Chapter 25: One-Sided Sweep
With just a revolver and a double-barreled sniper rifle?
"Deal!"
The seniors snapped up the wager instantly, exchanging eager, malicious glances. Since Donape had arrogantly left the terms up to them, they were going to rig the challenge completely in their favor to teach this newbie a lesson he’d never forget.
"We’ll use the Dueling Tree," the lead shooter sneered after conferring with his group. "Custom heavy steel plates, set at the maximum twenty-five-meter range. How about it, brat? Scared shitless? It’s not too late to back out now."
The Range Safety Officer stepped forward, frowning deeply. "Seniors, that’s absurdly dangerous and unfair! A heavy Dueling Tree with those weapons—"
"No need to worry, Officer," the senior interrupted, waving him off with a dismissive smirk. "I’ll personally inform the owner. Set it up."
Seeing he couldn’t stop them, the officer sighed in frustration. "Alright, fine. I’ll call two of my colleagues to help assemble the heavy tree."
While the lane was being prepared, one of the seniors walked over to Donape, chuckling softly. "Look, kid, you clearly aren’t a complete beginner. We misjudged your first shot—I’ll grant you that. But a Dueling Tree isn’t a stationary paper target. You won’t get lucky twice."
"Yeah, brat," another chimed in, crossing his arms. "It’s not too late to turn around. Kowtow and ask for forgiveness, and maybe we’ll let you off the hook."
Donape casually scratched the back of his neck, his face completely unbothered.
"There’s nothing for me to apologize for," He replied coldly. "Our marksmanship will speak for itself. True skill knows no age—unless the ’seniors’ here are only confident in their mouths instead of their guns?"
"Hey, brat. You’re a real expert at pissing people off, aren’t you?" the senior growled. "You should know your place."
"Kids these days have zero manners," another scoffed. "Let’s see if you can keep that smug attitude after you lose miserably."
Donape just gave a slight, mock bow. Internally, even he was surprised at how unnaturally calm—and blatantly arrogant—he was being in such a high-pressure room.
’Maybe interacting with the Tyrannical System is causing my brain to glitch too...,’ He couldn’t decide if that was a terrifying thought or a useful upgrade.
By now, the officers had finished assembling three heavy Dueling Trees at the end of the lane.
Stepping up to his booth, the senior picked up his AR-15 with a relaxed, practiced flair, aiming a cocky smirk over his shoulder.
But Donape wasn’t about to let himself be out-flexed.
Reaching down, Donape lifted the heavy steel revolver. Its weight was surprisingly front-heavy—perfectly balanced for snapping onto targets with zero hesitation.
CLACK.
With a flick of his wrist so sharp and fluid it looked almost simulated, the cylinder swung open, caught the light, and snapped shut in the same unbroken, hypnotic rhythm. His posture shifted—effortless, razor-sharp, and terrifyingly natural.
For a split second, the noise in the bay completely died.
It was like watching a master painter effortlessly stroke a canvas, or a deadly predator stretching its limbs. The sneers on the seniors’ faces froze. Even the loud-mouthed regular who had been trash-talking just stared, his mind momentarily going blank, completely mesmerized by the sheer, mechanical art of Donape’s posture.
It lasted only a heartbeat.
Shaking himself out of the trance, the senior blinked, his face flushing with sudden, humiliated rage. ’What the hell was that? Why did I just get goosebumps looking at a kid?!’
"P-posing won’t help you, brat!" the man barked, his voice cracking slightly as he forced his arrogance back over his sudden unease. "Let’s see if your shooting is as flashy as your little tricks!"
The officer quickly shook off his momentary daze, clearing his throat to regain his composure.
"Attention. This Dueling Tree setup is slightly different from the standard," the officer announced, pointing down the lane. "Not only are the plates reinforced steel, but the three trees will also sway left and right at a moderate speed. Do both sides understand and agree to the rules?"
Donape gave a lazy nod, acting completely indifferent to the added difficulty. His opponent smirked and nodded.
"The match will last sixty seconds," the officer declared. "Whoever has the most plates remaining on their side when time expires loses. Shooters... ready? Set—GO!"
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!
Instantly, a violent hail of 5.56 rounds burst from the senior’s AR-15. The acrid stench of gunpowder and the deafening clatter of rapid gunfire filled the indoor bay.
The seniors watching from behind held their breath, smirks breaking across their faces. Three moving, heavy steel trees were an absolute nightmare for low-capacity weapons. Against a 30-round semi-automatic rifle, a guy with a six-shot revolver stood zero chance.
A few of them could barely suppress their laughter, clutching their stomachs as they looked at Donape’s lane.
The timer ticked down mercilessly.
