Chapter 35: Gambling is Addictive
Zerke and Jong-Kook stood frozen. For a second, neither could form a coherent sentence.
"Using martial arts? D-Did I live in the wrong world?" Jong-Kook muttered, disbelieving his own ears.
"Can... Can martial arts really help you negate recoil?!" Zerke felt as if his forty-one years of life had been entirely wasted.
No matter how impressive martial arts were, applying internal techniques to modern firearms was strictly the stuff of entertainment media—never real life.
Yet, their minds clashed with that logic after experiencing Origins VR Cafe over the past few days.
Before, the possibility of such a miraculous crossover was absolute zero. But now? Nothing felt impossible anymore.
Counter-Injustice refined aim and instinct, while The Path of the Heavenly Martial Arts forged the perfect physical vessel to execute it.
It was doable. Jong-Kook and Zerke were simply struggling to accept that the impossible had just become their new reality.
Meanwhile, Do-Jun wanted nothing more than to drag the three of them out. However, he had too much pride to throw a public fit, and if he ordered his subordinates to forcefully throw them out, Point Blank would become a laughingstock.
For an elite heir like him, family dignity and public image came above all else. He wasn’t opposed to underhanded methods, but he always calculated the pros and cons first.
Suppression was key. Do-Jun signaled his members to ignore Donape’s group, warning them not to ruin their mood over a fluke.
Yet, despite his efforts, the room’s focus inevitably shifted right back to Donape—as if an invisible protagonist’s aura were pulling everyone’s eyes toward him.
"A new target, please," Donape requested, asking the officer to adjust the lane settings.
The target distance was updated to 100 meters, with the leaderboard record to beat at 97.2% Precision Score.
Zerke and Jong-Kook hurried back to the lane, barely ready for what was coming next, but Donape had already shouldered his Vandal.
As the signal light turned green, Donape pulled the trigger without hesitation.
Ratatatatatata!
Clack!
A familiar burst. A familiar, empty click.
Precision Score: 99.0%
New Record Established!
What the actual fuck?!
The outdoor range was notorious for humbling even veteran marksmen. At 100 meters, crosswinds, optical limitations, and violent muzzle climb turned every shot into an uphill battle.
Even with a high-end sniper rifle and a high-magnification scope, hitting perfect precision on a single shot required extreme focus.
And that was during the daytime.
At night, the difficulty spiked tenfold. Despite the floodlights illuminating parts of the lane, darkness obscured key visual cues.
Yet here was a random brat, casually shredding the 100-meter record with a standard assault rifle.
100 meters was a completely different beast compared to 50 meters. Hitting the absolute center usually only happened on the first bullet—the rest was supposed to spray wildly into the dirt!
Donape loaded a fresh magazine into his Vandal and was about to speak when Do-Jun interrupted him.
"Wait, brat! Are you planning to challenge the 150-meter target next?" Do-Jun demanded, his voice heavy and pressing.
"Yes. Is there a problem?" Donape asked, his expression remaining completely calm.
Do-Jun’s eye twitched. Donape’s unbothered attitude was infuriating.
"How about a real match against me, or the other members of Point Blank instead?" Do-Jun scoffed, trying to provoke him. "Or are you too scared? If you’re trembling, piss off and get out of our range!"
Donape paused for a brief moment, pondering the offer.
’Beating the members directly or breaking the range records both count toward the quest completion,’ Donape thought to himself. ’It’s all the same to me. Taking their challenge works out fine—plus, I can set my own conditions.’
"Fine. I accept," Donape said smoothly. "Since you’re the hosts, I’ll let you seniors choose whatever match format you want. But in exchange, I want some stakes—money on the table."
Several Point Blank members instantly stood up, shooting hostile glares across the lane.
"You really are an arrogant brat!" one member shouted. "Duel me on the Dueling Tree targets down the lane!"
"Don’t get cocky just because you got lucky!" another yelled, stepping forward. "Step onto the lane with me, kiddo—I’ll teach you what real shooting looks like!"
Ignoring the hostile glares and mocks, Donape turned his attention to the lane being prepped by the range officers.
He picked the opponent with a Dynamic Dueling Tree Blitz challenge.
Unlike static paper targets, seven steel target plates would randomly pop up across a 50-meter-wide arena—ranging anywhere from 20 to 50 meters away. Once a target appeared, it would stay up for only two seconds before retracting.
This wasn’t just a test of accuracy; it was a brutal test of raw reaction speed, target acquisition, and snap-aiming.
Donape chose to stick with the Vandal.
His opponent, a smug veteran member nick-named Old Han, brought out a customized bolt-action sniper rifle with high-end optical glass.
"Since I’m just a poor kid, let’s keep the wager small," Donape said nonchalantly. "Four thousand BC. Deal?"
