Leon Kennedy

Would any parent in their right mind send their child to the FBI academy? Of course not, because working as a government agent didn't mean anything good - always away from home, a high probability of death and a negligible chance of starting your own family - with all the business trips. You don't know what kind of a bump fell on your parents' heads if they decided to kick you in the ass to study to be a damned FBI agent.

You can't count the number of tantrums and fights you had when you found out about this. All the arguments in the style of "Are you crazy?! I'm a girl, after all! Why not join the army right away?!" were not accepted. In fact, you only said such things to your mother, who, naturally, was much softer than your father and, it seems, also did not quite approve of the idea with the FBI, but did not contradict her husband. But you definitely did not want to throw the idea of ​​the army to the other parent.

Still, the academy had its pluses. The only one, small, almost unnoticeable against the background of all the minuses in the form of heavy physical work - your friend, Peter. With him, classes became much more fun and interesting, because instead of the monotonous droning of the teacher, you listened to the stories of your comrade.

Peter was more involved in the idea of ​​​​becoming a government agent than you were and, despite the chatter in class, he managed to remain a good student, unlike you. You didn’t care at all about your academic performance at the academy: you didn’t like the specialty anyway, besides, your education was already paid for, so it would be a problem for your parents.

• My dad is just very important, - Peter scratches the back of his head, taking notes and trying not to be distracted by conversations. - He works at D.S.O., maybe you heard.

Once I managed to meet Mr. Kennedy in person: and this left an extremely pleasant impression. Previously, you considered all the military to be crazy - no one knows what they had to endure on missions, the psyche after something like that is definitely difficult to restore. From an early age, for some reason, I had the impression that any person who put on shoulder straps automatically became incapable of communicating normally among people.

But Leon... At the very least, he was very polite and hospitable, as soon as you crossed the threshold of his apartment under the pretext that Peter was supposed to help you prepare for the exam.

Instead of a friend, his father opened the door: in home shorts and a baggy gray T-shirt, with disheveled, obviously after sleep, hair - a friend decided to invite you to his place for some reason in the morning, causing problems for both you and his father. Simple. He calmly said hello, calmly said that his friend ran to the store, calmly gave you some tea and asked about school. And that's it. Nothing unusual.

It was an incredibly bad idea to sit with Peter by the classroom window. The usual "discussion" turned into an argument, then into a mock fight. Could either of you have foreseen that the fragile window glass would break because of your wrestling skills training?

What was even more surprising was that the teacher insistently wanted to call your parents for a talk. It would be fine if it was just to pay the fine, but in your opinion, an educational talk was definitely not necessary. Luckily for you, your parents lived in another city, and Peter was less fortunate.

You stood together outside the criminology classroom, waiting for Mr. Kennedy, like two naughty schoolchildren. The guilt before your friend's father was much more vivid than the guilt before your own parents - anyway, the most your mother would scold you on the phone would be. In your opinion, it was much harder to see Leon's disappointed, stern look now.

"They're taking too long," Peter mutters, and right after his phrase, his father comes out of the office.

“Like little children,” the elder Kennedy shakes his head, slightly drawing his eyebrows together, but not too much – apparently, he wasn’t that angry.