalance existed and was quite noticeable, but the difference wasn't that large. Then, when I became more interested in local customs, it dawned on me: the increased mortality among boys hadn't gone anywhere!
The indicators varied in different countries. In Asia, for example, there were only slightly fewer boys than girls—almost complete equality. Earlier, there were even more boys because newborn girls were often killed... And in America, the situation was a bit worse, but still within the norm. Although in some states, the ratio reached 1 boy to 2 girls! In my otherworldly homeland, the situation was roughly the same, but not in individual states, called regions there, but throughout the entire country. The Second World War, which was even bloodier here due to the Red Skull and Hydra, left a very painful mark, because of which modern society here differed significantly from my past world. This was especially noticeable in America itself—in my past world, there were hundreds of thousands of fools in the USA screaming that their rights were somehow restricted by prohibiting women from working in life-threatening enterprises... And this, you see, was the evil patriarchy restricting their choice of profession and forcing them to take care of themselves...
There was no such nonsense here for one simple reason—girls here didn't differ from men in any rights. To see a black-haired girl miner? No problem! A plumber? Nothing unusual! An electrician? Even a hundred. There was no reverence for the "weaker sex" here; even security companies, PMCs, and the mafia had female fighters, and no one saw anything unusual in this, because with the advent of firearms, a female soldier became equal to a male soldier. That's how this world worked, and it blew my mind...
Nevertheless, many rich people often hired only men as bodyguards, because women had "those days," pregnancy, and, most importantly, women were still physically weaker than men. In short, this world turned out to be even more insane than I thought...
And also, I came across an interesting fact—here, the law of conservation of energy didn't exist. It simply wasn't there, and I didn't know what to do with this knowledge...
"What are you thinking about, kid, missing your daddy?" The mercenary was... an incredibly beautiful bitch who knew about her beauty and skills and used them to the fullest. For example: the car had built-in ventilation, and knowing this, she, violating all possible and impossible rules of decency, simply smoked! I already mentioned her constant jabs, but I tried not to pay attention to them because someday she would definitely get tired of it and stop washing my poor brain in liters of this crap... Or I would get fed up and punish her. I didn't know how exactly, but she would definitely be spanked.
"It's okay, I'm not offended," she made a "sad" face, turning to me. "Well, daddy's boy, it happens to everyone, right, Kyle?" The mercenary nudged the driver, making him wince again but remain silent.
"Master Ezekiel deserves more respect, mercenary," no, he didn't remain silent.
It was nice that all "ours" seemed to have started respecting me more after what happened... Although no, there was something else here, not respect, but... pride? They showed respect before, but after I personally shot Shocker, after surviving two assassination attempts and not breaking, all the Hammer servants seemed to have started being proud of me. And this pleasantly tickled the belly of my self-esteem, simultaneously making me think about how to justify expectations and not let them down.
"Pfft, killjoy," the mercenary took a drag, then laughed again. "Well, here we are, kid, you can go to school, mommy will make sure the bad uncles don't hurt you," she smirked, then opened the door while the car was still moving and calmly stepped out without even stumbling... I didn't know where my father dug her up, but that place needed to be burned... First blown up, then burned... And covered with concrete.
"Good luck, Master Ezekiel," Kyle looked at me in the rearview mirror as he parked at the school entrance and opened the door with a button.
"Call me 'Zik,' I'm more used to it," I nodded at the guard and got out of the car, picking up my brown leather briefcase with notebooks and pens. Here, they gave out books on the first day of school, and only those that were needed here and now, which, in my opinion, was much more convenient than the custom in our world at the end of August to rush for all the books and drag a dozen or two in several bags... Oh yes, there were lockers here too, how could I forget?
"Come on, kid, don't be late on the first day," the mercenary who appeared out of nowhere "encouraged" me, making my eye twitch, and this wasn't unnoticed by her, which was hinted at by an even more satisfied smirk... God, give me strength... It was clear that she was a professional and had jumped out of the car in advance to scout the area, but because of her behavior, there was a persistent feeling that instead of a seasoned mercenary, I was assigned... I didn't even know who! My father really outdid himself by hiring her instead of someone normal.
The school looked quite good, not on the level of the country's elite institutions, but compared to the one I attended in my past life, it was like heaven and earth. Before me towered a brick building with columns, as if taken from some old movie about the American dream. On the roof fluttered the stars and stripes flag, proudly reminding me where I was now. On the lawn in front of the entrance, kids with backpacks crowded—some were chatting animatedly, others were lazily dragging themselves to the doors. In the distance, bright yellow school buses shone, just like the ones I had only seen in movies before. The air here was different—filled with the noise of voices, the freshness of grass, and some strange sense of a new beginning. And although inside I felt a slight excitement, outwardly everything seemed calm: the sun was shining, and the sky was clear.
I headed toward the main entrance. My appearance, like that of the expensive sedan, didn't go unnoticed. The conversations on the lawn around me quieted down, and dozens of pairs of eyes turned to me. A whisper spread through the crowd.
"Who's that?" came from the side.
"I don't know, a new kid? Cool car..."
"Wait, I've seen him somewhere..." a guy muttered, feverishly moving his finger across his phone screen. A second later, his eyes widened. "Damn, it's Hammer! The son of that very Justin Hammer!"
The news spread through the yard instantly. Now there was something new in the looks. Curiosity was mixed with envy, admiration, and caution. The girls, who had been discussing their summer vacations, now looked at me with open interest, adjusting their hair and whispering. I walked through this wall of gazes without paying attention and went inside.
