studiobondurri 175: The Jovanovich Family
175: The Jovanovich Family
175: The Jovanovich Family
Seryozha was the eldest son of the Jovonovich family. Straightforward and generous, he also carried the steadiness expected of an elder brother. His features were classic Slavic—buzz cut, square face, and a thick, prickly beard.
His powerful arms were so imposing that even someone like Neville right now couldn't compare.
Ruffling John's hair with a massive hand, Seryozha grumbled disapprovingly, "Look at our Yadani. He's been starved to skin and bones."
John's gaunt cheeks filled Seryozha with dissatisfaction as he turned his sharp gaze to Watson, who shrank like a scrawny chick.
The look on his face said it all: How dare this Englishman mistreat my nephew?
Watson frantically shook his head. What did this have to do with him? He wasn't the one cooking!
Andrei, the eighth child of the Jovonovich family, narrowed his wolf-like eyes and shot Watson a glare filled with menace.
Though he also sported a buzz cut, his demeanor exuded a savage energy.
Anton, the seventh in line, had come to visit his sister. For the occasion, he'd smoothed back his usually disheveled black hair with gel, the slicked-back look adding a touch of silent intimidation.
Alexei, the ninth child, wore glasses and had a scholarly, refined air. He was lean and long-limbed, a stark contrast to his twin brother, Andrei.
If John hadn't witnessed Alexei impale a wild boar clean through with a single throw of a spear when he was younger, he might have mistaken him for a modal university student.
Anton's expression shifted slightly as he wordlessly exited the room.
Alexei seemed to notice something. Casting a glance at the departing Anton, he signaled Andrei with a subtle nod.
Andrei understood the signal and cracked a feral grin, tilting his head to the side as his neck let out a series of sharp crack sounds.
"Yadani, we brought you a gift. Hope you like it," Alexei said with a smile, casually nudging his sister and Watson toward the living room.
Watson, oblivious to any underlying tension, focused solely on making himself as inconspicuous as possible, desperately hoping the Jovonovich brothers wouldn't find any excuse to target him.
John, however, sensed something was up. His eyes flicked to Alexei's seemingly innocent smile—there was definitely going to these uncles' minds.
Of course. Anyone who managed to stay alive and independent in that place wasn't simple.
Playing along, John called out cheerfully, "Uncles!" His greeting caused Seryozha's face to light up with joy.
From their motherland, Seryozha had brought along a crate of vodka. Originally, there had been several crates, but thanks to a drunken pilot, an engine explosion on the right wing mid-flight, and other complications, only one had made it through.
Watson, catching sight of the vodka, instantly shrank in terror.
He prided himself on being a so-called "man who never gets drunk," but every single time he visited the Jovonovich family, he'd been carried out horizontally.
Alexei had indeed brought a gift. But when he cracked open the lid of the box to reveal it, Mrs. Wick immediately slammed it shut with one swift motion.
"Alexei, your brother-in-law would love to have a proper drink with you," she said with a sweet smile.
If John hadn't been paying close attention, he might have missed the brief glimpse of the contents—something that could go rat-a-tat-tat.
And there wasn't just one.
Meanwhile, Watson had already been pinned down and force-fed vodka.
Seryozha lit his cup of vodka on fire with a lighter, shouted "Ura!" at the top of his lungs, and downed it in one go.
John silently gave Watson a thumbs-up.
Dad, good luck. You're on your own.
Anton and Andrei returned.
Andrei's fists were smeared with blood, and without hesitation, he joined the vodka-fueled "Ura" festivities.
Anton the silent one, headed to wash his hands, his face carrying the chilling look of a predator that had just finished its hunt.
...
"F***! F***! @#¥!"
A man bolted down Privet Drive, panting heavily as he cursed aloud. His face was as pale as a sheet, devoid of the slightest trace of blood.
He stumbled into a narrow alley, hands trembling as he pulled out his phone to make a call.
"They're maniacs—two absolute lunatics!"
Even now, he couldn't steady himself.
John's uncles left early in the morning, saying they were going out to look around.
But if they were just sightseeing, surely they wouldn't have needed to take that whole box of "gifts" with them, right?
Sure enough, by lunchtime, the uncles returned.
They were chatting and laughing as they came in. Watson greeted them respectfully, though his stomach still hurt from the previous night's "festivities."
Andrei plopped himself onto the couch with a carefree swagger, but under Mrs. Wick's piercing death glare, he immediately corrected himself, sitting upright like a proper child.
Watson turned on the family TV.
The screen showed a news report.
"This morning, a mass death incident occurred. According to informed sources, the deceased were members of a group known as the Jungle Gang. Their bodies were discovered in a gruesome state..."
Watson stared blankly at the image in the top-right corner of the screen. This was before censorship by mosaics became common on television, so the scene was graphic and unmistakable.
None of that mattered as much as one particular detail: the boss of this gang had once threatened Watson.
The police speculated it was the result of a gang war.
John, however, noticed the faint smile playing on Seryozha's face.
His uncles had clearly been the ones to act.
Swift and efficient.
This incident temporarily brought Watson some peace amid the chaos of the Wallace family drama. Meanwhile, in London, the big players were on edge.
They couldn't figure out where this group of ruthless individuals had come from, annihilating an entire gang so decisively.
Their motives were clear, and what made it even more terrifying was their habit of gouging out eyes.
Eyes are the windows to the soul.
Not only were they killing, but they were also breaking spirits.
...
Sean Wallace called, his tone heavy with concern. "Watson, we need to talk."
Watson picked up the phone and, after a brief pause, replied, "Alright."
The death of that gang boss had clearly rattled Sean.
John had originally planned to deal with these matters himself before going on vacation. Now, with his uncles around, there was no need for him to lift a finger.
And so, by the seventh day of the holidays...
The police had dredged up a truck from the river. Inside, it was packed with bodies, shocking all of London.
...
Watson had been extremely busy lately, but with Andrei accompanying him, nothing serious happened.
John, meanwhile, was in his basement, gently shaking a vial of magically infused blood.
Taking a sip, he smacked his lips.
It still had no taste.
The magic-infused blood spread rapidly throughout John's body as he drank it, its power coursing through his veins. He had no fear of its effects spilling outside.
After that incident with Harry, John had reinforced his basement. Now, no trace of magic could escape from it.
This time, he had a specific idea in mind.
Shifting his gaze to a prepared pile of materials, John allowed the magic within him to surge uncontrollably.
Harnessing this wild energy, he focused all his attention on the materials before him.
Under the force of the rampant magic, the pile of materials began to transform rapidly.
________
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