Niko heard music down the hall. Waking up and rubbing sleep from his eyes. Taking his things and went into the room across from the Yakuza boss's sons. They had a common area, a small kitchen, a shared bathroom, and then they each had their own rooms. He rubbed his eyes. This was an expensive dorm and you either were very rich, knew somebody, or too smart like him. In fact...they only stuck him in the mafia prince's dorm because they had nowhere else to put him. He crashed upon the bed. Curling up and going to sleep. His glasses strewn on the bed. The hours passed and he got up. His stomach growling. He was a good chef...that is something you wouldn't expect from a teen genius...the ability to make sensational cuisines from common every day items.<br/><br/>He stood up and stretched. It was a few days later since he first arrived. Somewhat still exhausted due to the flight. The adjusting to the new times zone. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes before putting on the somewhat oversized glasses. Leaving his personal dorm into the extremely oversized dorm, due to who this guy was not that he knew it, and into the kitchen. He began to gather things. His heritage was coming down from two of the highest powered mafias...the Italian...and the Russian. He knew nothing of that world aside from his parents left him a lot of blood money. Money he refused to touch with a thirty foot pole and then some. Humming an Italian song as he began to chop up veggies and grind them together with seasoning. A pot of spagetting cookie with butter garlic and herbs to flavor the noodles. It the skilled he was cooking and mixing together the homemade sauce.<br/><br/>The scents beginning to rise up and fill the air. He was making dinner. He knew he had a dorm mate based on the letter so he was being true to his heritage. Making a large enough meal for the two of them and then a lot more than was actually necessary. Stirring the noodles and then the sauce. He began to make homemade garlic bread.