She is a natural disaster.

Chapter 19 Brain Teaser

The riverside apartment was bright and well-lit in the morning, and the sun felt warm on people's skin.

Anastasia and Mike stayed in the living room and bedroom respectively, like two distinct rivers, not interfering with each other.

Slightly listless, Mike lay on the bed, a thin blanket tightly wrapped around his body. Sometimes he would close his eyes and toss and turn, and sometimes he would open his eyes and stare blankly, seemingly lost in thought.

Anastasia sat on the sofa in the living room, her legs crossed, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest as she recalled the attack the previous night and reviewed the events.

After much thought, she came up with a few questions, some minor and some major, and the answers to these questions were likely the reason why the attackers targeted Mike.

Even before the attack, Bill Montagu had received warning signs that someone was planning to harm him and his son.

Did Bill sense the danger himself, or did someone leak the information to him?

Let's talk about last night's attack. The combination of two mysterious and one sadistic Transcendental beings seemed impressive, and with the other one appearing in the apartment, the attackers gave off a feeling of certainty.

However, Bill Montagu is a well-known billionaire, and with prior knowledge of the danger and prior assistance from the Bureau of Investigation, the luxurious combination of the three Supermen was no match for him.

In other words, the people who planned the attack knew that last night's attack was likely to fail, but they still launched the attack and sent three Beyonders to their deaths.

Putting yourself in Anastasia's shoes, if she were planning the attack, she would never have acted so rashly.

What were the people who planned the attack thinking?

Do they think no one can stop their attack, or do they think everyone is an idiot?

Assuming the person who planned the attack was an idiot, his rash actions must have had a deeper meaning, perhaps as a test for the next attack.

Another point worth noting is that the Upper East Side Police Station was also involved in last night's attack.

The mobilization of police forces by middle or senior management from nearby neighborhoods cannot be done by mere words; it must be documented on paper.

Orders written down become evidence, but middle and senior management in the police department are not worried at all about the potential danger to themselves.

It was as if they knew the Montagues were doomed and had no fear of retaliation.

What makes them so certain?

Anastasia pondered the matter, and a thought gradually emerged in her mind: killing was the ultimate means to achieve her goal.

Similarly, the attack on Mike Montagu was merely a means to an end.

The attacker likely intended to pressure Bill by attacking Mike, a dangerous act, and force Bill, a father, to compromise and make concessions.

Therefore, those who plan attacks don't care about leaks or alerting the enemy. They might not even care if the first attack fails, because they are only attacking for the sake of attacking.

Everything will be fine as long as they attack Mike.

Anastasia felt that last night's attack was more like a demonstration, a show of force to the Montagues.

The attacks on Mike Montagu will not stop until Bill gives in or Mike dies in one of the attacks.

As for the Bureau of Extraordinary Investigations, which was trying to cover up its activities and reap the benefits, Anastasia did not take them into consideration. She felt there was no need to consider their thoughts, as thinking too much would only affect her judgment.

If those clowns from the Bureau of Investigation had the guts to fight a real battle, Anastasia might think more highly of them. But as it stands, they only dare to hide in the shadows and cause trouble. What kind of trouble can a bunch of cowards who only know how to fight for power cause?

Before we knew it, it was almost noon.

Anastasia's stomach began to rumble. Even superhumans are human; they need to eat when they're hungry.

Anastasia stood up, stretched her arms and legs, and then walked to the bedroom door. Instead of pushing the door open, she politely knocked.

"Mike, it's lunchtime, do you want to eat?"

The only response Anastasia received was Mike's indistinct humming.

Mike, who had been sleeping and waking up repeatedly, was clearly incapable of thinking about important matters like eating; his mind was a complete mess.

That's the end of the wake-up service. Anastasia is here to protect Mike, not to serve rich young masters.

Anastasia returned to the living room, picked up the phone, and dialed the apartment's internal line—the Riverside Avenue Apartments offered butler-style services to residents, aiming to meet their needs as much as possible.

A short while later, there was a knock on the door.

Anastasia opened the door, and the apartment staff brought out a single-serving lunch.

Logically, Anastasia should have ordered two lunches, one for herself and the other for Mike.

However, Anastasia wasn't a nanny, so she only ordered one lunch. If Mike woke up and wanted something to eat, he could just make an internal call.

Lunch wasn't lavish, but it was still quite palatable.

Although both are apartments, the service at Riverside Avenue Apartments is better than that at No. 7 Angel Street.

Anastasia unconsciously began to think about whether she should buy a small apartment in the upper town, or rent one.

