The Retired Young Mercenary Is Secretly a Billionaire

The X2GEN source had finally been crushed. After years of governments chasing shadows, wasting men and resources, a decisive blow had been struck. Its elimination was more than a victory—it was a scar across the underworld. For human traffickers, it meant losing one of their deadliest weapons. For those rescued, it meant freedom.

Captain Fujiwara's air cavalry carried the survivors and the Snow Women Clan safely across the night sky. The thump of rotor blades echoed over Tokyo's skyline until the choppers descended to their final point.

On the tarmac, Miles clasped Fujiwara's hand firmly.

"We'll meet again, Captain Fujiwara."

Fujiwara smirked, a glint in his eye. "Remember me when you need help, Miles. I don't owe you just one anymore—I owe you two."

Sayaka bowed politely, her voice soft but sincere. "Thank you, Fujiwara-san."

The Captain's stern face softened, just a little. He waved once, turned on his heel, and climbed back into his chopper. The engines roared, lifting him into the dark sky, and then the cavalry was gone.

Tokyo stretched around them—sleepless, glowing, alive even past midnight.

Sayaka tugged her cloak tighter around her. "It's past midnight. The pickup from the clan won't come until morning. Let me… I'll book a place for everyone to rest."

Miles shook his head, calm as always. "Don't worry about that. I've got you covered."

Her brows lifted. "You already booked something?"

Miles smirked faintly. "No. We're going to the safe house."

Sayaka blinked. "You… have a house in Tokyo?"

"Not a house," he corrected, already moving toward the stairwell. "A safe house."

"Oh… right," she murmured, trying to keep up. "Of course you do."

They descended from the helipad, the rescued women and disciples following in silence. Below, five black cars waited at the curb—sleek, tinted, engines humming. Enough to carry all nineteen people comfortably. Miles opened a door for Sayaka, then gestured for the others to climb in.

The convoy slid through Tokyo's streets, neon reflections chasing across the car windows, until they reached the east side of the city. There, nestled in a quieter district, stood a low, one-floor penthouse, tucked behind tall gates and hidden cameras.

Sayaka's eyes widened. "This… is a safe house?"

"Yes," Miles said matter-of-factly. "Lived here almost a year in the past."

She folded her arms, half-amused, half-impressed. "Oh, right. You're the chairman of some company. Of course you'd have something like this tucked away."

The rescued women whispered among themselves, stunned by the space—the clean stone walls, the polished glass doors, the sheer silence compared to the chaos they had endured.

Miles pulled out his phone, tapped a code. The steel-framed door gave a short beep and unlocked with a hiss.

"Take them inside," he told the disciples. "Let them clean up, rest. I'll arrange food." His eyes flicked to Sayaka. "Also—come with me. We need clothes for them."

"Right," Sayaka nodded. She turned to her juniors. "Take care of them. We'll be back soon."

Down in the garage, Miles slid behind the wheel of a low-slung sports car, the engine purring awake as the lights flickered on. Sayaka slipped into the passenger seat, still adjusting to how casually he moved through this hidden life.

As the car pulled onto the road, she asked, "When was the last time you came here?"

Miles gave a small laugh. "You won't believe me. I worked for a yakuza."

Sayaka's head snapped toward him. "Seriously?"

"Undercover," Miles clarified, smirking at her reaction. "That group doesn't exist anymore."

Her mouth tightened. "Did you kill them too?"

Miles shook his head. "No. I gave them a choice. They joined the Phoenix Clan."

Her jaw dropped. "What?"

"Yes," he said, turning the wheel smoothly onto the neon-lit boulevard. "They were good fighters. So I gave them two options—die, or work under Phoenix. Now they're some of the clan's most loyal men."

Sayaka stared at him, speechless, her expression caught between disbelief and reluctant admiration.

They moved through 247 Mall with easy, almost automatic steps — the bright chaos of neon signs, laughter, and late-night shoppers wrapping around them like a comfortable coat. Miles ordered takeaway at the food court: simple soups, grilled fish, rice bowls — things that smelled like home. Sayaka slipped into a clothing stall and emerged with small, folded yukatas, soft pastels and neat patterns, perfect for the rescued sisters who needed something gentle to wear.

Back in the car, the city lights smeared past in long streaks. Sayaka tucked the yukatas into a bag on her lap and exhaled, the tightness around her eyes loosening for the first time since the raid.

"It's done," she said. "Now let's eat and rest."

"You must be tired," Miles offered, half-raising an eyebrow.

"I am so tired," she confessed, voice soft. Then she caught herself and tried to be practical. "But you worked harder."

"I'm fine," Miles said, shrugging. He glanced at her — at the pale line under her eyes, at the way her fingers tightened around the fabric. "You did well, Sayaka."

She turned to him, calm now, expression open in a way that surprised her own hardness. "Thank you for saving me today."

He made a small, teasing sound. "You should apologize instead."

She frowned, then met his eyes. "You're right. I should be sorry. You told me to stay behind and I didn't listen. I caused trouble. We could've handled it quietly and not risked so many things."

