The Retired Young Mercenary Is Secretly a Billionaire

After a night in the Snow Women Clan, Miles woke up alive and breathing — no curse struck him down, no mysterious "legend" claimed him. Lucky me, he thought with sarcasm as he boarded the helicopter that lifted him out of the mist-wrapped island.

From the chopper to Tokyo, it was all smooth. Miles moved through the city quietly, shopping for souvenirs with the calm patience of someone who lived more than one life. He picked small gifts—puzzles for Asher, art kits for Hope, a book of Elena's Favourite author, and a bottle of wine Daniel would appreciate. Before leaving, he picked up two special yukatas for the twins, just because he'd promised.

The private jet carried him back across the sky, back toward Star Harbor.

As the wheels touched down on the airport tarmac, his phone buzzed. Monica's voice came sharp through the line.

"Boss, I am coming to Star Harbor. I have information about the WEB—straight from Crimson Island."

Miles adjusted his coat, stepping into the evening air. "I'll hear it at home."

The doors slid open. June stood waiting beside the car. She greeted him with a light smile.

"Good evening, boss."

Miles slipped into the seat, closing the door. "Good evening, June. How was everything here?"

"Everything's running smoothly," she said, glancing at him from the driver's seat. "But I have news."

Miles tilted his head. "Go on."

"The Heart of the Frost Queen—the diamond—it's cleared for auction. Three days from now, at the Star Harbor Auction House."

Finally, Miles leaned back against the seat. "And our invitation?"

"The auction house owner delivered it personally. We're expected."

"Good," Miles said simply, watching the city lights pass by.

The car rolled to a stop at Pearl Villa. Staff were already waiting at the entrance, stepping forward as soon as he opened the door. June parked, bowed slightly, and left for her own quarters. Miles handed over his luggage.

And then—he heard it.

"Big broooo!"

Two little figures shot out from the open doorway like cannonballs. Hope and Asher. Their tiny feet slapped against the marble, their voices bright enough to fill the entire compound.

Miles crouched, catching both in one smooth motion. With a grin, he hoisted them onto his shoulders, one on each side.

"Big bro is back!" Hope shouted proudly, like announcing to the whole world.

Miles chuckled, steadying them with his hands. "Yes, soldiers. Mission complete."

Hope tugged his ear, giggling. "Big bro, guess who came!"

Miles tilted his head, playing along. "Who?"

"You'll see!" Asher chimed in with a mischievous laugh.

They carried him inside, their small hands gripping his hair for balance.

And there—just beyond the threshold—Monica stood waiting.

Arms crossed. Calm, sharp, eyes locking on him the instant he entered.

Miles let the twins slide down, his smile fading into a knowing one. "You're early."

Monica raised a brow. "You're late, boss."

Miles shrugged. "I was… entangled in shopping."

She didn't budge. "So? What did you buy for me?"

He smirked, brushing his coat back. "I'll show you. Let me get to my room first. I need a shower. It's been a long trip."

"Big bro!" Hope tugged at his sleeve, eyes sparkling. "You brought yukatas, right?"

Miles bent down, patting her head. "Yes. I brought them."

"Yay!" Hope squealed, already running deeper inside the villa, her hair flying behind her.

Asher followed, determined not to be left out.

"Hey—don't run like that!" Monica called after them, her voice carrying the authority of an older sister. "Uncle and aunt are coming back from the restaurant soon. You need to clean up before that."

Asher skidded to a stop, looking guilty. "Okay… big sister Mona."

Monica sighed, shaking her head with a small smile. Miles caught the way she softened at the kids before snapping her attention back to him.

He only chuckled, loosening his shoulders. "Feels good to be home."

Miles walked upstairs, the twins' laughter still echoing faintly in the villa below. He dropped his coat across the chair and pulled open his luggage. From inside, he drew a plain folder, its edges worn from travel. On the tab, he wrote in neat, steady strokes: Snow Clan.

He turned to the steel locker in the corner, spun the dial, and unlocked it. The door creaked open to reveal rows of folders stacked with precision. The Kraken Clan. The Sylph Clan. The Raijū Clan. The Phoenix Clan. And now, The Snow Clan.

Miles slid the new file into place, the spine lining perfectly with the others. He stared for a moment, lips curving in a small, knowing smile. Then he shut the door, twisted the lock, and walked toward the bathroom. The hiss of running water soon filled the room.

Star Harbor International Airport

The sliding doors opened with a mechanical sigh, and the Princess stepped into the night air. She moved with the grace of someone who knew the world bowed to her whims. Behind her, men in black suits filed out in silence, their movements too disciplined to be mistaken for mere attendants. Their sleeves shifted with every step, and beneath the fabric, the faintest ink of spider tattoos hid in plain sight.

Outside, three black cars waited in formation. The convoy engines purred low, predatory. Doors opened, and the Princess slipped into the rear of the middle car, folding herself into the leather seat.

As the vehicles rolled toward the city, she leaned forward, tapping her nail lightly against the headrest in front of her.

