"Eh, Ivanov, my brother! It's good to see you again, da!" Once the video call on Irfan's phone was connected, a middle-aged man who was still pretty good-looking appeared with a flustered face. "Want a shot of Vodka, yes? Just like the old time?" He asked with a grin—or so that was everyone's impression based on his tone, the thick Russian accent really tickled everyone's ears.
Sheva and the others stared at each other with bewildered expressions, not expecting that the coach Irfan found for them was a drunkard like this. Even though they had already agreed to try first, it was understandable for them to question the man's credibility when the first impression they had was this bad. Hell, it was still 1 P.M. in Jakarta, which should be around 10 A.M. in Minsk, where the man lived. Who was crazy enough to start drinking this early?
