Ch 36: A Worthy Opponent
The range hummed with anticipation. Men crowded the firing line, their voices a low buzz of speculation and amusement.
"First round!" Timothy's voice rang out, sharp and officious. "Nikolai shooting!"
Nikolai stepped to the line. The launcher whirred. The first target shot across the range—a circular clay disk, spinning as it flew left to right, its multicolored surface catching the harsh light. He tracked it for a heartbeat, then fired. The disk snapped from the impact. Center mass. Ten points.
The second target appeared, moving right to left this time. He let the shot go wide this time—outer ring. Seven points.
The third target launched on a diagonal, fast and arcing. Again he fired casually. Another seven points.
Nikolai stepped back and glanced at Elena—a quick, dismissive look—before joining Timothy. He whispered something that made both of them laugh.
"Beat that," Timothy called. "Nikolai didn't even give everything."
More laughter rippled through the crowd.
Elena ignored it. She moved to the line and settled into her stance. The voices behind her became white noise. There was only the target and the next shot.
The first target appeared. Left to right, fast, but exactly the same pattern as Nikolai's first shot. She tracked it with the barrel of the gun. Her breathing slowed. When the moment was right, she squeezed. The shot rang out. The disk snapped—outer ring. Seven points.
The laughter faltered.
The second target launched—right to left. She tracked, breathed, squeezed. A hit. Inner ring. Eight points. The shot was cleaner this time, her body finding the rhythm again after days of inactivity.
The third target appeared on a diagonal—the hardest trajectory, arcing forward as it climbed. Elena had practiced this one a dozen times with Kazimir. She calculated its path and squeezed. Inner ring. Eight points.
Three shots. Three hits. Twenty-three points.
Nikolai's expression was carefully blank, but his posture shifted. He wasn't leaning anymore.
"Second round," Timothy announced. his mocking edge gone.
Nikolai approached the line with a different energy. He hadn't taken her seriously before, but he would now.
First target: left to right. Center mass. Ten points.
Second: right to left. The same discipline. Center mass. Ten points.
Third: diagonal. He tracked it carefully, his body rotating with the arc, and fired. Inner ring. Eight points.
Total of twenty-eight points for this round.
Elena stepped to the line as soon as Nikolai stepped off. Her shoulders were tight now, stiff from the recoil from the previous round. She tried to roll them loose, but the targets were already loading.
Just three shots, she told herself. Three shots. Then stretch the muscles.
The first target appeared—left to right, still the same pattern as before. She tracked it, her eyes following its arc. The ache in her shoulders pulled at her concentration, but she breathed through it and squeezed. The disk snapped back. Center mass Ten points.
The crowd stirred.
Second target: right to left. She tracked it. The tightness from the recoil was making the movements harder, her muscles resisting. She held them steady through the trigger pull. Another center mass. Ten points.
Third target: diagonal, even faster than the previous round. Her arms were starting to shake now. The front sight wavered, dancing across the target.
Don't panic. Breathe.
She clenched her jaw, forcing her arms to stillness through sheer will. The ache in her shoulders screamed, but she ignored it. When the sight crossed the target just so, her finger found the trigger. She fired. The disk spun. Center mass. Ten points.
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She lowered the gun and massaged her aching arms.
For one heartbeat, there was absolute silence. The men stared at her like she had grown a second head. Timothy's mouth hung open. Even Arlo had on an expression that was close to surprise.
Then Timothy: "Fuck… the score!" He fumbled with his clipboard.
The dam broke. Men shouted and cursed The silence collapsed into chaos.
“Shit! I thought you said she couldn't shoot?”"She's ahead by one!”“Yo! How much do you think she can score on the next one?”
The crowd's energy had shifted entirely.
Elena looked at Nikolai. He wasn't angry. His expression had shifted into excitement. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, preparing for the final round. For the first time, he looked at her like she was a worthy opponent.
Then a voice cut through: "She's cheating!"
"What?" Timothy turned, his clipboard forgotten.
A brawny man stepped forward. His eyes fixed on Elena with blatant suspicion. "Look at her." He pointed. "She's shaking. No way she shot clean. The gun's rigged."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd. Suspicion was easy to kindle, especially when the person being suspected already had a poor reputation.
