Chapter 36: Elite Trouble Maker
With the one-hundred-thousand BC wager finalized, the tension inside the Point Blank facility reached an absolute breaking point.
Range safety officers scurried the boundary perimeter, calibrating the pneumatic launchers stationed two hundred meters downrange. At that distance in the pitch-black night, even the high-powered floodlights barely illuminated the launch zones.
The transparent barriers between the firing lanes were removed to provide ample space for both shooters, leaving only a single divider in the middle to separate them into a true dual arena.
Jin Do-Jun stepped up, his expression cold and calculating. His attendant stepped forward, uncase-locking a state-of-the-art, custom heavy sniper rifle equipped with a thermal-assisted digital scope and wind-calculating telemetry sensors.
"Two hundred meters. Ten high-velocity flying discs. Unpredictable launch angles," He stated, his voice echoing across the silent lounge. "Standard competition rules. Whoever scores the higher precision hit-rate takes the pool."
"Sure," Donape replied casually, adjusting the shoulder strap of his rifle. This time, he decided to switch to the Phantom.
Do-Jun sneered. He had hated Donape’s unbothered attitude from the start, forcing himself not to let it distract his focus.
He mounted his bipod, adjusting his posture into a textbook prone-supported stance. The digital reticle inside his optic hummed to life, projecting real-time wind trajectories onto his visual display.
BEEP!
Downrange, a metallic launcher whistled, hurling a flying disc diagonally across the night sky at extreme speed.
BANG!
Do-Jun fired. Two hundred meters away, the glowing target shattered into pieces.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
In methodical, perfectly timed three-second intervals, he tracked and intercepted nine out of the ten aerial targets. Only the eighth disc, caught in a sudden thermal crosswind, grazed past his crosshairs.
[Lane 2 Target Metrics]
Targets Destroyed: 9 / 10
Accuracy Rating: 90.0%
The Point Blank members broke into enthusiastic cheers, clapping Do-Jun on the back.
"Nine out of ten on moving aerial targets at two hundred meters!"
"In the middle of the night, no less! Incredible stability!"
"Let’s see that kid hit even three with a fucking rifle!"
Do-Jun stood up, dusting off his shoulder. He threw a smug glance to his left, then turned around to walk off after setting down his sniper rifle. His attitude was that of someone who had already secured victory and felt no need to remain on the lane.
Zerke wiped sweat from his forehead, his heart pounding in his chest, while Jong-Kook leaned against the railing, holding his breath.
Donape stretched his neck. Looking out toward the range, he stood firm on Lane 1. His posture was upright in a relaxed, shoulder-width stance, holding his Phantom at low-ready.
’Ten targets. Two hundred meters,’ Donape reminded himself internally, his breathing slowing to a near standstill.
A familiar routine began to stir within his muscle memory—the refined flow of The Path of the Heavenly Martial Arts linking seamlessly with the honed twitch-reflex instincts developed in Counter-Injustice.
His real-life Qi Perception began to reveal the natural energy currents drifting through the air, albeit slightly blurred. To his heightened senses, the quiet night air seemed to slow down to a crawl.
BEEP!
The pneumatic launcher roared into action, hurling the first disc high into the night sky.
Donape didn’t even raise the rifle fully to eye level. Guided by Qi Perception and spatial awareness, his arms flicked with micro-second precision.
Tap!
A single suppressed round tore through the darkness.
CLANG!
Two hundred meters downrange, the glowing steel disc detonated into sparks—shattered by a hip-fired rifle shot.
"WHAT?!" a senior screamed from the lounge.
Before the room could even digest the sight, the remaining nine launchers fired in rapid, erratic sequence—throwing discs at extreme speeds, weaving unpredictable arcs through the dark sky.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
Donape moved like a martial artist in peak form. His torso pivoted and his arms locked like liquid steel, absorbing the recoil and converting it into fluid lateral momentum. He tapped rapid, rhythm-controlled bursts with terrifying precision, snapping from target to target without wasting a single millisecond.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Nine consecutive strikes. In less than four seconds, the firing line went completely silent.
The chime of the overhead digital display shattered the dead quiet:
[Lane 1 Target Metrics]
Targets Destroyed: 10 / 10
Accuracy Rating: 100.0%
NEW FACILITY RECORD ESTABLISHED!
The lounge turned into a graveyard.
Do-Jun’s face went completely deathly pale. His hands trembled as he stared at the board in suppressed anger. Ten out of ten. Standing posture. Iron sights. Nighttime conditions. Fast-launch targets neutralized in under four seconds.
