"Winnie Pritzker and I were high school classmates. I'm pursuing her."
Anthony spoke evenly to Officer Jimmy Simmons, who had come to the hospital to take his statement.
"I just got back from Afghanistan. I convinced her to come to that motel, we got into a heated argument, and I stabbed myself in the chest to prove a point. That's the whole story."
The officer looked at him, then glanced back at the supplementary report in his hand, his expression incredulous.
"Lieutenant Tarasov, you took the heiress of the Pritzker dynasty to a flop house? She's worth billions. And with your combat discharge pay, you surely could have afforded something better, right?"
The heiress of the Pritzker dynasty?
Anthony was genuinely stunned.
He knew from the host's memories that Winnie's family was wealthy, but he hadn't realized she was the eldest daughter of the legendary Pritzker family.
"Officer Simmons, I honestly didn't know the full extent of her identity. And, to be fair, I kept a few things from her as well."
Simmons noted the "Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder" flagged on Anthony's military record and decided not to push the bizarre logic of the story. A volatile combat vet stabbing himself during a lover's spat was unusual, but not impossible.
After asking a few more routine questions, Simmons stood up and gave Anthony a crisp salute.
"Lieutenant. Get some rest."
Before he left, Anthony asked, "Is she okay?"
"With your statement clearing her of any assault charges, she'll be fine," Simmons smiled wryly. "Besides, her family has an army of lawyers currently tearing apart the precinct."
He paused at the door, leaning back in slightly. "Lieutenant, a word of advice? You should probably give up the chase. Social classes exist for a reason. If you want a payout for the injury, though, she probably won't haggle."
Once the officers were gone, Anthony closed his eyes. When he opened them again, a translucent interface materialized in his vision.
[Firearms Mastery: LV6 (52/100)]
[Physical Limit: LV6 (46/100)]
[Close Quarters Combat: LV7 (33/100)]
[Viral Antibody: LV9 (New) - Grants immunity to 95% of toxins in the current world.]
[Rapid Calculation: LV6 (87/100 New) - Mental calculation speed exceeds supercomputers; capable of instantaneously solving complex mathematical matrices.]
[Compensatory Perception: LV7 (77/100 New) - Neuroplasticity overrides standard visual functions, forming real-time 3D spatial modeling.]
These attributes had only materialized after he woke up in the hospital.
The first three were the original host's hard-earned military skills.
The Viral Antibody was a direct system adaptation triggered by surviving the Botulinum toxin.
"Iosef," Anthony murmured, a cold smile touching his eyes. "When are you going to rob the Boogeyman?"
Even though John Wick was destined to dismantle the Tarasov syndicate, Anthony still wanted the pleasure of killing his half-brother himself.
He had zero affection for either his half-brother Iosef or his father, Viggo.
According to the host's memories, his mother had been a hostess at one of Viggo's nightclubs. After a single night of passion, Viggo threw down a few thousand dollars and vanished.
When she became pregnant, she was shoved into a dilapidated apartment building in Brooklyn, just three blocks from the worst parts of Queens.
Forbidden by Viggo's enforcers from working or seeing other men, she survived solely on government food stamps and meager subsidies.
It wasn't until Anthony was born that Viggo occasionally sent hush money or casually picked the boy up for a day to play the role of a father.
Because of this fractured dynamic, Viggo's legitimate son, Iosef, grew up harboring immense hostility toward Anthony, viewing him as filthy outsider.
In truth, Anthony knew he was nothing more than a pawn to Viggo—a disposable asset meant to acquire a clean military record to facilitate the syndicate's arms and drug trafficking.
Before enlisting, Anthony had endured Iosef's constant humiliation without showing a shred of rebellion.
But during his first year deployed in Afghanistan, his mother died suddenly under highly suspicious circumstances.
Stuck overseas, Anthony had to beg a discharged squadmate to investigate quietly. The truth was horrifying: his mother hadn't died in an accident. She had been burned alive on Iosef's orders.
The host's severe "PTSD" was directly linked to the suppressed rage of this discovery.
