The Retired Young Mercenary Is Secretly a Billionaire
Chapter 47: just look down and walk away!!

Chapter 47: just look down and walk away!!

Sunday Morning, Miles already in running shoes.

The sky over North Ridge District was still wrapped in morning haze, golden sunlight breaking through the skeletal outlines of tall buildings and half-sleeping streets. Miles jogged calmly along the gravel path of the park, his breaths steady, his movements precise — controlled. The soft thump of his shoes echoed in rhythm with the wind. After a round of light running and stretching, he checked his watch.

7:54 AM.

It was time.

He slipped off the path, moving towards the quieter side of the district. North Ridge was a mixed zone — old buildings hiding new secrets, industrial-looking blocks that never appeared on tourist maps. It was here that Building A-12 stood like a forgotten relic, wrapped in ivy and shadow, its steel gate rusted at the hinges but clearly still guarded.

Two bulky men stood at the compound gate — dressed in dark jackets, shoulders stiff, eyes scanning lazily. One of them leaned against the wall, sipping tea from a plastic cup. The other was toying with his phone.

Miles approached with a calm gait, hands in the pockets of his track jacket. He stopped just a few feet away.

"Who are you?" the man with the cup said, glancing at him over the rim.

The other straightened up, eyeing Miles’s lean figure.

"No entry here, kid. Go run somewhere else."

Miles didn’t answer. His eyes flicked from one man to the other — calm, calculating.

Then everything happened at once.

His foot slid forward like lightning, hitting the tea cup right out of the man’s hand. Boiling liquid flew, the man howled. Before the second could even reach for his holstered baton, Miles was already behind him, twisting his arm in one smooth motion and slamming him back against the gate — the impact rattled the compound like a drum.

Inside, the morning was less peaceful.

The interior of Building A-12 was crude — concrete walls, old construction lights, wires hanging exposed. In a dimly lit room upstairs, a man in his late thirties sat at a long wooden table. Dressed in an expensive satin robe, dark hair slicked back, and a sharp stubble tracing his jaw, he looked more like a nightclub tycoon than a thug. But there was danger in his eyes — cold calculation, the kind honed over years of dirty business.

His name was Kraven Thorne — a local syndicate branch head known for operating under many faces. Today, he sat swirling a fork into his scrambled eggs, face unreadable.

Before him stood six men — bandaged, bruised, some with blood still dried on their brows from the previous night.

"I sent you," Kraven said, softly, "to scare a boy."

Silence.

"One boy."

The tallest man in front tried to speak, wincing. "Boss... he wasn’t ordinary. He was trained. Military, maybe—"

"Then what the hell are you?" Kraven roared, slamming his hand against the table. "Bodybuilders with brains of fish?! You had numbers, you had strength — and he sent you running home like whipped dogs?"

Nobody dared answer.

Kraven stood now, slowly putting down his fork.

"You shamed me last night. You shamed all of us. A damaged car and broken pride. I should break your legs and throw you out the window."

Just as the words left his mouth—

CRACK!

The heavy steel door of the room blasted open. A deafening crash echoed as the two guards from outside were hurled in like ragdolls — hitting the ground with a groan and tumbling across the floor like bowling pins.

Dust settled. The doorway stood empty for a breathless second.

Then, Miles stepped in — calm, focused, like a shadow cutting through smoke.

Kraven’s eyes narrowed, fork halfway to his mouth again.

The air turned still.

He wasn’t expecting death to come wearing running shoes.

Kraven stood frozen, his fingers stiff around the edge of the table as Miles walked in like a storm held in a human form. The room, heavy with stale air and leftover anger, shifted around his presence. The men from last night — now just broken bodies in bruised skin — flinched as they saw him again. Some instinctively took a step back, their minds still haunted by the chaos he had unleashed less than 12 hours ago.

Miles didn’t speak at first. He simply scanned the room with cold, steady eyes — reading the formation, the exits, the tension. Then, without hesitation, he walked directly toward the end of the room.

Every man parted like a curtain before him.

He stopped just across the table from Kraven.

"You’re their boss, aren’t you?" Miles asked, voice low, firm, and without emotion.

Kraven straightened slowly, trying to maintain a façade of control. "How... did you find this place?"

Miles tilted his head, almost as if he was disappointed. "Did you think hiring a bunch of amateur gym geeks, with no real-life fighting experience, would make you some kind of secret underground group?"

Kraven’s jaw clenched.

One of the men standing behind him — bruised but overconfident — must’ve thought Miles was bluffing. With a yell, he lunged forward, charging at Miles.

It was a mistake.

In a blink, Miles twisted at the waist and delivered a palm-strike to the man’s chest. A hollow thump echoed. The attacker dropped to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut — completely unconscious.

