Certainly! Here's the rewritten passage with improved clarity, better structure, and a retained original meaning:
Unfortunately, the great devil will always remain the great devil. The prince killing the devil and leading the princess to live happily ever after—these things only happen in fairy tales.
Five minutes later, all 41 people lay sprawled on the open ground, groaning and awaiting medical attention. Any pride they had harbored was thoroughly shattered, thrown into oblivion.
"From tomorrow, everyone gets double training," Charlie Lee announced with a grim face before turning to leave. The group stood in silence, their heads bowed in shame. They felt they had failed their leader's expectations and the extensive efforts invested in their training.
However, in private, Charlie praised Wang Dagou. "The training results are promising, but they're still immature. Too much pride—these young ones need tempering."
Charlie paused, waiting for Wang Dagou's response, but instead found him looking back with a peculiar expression.
"What's with that look?" Charlie asked, glancing at himself. "Is there something wrong with me?"
"It's not about how you look," Wang Dagou replied, exasperated. "It's how you talk—don't sound so old-fashioned. Don't forget you're only seventeen!"
"…" Remembering his age, Charlie gave an awkward smile.
Maybe it was the influence of memories from his past life or his abnormal strength, but Charlie often overlooked his actual age, his personality carrying a maturity far beyond his years.
"I'll be leaving tomorrow. Hold the fort here," Charlie said, his tone grave. It was the first time he'd referred to their base as "home," and the word carried significant weight.
"Got it. Stay safe out there," Wang Dagou replied, though he worried. He wanted to persuade Charlie to take backup, but he knew it was futile.
Since the incident with Jack Chen, who Charlie had accidentally killed, his friend had grown increasingly inscrutable, developing an aura of mystery that was hard to decipher.
Yet, despite all that had happened, their lives had improved. At least now, they no longer feared hunger or constant danger—though that fragile peace could shatter in an instant.
"Charlie, I'm leaving."
Charlie turned to see Bergman standing in front of him, her figure blocking his path.
"Why are you leaving so suddenly?" Charlie asked, reluctant to see her go.
Over time, he had grown accustomed to Bergman's presence—her running around him every day, her nagging and chiding. He had even grown used to teasing her, watching her silently clench her teeth in frustration.
"All things come to an end, don't they?" Bergman said, her voice tinged with disappointment.
"Yeah… I guess so." Charlie took a deep breath and smiled. "Let me take you there."
Though Charlie was no fool, Bergman's feelings for him had long been clear. Still, his first reaction wasn't pride or joy—it was fear.
The security and comfort he felt around her left him unsettled. For someone like Charlie, love was an unattainable luxury.
He wasn't the amorous type, despite the many flirtations around him. For a former nobody like him, relationships had always been a far-off fantasy.
Now, faced with Bergman's genuine affection—a woman who was intelligent, cultured, and beautiful—Charlie balked. He couldn't give her the future she deserved, nor could he promise to be there for her. Every night, he went to bed unsure if he'd live to see the next sunrise.
During the taxi ride to the airport, Bergman tried several times to express her feelings, but Charlie skillfully diverted the conversation each time.
When they reached the airport, Bergman stepped out of the taxi, her eyes red with unspoken words. Finally, she shot Charlie a sad look, stomped her foot, and walked away.
Watching her retreating figure, Charlie's focus faltered briefly. He knew this might be the last time he'd ever see her.
Before he could fully process his emotions, something cold and hard pressed against his back. A low, menacing voice growled behind him: "Don't move. Do as I say."
Charlie smiled faintly, letting the stranger push him into a car nearby. Inside, another man raised a gun and motioned for Charlie to sit in the middle, sandwiched between two shooters.
It didn't take long for Charlie to deduce who was behind this. Apart from the audacious Italian mafia, who else would dare kidnap him in broad daylight, right in front of the airport?
The car pulled up in front of a bar. Charlie was escorted to a dimly lit room on the second floor. The flickering light bulbs cast eerie shadows. Behind a wide mahogany desk sat a figure obscured by smoke, the glow of his cigar the only visible detail.
"Mr. Paul Ricca, how's your health these days?" Charlie asked calmly, even though he didn't recognize the man's face.
Still, it wasn't hard to guess. Charlie had spent two weeks setting the stage for this meeting, but Paul Ricca had made his move sooner than expected.
"Who sent you?" Paul Ricca asked, his voice gravelly.
"No one sent me," Charlie replied with a smile. "I work for myself."
"What do you want, then?" Paul asked, his tone laced with suspicion.
Charlie's response was bold. "I want you. And everything that belonged to Capone. I want all of Chicago."
Paul Ricca's face darkened, but he listened. Charlie continued, "Capone is history. He's not getting out of prison. You need to make a choice."
Paul Ricca wasn't entirely surprised. He had known trouble was brewing since Capone had sought outside help from Johnny Torrio and Luciano—something uncharacteristic of him.
"Why shouldn't I take Chicago myself? What makes you think you're capable of claiming it?" Paul sneered.
"No, you misunderstand." Charlie leaned on the desk, locking eyes with Paul. "Chicago is already mine. I'm just choosing you to help me run it."
The room grew tense. Charlie's tone was sharp, his intention unmistakable. He raised his hand as though mimicking a gun and aimed it at Paul Ricca.
In that moment, the oppressive killing intent emanating from Charlie left Paul frozen, a bead of sweat sliding down his temple.
Before anyone could react, Charlie turned and walked toward the door. As he opened it, he added with a slight smirk, "I'll wait for your answer. You know where to find me."
Paul Ricca stood motionless until the sound of Charlie's footsteps disappeared. His hand trembled slightly as he raised the cigar to his lips, taking a deep drag to calm his nerves.
Over the years, he had faced killers, madmen, and ruthless criminals, but none had left him with such an intense sense of dread. For a moment, Paul Ricca felt as though he were drowning, gasping for air.
The absurd thought lingered in his mind: If Charlie wanted, he could've killed me right then and there.
This rewritten version maintains the original storyline and emotional nuances, while providing smoother transitions, enhanced dialogue clarity, and refined descriptions.