Golden Target

Chapter 47: Golden Target

"This is bad. Meng Chao is actually testing alongside Zuo Haoran. Won't he be thrown off?"

"Definitely. Their shooting lanes may be different, but they can clearly see each other's every move and score. Meng Chao's mentality will definitely be affected. He might even collapse."

"Meng Chao is too foolish. He should have studied the exam rules properly and figured out that the firearms test pairs people according to their scores in the first two events. Since his punching strength and speed were so impressive, he should have held back a little just now. If he'd placed third or fourth in the class, he could have avoided Zuo Haoran."

The students fretted in secret.

Some also indulged in wild fantasies. "Could Meng Chao's condition and luck be heaven-defying today? Could he shoot an outrageously high score?"

Most of those clinging to that hope were at the bottom of the class and had never planned to apply for an Undergraduate Program.

The top ten students in the class all scoffed.

"Impossible. The firearms test isn't just firing one shot. You have to assemble three firearms yourself, then fire ten pistol rounds, twenty rifle rounds, and thirty caseless assault rounds for submachine guns at ten stationary targets and ten moving targets. Fine, maybe one or two lucky shots could happen—but how could every single shot be lucky?"

"You can still gamble on luck with stationary targets, but moving targets are worth three to five times as much. They completely simulate a monster's speed and movement patterns. Each target only appears for a few seconds, moving at extreme speed and shifting unpredictably. How can you gamble on luck there?"

"The live-fire classes at school barely teach us how to shoot moving targets, but Zuo Haoran trains specifically on moving targets at the Falcon Gun Club. How are they supposed to compare?"

The bottom-ranked students still refused to accept it. "Isn't there also the 'golden target,' worth ten times more than an ordinary target?"

The firearms experts in the class all laughed. "The golden target is the last of the twenty targets, and also the smallest, farthest, fastest, and most bizarrely moving one. A target the size of a fist, more than fifty meters away, running faster than a monster, appearing for only one second—it requires advance prediction. Unless your marksmanship, gun sense, and Neural Reaction Speed have all reached 'perfect,' who can hit it? Even Zuo Haoran can't hit it. He probably wouldn't even waste bullets on the golden target!"

The bottom-ranked students deflated. "Then there's no hope at all?"

The firearms experts sighed. "There never was. We can only hope Meng Chao shoots with style and defeats himself."

"Zuo Haoran, Meng Chao!" The proctor called them for the second time.

Amid the students' discussion, the two stepped forward.

"Meng Chao, wait."

The homeroom teacher suddenly came over, pressed a hand on his shoulder, and whispered, "Put aside this ridiculous battle of pride. Your most important task now is to break into the second round of the Undergraduate Program. It's perfectly normal for your shooting to be worse than Zuo Haoran's. Whatever you do, don't let your mentality collapse. Once it does, every shot will miss the target. No matter how good your earlier scores were, they'll be useless!"

"Ahem."

The proctor coughed lightly twice.

Meng Chao nodded. "Teacher Wang, I'll do my best."

"Good. Hold steady, and try to keep your miss rate below thirty percent. You still have hope of making it to the next round!"

The homeroom teacher pumped a fist, smiled at the proctor, and stepped back.

Meng Chao and Zuo Haoran took their respective shooting positions.

The long tables before them were covered with mixed-up parts.

Pistol, rifle, and submachine gun components were piled into a small mountain.

The two exchanged a glance.

The mockery in Zuo Haoran's eyes burned as fiercely as fire, as though he wanted to reduce Meng Chao to ashes.

Meng Chao's gaze was somewhat unfocused, as if he couldn't concentrate.

He couldn't help it. Information kept popping up at the corners of his vision. The side effect of gaining Contribution Points was that his eyes wandered, making him seem as though he were ignoring everyone else.

When Zuo Haoran realized he was being ignored, his fury surged even higher.

"Beep!"

The proctor pressed the timer, and ten stationary targets rose at the far end of the long shooting lanes before the two contestants.

