First of all, this is the first book I have written, so there are mistakes in the book. Ithink the idea is good, but I will not be able to implement it alone because I am busy with work and university. Therefore, I hope to help you with any ideas you may have, dear reader. If you want to support me, you can support me on Patreon. There are no features currently, but if I find support, I will add features.
If I find support, I will publish 3 chapters per week.
My patreon: http://patreon.com/Wintersbard
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sat in the office chair, staring at the wall clock. Its hands moved steadily—nothing could stop their relentless pace. Each tick marked the approach of my fate. This was my third sunset, trapped with my followers, who were falling one after another.
Not for a single moment did I feel fear or regret. The siege and the wounds didn't terrify me, but I couldn't deny the fear of death—not death itself, but the unknown that lay beyond.
The sound of the door opening echoed, and I turned to see my right-hand man, Pablo, enter. His arm was drenched in blood, his breathing labored, and exhaustion etched across his face. He looked at me with a gaze that said everything.
"Boss… we can't hold on much longer. Most of the brothers are gone, and we're almost out of ammunition…"
He paused, and I knew what he was about to say.
"Why don't we surrender, Boss?"
I smiled at him calmly.
Surrender is not for us, Pablo, and we do not have that choice.
He looked at me, knowing full well this was the truth.
"Boss… if we could turn back time, would we do the same? Would we still choose this life?"
I studied his face for a moment before replying quietly,
"Not exactly what we did… but yes, we'd choose this path. We had no other options."
I gestured for him to leave, then began preparing my weapon. My hand rested on the grenade, set to detonate automatically thirty seconds after pressing the button.
The last gunshots rang out, and silence filled the building. Footsteps approached the office. As soon as I heard them, I pressed the button.
At that moment, the door burst open, and gunfire erupted toward me before I could react. I sat at my desk, watching the special forces storm the room—and then I saw him… David.
"Hello, Marco… I didn't expect it to end like this, my friend."
His voice was calm, laced with a false sense of regret.
"Even though you turned to crime after high school, you're still my friend, aren't you? I was wrong—I should've stopped you. The guilt eats at me every day, but you've hurt too many civilians… we can't let you go. Why didn't you surrender? We could've spared your life."
I looked at him with disdain.
"Enough, David. Stop pretending. There's no need for this act in front of your men, is there?"
A flicker of pain crossed his eyes before he masked it.
"You're still sharp-tongued, even in your final moments… but it's fine. I understand."
I glanced at the clock—twenty seconds left.
I turned to him with a mocking smile.
"We're going to hell together, my friend."
He froze for a moment, then realization hit. He turned to his men and shouted,
"Move! There's a bomb here! Evacuate now!"
They scrambled to flee, and as I watched, I burst into laughter.
"Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha!"
My laughter was abruptly cut off. My eyes snapped open, and I looked around in shock. Where was I? This wasn't my office. This wasn't the dark room under siege.
The room was vast and opulent, its walls adorned with intricate artwork, its furniture crafted from the finest wood, carved with masterful precision. Everything here exuded wealth.
I tried to sit up slowly, my head spinning from dizziness, but as I did, strange memories flooded my mind—images, events, and names I had never known before.
Marco Stratos… Bravos… The Golden Bank… Debts…
Everything began to fall into place. It seemed… I hadn't died. Or rather, I was no longer the man known as Marco, the trapped gang leader.
I had become Marco Stratos, the heir of a noble family from Bravos—a family that was once powerful and prosperous but had been in decline for seventy years, ever since my great-grandfather led it.
The decline wasn't sudden, but it was undeniable. A rift within the family after my great-grandfather's death led to its gradual weakening. Then came my grandfather, a cautious and timid leader—he wasn't strong enough to restore the family's former glory, but he also didn't allow its complete collapse.
The final blow, however, came from this body's father—a reckless man who made poor deals, a gambler with no luck, unable to protect his ancestors' legacy. The result was catastrophic: massive debts and a bleak future.
I felt the bitterness of the situation, but I wasn't afraid. I had been in worse situations before. At least now, I was the leader of this family, with the power to make decisions.
But with power came responsibility—and responsibility meant difficult choices lay ahead.
I stood up and walked to the mirror, studying my new reflection.
Thick black hair, a slim yet sturdy build, cold gray eyes, and a handsome face with a hint of stubble. I looked about seventeen or eighteen years old.
As I examined my new face, a knock on the door interrupted