Leo's father, Ricardo, lowered his head in shame.
"One hundred seventy-nine dollars," Maria Valentino, Leo's mother, answered in his place.
Leo quietly sighed in relief. It was much less than he feared.
The family had little savings, two younger children to raise, and rent to pay. That they only owed $179 after two months with no income was a testament to Ricardo and Maria's frugality—especially in a wartime economy with high prices and scarce supplies.
Leo pulled a small bundle of Franklins from the inner pocket of his uniform and placed it on the table.
"This is $200—for living expenses while I'm home."
He called it "living expenses" to avoid embarrassing Ricardo, whose head was already nearly buried in his lap.
Leo had money. Four years of war and three years as a field reporter had allowed him to save $6,300.
Originally, that was meant to be his launch fund in New York. Now, it would serve as seed money for building something from scratch in this small town.
In America, it was common for the eldest son to contribute financially. Whether out of logic or a growing sense of responsibility, Leo knew this was the right thing to do.
Sudden maturity takes time for parents to process. Leo, having lived through it once already in his past life, decided to give them time to adjust.
"I'm going to rest now," he said, rising.
Ricardo and Maria stood up as well. Maria, unable to resist the instinct of a mother reunited with her son after four years, reached to embrace him.
Leo instinctively wanted to step back—but suddenly, he lost control of his body.
His arms responded before his mind could. He embraced Maria tightly.
Tears flowed uncontrollably. His mouth moved without his permission:
"I'm sorry, Mom."
The moment the words escaped, Leo felt control return to his body. But a sharp, stabbing pain pierced his brain.
Ignoring his stunned parents, Leo stumbled to his room and collapsed onto his bed.
He dreamed. Long, vivid dreams.
Sometimes he was Li Ao, a Chinese man. Sometimes he was Leo Valentino, an Italian-American.
One moment he was in a small northern Chinese town, attending elementary school. The next, he was sprinting freely across the fields of Lynchburg, Virginia.
Somewhere in that dream, a voice whispered, "Thank you."
Sunlight streamed through the window, waking Leo.
He stretched and immediately noticed something was different.
"Huh?"
Another stretch. He felt incredible—better than ever before. It was as if some lingering weight had been lifted, and something else—some vital force—had been added.
He felt stronger. His thoughts sharper. And most of all, he could no longer sense a trace of PTSD.
Psychological wounds were difficult to define, but he could tell—something inside him, something dark and heavy, was just... gone.
And with that realization came another.
Perhaps the original Leo—the kind-hearted soldier—had already died on Midway Island.
Maybe his lingering obsession with returning home had kept him tethered. But last night, that wish was fulfilled. He left, taking the PTSD with him, and left behind his memories and emotions.
Now, there was only Leo. There was no longer a need to "switch" between identities. The soul had fused.
Staring into the mirror, Leo whispered:
"Rest in peace, Leo. We'll live a great life."
Knock, knock, knock.
He peeked out the window. Ricardo was repairing the house.
Clearly, with some money in hand, he had immediately gotten to work. The house really was on the verge of collapse.
Leo decided to get dressed and join him.
Opening the wardrobe, he found neatly folded, freshly laundered clothes—even if they were old. That was Maria's doing. Four years apart, and it was as if he'd never left. That's what being a mom meant.
He put on a blue canvas shirt, jeans, and military boots. From a hardened special ops major, he once again became a young man from a small town.
He paused, staring at his neatly folded uniform.
He sighed. He had no nostalgia for the U.S. military. What he mourned were the four unforgettable years—and the fallen comrades.
Of course, the war had left more than just memories.
He took out his old suitcase, placing it on the bed. His fingers found a worn seam, poorly stitched.
This kind of battered luggage was common among veterans, patched and reused countless times.
Leo stroked the scuffed leather—only he knew that beneath it lay thirty pounds of evenly spread gold leaf.
Spoils of war.
In truth, he'd collected far more. On Guadalcanal, he had buried four hundred pounds of gold in a secret location.
But carrying that much would've drawn attention.
He slid the suitcase to the bottom of the wardrobe, covered it with clothes, and closed the door with care.
That was his real startup fund.
Downstairs, the house was quiet. Maria was out, and his siblings had gone to school.
Outside, Leo picked up tools and joined Ricardo in repairing the house.
Neither said a word.
Leo could feel his father's sideways glances but didn't offer any warmth in return. Their relationship had never been especially close. Too much change too quickly would only make things awkward. Better to take it slow.
In his past life, Leo didn't know the first thing about home repair. But in this life—between childhood and battlefield construction—he had mastered the skill.
This was part of his confidence in entering real estate.
"Thank you, Leo."
He knew Ricardo wasn't talking about the repairs—but about the $200.
"It's what I should do, Dad."
As soon as the word "Dad" left his mouth, Leo internally cursed.
"Crap... The old Leo hadn't called him that since he was fifteen."
Just as the silence began to grow heavy, a familiar voice called from the street:
"Leo!"
He turned. It was Desmond, and three others followed behind.
As soon as their eyes met Leo's, all three straightened their backs, snapped their heels together, and saluted.
"Respect, sir!" they shouted in unison.
Ricardo stood stunned. In those young men's eyes, he saw something he'd never seen before—respect. Admiration.
Since Leo's return, he'd seemed different. Quiet at the dinner table. Talking about college. Giving money to the family.
Clearly, the war had changed him.
"This isn't the military anymore. We're civilians now. Drop the salute—just call me Leo."
He embraced each of them warmly. These were his brothers in arms—men from his special ops unit. They had faced death together.
"Come on," Leo said with a grin. "My treat. Let's catch up properly."