"This place… has a beach, doesn't it?"

"Yes, Princess," the man in the passenger seat replied, his voice measured.

"I may want to take a little vacation here," she said, almost to herself, eyes on the dark skyline ahead.

"I'll arrange it," the man answered quickly.

She smirked faintly. "Oh, thank you, Kay. I don't know what I'd do without you." She stretched out, resting her feet casually on the back of the seat.

But the convoy's rhythm broke.

From the side street, a black SUV cut in hard, tires screaming against the asphalt. Another vehicle swerved into place behind them, boxing the convoy in.

Kay's voice sharpened, eyes narrowing as his hand slid instinctively toward his sidearm. "There's something wrong."

The Princess tilted her head, the faintest trace of amusement on her lips. "Deal with them, Kay. Let's see who dares."

The cars slowed as the road narrowed into the edge of a forest park. The convoy stopped.

From the shadows, masked armed men poured out. Dozens. Weapons raised, movements coordinated. They fanned out, surrounding the three cars in a tightening circle.

The guards in black shifted immediately, hands moving to weapons—but the raised rifles of the masked men left no doubt. Any sudden move would ignite a massacre.

The Princess let out a soft sigh, tapping her finger lazily against the window. "Mm. Did someone sell us off?"

The order came sharp from the attackers. "Windows down. Hands up."

The glass slid down, Kay raising his hands slowly, jaw clenched. The Princess leaned back in her seat, watching with an almost bored detachment as one of the masked leaders stepped closer, his gun steady.

He peered into the car, eyes falling on her. "She's coming with us."

For the first time, the Princess's lips curved in a smile—not of fear, but recognition.

Her voice was calm, almost playful. "You're from Graveyard, I assume."

The silence that followed was heavier than any gunshot.

At the Pearl Villa

The twins were sprawled over the dining table, pencils scratching and erasers squeaking as they worked on their homework. Their chatter floated softly through the villa, but in the living room, the mood was sharper.

Monica sat opposite Miles, her expression unusually grim. She set a thick folder on the table and slid it toward him.

"The WEB," she said quietly, "isn't as simple as I thought."

Miles leaned back, fingers steepled, eyes flicking to the folder before pulling it closer.

Monica went on, lowering her voice as she glanced around to make sure the twins or any staff weren't paying attention. "These are the details I gathered—the confirmed sightings of that spider tattoo. These events? They're just the tip of the iceberg. The WEB is scattered, hidden. No full record of their operations exists."

She reached down into her bag and carefully placed a small box on the table between them.

Miles raised a brow, then pulled it closer and opened it.

Inside lay a sleek black gun, a magazine, a handful of bullets, and—most telling—a black card stamped with a blood-red spider logo.

Miles picked up the card. His face hardened instantly, and he snapped the box shut before anyone else could glance inside. Turning the card over, he read the bold red letters out loud:

"If you want to achieve what you cannot with your own hands, give us a chance. Everything comes with a price tag, of course. Contact the serial number on our gift—The WEB."

Miles let out a dry chuckle, the sound without humor. "What a load of bullshit. So they're just mercenaries for hire?"

Monica's gaze stayed cold. "Yes. But not just mercenaries. Their network is huge. They sniff out potential clients, people neck-deep in dirty dealings. Places like Crimson Island, where governments can't reach. They thrive in shadows like that."

Miles's eyes narrowed. "You mean this… gift was for the Carter family?"

Monica hesitated, then nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. But our family never contacted them. We never relied on outsiders. You—" her eyes softened slightly "—you were the exception. And even then, you aren't really an outsider."

Miles drummed his fingers once on the shut box. "So we have their contact. But how did you get the rest of this intel?"

"One of the prisoners on Crimson Island," Monica said. "He had a spider tattoo. He broke once… told us his story. His family was murdered by the WEB because of his betrayal. That's how they control their members. Every recruit's family becomes collateral. They monitor every movement. No one dares to betray them—not if they want their bloodline to survive."

Miles leaned back, his jaw tight. "So… once you enter, there's no way out."

"Exactly," Monica replied. "And it's worse. They don't just serve criminals. Some of their clients are government officials. That's why their tracks vanish. That's why no criminal records exist. They're shielded."

The silence was heavy.

Then—both their phones buzzed at the same time.

They exchanged a sharp look.

Monica unlocked hers first, skimming the message. Her face paled. She immediately dialed. "Get me every detail on that incident. Now."

Miles's hand moved faster. He dialed a different number. The line picked up instantly.

"Ray," Miles's voice was cold, "we had a deal."

On the other end, Ray's voice came hurried. "I can explain, it was so sudden—"

"You broke the deal," Miles cut him off, his tone like ice. "Did you already start treating me like an outsider? Fine. Then keep your hands out of this. I'll handle it personally."

"Wait, Miles—"

The call cut dead.

Miles lowered the phone, his face unreadable. His free hand clenched once at his knee.

To be continued...