The Retired Young Mercenary Is Secretly a Billionaire
Chapter 44: The Envelope!!

Chapter 44: The Envelope!!

Miles invited June for dinner.

The afternoon sun cast a golden hue over the bustling roads of Star Harbor as Miles drove through the city, heading home. The soft hum of the engine and a faint song on the radio blended with the ambient city noise.

As he approached a major intersection, the traffic light turned red. Miles eased his foot off the accelerator and let the car roll to a smooth stop. People walked along the sidewalks, horns honked in the distance—just another normal day in the city.

Then came a sharp knock on the window.

Miles instinctively turned his head. A man stood beside the car—tall, dressed in a dark hoodie with the hood pulled low, and a simple black mask concealing his face. His movements were calculated. Calm.

Without saying a word, the man reached into his coat, pulled out a large brown envelope, and slid it in through the half-open window. Then, with mechanical precision, he raised his hand and gave a short, crisp salute.

Before Miles could respond, the man had already stepped back into the crowd. A glance at the side mirror—he was gone. Like a ghost slipping into the wind.

Miles stared at the envelope resting on his passenger seat. His instincts told him immediately—this wasn’t ordinary.

He picked it up. The surface was coarse, the paper heavier than normal—military grade. A faint watermark caught the light. No name. No address.

He slowly unsealed it.

Inside was another envelope—black, with an embossed Army insignia. The silver crest gleamed under the sunlight: an eagle with outstretched wings clutching crossed blades, encircled by a ring of stars. Beneath it, stamped in red ink, were the words:

CONFIDENTIAL - TOP SECRET

A quiet tension settled in the car. Miles held the envelope for a moment longer, his jaw tightening slightly. Whatever this was—it wasn’t just a message. It was a calling.

And someone had gone to great lengths to deliver it into his hands.

He leaned back in his seat, eyes fixed on the seal.

"...So it begins again," he muttered under his breath.

The signal turned green.

Miles shifted the gear, his thoughts still lingering on the envelope that now rested beside him. The streets passed in a blur as he drove home, the city’s usual noise drowned out by the low hum of anticipation building in his chest.

Reaching the Keller house, he parked quietly, greeted the twins with a warm pat on the head as they buzzed past him in the living room, then made his way upstairs without a word. His expression was unreadable—serious, focused, a storm gathering behind those calm eyes.

In the privacy of his room, Miles sat down and placed the black envelope on the desk before him. The embossed insignia seemed to glow faintly under the room light, and as he carefully tore it open, a faint scent of aged paper and ink greeted him.

Inside was a typed letter and a slim classified file.

He unfolded the letter and began to read:

General Miles,

As requested by you, we have cross-referenced classified warfare records to locate patterns consistent with your inquiry. One such incident was recorded three years ago in Japan during a covert engagement between allied and rogue militant forces.

A full tactical troupe of elite soldiers collapsed mid-operation. Several fell into irreversible comas. Others suffered total systemic failure—rapid organ collapse. Only a few survived long enough to recount the symptoms. The mission failed.

No infectious disease was detected. Post-mortem reports yielded no viral or bacterial traces. However, there was a faint, unidentified molecular residue present in all the fallen—a trace that seemed to respond only to specific sonic resonance patterns, though this was never confirmed.

The incident was classified immediately. Japanese Defense treated it as a failed operation and scrubbed all open records. Only a small circle within allied forces knows the truth.

If you require deeper access, I can request clearance through diplomatic channels in Tokyo. Further details and contact protocols are attached at the bottom of this file.

Investigation Officer,A.W.Provincial ArmyConfidential

Miles lowered the letter slowly, his eyes narrowed with thought. He picked up the thin file, scanning through faded photos, medical charts, and typed logs filled with redacted blocks and cryptic notes. The symptoms described—the sudden comas, organ collapse, undetectable origin—it matched the same pattern from the drug his own lab discovered.

His voice was barely a whisper as he spoke:

"...So it’s already been used in the field."

He leaned back in the chair, the wheels in his mind already turning.This wasn’t just science.This was a weapon.And someone had already tested it.

He reached for his phone.This required action.And answers.

Miles scanned the confidential documents meticulously, each detail etched into his mind. He then encrypted the files with a secure cipher and sent them directly to Monica through their private channel.

Moments later, his phone buzzed.

Monica’s voice came through, low but urgent. "Boss, that’s a huge uncover... this could be the lead we’ve been waiting for."

Miles leaned back in his chair, still holding the letter. "I’ll arrange for clearance from the army. In the meantime, send a surveillance team to Tokyo—monitor the soldiers still in comas. Quietly. I want no one knowing we’re watching."

"Got it," Monica responded. "And the mission details?"