The ten stationary targets would remain for three minutes. Contestants had to finish assembling all three firearms within those three minutes in order to shoot the stationary targets at ease.

The rules did not specify how many stationary targets contestants had to shoot. If someone had absolute confidence in their marksmanship, it did not matter if they ignored every stationary target and fired only at moving targets.

After all, moving targets were worth three to five times as much as stationary targets, sometimes even more than ten times as much.

But no contestant would be that foolish. High school students' marksmanship was still immature. Stationary targets were the big chunk they could chew through; as for moving targets, they could only try their luck and count any hit as a win.

"Click-clack, click-clack!"

A rhythmically rising and falling series of assembly sounds came from Zuo Haoran's fingertips.

He trained at the gun club every day after school and was already intimately familiar with Dragon City's standard military firearms. His movements flowed like drifting clouds and running water, without the slightest flaw or redundancy.

Even the students who questioned Zuo Haoran's character had to admit that watching him assemble guns was a pleasure.

The dean of students beamed from ear to ear at his nephew's outstanding performance.

Devil Yan also checked his watch. "Zuo Haoran's gun assembly speed has improved by another ten percent. He's caught up to most Rocket Class students. As expected, marksmanship is his strongest suit."

Compared with Zuo Haoran's dazzling performance, Meng Chao was much more understated.

It was not that he was particularly slow. He was simply at the level of an ordinary high school student—methodical and rigid. Every so often, he had to pause and think, or carefully feel over a certain part with half-closed eyes, as though no one knew what was surfacing in his mind.

Everyone was anxious, but constrained by exam discipline, they could neither urge him on nor encourage him.

Besides, Meng Chao's performance today was already far better than in his usual firearms classes.

He had already surpassed himself. What more could they ask of him?

"Good. He's holding steady." The homeroom teacher finally let out a breath.

That was more like it. What nonsense about deciding victory and defeat? That was just childish talk. So what if he could not beat Zuo Haoran? It would not stop him from applying for an Undergraduate Program!

Principal Sun, seated in the corner, seemed to be dozing. Suddenly, he opened his tiny mung-bean eyes and swept a glance over the shooting platform.

He was not looking at Zuo Haoran.

He was looking at Meng Chao.

After only half a second, his slack eyelids drooped again.

"Not bad, not bad."

The Heavy Cannon of old, now a shriveled little old man, resumed dozing.

"Bang bang bang bang!"

Only one minute into the test, Zuo Haoran had completed the assembly of all three firearms. Like a whirlwind, he emptied ten pistol rounds and thirty submachine gun rounds.

Ten rings! Ten rings! Ten rings! All forty bullets struck without exception, every shot biting into the ten-ring. It was simply perfect!

The students could not help covering their mouths, swallowing their cries of amazement.

At that moment, Meng Chao also finished assembling his guns and began firing.

Unfortunately, more than two minutes had already passed.

He had clearly been disturbed by Zuo Haoran's perfect performance. Though his movements remained fairly coordinated and his accuracy was decent, he made the gravest possible mistake.

"He's using the Semi-Automatic Rifle?" the students whispered.

Normally, firearms experts used pistols and submachine guns when shooting stationary targets.

Pistols had short range, while submachine guns lacked precision. They were perfect for collecting basic points on stationary targets.

The Semi-Automatic Rifle, equipped with an optical sight and possessing the highest accuracy, was used to chase high scores on moving targets.

That was the classic strategy. It was exactly what Zuo Haoran had done.

But after Meng Chao emptied his pistol rounds, he seemed somewhat flustered. Yet he picked up the Semi-Automatic Rifle and fired it without a care.

His results were not bad. By sheer luck, he landed twelve or thirteen ten-rings, making the gap between him and Zuo Haoran seem not all that large.

But next, he would use a submachine gun against those elusive moving targets?

The image was too beautiful. The students exchanged looks, and before all their eyes appeared a huge, gleaming duck egg.

