The alarm, pushed aside, lay silent with its button still depressed. Without a moment to protest—though he had none to spare—Taeui found himself unable to do anything but open his mouth to the familiar member pressing gently against his face in the suddenly chill air.“……”He rubbed his aching jaw—he’d have been caught by Hogan and that bastard if he hadn’t moved his tongue with deadly zeal—then looked up doubtfully at Ilrey.Ilrey’s back, gazing indifferently at the troopers firing inside the glass booth, looked utterly relaxed and refreshed. It was strange.And it wasn’t as if Taeui’s morning-and-evening visits to Ilrey’s room were a wholly unfair exchange; Ilrey didn’t monopolize satisfaction. Though they rarely clung together simultaneously like that morning, Taeui was never forced into one-sided service.Yet, despite both of them having their needs met—doing the same—why did Taeui feel exhausted while Ilrey looked invigorated?Am I just out of shape…? Taeui sighed miserably at the unfamiliar worry, then suddenly met Ilrey’s gaze as he turned.“You go in first. You’re here to train, after all.”Taeui glowered and nodded toward the now-empty glass booth. Ilrey raised an eyebrow, shrugged lightly, and said, “Suit yourself,” then strolled over.Ilrey stepped into the booth directly in front of Taeui without closing its door, donning no headset or safety band, and simply picked up the rifle. If the instructor—absent in the control room—had seen that, he’d have gone ballistic, demanding a full safety retraining.The tasks inside the booth weren’t hard. Every movement was recorded—so later in the lecture hall one could review it to pinpoint flaws. First, pick up the submachine gun on the table, disassemble it completely, then reassemble it. That was phase one. Phase two: with the reassembled weapon, fire fifteen rounds over three successive targets.That completed today’s basic marksmanship ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) training. They wouldn’t yet tackle defensive reflex drills until midweek of the first week.But this twisted man immediately found fault.Ilrey gripped the gun, flexed and released it twice, tugged the charging handle, then muttered indifferently, “Disassemble and reassemble… I’ve always wondered why they cram such pointless crap into training.”“In textbook terms, it’s to teach the firearm’s components and structure, get you familiar with your weapon, and check for any defects before you shoot,” replied Taeui, arms folded outside the booth. Ilrey glanced back at him, half-smiling.“Check, huh. You’d know if there was a problem just by firing a shot.”No sooner had he spoken than Ilrey slammed his fist on the table buzzer. A target popped up overhead and he squeezed the trigger.BAM!! The violent blast echoed through the unsealed soundproof door, making nearby troopers flinch and glance over.Ilrey ignored them and fired five precise shots—each thunderous report leaving a red mark on the target, erasing the blue dots as he hit.When the first target dropped, Ilrey murmured, “No problem.”“...Glad to hear it’s fine. But what if, by some unlucky chance, the weapon has a defect and explodes when you ‘just fire one shot’? Without safety devices,” Taeui shot back.“Explode? It’s not like I’m shooting your brother,” Ilrey chuckled.Right—this bastard once tried to shoot my brother, wasn’t it…? Taeui thought, staring coldly, as Ilrey aimed at the second target that appeared in front of the booth.His form wasn’t textbook. His grip and timing diverged from the model drills, and some shots strayed. Yet every shot landed on a spot that, against a real person, would be fatal. Watching that, Taeui reminded himself: that’s exactly what he is.…but clearly he’s bored to death. He’s here to waste live rounds on meaningless targets.“What are you here for?” Taeui grumbled as the second target dropped and the third floated up. Ilrey twirled the rifle in his finger and smiled over his shoulder.“To watch the fight.”“What?”“Watching you two trade blows is unexpectedly entertaining.”“What?!”Before Taeui could ask, the third target rose. Ilrey turned to shoot, but his interest waned—he sprayed bullets heedlessly, as if saying “hit if you can, miss if you will.” Taeui blinked, then realized Ilrey’s meaning.“Who’s firing without closing their booth… and look at that stance.”The voice struck Taeui’s mind like an arrow. His fighting opponent.There, creeping up just behind him, was that damned Kim Jeong-pil.…while I’m knotted with anger and ready to fight, you’re having fun watching. Are you really the same guy who’s clashed with me? You actually hate me, don’t you?!Taeui swallowed a torrent of curses as he glared at Ilrey’s broad back. Reluctantly, he turned his head to face Jeong-pil.Jeong-pil stood in a slanted posture. Peering into the booth, he saw Ilrey emerge and muttered, “Ah, the desk guy. Guess he never learned to shoot properly,” then shifted his gaze to Taeui.