Chapter 474: Wow Cool Wow Cool

"Bang!" "Bang!"

Amid a series of deafening gunshots, Leon, carrying his beloved sniper rifle, strode into the police department's shooting range to practice for his badge.

Due to strict weapon controls in the capital, ordinary cases were handled with batons and whips; gun use was rare, so few people practiced shooting at all.

Add to that it was a day off, so only three or five shooting positions were occupied in the vast range, with most stands completely empty.

Empty is good~ Finally no waiting in line for air tanks.

After surveying the empty range with satisfaction, Leon greeted the staff responsible for inspecting firearms and distributing ear protection, then picked up two full boxes of nails and lay down at the shooting position closest to the air tank zone.

Though he rarely came due to scarce free time, Leon never slacked off on badge progress—whenever he finished work, he'd come straight over, lie down, and shoot until the sun fully set.

Thanks to his diligent practice, he'd already completed over half the 5,000 live-fire shots required to advance his shooting badge; only another two thousand or so remained. At an average rate of two to three shots per minute, those remaining shots would take roughly thirteen to fourteen more hours.

After roughly calculating his progress, Leon didn't start shooting immediately, but first looked up at the sky.

It didn't look like rain—today he could still shoot seven or eight hours, then go home after dark to help Anna pack, hire a cart tomorrow morning to move his belongings to Happiness Apartments, and return to shoot another four or five hours—perfect.

Hmm… now that I think about it, the Witch's Broom failing was perfectly timed.

Precisely because he temporarily lacked a protective anomaly item, he couldn't take missions easily, so he could come shoot during work hours and even arrive late in the morning with a clear conscience, all while moving his home—perfect~

After silently praising his luck, Leon wasted no more time, raised the yellow flag marking five hundred meters, and waved it toward the supervisor's position.

"Sigh…"

Seeing the familiar yellow flag, the two supervisors exchanged glances, then sighed in unison, as if reading each other's minds.

"Stop staring—go get the targets!"

Squinting at the figure at the sniper position and confirming it was indeed that troublesome guy, the older supervisor rubbed his temples, helplessly saying:

"Bring a handcart—just bring bundles straight over. Sigh… 'Rolling Bullet' always leaves only when the sun sets, and now he's here this early? This could take a long time."

"I thought the same… sigh… you cover for me for a bit!"

Watching Leon, ear protectors secured, calibrating his rifle in the distance, the younger supervisor sighed deeply from the bottom of his heart, feeling utterly unlucky.

…

"Rolling Bullet" was the nickname the range staff privately gave Leon, because after mastering the range's shooting conditions and greatly improving his accuracy, he exclusively targeted the five-hundred-meter long-range targets.

Once nail rounds exceeded their maximum stable range, they uncontrollably tumbled through the air; thus, Leon, who specialized in "Rolling Bullets," earned the staff's affectionate nickname—"Rolling Bullet"—along with their fervent hope that he'd roll away soon.

Why? Others' shots left only small, moderate bullet holes; one target lasted forty to fifty shots. But a tumbling nail round hitting the target started with a hole the size of a baby's fist.

If it struck a weak spot, just two or three shots could split a wooden target clean in half, forcing the staff to constantly replace targets. Combined with "Rolling Bullet's" astonishing hit rate, tending to him was more trouble than serving ten other officers.

Really… thought Sunday shift would be quiet, ended up as a nightmare… Pushing a cart piled high with targets, the younger supervisor trudged back to the control desk, gloomily asking:

"So, how's 'Rolling Bullet' feeling today?"

"Incredible form—he's already shattered nearly fifty targets. But that's not the worst part."

After rubbing his tightly furrowed brow, the older supervisor groaned in agony:

"I just checked with ammo—they gave 'Rolling Bullet' two full boxes today, over a thousand rounds!"

"What? Over a thousand? So he plans to shoot all day?!"

Hearing that terrifying number, the younger supervisor gasped sharply, his head buzzing and throbbing; he gritted his teeth:

"Shooting for eight hours straight? The rifle butt will break his bones! Doesn't he fear pain?"

"I don't know if he'll die of pain, but if he shoots all day, you and I will die here."

"…"

"No! Absolutely cannot let him shoot all day!"

Looking at the heavy custom wooden targets on the cart, imagining he might have to replace them hundreds of times today, the younger supervisor's shoulders ached violently—he leapt up, glaring fiercely:

"Come on! Let's go beg him to move!"

"…"

So you're going to beg… then why are you so aggressive about it?

The older supervisor gave his colleague a silent, exasperated look but didn't object—he stood up too, ready to join the plea, hoping to redirect the trouble elsewhere and save his osteoporotic old bones.

But before either could leave the control room, "Rolling Bullet"'s position had already drawn attention—a familiar figure approached him ahead of them.

That's… Isabella from the Secret Investigation Bureau?

Seeing the female officer standing behind "Rolling Bullet," hesitating as if wanting to speak, the two supervisors exchanged glances, instantly recalling yesterday's rumors.

Yesterday at noon, the Secret Investigation Bureau's beauty carried a tray and sat down opposite a man—but he seemed repulsed, refusing the unexpected favor and moving to another table.

Even more outrageous: Isabella, whose surname matched a military bigwig's and whose background was undoubtedly powerful, shamelessly followed him, acting like a lovesick stalker—shocking many.

Though they eventually argued and parted bitterly—Isabella even slammed her tray down—many saw her return to the cafeteria entrance, staring longingly after him…

Huh… so that guy… is "Rolling Bullet"?

Feeling a massive scandal was about to unfold before him, the younger supervisor's aching shoulders vanished, his arms no longer hurt—he perked up, staring eagerly at his equally wide-eyed colleague.

"How about… waiting a bit longer?"

"Agreed!"

(End of Chapter)