The Strivers - 1. Chapter 1 - The Path to the Unknown

In the old NIVA rattling over the dusty roads of the Crimean countryside, the coach struggled to hide a slight smile of satisfaction. Seated behind the wheel, the man threw furtive glances at his three gymnasts seated in a row in the back of the vehicle: Ilya, Alexei, and Dimitri, three promising young talents from the Naval Cadet School of Sevastopol. For them, this visit to the dacha of a potential wealthy sponsor was merely a formality, a meeting described as a final interview during which the coach would finally secure a significant financial protocol for the benefit of their club.

The man they were about to meet was not just a generous patron but a shrewd businessman accustomed to acquiring anything he wanted, including talent... and beauty. By presenting these young prodigies, the coach was certain he would gain much more than just support for his club. Adjusting his position, his hands gripping the worn leather a bit tighter, a sense of triumph suddenly surged within him. After years of training these young gymnasts, the former elite athlete had finally found a way to capitalize on their potential.

Behind him, the boys remained silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Ilya, 13 years old, the youngest, nervously gazed out the window, his freshly shaven head gleaming in the morning light—it was Saturday, and Saturdays meant "mandatory haircuts" for the entire company! But more than the feel of his cropped neck, he was trying to grasp the purpose of this meeting, sensing that something important was at stake. Alexei, more reserved, stared at the horizon, his 14-year-old face impassive. He too asked no questions, preferring to wait and observe. Dimitri, 15 years old, the eldest and most confident, simply crossed his arms, a confident smile on his lips. The teenager, the son of a military family tracing back to the Russian Empire (the famed White Russians), was convinced that this meeting was just another step toward his future glory.

"We're almost there, guys," the coach suddenly announced as the vehicle turned onto a driveway lined with cypress trees, leading to a dacha that the boys immediately realized was immense and luxurious. Perched atop the cliffs of the Black Sea, its white walls gleamed under the golden light of the setting sun. The coach felt his heart race. He knew what he was about to do was risky—imagine if it were discovered, or worse, if the boys ever spoke out! But he had taken his time, tested what would ensure his "mission's" success. And after all, wasn’t this simply an opportunity he couldn’t pass up? These boys were his currency after so many years of training them!

The man parked the NIVA at the base of the porch, the engine sputtering one last time before dying. Signaling to the boys, the trio, clad in matching tracksuits of the School, exited the vehicle, each reacting differently to the sight of the sumptuous residence. Ilya, impressed, studied the architectural details, while Alexei remained stoic. Dimitri let out an admiring whistle. The coach was the last to step out, taking a deep breath as he closed the door with deliberate slowness. Running a hand through his graying hair and adjusting his worn jacket like a superstition, the die was cast.

On the porch, the dacha's owner awaited them. Standing tall, hands clasped behind his back, dressed in an immaculate linen shirt over strict but elegant flannel trousers, his imposing stature and piercing gaze left little room for warmth. At first glance, it was clear this was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted without having to ask twice.

"Welcome," he said in a deep, detached voice, his eyes fixed on the boys. The coach stepped forward first, a cordial, almost servile smile on his lips, extending his hand, which the other man shook briefly, without warmth. The three gymnasts, slightly behind, observed the scene without fully grasping the underlying implications.

"I'm sure they will impress you," the coach added with a discreet wink. The owner did not respond, simply turning on his heels, not without inviting the trio and their coach into the mansion with a brief gesture.

Massive doors opened, revealing an interior as sumptuous as the exterior: crystal chandeliers, Persian rugs, antique furniture... Everything here exuded wealth and power. The three gymnasts followed silently, casting furtive glances at the lavish decor. Dimitri, as confident as ever, walked with a firm stride, while Ilya appeared increasingly nervous. Alexei, as usual, remained impassive.

The "guests" finally entered one of the salons, a vast and luminous room adorned with large windows overlooking the cliffs and the Black Sea. The owner settled immediately into one of the wide leather armchairs, his fingers absentmindedly brushing the armrest. Looking at the boys again, he invited them to line up in front of him, as if at drill.