Rebirth of a Mercenary: The Ace Mercenary Forced to Be the Beloved of the Group

007 suddenly opened his eyes.

He was breathing heavily, his fingers unconsciously clenching the fabric beneath him—soft, clean, and carrying the faint scent of laundry detergent. It wasn't the cold, rain-soaked ground, nor the sticky pool of blood.

bed.

He was lying on a bed.

he died.

He clearly remembered dying. The muzzle of 008's gun, the gunshot, the blood that exploded between his brows, and the last thing he saw before his consciousness faded: the night sky cut into a line by the rain.

But now he is alive.

007 raised his hand, wanting to touch his brow. The moment he raised his arm, he froze.

wrong.

This hand is wrong.

He stared at his hand, which was raised in mid-air. His fingers were long and slender, with distinct knuckles, and his skin was a healthy ivory white, without any scars or calluses.

This is not his hand.

Before he could even process what was happening, a sharp, intense pain suddenly exploded deep within his skull. It felt like someone was using a blunt knife to pry open his skull. Or like something was being forcefully shoved into his brain, straining so hard it felt like his skull was about to crack.

007 let out a muffled groan, clutching his head tightly with both hands and curling up. His teeth were clenched so hard they were grinding, veins bulged on his forehead, and cold sweat instantly soaked his back.

picture.

Countless images flooded his brain like shredded film reels.

A boy held the hand of an even younger boy as they walked down a street lined with sycamore trees. The younger one, about four or five years old, with black hair and large amber eyes, looked up and called out, "Brother!" Sunlight filtered through the sycamore leaves, shining brightly on the two boys.

Then the screen shattered.

The white hospital room reeked of disinfectant. Two beds stood side by side. White sheets covered the people on the beds, revealing only two pairs of cold feet. The boy stood in the doorway, not crying, but his knuckles were white as he gripped the doorframe. Behind him stretched a long, empty corridor, broken only by the buzzing of fluorescent lights.

A voice emerges from the screen.

"Bai Ye, from today onwards, your brother will take care of you."

The scene then changes.

The boy squatted on the ground tying his shoelaces.

"Brother, where are you going?"

"I'm going to buy groceries. You wait for me at home."

"Then come back quickly."

"Um."

Then came many, many scenes. Bai Chen taught Bai Ye to box, Bai Chen celebrated Bai Ye's birthday, Bai Chen carried the feverish Bai Ye and ran through the streets late at night, and Bai Chen put the last chicken leg into Bai Ye's bowl and said, "Brother doesn't like it."

Bai Chen appears in every scene.

until that day.

There was a knock on the door. Bai Ye went to open it, and two men in military uniforms stood outside. Bai Ye couldn't hear what they said, only that their lips were moving. Then one of the soldiers squatted down and said something in a very soft voice.

Bai Ye stood at the door, neither crying nor making a fuss, but her amber eyes gradually dimmed, just like they had been at the hospital ward door six years ago.

Bai Chen has disappeared. After carrying out a classified mission, he completely lost contact. He was nowhere to be found, neither alive nor dead. The military searched for three months before concluding that he was "missing and presumed dead."

Bai Ye didn't believe it.

He couldn't believe that the person who said "I'll take care of you from now on" would just disappear like that.

He went through everything Bai Chen had left behind, and found a training notebook, a tattered military badge, and a crumpled target paper with a line written on the back: "Wait for me to come back."

So Bai Ye decided to join the army.

He was a natural-born talent. He had a photographic memory; he could remember anything after seeing it only once, and his learning ability was astonishing. Tactical theory, terrain interpretation, and weapon disassembly—things that others needed to practice repeatedly, he could master immediately. The minimum age for enlistment was originally eighteen, but he was specially recruited.

Today is the day the new recruits report for duty.

The headache gradually subsided.

007—no, now he should be called Bai Ye—Bai Ye lay on the bed, drenched in cold sweat, as if he had just been pulled out of the water. He stared at the ceiling, his amber pupils churning with complex emotions.

Through.

He actually time-traveled.

In her past life, she died at the hands of her partner; in this life, she awakens in the body of a boy under seventeen.

Bai Ye slowly sat up.

Halfway through his action, his body suddenly swayed to the side, and he instinctively reached out to brace himself against the edge of the bed to avoid falling. Bai Ye looked down at his arm, then at his leg, and his lips twitched almost imperceptibly.

This body is too light.

It's not a matter of weight, it's a matter of strength.

In his previous life, his body had been honed into a precise killing machine by over a decade of intense combat training; the angle of every joint and the way every muscle exerted its power were etched into his bones. But this body—at sixteen years old—wasn't fully developed; its muscle mass was insufficient, its core strength was far from adequate, and its reaction speed couldn't keep up with its consciousness.

His consciousness gave the command to "sit up," and he tried to activate his muscles according to his physical data from his previous life. However, he exerted too much force and almost fell off the bed.

Bai Ye took a deep breath, readjusted his strength, and slowly and steadily sat up.

I need to readjust.

He stood barefoot on the floor, his legs momentarily buckling as he stood up, and he had to hold onto the bedside table to steady himself. Bai Ye stood there expressionlessly for a while, waiting for his body to adjust to its center of gravity, before letting go and walking step by step to the dressing mirror in the corner of the room.

A boy was reflected in the mirror.

Bai Ye looked at herself in the mirror, her pupils dilating slightly.

Black hair. Pure black hair, soft in texture, with a few unruly strands sticking up because she had just woken up. Her skin was very white, but not the pale white of someone who hadn't seen the sun in her previous life; rather, it was a natural, porcelain-like, cool white. Her features were unbelievably exquisite—the arch of her brow bone, the height of her nose, the lines of her jaw—every detail looked as if it had been meticulously sculpted with a chisel.

The most beautiful thing about her is her eyes.

Amber pupils, like solidified pine resin, or like honey pierced by sunlight. Long eyelashes cast a small fan-shaped shadow beneath her eyes.

This face, in the entertainment industry, could make a living off one's looks; on the battlefield—

Bai Ye's lips twitched.

"With a face like that, why don't you become an idol and instead want to join the army?"

His voice was that of a young boy, clear yet with a slight hoarseness from just waking up. When he spoke those words with that face, the boy in the mirror frowned slightly, his amber eyes filled with disappointment.

Bai Ye sighed.

Forget it.

If you're going to join the army, then join the army.

He raised his hand and slowly clenched his fist in front of the mirror. His knuckles tightened, the sensation in his palm both strange and real. This body was still young, still clean, its hands unstained by blood, its heart untouched by those sordid thoughts.

He took over someone else's body and came back to life.

In exchange—

"You want to help find your brother, right? Okay."