CHAPTER 94: HAPPY HOME!!!

The afternoon sun hung low, warm light spilling over the glass walls of Star Central Mall. Security guards at the exit straightened and nodded respectfully.

"Good afternoon, boss," they said as Miles stepped out, Dion following close behind.

Outside, the air smelled faintly of asphalt and fried food from the nearby stalls. A black sedan purred at the curb, waiting with the rear door already open.

Dion had traded his weathered bike jacket for clean, well-fitted clothes. The change did nothing to hide the restlessness in his movements.

Miles walked straight to the driver’s side. "I’ll take the wheel this time."

Dion hesitated before climbing into the passenger seat, his voice carrying a note of unease. "So... where are we going now?"

Miles glanced at him, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smile. "Your heart’s beating fast, isn’t it? Hold on tight. I’ll drive fast. We’ve got a little way to go."

Dion’s eyes narrowed. "She’s not in Star Harbor?"

"Not exactly," Miles replied, pulling the car into motion. "But close enough. We’re going to Silverwood."

The name struck something deep in Dion, a pull from years gone by. "Silverwood... you mean Silverwood Town?"

Miles caught the shift in his tone and smiled faintly. "What, remembering something?"

Dion’s gaze drifted toward the window, watching the city blur by. "Yeah. That’s where I grew up for a bit. With her. In the orphanage there."

"It’s a beautiful place," Miles said softly. "A peaceful little town."

The car rolled away from the city, the skyline fading into open roads and long stretches of green.

Dion’s voice grew quieter, almost thoughtful. "Looking back... all the way up to today... I think about how far we’ve come."

Miles shot him a sidelong glance. "Being emotional already? We’ve still got a long way to live."

Dion exhaled slowly, his hands resting on his knees. "I just wonder how the hell we survived it all. Thrown into this world alone. Picked up by the orphanage. Kidnapped by traffickers. Saved by Graveyard. I was lost... then you pulled me out again. Over and over. And somehow... we’re still breathing."

His eyes turned to Miles. "You remember that yacht? You saved us at the very last moment. I remember the explosion. You vanished in it. Months passed and we thought you were gone for good. Then, like some ghost, you came back."

The road curved into a stretch of shadow beneath tall trees.

"How did you even make it out of the ocean?" Dion asked.

Miles gave a short laugh. "You’re starting to sound like Commander Ray. Giving me life lessons and looking for answers."

Dion waited, but the reply came without weight. "It’s a big secret... but I just swam toward the shore."

Dion’s brows knitted. "Bullshit. Even with the boat, it took us an hour to reach land."

Miles’ grin deepened, eyes on the road. "What can I say? Nature’s powerful."

"Yeah, yeah," Dion muttered. "I know a long story when I hear one."

They passed a weathered sign half-hidden by ivy.

Miles nodded toward it. "We’re almost there. You remember the place?"

Silverwood Town lay bathed in the warm gold of the late afternoon sun, its cobblestone streets quiet except for the occasional rustle of leaves. The car slowed, tires crunching over gravel, and rolled to a stop in front of an old church-like building. Its stone walls caught the light in soft tones, and the arched windows reflected the open sky.

The wrought iron gate bore a sign in cheerful painted letters—The Daisy’s Happy Home.

Dion stepped out first, his boots touching the familiar ground. He stood before the gate, his eyes lingering on the building. The old orphanage he remembered—once faded, worn, and silent—now had flower pots on the windowsills and a fresh coat of white paint. There was laughter somewhere inside. The air felt lighter.

He exhaled slowly, a quiet tide of nostalgia washing over him.

Miles moved to the back of the car and lifted the boot. The faint scent of fresh paper and new fabric rose as he pulled out a large box filled with toys and books, the same ones they had picked out earlier at Star Central Mall.

Dion glanced at him, brow raised. "I thought you bought those for your siblings."

Miles closed the boot with a light thud, his expression calm. "Yes. I bought them for my siblings."

As they approached the gate, the front door of the building creaked open. A small face appeared at one of the windows. The child’s eyes widened, then a voice rang out, sharp with excitement.

"Big brother came!"

The words bounced down the hall, and the sound of quick footsteps followed. Dion and Miles paused just as a wave of little ones spilled out from the doorway, their voices rising in chorus.

"Big brother!"

They surrounded Miles in a whirl of tiny arms and bright smiles, tugging at his sleeves, clinging to his hands. Their laughter bubbled in the air.

Miles knelt slightly, meeting their eyes. "How are you all doing?"

Dion watched with a mix of surprise and curiosity. "I see you’ve got a lot of siblings."

Miles glanced back at him with a faint grin. "Let me introduce you. This is Big Brother Dion... you know about him, right?"

