The room was so silent that the faint tap of a pen against the wooden desk could be heard. He sat there, as still as a statue, yet his eyes gleamed with a sharp, icy glare. Outside the door, the most powerful figures awaited his judgment. One word from him, and the game would change forever.

Viktor Kuznetsovich Ulyanov—a name that commanded respect and fear in equal measure. When spoken, even the wealthiest and most powerful hesitated, knowing that behind it lay a force that controlled both politics and the underworld.

Born into a dynasty that had shaped the course of history from the shadows, he did not merely inherit his empire—he expanded it, wielding a mind as sharp as a scalpel and a hand of iron wrapped in velvet. With chiseled features and eyes as cold and deep as the Siberian tundra, he never needed to raise his voice to inspire fear. His power did not stem from threats but from a silence that spoke volumes, from decisions as precise as a surgeon’s blade, and from the vast network he had meticulously built in the dark.

Now, the high-class party is taking place right in the grand hall of the luxurious mansion. Viktor, after chatting about business with a few partners, left the party and strolled along the small garden with a cigarette in his hand, Suddenly, he saw a figure sitting on a swing nearby, he was a little uncomfortable and leaned against the wall while smoking a cigarette.

"The security here seems to be negligent, letting a kid with a mouth that still smells like milk in here."