An apartment along the riverfront was out of the question; she had only been in Gloria for three months and couldn't afford that much money. A house with a garden was also out of the question; those kinds of houses would cost at least five thousand crowns.

What does 5,000 crowns mean?

A dockworker would have to work hard for at least thirteen years without eating or drinking to save up this huge sum of money.

Anastasia's salary was much higher than that of the dockworkers, but she didn't save any money; she spent all her earnings on custom-made clothes.

In the afternoon, the sunlight intensified.

Feeling a bit sleepy after eating and drinking her fill, Anastasia slumped onto the sofa and closed her eyes.

The apartment was quiet, with only the rustling sound of Mike turning over and the occasional, indistinct murmurs.

After an unknown amount of time, Anastasia opened her eyes and strained her ears to discern the footsteps in the hallway outside. The footsteps were heavy; it must be Rupert.

A knock sounded quickly, and Anastasia went to open the door. Standing outside was indeed Rupert Courtney.

The recovery ability of sadistic transcendents is indeed amazing. Last night, Rupert looked like a blood gourd, but today he has recovered most of his strength, and his external injuries are almost invisible.

"How's the recovery going?"

Anastasia didn't move aside, and Rupert showed no intention of coming in.

"My injury has healed a lot, but the broken bone hasn't fully recovered yet, so it hurts a bit when I move, but it doesn't affect my ability to use my hands."

Even the most outstanding are still human; they vomit when they drink too much, and they feel pain when they get hit.

Although those who abuse have amazing recovery abilities and heal their injuries quickly, they still feel pain.

"How is Master Mike?" Rupert asked.

"He kept sleeping and waking up, and if he wasn't still breathing, I would have started to wonder if he was dead."

"I still maintain that you shouldn't have let him kill," Rupert said. "He might continue like this for a while."

"If he just keeps sleeping and waking up, it'll be a good thing for me," Anastasia smiled. "That way he won't wander around and get ambushed like he did last night."

The more Mike runs around, the greater the chance of him being attacked; staying in the apartment is relatively safer.

The residents of the Riverside Avenue Apartments are not ordinary people. Some are wealthy young men like Mike, while others are from the elite class. They are all either rich or noble.

The Uptown Police Department can target Mike alone, but not everyone living here. If an irreparable disaster were to occur in this apartment building, the entire police department would be purged.

"Forget it, I'm bad with words, I can't win an argument with you," Rupert said from outside the door. He was good at fighting, but not good at verbal sparring.

"Mr. Courtney, the attacks will continue, and Mike needs the courage to face anything," Anastasia said, "including killing his own kind."

Anastasia had a very bad feeling.

Even if Bill eventually compromises and lets the attackers achieve their goal, the father and son probably won't survive.

The Upper East Side Police Department left almost no room for maneuver in its targeting of the Montague father and son, showing no concern for retaliation or any subsequent investigation.

This shows that in the eyes of some people in the Upper East Side Police Department, the Montague father and son are already dead. Dead people cannot be retaliated against afterward, and no one would be willing to retaliate for the dead; it's not worth it.

"By the way, do you have any tools for maintaining firearms?" Anastasia asked. "Brushes, gun oil, and things like that."

Since I'm just idling around anyway, I might as well maintain my pistol to prevent myself from having inappropriate thoughts, like buying an apartment in the uptown area as a temporary residence.

"Master Mike has it here. If I remember correctly, it should be in his desk or in the cabinet on the bookshelf," Rupert said. "Look for it yourself."

Anastasia raised an eyebrow. Mike looked like a weakling, but he had a full set of equipment.

The cane placed in the carriage has a hidden purpose: it can be used for fighting or for killing. The presence of gun maintenance tools in the house indicates that there must be guns in the house.

With a cane concealing a sword, firearms at his disposal, and an imposing appearance, it would be a waste of talent and a squandering of potential for young master Mike Montagu not to play the role of a refined villain.

Rupert left quickly; he had only come up to check on Mike and make sure he wasn't planning to leave the apartment that night.

Back in the living room, Anastasia went to her desk and began searching for gun maintenance tools.

Two or three minutes later, she rummaged through the cabinet on the bookshelf and found a complete set of maintenance tools, plus a well-maintained double-action revolver.

This double-action revolver is exquisitely crafted. The silver-white barrel gleams in the sunlight, the carvings on the barrel are lifelike, and the ivory-white grip feels warm and smooth to the touch.

Compared to Mike's revolver, Anastasia's single-action revolver was like a cheap find from a street stall.

However, Anastasia's pistol is a weapon, while Mike's pistol is more like a work of art.