"Deal!" Han shouted, tossing his electronic payment card to his buddy. "Don’t cry when I take your cash, kid!"
Donape rested the Vandal in a low-ready position, taking a slow, controlled breath.
’No full-auto burst this time,’ Donape thought, his focus narrowing until the ambient noise of the lounge faded away. ’Just speed and single-tap precision.’
BEEP!
The green signal light flashed!
CLANG!
Before the veteran shooter could even settle his eye into his sniper scope, a steel plate popped up at 25 meters—and was instantly struck down by a single heavy round from Donape.
BANG!
Han fired his sniper rifle a fraction of a second later, but his bullet slammed harmlessly into empty air where the target had already dropped.
Pop—CLANG! Pop—CLANG! Pop—CLANG!
What followed was a terrifying display of twitch-reflex aiming. The instant a target flashed in the dark arena—whether at 20 meters or 50 meters—Donape’s barrel snapped directly onto it like a magnet.
One tap. One hit. Zero hesitation.
Han panicked, working his bolt-action handle as fast as his fingers could move, but he was constantly shooting at ghosts. By the time he lined up his reticle, Donape had already flipped the plate.
Seven targets popped up. Seven single shots were fired.
In less than five seconds, the arena went silent.
Donape put his Vandal to the firing table as the big screen overhead updated the duel results.
The digital scoreboard above the lounge chimed with a loud, dual-tone beep, broadcasting the match breakdown across every screen in the facility:
[SPEED BLITZ DUEL RESULTS]
Lane 4: 7 / 7 Targets | Avg. Reaction: 0.11s | Total: 3.82s
Lane 5: 0 / 7 Targets | Avg. Reaction: 0.48s | Total: --
A suffocating silence descended over the lounge.
"Zero?" Han stammered, his voice cracking slightly. "I... I didn’t even get a single shot on target?!"
"Digital transfer or card tap works," Donape said smoothly, holding out his reader.
Han’s face flushed a deep, humiliated red. He wanted to deny the result and accuse Donape of cheating, but under Jin Do-Jun’s sharp, unforgiving glare, he swallowed his protest and reluctantly transferred the money.
Meanwhile, Jong-Kook and Zerke stood off to the side, practically forgetting to breathe. They hadn’t expected Donape’s reaction speed to be so inhuman—and seeing it in person made his claims about applying martial arts to shooting feel terrifyingly real.
On the other hand, Donape glanced at his updated balance.
’More than 11k BC. Haha. No wonder people get addicted to gambling.’
Jin Do-Jun stepped forward, his eyes burning with intense malice. Standing with his arms crossed, his face was as dark as a thundercloud.
"Four thousand BC on static plates is child’s play," Do-Jun sneered, snapping his fingers. "The final match will be a 200-Meter Aerial Target Duel."
Zerke’s eyes widened in disbelief. "Aerial targets at two hundred meters?! In the middle of the night?!"
"Point Blank has high-speed drone launchers stationed along the perimeter," Do-Jun explained coldly, retrieving his custom rifle from his attendant. "Ten flying steel discs launched at random angles across the two-hundred-meter line. High speed, unpredictable trajectories, night visibility. One hundred thousand BC on the line."
He glared at Donape, expecting to see hesitation. "Still think your ’luck’ can hit a flying target at two hundred meters with iron sights, brat?"
Donape almost stumbled upon hearing the number.
’Holy mother! 100k right off the bat?!’
"Sorry, I can’t take the bet," Donape replied helplessly, shaking his head. "I don’t have that much."
Before Do-Jun could mock him, Jong-Kook and Zerke immediately grabbed Donape by the shoulders and pulled him into a tight huddle.
"You... how confident are you in beating Master Jin?" Jong-Kook stammered, his heart pounding.
"What is it?" Donape asked, confused.
"If you’re confident, I can back you up! But... I only have thirty thousand BC on me," Jong-Kook whispered urgently, shooting a meaningful glare at Zerke. He wanted the owner of One Bullet to pitch in for the rest.
Zerke hesitated, sweating profusely. Throwing down tens of thousands of BC against the Jin Family wasn’t just a financial risk—it was a political nightmare.
"You little pests," Do-Jun scoffed from across the room, watching them whisper like conspirators. "Don’t waste my precious time. Decide already! If you’re terrified, crawl back to your holes!"
The insult snapped Zerke’s last thread of patience.
"Fine, I’m in!" Zerke growled. He looked at Donape with dead seriousness. "I’ll cover the rest of the hundred thousand. But you have to guarantee a win. This isn’t pocket change—one hundred thousand BC is a massive sum even for—"
"Don’t worry," Donape interrupted, giving them a calm, confident grin. "When have I ever lost?"