He had returned to New York specifically to seek revenge. But before he could even form a plan, Iosef had poisoned him under the guise of a welcoming drink.
Anthony knew the brutal realities of war. He knew that during the 'Extortion 17' Chinook crash in Afghanistan, SEAL Team Six operators were wiped out because of a single lapse in operational vigilance.
The host's death via poisoning was the result of that exact same lack of vigilance.
Now, as a transmigrator possessing both system enhancements and the host's lethal military training, assassinating Viggo and Iosef in secret would be child's play.
But taking on the entire Tarasov syndicate alone? That was suicide.
If he wanted to usurp control of the Tarasov family, he had to follow the established plotline and borrow John Wick's mythical wrath.
Anthony leaned back, calculating how to subtlely "assist" Iosef in killing John's dog without alerting the Boogeyman to his involvement.
Currently, even with his Marine Corps background and cognitive cheats, his chances of surviving a direct gunfight with John Wick were less than forty percent—and that was factoring in John's five years of rust and physical decline.
Since he couldn't beat him, he would use him.
First, he needed to establish a friendly rapport with John. If they formed a tentative alliance, the success rate of entirely dismantling the Tarasov loyalists jumped significantly.
More importantly, his meta-knowledge of the plot meant he could manipulate the board to his advantage.
But for the dominoes to fall... sorry, little Daisy. The beagle had to die.
As for John eventually going to war with the High Table? That was a problem for later. First, Anthony needed to secure the Tarasov throne.
The Tarasov family wasn't just a dominant force in the New York underworld; they were a recognized mid-level faction under the direct rule of the High Table.
Only by letting John Wick slaughter Viggo's fiercely loyal old guard could Anthony step in and completely subjugate the remnants of the gang.
Even as an illegitimate son, once he controlled the syndicate's infrastructure, he would have massive resources and operational freedom in this dangerous world.
While Anthony was mapping out his bloody ascension, the ward door was pushed open.
A familiar scent of sandalwood and autumn pear drifted in. Winnie stood in the doorway, holding a bouquet of elegant white calla lilies.
She was still wearing the same clothes from last night. It was obvious she had come straight to the hospital the moment she was released from the police precinct.
Beneath her flawless makeup, the exhaustion around her eyes was impossible to hide.
When her gaze met Anthony's, her expression was a complex storm of unease, doubt, and lingering fear.
Behind her stood a sharp young female assistant in a tailored suit, carrying an expensive thermal food container.
Winnie gave a slight nod. Understanding the silent command, the assistant quickly set the container on the bedside table, shot Anthony a brief, evaluating look, and immediately left the room.
Winnie set the lilies down. The elegant flowers did nothing to soften the sterile hospital room. Her eyes drifted down to Anthony's chest, which was wrapped in thick, white bandages.
The sight clearly triggered a flashback to the cold handle of the paring knife, the dark blood soaking his shirt, and the chaotic heat of...
Winnie's fingers curled into tight fists at her sides. She forced her spine straight, drawing on the icy composure required of the Pritzker heiress.
"I'll just call you Anthony," she said, her voice steady and practiced. "Thank you."
Anthony could hear the deliberate, defensive distance in her tone.
He leaned against his pillows, meeting her gaze with equal calm.
A tight jawline. Slightly pursed lips. Eyes guarded by layers of suspicion.
"Don't mention it," Anthony replied, the corner of his mouth curving into a cool, detached smile. "We've already coordinated our stories. There's no need for thanks."
Winnie paused, carefully weighing her next words.
Her eyes betrayed her, flicking back down to his bandaged chest.
"I believe you were also a victim in this. But your testimony was crucial for me."
"If it weren't for you, that setup... they didn't just want to ruin my reputation. They wanted to destroy my life completely."
"I was just looking out for myself," Anthony lied smoothly, his smile never wavering. "If the police charged you with murder, my life would get infinitely more complicated as the surviving victim and primary witness."
"So, you don't owe me a thank you. We're even."