Chapter 450: Retired life!!!

Hope looked away.

Miles noticed it immediately.

Not because she said anything.

Not because her expression suddenly changed too much.

But because she stopped looking at him.

His eyes returned to her wrist.

"What’s wrong?"

Hope quickly pulled her sleeve down a little more.

"Nothing."

Miles didn’t press immediately.

He kept his attention on the road.

Then asked,

"How did your bicycle break?"

Hope hesitated.

Miles continued,

"Did you fall?"

His eyes shifted toward her again.

"Is that how you got the bruise?"

Hope blinked.

Then nodded quickly.

"Ahh..."

"Yes."

She forced a small smile.

"Right."

"I lost balance."

Miles remained silent for a moment.

Something in the answer didn’t feel right.

But he didn’t challenge her.

Not yet.

He sighed.

"You good?"

Hope nodded.

"Yes."

"Do we need to go to the hospital?"

Her reaction came too quickly.

"No."

She immediately shook her head.

"No hospital."

Miles looked toward her.

Hope realized how fast she had answered.

Then softened her voice.

"It’s just a minor bruise."

"It’ll heal."

"I’ll put some ointment on it when I get home."

Miles nodded slowly.

"Alright."

He didn’t sound convinced.

But he let it go.

The car continued through the quieter streets.

Miles looked toward her again after a while.

"So..."

"Which school do you go to?"

Hope seemed relieved by the change of subject.

"Sea Side High School."

Miles immediately recognized the name.

"Woah."

Hope looked toward him.

Miles smiled.

"That’s a great school."

Then added,

"Who said you’re not rich?"

Hope laughed awkwardly.

"I’m not."

Miles raised an eyebrow.

Hope continued,

"Dad can still afford the fees."

"He has his businesses."

Miles nodded.

"Good."

Hope suddenly looked toward the road ahead.

"Take the right."

Miles turned.

"Here?"

"Yes."

He followed the road.

After another short stretch, Hope pointed ahead.

"You can stop there."

Miles looked toward her.

"How far is your house?"

"Just a few steps."

Miles slowed the car.

Hope smiled awkwardly.

"My mom doesn’t really like seeing me with strangers."

Miles looked toward her.

Hope immediately realized what she’d said.

"Oh."

She quickly waved her hands.

"Sorry."

"I didn’t mean you."

Miles chuckled.

"No."

"She’s right."

Hope looked at him.

Miles continued,

"She should be careful."

"Especially when you’re coming home this late."

He pulled over.

Hope opened the door.

Before she stepped out, Miles said,

"Take care."

She turned.

"And make sure you treat the bruise."

Hope nodded.

Miles looked at her wrist again.

"Or any other wounds."

There was a tiny pause.

Hope’s fingers tightened around her sleeve.

Then she smiled.

"Okay."

She stepped out.

"Thank you, Brother."

Miles smiled.

"Good night."

"Good night."

Hope closed the door.

Miles drove away.

But after moving several meters...

His eyes shifted toward the rearview mirror.

Hope was still standing near the road.

Watching the car leave.

Then she turned and walked into the darker residential lane.

Miles’ smile disappeared.

Something was wrong.

He could feel it.

Not necessarily something dramatic.

Not necessarily dangerous.

But something.

The bruise.

The immediate refusal to go to a hospital.

The way she had looked away.

The way she had pulled her sleeve down.

Miles’ fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel.

Then his phone rang.

The car system connected automatically.

Chloe.

Miles answered.

"Hello?"

Her voice came immediately.

"Where are you, Mr. Sterling?"

Miles smiled.

"On the way."

Chloe sounded unimpressed.

"Do you not want to sleep tonight?"

Miles laughed.

"I was dropping someone home."

A pause.

"Who?"

"Hope."

Chloe immediately became quiet.

Miles continued,

"The girl from the convenience store."

"The one who helped me pick the candies."

"Oh."

"I saw her walking alone."

"It was already dark."

Chloe sighed.

"Mr. Sterling..."

Miles smiled.

"Yes?"

"Your wife is waiting too, you know."

Miles laughed softly.

"Sorry."

"I’m nearby."

"I’ll be home in a few minutes."

Chloe made a small dissatisfied sound.

"Hnmmph."

Miles could almost picture her expression.

Then she asked,

"She reached home?"

Miles looked toward the road.

"Yes."

"Good."

Another pause.

Then Chloe’s voice softened.

"Now come back quickly."

Miles smiled.

"Why?"

"I didn’t get to spend any time with you today."

Miles’ smile became warmer.

"Yes, yes."

He lowered his voice.

"Dear wife."

Chloe chuckled.

"Waiting."

The call ended.

Miles looked at the road ahead.

The city lights stretched across the windshield.

And somehow...

The thought came naturally.

So...

How does the life of a retired mercenary feel?

Did I actually manage to retire?

Not really.

Not completely.

Maybe retirement doesn’t work like that for someone like me.

Maybe you don’t simply step out of one life and enter another.