“What are you doing—still not going in?”“……”So he came to watch. That bastard Kim Jeong-pil excelled at marksmanship. Taeui had always hated shooting drills, because Jeong-pil would appear at his turn with a smug look and watch.(And Ilrey, fresh from the booth, truly seemed there for the fight, glaring openly.)“When am I supposed to go in? If you’re done, crawl off somewhere and stop meddling.”“Hmph. I came to see if your skill improved. Don’t want to get shot by your own teammate—never stick near incompetent people.”Jeong-pil gestured sharply for him to get in. Taeui, seething, entered the booth. Damn it. He hated shooting then and now.—Especially showing worse skill in front of someone he despised.“Ready—start.”At the headset’s prompt, hands inside the booths moved briskly. Though “brisk,” their motions were practiced; none were novices. Taeui calmly removed the magazine, released the bolt, and separated major parts.Earlier, it looked like Moro entered the adjacent booth; by now he must be spreading out parts with delight.Taeui glanced sideways. Through the glass divider, Qing’s Colt lay in pieces—same model for all. Moro’s would be Colt too.…Perhaps he’s disassembling with a gloomy face.“One minute remaining.”Beep. Taeui snapped back and worked diligently.After reassembly, he pressed the buzzer. A target rose. He aimed at the five blue dots.Through the headset, muffled gunfire sounded as red marks appeared—slightly off each dot. Taeui clicked his tongue.The second target appeared, farther and swinging predictably; he hit it. Finally, the third, moving erratically, gave one shot per dot. When his last five rounds were expended, the target vanished.“……”He set down the gun, removed the safety band, and sighed softly while taking off his headset. Moments later, he composed himself and calmly exited the booth.True to form, Jeong-pil still leaned there with folded arms, a mocking sneer on his face.And Ilrey, as if settling in to watch, held a mysterious mug at some distance, eyeing him.Jeong-pil had warned him never to intervene in his fight with Ilrey—but seeing them enjoying the spectacle twisted Taeui’s gut.No matter how he looked at it, his relationship with that bastard wasn’t the friendly bond of years.“I thought you might’ve improved, but you’re still the same. Team up with you and they’ll shoot me by accident.”“……”Taeui glared at Jeong-pil’s prattling lips, then checked the panel. His own score was average—slightly above. Only because Jeong-pil excelled did the gap appear.“Hah, I don’t know how you plan to pull off terror acts with that skill. Oh, wait—that’s artillery, not shooting—so maybe you just lob shells and smash stuff roughly? What did your terror pals see in you?”You’re talking about that buddy standing a few paces away, enjoying this? (Though Taeui never joined that terror.)“I should’ve faced you in sparring…”That narrow bridge suited Jeong-pil. A rolling-and-throwing drill in the ring would’ve been more satisfying. He’d pray tonight to encounter him in sparring next time.“Hah, you think you could beat me in sparring? Keep dreaming. Though I do hate sparring—wrestling some homo creeps me out.”Feigning shudders, Jeong-pil provoked Taeui to snap.“Shut up, you impotent prick.”“When did you learn to talk like that—”Jeong-pil balled his fist and stepped forward—just then the control room door burst open. The shooting instructor stormed in, eyes blazing.“Who skipped the gun-check process and just started firing? Who tossed all safety gear aside and shot off rounds? You’ve screwed up the scoring!”The instructor, surely having noted whose turn omitted the steps, glared at the booth Taeui had just left, then turned on him.In the epicenter of the uproar, Taeui raised both hands, “Not me.” His gaze then landed on Ilrey, a few paces back. The instructor followed his eyes.“Huh?”Ilrey lifted an eyebrow where the gazes converged. The moment the instructor recognized Ilrey, his eyes went wide and he fell silent.“Got some business here, sir?”“Was it you, Regrow? …What are you doing here?”The instructor scowled and barked—Regrow wasn’t meant to participate in training, yet here he was.Taeui recalled a cadet classmate years ago, the son of a three-star general. The kid wasn’t bad—in fact, nearly model—but professors had still bristled around him.He felt that same sense now toward this instructor. Even though Regrow entered as a regular trooper, the instructor couldn’t bring himself to discipline him—unlike the cadet, Regrow was no model student, but rather the worst troublemaker.Not only Taeui, but other long-serving troopers watching likely felt the same. Life always threw surprises when least expected; this was one of those moments.“He probably mishandled the weapon because he’s unfamiliar with this kind of training,” Taeui offered. “Seems he’s not used to drills like this.”

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