Inside, I was deafened by a cacophony of sounds. The noise of hundreds of voices echoing off the high ceilings, screams and laughter, the slamming of dozens of metal lockers, the squeak of sneakers on the worn linoleum. The air was thick, saturated with a mixture of chalk, sweat, and cloyingly sweet cheap perfume, which was unusual...
My brain instinctively began analyzing. The corridor was straight, well-covered for shooting. Surveillance cameras in the corners left several "dead zones." Staircases—narrow places, ideal for an ambush.
This wasn't a consequence of any mental trauma; it was just that Linda had taken up my training with monstrous enthusiasm. If the beatings in the gym combined with sarcastic ridicule of me as a fighter were still tolerable, then the "theoretical lessons," where Linda, in a light T-shirt, first tried to seduce me while reading the material, and then checked how well I remembered it, shamelessly laughing at my confused answers... That was truly humiliating, but at least I was learning everything quickly, and for that, thank you...
My gaze slid over the crowd and caught a group of girls at the lockers. In the center was a tall, athletically built blonde in a university jacket. And no, if she were a simple stranger, I would at best note her excellent figure, but this girl was familiar to me. Gina Thompson. She was animatedly telling something, and suddenly laughed loudly. Her laugh was loud and confident, and also quite pleasant despite that very loudness.
Usually, Flash Thompson was portrayed as a kind of "alpha" who did what he wanted and with whom he wanted. I wasn't sure how this would work in this world, considering that Flash was a girl... Although yes, there was equality here...
Well, not the time for girls now, even though I was an adult man, I was still a little nervous because it was a new environment, in another country, and I didn't know anyone... Yes, Zik's character was showing signs of life, mixed with my slight social phobia, which gave this effect. I survived an attack by an insanely dangerous mercenary, and now I was afraid of schoolchildren? Ha, what nonsense...
Smirking, I went up to the second floor, ignoring the gazes following me, found the right door, and went inside. The classroom was almost empty; only a few people were sitting at the front desks, buried in their phones or chatting among themselves. This was the first class of high school, so the desks could be taken freely. I silently walked to the very back, to the last row by the window, and sat down. The spot gave an excellent view, and what other place could I sit in? Everyone knew that the last desk by the window was the main character's spot, so there could be no other option.
From the window of my classroom, there was a familiar but still lively view of the schoolyard. The asphalt area, where traces of morning dew were still visible in places, was almost empty—most had already managed to hide within the walls of the building, because there wasn't much time left before the start of the school day, and few were ready to be late on the first day of school. And then my gaze caught two figures hurrying toward the main entrance.
The first was a girl with long chestnut hair gathered in a neat ponytail that bounced with every sharp movement of hers. I recognized her instantly—Henrietta Osborn. There was something about her that caught the eye even from a distance: a confident gait, a straight back, and an equally confident face. She was wearing a strict dark suit, clearly expensive and tailor-made—the fabric softly shimmered with every step of hers, fitting her figure perfectly, emphasizing that Henrietta had taste, means, and, most importantly, a habit of keeping the bar high.
Next to her walked a second girl. The complete opposite of her friend—short, messy red hair stuck out from under a hood, and her face was hidden by round glasses with thin frames, making her eyes seem a bit larger than they actually were. She was wearing loose-fitting clothes—a slightly baggy sweater and dark pants that looked like they were chosen more for practicality than for fashion. Against the background of Henrietta's expensive outfit, her clothes looked much more modest: the fabric was clearly cheap, worn in places, but everything was clean and carefully ironed.
Was this the local MJ? There didn't seem to be any other red-haired characters besides her, and her communication with Harry... Well, Henrietta, in our case, but she didn't wear glasses...
Gradually, the classroom filled up. And when there were a couple of minutes left before the bell, the very same blonde from the yard, surrounded by two friends—Flash Thompson—approached my desk.
"Hey," she slapped her palm on my desk, making me slowly raise my gaze to her. "You're cute, of course," her lips curled into a mocking smile, "but the window seat is mine. Has been for three years now. So, move your cute ass and switch seats."
"You just started high school, didn't you?" I raised an eyebrow. "And I didn't see any inscriptions on the desk like 'Belongs to the sexy bitch,' so this is my seat."
For a moment, genuine surprise flashed across Gina's face, but it quickly turned into a gleam of excitement in her eyes. She leaned in closer.
"Wow..." her lips stretched into a bold smirk. "The new kid has some teeth. This is my seat, Hammer. Now move."
"Do you not accept refusals?" I leaned back in my chair. "Maybe we can make a little bet? If I lose, I'll give up the seat and... call you whatever you want. And if I beat you, the seat is mine, and... we'll think of something else."
My words made Gina pause for a moment.
"A bet?" she slowly pronounced this word, as if trying to taste it. "Well, Hammer, I see you like to take risks. Okay. I agree, but what kind of bet are we talking about? Solving physics problems for speed?"
"As far as I can see, this girl is into sports?" I looked her over, pointing at her muscles. "How about arm wrestling?"
When I said "arm wrestling," the class fell silent for a moment, then erupted in laughter. Gina herself looked at me with amazement, which quickly turned into amusement. She threw her head back and laughed loudly.
"Arm wrestling?" she repeated. "You... seriously? You," she poked me with her finger, "want to arm wrestle... with me?" she proudly slapped her shoulder. "You know what, Hammer..." the girl extended her hand. "This is the stupidest and most self-confident idea I've heard in a long time. So, I agree. Come on, guys, clear the desk!"
Gina approached the improvised ring, took off her sports jacket, and sat down at the desk, placing her elbow on the wooden surface.
"Well, Hammer," she looked at me challengingly, "ready to embarrass yourself on the first day? The seat is waiting."