Kraven’s eyes widened. He instinctively stepped back, his face now pale, every trace of bravado fading.

Miles turned his gaze back to him — calm, yet deadly.

"I’ll get to the point," he said, voice dropping further. "I need a name. Who hired you? If you lie, I’ll paint this building red. Don’t test me."

Kraven hesitated — not out of defiance, but fear. His hand trembled slightly at his side. Sweat collected at his temples.

"It... it was Alaric Nile," he confessed, voice cracking. "He gave us the money... said he wanted to scare you out of the city. Just a show of power, that’s all."

Miles’s lips curled into a slow, amused smile. "They really don’t learn, do they?"

With that, he turned his back to Kraven and walked slowly toward the door. The tension in the room lifted just slightly — like prey sensing the predator had looked away.

But before stepping through the threshold, Miles stopped.

His voice echoed into the silence without looking back.

"Next time you see me—just look down and walk away."

Then he stepped outside, disappearing into the light, leaving behind nothing but silence and the lingering fear in their bones.

After leaving Kraven’s hideout, Miles strolled calmly through the city streets. The tension from earlier still lingered faintly in his muscles, but his face was composed. At a quiet corner near the residential block, he stopped at a grocery store.

A small handwritten list, neatly folded in his pocket, had the names of ingredients Elena had asked for—extra butter, fresh herbs, and a particular brand of sauce she liked. Today’s dinner was special—Jess was coming.

He picked everything carefully, then loaded the bags into the car’s trunk before heading home.

Back at the Keller residence, the morning sunlight poured into the dining area. The breakfast table was lively as always.

Hope and Asher were eating energetically, cereal milk sloshing in their bowls as they competed on who could finish first. Daniel sat beside them, stirring his coffee with a relaxed smile.

Miles walked in and placed the grocery bags on the kitchen counter.

"Mom," he said, stepping into the dining area, "today will be a lot of work for you. Please let me know—I’ll help however I can."

Elena turned from the sink, wiping her hands on a towel. She smiled warmly at him.

"Don’t worry, son. I’ll manage."

Daniel chimed in from behind his newspaper. "Right. I’m only sitting around doing nothing—I’ll help her too. You focus on the guest."

"I’ll help Mama too!" Hope announced with crumbs on her cheek. Asher nodded solemnly beside her, as if taking on a heroic mission.

Elena laughed softly, placing a hand on Hope’s head. "Okay, okay. I’ll let you all know if I need anything."

Just then, Miles’s phone buzzed. He checked the screen and picked up.

"Good morning, boss," came June’s voice on the other end—cheerful, composed.

"Good morning, June. You slept well?" Miles asked, making his way to the living room window.

"Yes, boss. Very well, thank you."

She paused briefly, then added, "I just wanted to let you know—the flight will land in the afternoon. I’ll personally pick Jess up from the airport."

"Perfect," Miles said. "Arrange the accommodation for her—if you need anything, contact Monica. And bring her to the house this evening. You’re coming too."

"Of course, boss."

"See you both tonight," he replied.

The call ended, and Miles stood for a moment, watching the clear blue sky.

After ending the call with June, Miles leaned back on the sofa, gazing briefly at the ceiling fan spinning gently above. The house was warm, the twins were now running to their room, and the morning felt alive with a kind of calm anticipation.

He dialed another number from memory.

The call rang once before a familiar, sleepy voice answered.

"Good morning, Miles..." Celina’s voice came through, soft and slightly groggy. "Mmm... why are you up so early?"

Miles chuckled. "Still in bed?"

A muffled groan came from the other end. "Come on—it’s Sunday. I’m not on a military schedule like you."

"Well," Miles replied playfully, "like I said on Friday—Jess is coming over tonight. You didn’t forget, did you?"

There was a pause. Then the sound of blankets rustling and a small gasp.

"Oh no—I didn’t forget, how could I?! I’ll have to decide what to wear, how to get there, what to say... ugh—don’t talk to me, I need a checklist."

Miles laughed. "You don’t need to stress. Just come like you normally do. It’s not some big gala or a red carpet event—it’s just dinner with the family."

Celina teased back, her voice a little more awake now. "Says the man who’s probably the richest person in Star Harbor, and yet acts like he’s the most casual guy in the room."

"Do I need to come pick you up?" Miles offered smoothly. "Or will Her Highness grace us with her own arrival?"

Celina huffed playfully. "I’ll come myself, don’t worry. I’ll probably be there a little early if that’s okay?"

Miles smiled. "Of course. We’ll be happy to have you."

"Okay then," she replied, her tone a touch warmer now. "See you tonight, Miles."

He ended the call and placed the phone on the table. The living room echoed faintly with cartoons from the twins’ room, and the aroma of something freshly baked began to waft again from the kitchen.

Tonight, the house would feel just a little more complete.