"Dig up everything. Who they were fighting, what they were doing there. Names, records, hidden backchannels—everything. Whoever started this biological warfare, I want them in a cell before they breathe their next move."

Monica’s tone sharpened. "You’re hoping this’ll lead us to the Old Master, aren’t you?"

Miles’s answer was calm, resolute. "It will."

There was a brief pause before Monica’s voice softened. "Anyway... have you met June yet?"

Miles smiled faintly. "Yes. She’s good. Confident. You picked well."

"She’s like a younger sister to me," Monica said with quiet pride. "Treat her well, boss. She won’t disappoint you."

"I will," he said. "I’m treating her to dinner tonight at home. Mom’s cooking."

"Oh?" Monica teased. "Now that’s something to be jealous about. I want a seat at that table too!"

Miles laughed. "Then come by sometime. You know, mom loves having guests."

"I just might take you up on that," she chuckled. "One more thing—Jess is arriving in Star Harbor tomorrow morning."

Miles raised an eyebrow. "Thank you, Monica—for giving us your top idol for a whole day. That’s quite the gift."

Monica’s voice was playful. "Not my loss, boss. It’s your business, after all."

He smiled to himself. "Have a good day, Monica."

"You too, boss. Be safe."

Evening sunlight spilled through the windows of the Keller living room, painting the floor with soft gold as laughter echoed from within.

"Big broooo! Catch the shark!" Hope squealed, flinging a plush shark with all her might.

Miles caught it mid-air with a grin. "You think this can stop me?" he challenged, stepping back with exaggerated flair.

Asher stomped into view, wearing cardboard wings strapped with duct tape, a bucket helmet, and holding a bent whisk like a sword. "I am Captain Blaze! Ruler of the Sky Islands! Surrender or face the storm!"

Hope had flipped a laundry basket upside down and was rowing with a spatula across an imaginary ocean of lava. "Captain Blaze! Let’s sink him!"

Miles laughed and held up the plush shark like a dueling saber. "You dare challenge the Shark Knight? Prepare yourselves!"

A whirlwind of action broke out—pillows flying, dramatic slow-motion dives, and shouted attack names like "Skyfire Spin!" and "Tidal Launch!" echoed through the house. Miles dramatically fell to the floor under the weight of twin giggles as they both pounced on him.

"I’m defeated!" he groaned playfully. "By the fiercest warriors in the land!"

Just as Hope prepared a "final attack" with a ladle, her nose twitched.

"Wait..." she sniffed the air. "Big broooo... Mom’s cooking the noodles!"

Asher froze, eyes lighting up. "The cheese ones?!"

Without another word, both twins sprang off Miles like rockets and bolted for the kitchen, yelling, "Mooom! Is it readyyyy?!"

Miles sat up slowly, brushing confetti from a toy cannon off his lap, smiling as he listened to the excited chatter fade into the kitchen. A warm, delicious aroma—rich cheese, buttery herbs, and a hint of garlic—drifted through the air, blending with laughter and light.

He stood, stretching his arms, and followed after them. "Saved by dinner," he muttered with a smirk, "those two don’t mess around."

"It’s not ready yet, go wait in the living room," Elena called from the kitchen, her voice warm but firm.

"Okayyy," Hope replied, dragging Asher back by the hand, still half-bouncing with excitement. "Come on, Captain Blaze, the queen said wait!"

Asher sighed dramatically, still holding his whisk-sword. "Fine... but the Shark Knight will return!"

Miles chuckled, watching them crash back into their pillow battlefield like it was the most serious business in the world.

"You need any help, Mom?" he called, stepping into the kitchen with a few used utensils from the table, placing them gently near the sink.

"I said wait in the living room," Elena replied, not even looking up as she stirred a pot with confident grace. "Leave the kitchen to me. Go sit down and entertain your siblings—this is my arena."

"But—" Miles started.

"No buts." She turned and lightly pushed him by the shoulder. "Out. Now. I’ve cooked for a family before, I think I can handle one guest."

Miles raised both hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I’m going." He turned halfway, then paused. "By the way, our guest might be here soon—her name’s June. You’ll like her."

Elena gave a knowing smile. "The assistant you mentioned? I’ll make her feel at home. Now scoot."

Miles backed out with a grin. "Understood, General."

"I heard that!"

He laughed as he stepped into the living room again, where Hope was now pretending the couch was a flying whale and Asher was reenacting their battle with dramatic sound effects.

"Big broooo, come quick!" Hope cried. "The flying whale is crashing into Mount Lasagna!"

Miles smirked. "Guess I better save dinner before dinner saves us."

Outside, the sun was lowering toward the horizon, casting a golden glow through the windows—and just then, a soft chime rang at the door.

He turned toward it.

"She’s here," he said softly.