Clenching his teeth until his jaw creaked, he silently signaled his attendant to transfer the bet money.
Despite maintaining a calm exterior, Do-Jun subconsciously rubbed his index finger against his thumb—a nervous habit whenever he was pushed to his absolute limit. His pride, his dignity, and a massive fortune of his personal capital had just vanished in a single audible chime.
Zerke handled the transfer details, securing the payout into a neutral account before they could split it three ways later. He maintained a polite, cautious smile, well aware that they were deep in enemy territory. Celebrating recklessly here would only paint a target on their backs.
Catching Zerke’s subtle gesture, Jong-Kook quickly ushered Donape out of the range before a physical clash could break out.
Once the trio was out of sight, Do-Jun finally spoke to his attendant, his voice dangerously low. "Tell the Head Guard to come here."
"Yes, Master."
Meanwhile, the Point Blank members in the lounge were frantically digging for information on Donape’s identity.
"Alexa? That brat is the rumored God of Shooting from the hearsay?!"
"That kid... is Alexa? What the hell?!"
"Did Director Stygan and Kim Jong-Kook bring Alexa here just to humiliate us?!"
Amidst the growing clamor, Do-Jun slammed his fist onto the table, silencing their rambling. "Quiet!"
He turned his gaze toward the Head Guard standing beside him. "Can you pull up detailed information on this one?" Do-Jun asked quietly, pointing at Donape’s face on the lounge’s CCTV feed.
He didn’t need a file on Zerke or Jong-Kook; he already knew their backgrounds inside and out. But to ensure he got his complete payback on this unknown kid, he turned back to his attendant.
"Contact Captain Jeong Jin-Man from the Violent Crimes Unit. Tell him I need a thorough investigation on an individual."
The attendant bowed deeply, pulling out a burner phone to place the call.
Standing under the flickering fluorescent lights of the VIP lounge, Do-Jun stared at the frozen CCTV frame of Donape’s face, his eyes narrowing into cold, murderous slits.
While the darkness at Point Blank festered with quiet retaliation, a completely different atmosphere reigned on the tranquil outskirts of S City.
Deep within one of the Baek Family’s secluded properties, nestled away from the smog and noise of the metropolis, the heavy hardwood doors of a private training hall stood wide open, illuminated by sleek, modern hanging lanterns.
THWACK! BANG!
The sharp sound of fist-to-flesh impacts echoed through the vast training room.
Baek Ji-Hong ducked under a lightning-fast high kick from A-Ji, fluidly spinning inside his guard and redirecting Ji-Ga’s incoming palm strike with a gentle sweep of his forearm.
In one continuous motion, Ji-Hong executed a double-wrist trap, attempting to drag both top-tier bodyguards off-balance and sweep them onto the polished floorboards.
However, A-Ji and Ji-Ga managed to hold their ground by bracing their free hands against their caught wrists, canceling out the pull’s momentum.
That stalemate marked the end of the sparring session.
"Young Master, your movement speed and combat intuition have already reached the level of an established martial artist," A-Ji praised, catching his breath.
The fact that A-Ji and Ji-Ga could spar on equal footing at ease with Ji-Hong now was because of the Heavenly Martial Arts they learned. Had it been their past selves without that specific martial art, even combined at full strength, the current Ji-Hong would have soundly defeated them.
Meanwhile, Ji-Hong caught the towel thrown to him and wiped his neck. His posture was perfectly erect, his breathing deep and steady, and his eyes burned with a clear, energetic light that had not been present in years.
Just two days ago, Butler Lee had personally escorted Ji-Hong to a small, obscure medical clinic located miles outside S City’s main district—far from the watchful eyes and ears of rival factions and internal family spies.
The full-body diagnostic results from that hospital were undeniable: Ji-Hong’s chronic physical degeneration was completely cured. His muscle density, nervous system response, and internal energy channels were performing at levels exceeding his absolute peak in youth.
"Young Master, do you plan to join the Patriarch’s banquet upcoming exchange?" Butler Lee asked, stepping forward with a tray of fresh water.
"Of course. I plan to give Grandpa and Father the surprise of their lives there. Hehe," Ji-Hong chuckled, taking a glass from the tray and taking a slow sip.
Butler Lee let out a weary sigh. "With all due respect, I believe it would be wiser to inform the Patriarch and Master Baek of your recovery immediately, rather than waiting for the banquet."
"No way. Where’s the fun in that?" Ji-Hong replied casually, waving off the concern.
Butler Lee exchanged a helpless glance with A-Ji and Ji-Ga. Their Young Master clearly didn’t care for quiet family politics—he just loved making dramatic cinematic entrances.