Nikolai frowned. "This isn't something you can fake."
"Make her fire first, captain," the man said. "If she's so good, let her prove it without watching you."
"That's unfair!" Greta's voice rang out, high and indignant. She pushed through the crowd, her thin frame trembling with outrage. "You can't just change the rules—"
The man turned on her. His glare was cold, his lip curling. "No one asked you, girl."
Greta stumbled back, her bravado crumbling in an instant.
Elena stepped between them, placing herself as a shield. When the man's eyes dropped to her, she held his gaze, lifting her chin defiantly.
Then Nikolai stepped forward. "That's enough."
The man blinked. "But—"
"I said that's enough." Nikolai faced his companion, his voice carrying an edge. "I'm not about to take advantage of a woman who just proved she can outshoot half the men in this room."
The murmuring died.
Nikolai turned back to Elena. "If your last three shots can still hit at least the inner rings, I accept defeat." He nodded toward the lane. "You've earned the right to finish this fair. Go on."
Elena stared at him. He could have let the accusation stand and forced her into an unfair position. But he had defended her in front of his men. She held his gaze for a moment longer before walking to the line and raising the gun.
The first target launched. She tracked it, fought to keep her arms steady as her overworked muscles pulled and resisted.
But this much I can still do, Elena thought, steadying the gun.
She waited for the moment the sight crossed the target and fired. The disk spun. Center mass.
But Elena didn't have time for relief. The second target was already moving as if the machine itself was testing her. Her arms were shaking in earnest now, the front sight wavering and dancing across the target. The ache in her shoulders had spread down her back and up her neck.
Don't panic, she told herself. You've had worse pain than this. This is nothing.
She settled back into the rhythm—breathe, track, wait. Then she fired. The target spun on impact. Center mass.
Behind her, someone cursed in disbelief.
Third target. Diagonal. The hardest angle—arcing left to right as it climbed toward the ceiling. Elena squinted, willing herself to see clearly. But the tremor in her arms was worse now, the front sight refusing to settle. Her breath came in short gasps. Sweat slicked her palms, making her grip slippery.
No. Don’t panic. Breathe, Elena. Breathe.
She closed her eyes. She let go of everything—the crowd, the tightness of her muscles, the weight of what she was trying to prove. For a heartbeat, there was only darkness and the sound of her own breath.
Trust yourself. You know this. Your body knows this. Get out of your head and let it happen.
Elena opened her eyes.
The target was still wheeling through the air, just beginning its descent. Her arms, sore and shaking as they were, knew what to do. She felt the exact moment when everything would align. She fired.
The bullet hit. Inner ring. The target shattered.
She lowered her weapon. The gun suddenly felt too heavy in her hand, and she set it down on the bench with a clatter. Her arms hung at her sides, trembling visibly.
The crowd was silent.
Then Arlo started clapping—slow and deliberate.
Another joined. Then another. Then a dozen. Genuine, enthusiastic applause filled the range, echoing off the concrete walls.
"Holy shit!"
"She actually did it!"
“Eighty-one points! That’s insane!”
Greta was at Elena's side in an instant, grabbing her arms and flailing excitedly. "Sister, Sister! You did it! You did it! You’re so amazing!"
A laugh escaped Elena. Greta's joy was infectious.
Nikolai stood motionless, staring at the shattered target. Then he turned and walked toward Elena. He held out his hand. "I was wrong about you."
No excuse. No explanation. Just a simple admission, offered without performance.
Elena looked at his outstretched hand. He could have made excuses. He could have let the accusation stand and walked out with his pride intact. Instead, he stood here offering his respect.
She smiled and took his hand. His grip was firm.
When Nikolai turned back to his men, the crowd erupted in celebration. Men clapped each other on the shoulders and threw out the bets. The energy in the room had transformed entirely.
She was no longer an outsider here. She had earned her place.
Elena let Greta lead her away. At the door, she paused and looked back.
Nikolai was still standing there, watching her go. He nodded when their eyes met.
Elena nodded back.
Last edited by Feiya Phia 5/11/26