Day Three
When Owen arrived at the training ground in the morning, he once again saw Monica's figure. He had no idea how many bullets this woman fired every day.
Last night, he went to check on Carl. It was hard to say if the guy was lucky or unlucky. The sniper hadn't actually aimed for him—his injury was caused by a ricochet. In that sense, he was unlucky.
However, the bullet only grazed his arm, making it a minor injury. So in that regard, he was quite lucky.
The morning training was once again focused on marksmanship. Owen had improved significantly compared to the previous day. With skilled shooters around to learn from, a real combat environment to practice in, and a great atmosphere, his progress was skyrocketing.
After Thales arrived, Owen and he went to a practice area. Yesterday, Thales had taught Owen a lot, so today it was Owen's turn to teach Thales some shooting techniques.
Thales had the fastest draw speed in the entire team—not just in Team A, but across all the SWAT squads. His specialty was quick-draw shooting in sudden situations, using a technique called point shooting.
Point shooting meant that when drawing the gun, the index finger aligned with the barrel's direction. The human body has a stronger natural sense of aim than mechanical sights. In other words, the shooter used their finger as an instinctive aiming guide, eliminating the need for traditional sight alignment before firing.
As an experienced soldier, Thales had his own shooting style. His marksmanship wasn't bad, but he struggled to match Owen and Monica in achieving both high accuracy and high speed simultaneously. Owen's job was to teach him some refinements.
Owen generously shared several small techniques he had picked up. Some Thales already knew, while others were new to him.
Many of these were tiny details that experienced shooters might not notice or simply disregard because they seemed trivial.
As for the breathing technique, Owen had no real solution for that.
Most people instinctively hold their breath before shooting to minimize body movement. That's why the first few shots tend to be the most accurate—because they're the least affected by breathing. But after that, they start losing precision because no one can hold their breath forever.
Owen was no exception. He relied on holding his breath too. The only difference was—he could cheat. Even when breathing normally, his body movement was far less than an average person's.
However, Owen had observed Monica closely—she never held her breath.
He had no idea how she did it, but it wasn't something he could learn just by watching. She would have to teach him directly.
As Owen and Thales trained, the other team members gradually gathered around. Nobody wanted to miss a chance to improve.
Owen didn't hold back. Since he had already shared with one person, he might as well share with everyone. After all, these techniques weren't originally his—he was just passing them along. Many of the SWAT officers benefited greatly.
Among the crowd, Monica's expression was strange.
Every key point Owen explained matched her own personal research.
Owen was undoubtedly a master shooter.
For the first time, Monica felt a sense of kinship. She had always been a top student, unwilling to fall behind anyone. After discovering her passion for marksmanship, she had devoted herself completely to refining her skills.
To improve, she had spent years analyzing and perfecting her technique.
And now, Owen somehow knew all the same things she had painstakingly figured out—some of his explanations weren't exactly correct, but the principles were the same.
Before today, Monica had been deeply dissatisfied with losing to Owen. She had spent the past two days training hard, determined to redeem herself. But now, she felt an unexpected camaraderie.
That feeling didn't last long.
Soon, frustration replaced it.
Watching everyone freely ask Owen for shooting advice, Monica suddenly felt stifled.
She and Owen were both known for high-speed, precision shooting, yet in all her time with SWAT, no one had ever approached her for guidance.
She wasn't unwilling to teach others.
But because of her distant personality, she had never developed close relationships with her teammates. Even if someone wanted to learn from her, they felt too intimidated to ask.
Meanwhile, Owen, who had only been here for two days, had already built rapport with the entire squad.
The morning session ended in this unexpectedly collaborative atmosphere.
Owen's actual lesson had been short—just a minute or so of talking. The real value came from everyone sharing their own shooting habits and tips, leading to an open discussion that helped the entire team grow.
Even Alyssa saw the benefits. She decided to implement regular training exchanges like this in the future, holding them once or twice a month.
The afternoon drills proceeded as usual.
To thank Owen for his generosity in the morning, the team allowed him to take the lead in many drills.
They also offered constant guidance, even when he made embarrassingly basic rookie mistakes. Not even Alyssa, who had been critical of him before, said anything negative. The whole afternoon turned into an unofficial training session tailored for Owen.
Monica, however, was fuming.
The entire day had been frustrating for her.
By the end of the morning, the training had turned into a group discussion, but Owen had already said everything she knew.
It made her look like she was unwilling to share, even though that wasn't the case.
Although she had also learned a lot, she just couldn't bring herself to be happy about it. Naturally, her attitude toward Owen became even worse.
After the training session ended, everyone returned to the locker room to change.
Owen spotted Monica from a distance, assuming she was heading to the range to continue practicing.
To his surprise, she walked directly toward him.
"I want to fight you."
"Uh..."
Owen was speechless.
What was with this woman? Out of all these people, why did she always come after him?
He had deliberately avoided her, worried she might get suspicious after he copied her shooting techniques.
But she kept chasing him down.
"Now's not a good time, I was just about to—"
"I'll be waiting for you at the training ground."
F*.**
Once again, Owen was defeated by this woman.
She never gave him a chance to refuse.
He could just leave, but he felt guilty for stealing her techniques. Reluctantly, he followed her to the training area.
"Haha, someone's about to get their ass kicked!"
Campbell's gloating laughter echoed through the room.
With that, the entire team followed, eager to watch the fight.
"Steve, don't hold back. You're gonna get your ass kicked either way, so you might as well go all out—hahaha!"
Thales joined in the teasing, while Alyssa, as usual, remained stoic behind her baseball cap and sunglasses.
However, the slight smirk on her lips betrayed her amusement.
In the hand-to-hand combat training area, Owen and Monica stood in the center.
Everyone else had gathered around.
Even members of Team B had come to watch.
One guy started taking bets, and not a single person bet on Owen.
Maurice, the big shield-bearer, patted Owen on the shoulder.
"Buddy, no one thinks you're gonna win, but you gotta put up a fight—I put ten bucks on you."
Owen felt touched—at least someone had faith in him.
But then Nicholas exposed the truth:
"Don't listen to him, Owen. He bet ten bucks on you, but twenty on Monica."
Owen almost passed out.
These guys had no shame.
Out of sheer stubbornness, Owen took the last fifty dollars in his pocket and bet on himself.
Finally, he turned to Monica, unable to resist asking:
"Why me? Why do you always pick me?"
Monica's answer was simple.
"Because my mind isn't at peace."