The children nodded vigorously, eyes wide. "Big Brother Dion, you’re finally here! Big Sister Flora is waiting for you!"

Before Dion could answer, a gentle but firm voice cut through the joyful noise. "Come on, kids, they just arrived. Give them some space."

An orphanage staff member stood at the doorway, hands on her hips, a fond smile tugging at her lips.

"Yes, Sister," the children replied in perfect unison before shuffling back, still sneaking curious glances at Dion.

The children slowly made their way back inside carrying the box Miles had given them, their small hands gripping the edges tightly. Some peeked into it with wide-eyed curiosity, spotting the colorful toys and neatly stacked books, while others hurried ahead, laughter trailing behind them as they disappeared into the hallway.

A staff member approached with a warm smile.

"Hello, Mr. Miles, Hello Mr. Dion, nice to finally meet you."

Dion gave a small smile.

"Hello, it seems everyone here knows me already."

Miles greeted her with familiarity.

"Hello, Elle, how you doing?"

Elle’s expression brightened even more.

"All good, sir. Since you started funding the orphanage and Miss Flora managing it, everything is great. I am very thankful, sir, for taking care of these children."

Miles shook his head lightly.

"You give me too much credit, Elle. You are the one who is actually taking care of the children."

Elle smiled, stepping aside.

"Sir, Miss Flora is waiting. You should come in."

Miles and Dion walked through the entrance of the orphanage. The interior was warm and bright, carrying the faint aroma of fresh bread and soap. Soft pastel-colored walls were decorated with hand-painted murals—fields of flowers, smiling suns, and tall trees with children playing beneath them. The corridor was lined with framed photographs from past events, each showing moments of laughter and celebration. The polished wooden floor reflected the afternoon sunlight streaming in through tall windows, and from somewhere deeper in the building came the sound of a piano playing a gentle tune, followed by bursts of giggles.

Dion slowed his steps, his eyes taking in every corner as if each detail pulled at a distant memory.

"So much has changed in these seventeen years."

Dion — "This piano tune... I know this."

His voice trembled as memories began to surface. "This is the music the old owner of this orphanage used to play."

Drawn by the melody, Dion slowly walked down the hallway, his footsteps light, almost hesitant. Miles noticed the shift in his expression, a small smile tugging at his lips, and simply let him go.

The sound grew clearer with each step. The faint resonance of the keys guided Dion through the dimly lit corridor until he reached a half-open door.

Peeking inside, his breath caught.

A woman sat at the piano, her fingers gracefully dancing over the keys. The familiar warmth of the tune wrapped around him like an old embrace.

A single tear slipped down his cheek. His lips quivered as he whispered—

"Flora."

To be continued.....

For Those who are wondering

Moonlight painted the black waves in red streaks as the luxury yacht—cut through the still waters. The night was quiet... until a sharp click echoed across the deck.

Yujii stood at the center, grinning like a wolf, a small black detonator dancing in his fingers.

Yujii shouted "Catch him."

The command cracked through the air like gunfire.

From the shadows, armed men surged forward—blades, chains, and pistols glinting under the yacht’s deck lights.

But Ghost—was already in motion.

A silver flash arced through the air—the katana—and the first man’s rifle clattered to the floor before he did. Ghost spun, steel singing, and the next attacker dropped with a gurgle, a crimson spray staining the teakwood floor.

Two more came at once—Miles stepped forward, slashing through one, twisting his wrist to parry a knife aimed at his neck. A quick backhand strike with the katana’s pommel shattered the attacker’s jaw.

The deck was now chaos—men screaming, blood pooling, the faint smell of gunpowder and seawater mixing in the air.

Yujii backed toward the railing, eyes darting for escape. He leapt for a small motorboat tied alongside the yacht—

—but a hand clamped around his collar, jerking him back.

Miles said in cold voice "Going somewhere?"

Yujii’s eyes widened. The detonator slipped from his trembling fingers, clattering against the railing.

Click.

A single press.

The next instant—

A thunderous explosion ripped the yacht apart. The deck split, flames burst upward, and a shockwave hurled Miles into the black sea. Heat, smoke, and fragments of burning wood rained down as the once-pristine yacht became a floating inferno.

The Next Morning

Miles awoke coughing, the taste of saltwater in his mouth. His clothes were torn, soaked, and caked with sand.

He sat up on the shore, blinking against the morning sun.

Before him stretched an island... but not the kind found on tourist maps.

Towering structures—half ruins, half skyscrapers—rose from the jungle. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys. Streets—actual streets—ran between weathered stone and steel buildings.

An island that looked like a city.

Miles’s eyes narrowed.

Miles (low, to himself): "Is this real"