Maybe the background changes first.

The character remains the same.

Same instincts.

Same habits.

Same reflexes.

Same scars.

Same memories.

Only the people around you change.

In the past...

There were people who cared about me.

Not many.

But some did.

And honestly...

Back then...

It didn’t matter much to me.

Survival mattered.

The mission mattered.

The next target.

That was enough.

Now...

More people care.

And somehow...

That makes everything matter more.

The past.

The present.

The future.

Everything.

In the past...

My clarity came from what I learned.

What I saw.

What I heard.

What I observed.

What other people taught me.

What experience forced into me.

Now...

I have more clarity about my own thoughts.

My own feelings.

Things I never had time to understand before.

Things I probably never wanted to understand.

...

Chloe rushed toward him.

"I missed you."

Miles smiled.

He barely had time to react before she wrapped her arms around him.

His own arms moved around her naturally.

"I missed you too."

Chloe pulled back slightly.

"You know what happened in the office today?"

Miles smiled.

That tone.

He knew it.

Once she started...

There would be a full story.

He let her pull him toward the bed.

"Tell me."

She immediately started.

And Miles listened.

...

I used to stay awake through the night.

Analyzing reports.

Monitoring cameras.

Checking maps.

Listening to radio traffic.

Waiting for movement.

Sometimes fighting in the field.

Sometimes returning from a mission covered in bruises and cuts.

Sometimes applying medicine to my own wounds.

Alone.

That part mattered.

Alone.

In my old profession...

You didn’t always trust another person’s medicine.

A syringe could hold poison.

A sedative could destroy your reflexes.

Painkillers could slow your senses.

And when your survival depended on hearing the smallest movement...

Feeling the slightest shift...

You didn’t willingly numb yourself.

You learned to stitch.

Clean.

Wrap.

Disinfect.

Endure.

Alone.

But now...

I spend nights listening to my wife talk about her day.

And sharing mine.

Not like a report.

Not like something I have to submit to a base.

Not like someone waiting to judge whether I made the correct call.

Just...

Talking.

She asks small things.

What I ate.

Where I went.

Who annoyed me.

Who made me laugh.

She tells me about some employee who said something funny.

A design she liked.

Something Monica did.

Something Mom said.

And sometimes...

She traces the old scars on my skin with her fingers.

Even though they are years old.

They don’t hurt anymore.

But she still looks at them as if they do.

Sometimes she gently blows over them.

As if that could somehow take the pain away.

And somehow...

I never stop her.

Because I can see something in her eyes.

Pain.

Not mine.

Hers.

For something that happened to me long before she became part of my life.

In the past...

Nights could be cold.

Real cold.

Snow everywhere.

Wind hitting your face until your skin felt numb.

I had seen soldiers sleeping with their weapons held against their bodies.

Tight.

Keeping them close.

Making sure they worked the next day.

Sometimes that weapon was the only thing a man trusted.

The only thing between him and death.

The only warmth he understood.

Now...

When Chloe closes her eyes...

I adjust the blanket over her.

Move closer.

Wrap my arm around her.

Sometimes...

I gently kiss her forehead.

Miles looked down.

Chloe had already fallen asleep beside him.

Her breathing was slow.

Peaceful.

One strand of hair rested across her cheek.

Miles gently moved it aside.

Then pulled the blanket slightly higher.

He leaned closer.

"Sweet dreams."

...

Mornings are kind of similar.

I still wake up early.

Still run faster than most people around me.

Still work out.

Still sweat a lot.

Some habits don’t leave.

Talking about sweat...

No one really complained in the past.

Sweat smelled like the air in the base.

Everyone had it.

Training.

Running.

Fighting.

Heavy gear.

Heat.

Dust.

Nobody cared.

Now...

I have to be careful.

Because my little sister might complain.

And somehow...

The possibility of Hope saying I smell bad feels more dangerous than most missions.

Father says I should drink more water.

Apparently it helps with the smell.

Funny.

No one gave me that simple advice my entire life.

And it actually works.

In the past...

Most advice came like an order.

"Drink."

"Move."

"Sleep."

"Reload."

"Run."

"Don’t look back."

"Stay alive."

Now...

Advice sounds different.

It’s care.

Love.

Concern.

...

Miles returned from his morning run.

His shirt was slightly damp with sweat.

Daniel looked up from his couch. .

"You are back?"

Miles nodded.

"Yeah."

Daniel lifted a shaker.

"I made you a protein shake."

Miles stopped.

"For me?"

Daniel looked confused.

"Who else?"

Miles smiled.

Daniel handed it over.

"Drink it before you go shower."

Miles accepted it.

"Thanks, Father."

Daniel nodded.

"Don’t take too long."

Miles looked toward the stairs.

"I won’t."

...

I miss the open showers at the base sometimes.

Not because they were comfortable.

They weren’t.

But they were simple.

No one cared.

You showered.

Changed.

Left.

Privacy was a luxury nobody really thought about.