"No, I think Meng Chao's strategy is to completely abandon the moving targets and fire all his bullets at stationary targets. He can still blast out quite a few points that way."

"That makes sense. Many students with weak marksmanship give up on moving targets. But damn it—he assembled his guns too slowly just now. He's out of time!"

"Then hurry up! Get however many points you can! What are you standing there like an idiot for?"

The students' eyes practically spewed fire with anxiety. They wished they could go up and shoot in his place.

Yet Meng Chao did not react at all. He merely held the submachine gun and waited blankly for the countdown to Return to Zero.

"Beep." Time was up, and all the stationary targets dropped.

Ten seconds later, the moving-target shooting would begin.

Meng Chao still had thirty submachine gun assault rounds, while Zuo Haoran still had twenty Semi-Automatic Rifle rounds.

The former had fierce firepower, low accuracy, and powerful recoil, making it extremely difficult to control. The latter had been born for precision shooting.

The students could not help letting out a huge sigh.

The homeroom teacher stamped his foot in anger. This kid—how could he fall apart the moment he was praised?

"This student Meng Chao's mentality isn't very stable."

The dean of students spoke in an indifferent tone. "He's the student who took some crooked side path in training and trained himself into the hospital, isn't he? His personality is too extreme. I'm afraid the road ahead will be difficult for him."

Devil Yan stared at Meng Chao, lost in thought. A trace of suspicion surfaced on his dark, gleaming face.

"Principal?" Devil Yan leaned toward the shriveled little old man and respectfully asked in a low voice.

"Mm, ah? Not bad, not bad." Principal Sun was awakened by the disturbance. Smiling pleasantly, he nodded, then closed his eyes again.

Ten seconds passed quickly.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!

Before the two contestants, moving targets rose one after another like phantoms, darting about madly without any pattern.

Everyone held their breath.

Zuo Haoran's face was also grave. He wrapped the sling around his arm, adopted a standard triangular stance, and fired at an unhurried pace.

Four rings! Five rings! Three rings! Seven rings!

His moving-target results were not as good as his stationary-target results, but they still far surpassed the limits of most students.

Every time he hit a moving target, even if he only grazed its edge, it was worth more points than hitting the ten-ring on a stationary target.

Meng Chao, on the other hand, assumed a posture no one had ever seen before and fired several shots as well. Nearly half his bullets missed the targets. Even those that grazed them scored no more than three rings, and the gap between him and Zuo Haoran grew wider and wider.

Nine rings!

Zuo Haoran's final bullet achieved an astonishing score. Expressionless, he put away his gun, showed the proctor the magazines and chambers of all three firearms, stepped back two paces, and turned to leave the field. Only then did a touch of high-spirited pride appear on his face.

"Excellent. The class monitor of Class Six—not bad at all!" The dean of students blossomed with joy.

"Zuo Haoran, well done." The homeroom teacher congratulated him too, though his feelings were complicated.

But inwardly, he thought, You brat, you're way too incredible. Shooting like that will completely shatter your classmates' mentalities. Our class may end up with one fewer Undergraduate Program student. What grudge do you have? Was there any need to be so aggressive?

Indeed, Meng Chao seemed stunned by Zuo Haoran's results and remained standing motionlessly.

Someone noticed that he had even closed his eyes, allowing targets to streak past before him one after another.

"Has he... completely given up?" The students looked at one another.

As time passed, the later moving targets became smaller and faster. If he could miss the earlier ones, there was no way he could hit the later ones.

"A mantis trying to stop a chariot, overestimating his own strength." Zuo Haoran sneered inwardly.

At that moment, a streak of golden radiance flashed at the end of the shooting lane.

The final target appeared—the golden target, worth an extraordinarily high score.

It was equivalent to a bonus question on the National College Entrance Examination. The overwhelming majority of students had never even considered shooting it.

Even Zuo Haoran had only hit seven moving targets just now and abandoned the final three.

But at that instant—no, it should be said, an instant before the golden target appeared—Meng Chao suddenly opened his eyes.