With only twenty-one seconds remaining on the board, Donape’s eyes suddenly sharpened like a hawk’s.
Click-snap.
Six heavy rounds dropped into the cylinder, and the frame snapped shut with a cold, metallic CLACK.
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!
Six thunderous roars erupted in rapid succession. Every single round struck the exact dead-center of the heavy plates, the sheer kinetic wallop flipping them onto his opponent’s side instantly.
Before the brass smoke even cleared, Donape’s fingers moved in a blur. Empty shells ejected, fresh rounds slid in, and the cylinder snapped closed. A full reload in under a second.
The sheer deafening boom of the revolver and Donape’s terrifying tempo completely shattered the senior’s focus.
Donape’s aim was absolute perfection. Not a single bullet was wasted. In contrast, the AR-15 shooter had to dump multiple 5.56 rounds into a single heavy plate just to force it across with his mediocre aim.
By the time the final buzzer shrieked, the outcome was as clear as day. The gap between them was like heaven and earth.
18 out of 18 plates. Every single steel target had been slammed onto the senior’s side.
A total, overwhelming shutout.
Donape casually set the revolver down on the shooting bench, resting his hands in his pockets as his cold gaze swept across the dead-silent row of senior shooters.
Reality crashed down on the defeated senior. As the humiliation washed over him, his face flushed a furious red, destroying whatever composure he had left.
"You... you damn brat!" he barked, stomping toward Donape’s lane with clenched fists.
Before he could start a physical fight, another tall shooter named Kim Jong-Kook stepped in, grabbing his shoulder and holding him back.
"Hey! Big bro, pull it together. Don’t lower yourself to wrestling with a snotty junior," Jong-Kook warned in a low voice.
Donape just shook his head silently. He had respect for older generations, but zero tolerance for hypocritical snobs. Besides, with Heavenly Martial Arts at his disposal, a physical brawl with a bunch of out-of-shape range regulars was the absolute last thing he needed to worry about.
Still, an annoying thought crossed his mind.
’Why do these guys keep coping?’ Donape thought, watching them whisper among themselves. ’Hitting a bullseye once or twice could be luck. But a perfect eighteen-for-eighteen under pressure? A child could tell it’s not a coincidence. Is their pride really that fragile?’
With the Range Safety Officers stepping in, Jong-Kook finally managed to calm his teammates down and prevent a full-blown brawl.
Turning back to face Donape, Jong-Kook offered a cold, dismissive smirk.
"Alright, kid. I’ll take the next match myself," Jong-Kook said, tapping his rifle. "Care to raise the stakes?"
"You want to raise the stakes before we even settled the original bet?" Donape chuckled, resting his hands on the bench. "Sure. If I lose, I’ll do whatever you want and throw 4,000 BC on the table. But if I win... I get a free one-year membership to this arena, and you seniors cover all my range expenses for the entire year."
"Twenty seconds. That’s the time limit," Jong-Kook growled through gritted teeth, locking a fresh magazine into his AK-47.
"Whatever. Set it up however you want," Donape replied nonchalantly.
For the second match, Donape raised the Double-Barreled Sniper Rifle. Bringing his eye to the optic scope, his entire demeanor shifted. The casual aura vanished, replaced by the terrifying, laser-focused stillness of an apex marksman.
"Ready? Set—GO!"
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
The roar of Jong-Kook’s AK-47 tore through the range as he unleashed a frantic barrage, trying to flood Donape’s side with plates before the heavy rifle could even fire.
But Donape didn’t need speed—he needed leverage.
Through the crosshairs of his scope, Donape locked directly onto the internal flipping mechanism of the target tree.
BOOM-BOOM!
Two thunderous, micro-second sniper shots blasted through the bay. The massive kinetic punch slammed right into the target’s pivot joint, destroying the internal mechanism and jamming the heavy steel dead in its tracks.
CLACK!
Donape snapped the barrel open, two steaming brass shells flying over his shoulder, and loaded two fresh cartridges in a single fluid blur.
BOOM-BOOM!
Another mechanism crippled.
Across the lane, Jong-Kook poured a desperate stream of 7.62 rounds into those exact same plates, but no matter how many bullets hit, the locked targets refused to move a single millimeter. He was wasting his entire magazine on invincible, ruined steel.
When the twenty-second buzzer shrieked, fourteen out of the eighteen plates were completely locked down.
Silence fell over the range.
Jong-Kook stood frozen, his AK-47 smoking in his hands, his mouth hanging open in utter disbelief alongside every single senior behind him.
Donape lowered his sniper rifle, blew a faint wisp of smoke from the scope lens, and offered a mild, cold smile.