"It's fine," Miles said evenly. "I expected you might come. That's why I put the Narcan in your pocket. And truthfully… once I knew people were imprisoned there, I couldn't let it be quiet. I'd already sent the coordinates to Rei. It was going to be a bust whether I wanted it or not. That X2GEN ruined too many lives."

Sayaka's shoulders dropped a little, relief and guilt mixing in her voice. "It's better to bust their place than to execute a silent mission that leaves people suffering." She looked down at the yukata bag in her lap. "And… thank you for what you told me while we fought. It meant a lot."

Miles blinked at her for a beat, then shrugged, a little embarrassed. "Someone told me the same thing once. I passed it forward."

They fell into a lighter rhythm after that — small talk about food, the ridiculousness of mall fashions, Sayaka's quiet amusement at Tokyo's nightlife. Then, as the car rolled on, she asked the question that had been hovering for days.

"You have a family, right? I saw them at the contest."

"Yes." Miles kept his eyes on the road. "They're why I came back to something that looks like normal. Kind of normal, anyway."

"Normal?" she echoed, with a questioning smile. Miles shrugged.

"Maybe normal isn't the word. I still do what I do. But there's a motive I need to finish. Until that's done… nothing else matters much."

Sayaka considered him for a moment, curiosity and something gentler in her gaze. "Are you really going to marry Clarissa — the clan supreme?"

Miles let out a laugh that was half amusement, half irritation. "Are you interrogating me now?"

"No — I didn't mean that," she hurried. "I just wondered."

He shook his head. "I don't have plans to marry anyone right now. As I said — there's something that needs finishing first."

She nodded, trying to hide a small, disappointed sigh that didn't have room to breathe. The city rolled on, and soon they'd be back at the safe house.

The car pulled up at the penthouse. The door opened to the quiet interior, lights low and warm. They spread the food across a small table — fragrant soup steaming, rice steaming, fish that tasted like something ordinary and perfectly right after a night of chaos.

They ate slowly, the clatter of chopsticks punctuating quiet conversation. Laughter came in small bursts; silence sat comfortably between them. Outside, Tokyo hummed far away. Inside, for a few hours, there was only the simple act of sharing a meal and the quiet after the storm.

When the plates were cleared and the rescued women settled on cushions, Sayaka's eyes drooped. She thanked him again in a whisper.

Miles watched her as she curled up on the sofa, the recent fights and revelations carving soft lines in her face. For a moment he let himself imagine a life where the mission didn't sit heavy on his shoulders. Then he pushed the thought away — there was work to be done, debts to repay, threads to follow.

He rose and stood by the window, looking out at the dull ribbon of the city. In the silence, the tiny flower that little girl had given him earlier sat on the table like something fragile to remember by.

Citadel City – Kyle Sterling's New Mansion

The room smelled faintly of cedar and expensive polish. Heavy curtains muted the morning light, throwing long shadows over the marble floor. Kyle sat back on a leather armchair, one hand resting on the armrest, the other holding a crystal glass he hadn't sipped from. His eyes were fixed on the man standing a few paces behind him, tablet in hand.

"What you got?" Kyle's voice was calm but carried a weight that pressed down on the room.

The man scrolled the screen and spoke carefully. "We couldn't track the people who entered your old mansion that day. But we found hidden cameras around the property. They were still transmitting until we spotted them, then the signal just… disappeared. We can't trace where the feed went." He hesitated. "Also, we couldn't find anything hard on the man you mentioned — Miles Sterling. His tracks are buried. He's… a mysterious man."

Kyle's brow arched slightly. "Does he have any connection with this?"

The man shifted on his feet. "We don't think so, Mr. Sterling. Does he?"

Kyle leaned forward, a cold smile forming. "Oh, he has all the connections. But I can't make the dots line up yet."

The man frowned. "What do you mean?"

Kyle's eyes darkened as old memories flickered across them. "His father's research division created the drug by accident. He was just a boy when it happened — when I made him fatherless. I even made sure he'd die too. But after seventeen years, she showed up. Since then, everything has been turning this way."

The man swallowed but stayed silent. Kyle's grip on the glass tightened until his knuckles whitened.

"I guess," Kyle said slowly, "even if he isn't behind it, he's definitely involved somehow."

"We'll look into it, Mr. Sterling," the man said quickly. "Even Princess is interested in that man. She told me she'll visit Star Harbor personally."

Kyle's head snapped up. "Princess is going where?"

"She's going to Star Harbor. She's fond of gems. There's going to be an auction for a diamond soon. She said she'll personally meet him."

Kyle's jaw worked as he thought. "Alright. What about Silvey?"

"We're already monitoring her. We'll update you if anything changes."

"Good." Kyle waved his hand dismissively.

The man turned and walked toward the door. As he reached for the handle, his sleeve sl

ipped up his arm. In the dim light of the mansion, a spider tattoo glinted black against his wrist.

Kyle's eyes caught it for a split second — and narrowed.