Personal space was whatever distance another soldier couldn’t punch you from.

Now...

I have learned quite a lot about privacy.

And personal space.

Something I admire every time.

Most of the time.

...

He stopped near the bathroom.

The door was closed.

He stared at it.

Then knocked.

Silence.

He knocked again.

From inside...

Chloe’s voice came.

"Is it an emergency, husband?"

Miles raised an eyebrow.

"I’ve never seen you knock on a bathroom door before."

Miles stared at the door.

Then Chloe added,

"Or..."

Her voice became playful.

"...do you want to join me?"

Miles closed his eyes.

"Chloe."

She laughed from inside.

Miles continued,

"I heard the shower stop a long time ago."

No answer.

"Are you using your phone inside?"

Silence.

Miles narrowed his eyes.

"Chloe?"

The door slowly opened.

Chloe stood there.

Hair wet.

Towel around her shoulders.

Phone in hand.

And a smile on her face.

Miles stared.

Chloe raised the phone slightly.

"Skills."

Miles sighed.

"Hnmm."

Chloe smiled innocently.

Miles looked at her hair.

"You have this weird habit."

"What?"

"Dry your hair first."

Chloe looked toward her phone.

"But I was checking something."

Miles took the phone from her hand.

"What?"

"Today’s Launchpad schedule."

Miles sighed again.

Chloe smiled sweetly.

Then handed him the hair dryer.

"Please help me, Mr. Husband."

Miles looked at her.

She smiled wider.

Miles shook his head.

"Sure."

Chloe immediately sat down happily.

Miles plugged the dryer in.

Then began drying her hair.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Chloe kept talking while he worked.

About the Foundation.

The Launchpad.

Miles listened.

...

Yeah.

I like this too.

Her hair is really good.

Soft.

Smooth.

She noticed mine too.

Then bought me an expensive shampoo.

I didn’t even know shampoos could have that many categories before marriage.

Apparently they can.

...

Breakfast is different too.

No bland meals.

No eating only because the body needs protein.

I do miss my seniors sometimes.

The way they’d tap my shoulder with those ridiculous bulky arms.

Then sit beside me with a protein bar or some packaged food.

And somehow call that breakfast.

But...

I like this too.

Pearl Villa had enough staff to cook for everyone.

More than enough.

Yet somehow...

Mom still liked preparing things herself.

Especially breakfast.

Sometimes it felt like she had been saving plates for me for seventeen years.

And now...

She was determined to fill all of them at once.

Miles looked toward the dining table.

There were too many dishes again.

Far too many.

He smiled.

Thankfully...

I have siblings now.

They help.

A lot.

Mostly by eating everything.

I was always the youngest in my old life.

Always being taught.

Guided.

Corrected.

Trained.

Sometimes thrown into impossible situations because someone older believed I could handle them.

Now...

I have two siblings much younger than me.

And somehow...

Being the oldest feels much harder.

Asher looked toward the hallway.

"Big Bro."

Miles looked at him.

"Hmm?"

"When will Big Bro Nick wake up?"

Miles took a bite of breakfast.

"Probably late."

"Why?"

"He stayed up streaming games."

Asher frowned seriously.

"Again?"

Miles nodded.

"Again."

Asher sighed.

"He has a bad habit."

Miles chuckled.

"Yes."

"Don’t be like him."

Asher nodded immediately.

"I wanna be like you Big Bro."

Miles stopped.

Asher smiled.

Hope immediately added,

"Me too."

Miles looked toward both of them.

For a second...

He had no response.

Then he smiled.

In the past...

I had been an inspiration to soldiers.

To comrades.

People wanted to learn how I moved.

How I planned.

How I fought.

Some things...

I suppose...

Haven’t changed.

Only the people looking at me have.

...

And one thing definitely hasn’t changed.

Monica.

People might think our relationship changed after we found out we were cousins.

Honestly...

I never needed that revelation.

I always thought of her as an older sister anyway.

Someone who covered my mistakes.

Someone who helped clean up my messes.

Someone who knew when I was lying.

Someone who could read my expressions before I even said anything.

Someone who could complain about me for ten minutes...

Then still help me anyway.

That didn’t change.

And probably never would.

...

Elena placed another plate on the table.

Then looked toward Miles.

"So..."

"What are you doing today, son?"

Miles was about to answer.

Then looked toward Monica.

She was sitting nearby.

Already watching him.

Miles smiled.

Monica returned the smile.

The same smile.

The one that meant she knew.

Elena noticed.

She looked between them.

"What is it?"

Miles looked back toward his mother.

Then smiled casually.

"It’s the same, Mom."

Elena raised an eyebrow.

"Same what?"

Miles leaned back.

"Back to business."

He looked toward Monica once more.

"Like I’ve been doing for years."

Elena sighed.

Then looked around the table.

"Just don’t overwork."

Her eyes moved toward Miles.

Then Monica.

Then everyone else.

"Everyone."

Somehow my retired life is same but has more colors now..