Practice shooting? Practice my ass.
Ma Zhaodi really wanted to say that, but his current shooting skills were indeed not quite enough.
If he had not bought Elementary Firearm Proficiency, that shot at the chandelier might well have gone wide and hit the supervisor instead.
Old Gotham Black Flag's shooting skills had been honed through decades of gunfights. Catching up within just a few weekends was impossible, but he still had to learn properly. This sort of thing took time and accumulated practice.
Of course, there was also a faster way.
Ma Zhaodi opened the system shop. He looked at the Intermediate Firearm Proficiency priced at $5,000, then silently backed out.
"Actually, now that I think about it, taking shortcuts isn't really my style."
At dusk, Ma Zhaodi was driving his beloved car through the streets. The restaurant supervisor had something wrong with him; the shooting range he had given Ma Zhaodi's address to was in Burnley District. That meant Ma Zhaodi had to drive a long way, specifically traveling from the East End to Burnley District to practice shooting.
As Gotham's central district, the area's prosperity and cleanliness were indeed pleasing to the eye. Many entertainment venues and upscale clubs were located there, but none of that meant anything to Ma Zhaodi.
He was flat-out broke. The $50,000 in his hands could only make a tiny splash in a place like this. It wasn't enough for anything. No matter how upscale or luxurious the entertainment here was, it had nothing to do with him. He could see it but not touch it.
"That supervisor bastard must be making a fortune." He grumbled indignantly, "If I'd known, I would've just pissed him off to death back then. At least I would've done the people a service."
Still, his name did carry some weight. The shooting range really did give him a thirty percent discount, so the fees weren't expensive—only a few dozen dollars a day. For maximum cost-effectiveness, he kept practicing there until dark before heading home.
"The car was refurbished pretty well, actually. It's quite comfortable to drive, but Beginner Car Driving Mastery only lets me keep the car under control when speeding at 100 kilometers per hour. Driving for over half an hour to get home is really miserable."
"Hey! Watch it, bum!"
Just as Ma Zhaodi slowed down and carefully drove over the ditch beside the road, a trench-coated man walking on the sidewalk with his arm around a woman suddenly frowned and shouted at him several times, "Don't splash water on my clothes and shoes!"
Ma Zhaodi turned his head. The man's brown trench coat did indeed appear to be made of fine material. His crisp suit underneath and the gleaming belt around his waist were clearly high-end brands, while the expensive leather shoes on his feet looked just as valuable. Ma Zhaodi had slowed down a little too late, and it seemed he really had splashed a few specks of mud beside the man's shoes.
Should I apologize?
"Dipshit."
Ma Zhaodi kept it brief. He raised his left hand and gave the man the middle finger, then immediately stepped on the gas. The engine roared, making the man instinctively shield the blonde beside him as they hurriedly dodged. They narrowly avoided being splashed by the spray thrown up by the tires.
"Must be some poor bum from the East End." He cursed angrily, then turned to comfort the beauty beside him. "Darling, are you all right?"
"I'm fine." The blonde woman nestled against him. "Richard, what were you about to say?"
The man gently stroked her hair and continued with what he had been about to discuss. "Oh, I was saying that we should leave Gotham City for a while and find a small place in Paris. What do you think?"
Her eyes immediately filled with delighted surprise. "Really? Paris in autumn—I can't even imagine how romantic it would be!"
"Richard!"
Ma Zhaodi heard someone shouting a name behind him. He was a little on edge at the moment, and actually thought it over carefully, confirming that the name did not seem to belong to any important person in his memory before calmly returning his attention to the road.
"Richard Daniel!"
The man turned back in confusion. "What is it? Who?"
"Rat-a-tat-tat-tat—"
"Holy crap, why am I running into another gunfight?!"
Ma Zhaodi felt like he was about to split apart. He had been sent here to practice shooting precisely because he had run into a gunfight, but the instructor had never mentioned that the drive home afterward would include a practical refresher course.
He stomped on the accelerator as if fleeing for his life, while watching the scene far behind him through the rearview mirror. Half of a submachine gun barrel protruded from a black car and spat tongues of flame. A stream of bullets turned the stunned and unwilling man into a blood-soaked mess within seconds. The black car then sped away, disappearing at the end of Burnley District's streets.
"So they say, the wicked are always punished by Heaven." Ma Zhaodi shook his head. "Be more careful in your next life. Don't run your mouth again."
With injuries like those, there was no point thinking about saving him. Even if Ma Zhaodi had enough Asset Points and were willing to dash out of the car to treat him, it was probably already too late. In the dozen or so seconds it took to run over, the man would most likely already have been beyond saving.
The blonde woman beside Richard had not been hit by the bullets. She was now clutching the blood-soaked body on the ground and wailing. He had not expected the two of them to actually be a couple, nor that the woman truly loved Richard so much.
Unfortunately, bullets only obeyed physics. Bulletproof vests could stop bullets, but love could not.
Ma Zhaodi drove back to Drake's house. Although the idiot who had angered him had died a violent death, he was not in a particularly good mood. Part of it was because of the poor blonde woman, and part of it was because the man had not deserved to die.
But neither of those was what troubled him most. What troubled him most was how things could have coincided so perfectly. He had just had a brief argument and confrontation with the man that lasted little more than ten seconds, and then the man had been shot dead.
The Gotham Police Department would definitely launch an investigation tomorrow. Ma Zhaodi would certainly be dragged to the station to give a statement. All that over a ten-second argument, and his entire weekend would be gone.
The only consolation in this misfortune was that tomorrow was not a workday. Otherwise, if giving a statement cost him an entire day's work, Ma Zhaodi would truly have been heartbroken over those few hundred Asset Points.
"Ah, even after transmigrating, I still can't escape the fate of being an overworked wage slave steeped in corporate drudgery. This damn world, this damn Gotham..."
He opened the door with a lifeless expression, silently sat down at the table, and began enjoying his dinner while wondering how many people Batman would hang from statues tonight.
"What happened, buddy?" Drake had not even entered the house when he noticed something strange about Ma Zhaodi's expression and instinctively asked.
"Nothing. I ran into another gunfight on the way home."
"You're all right?"
"Hey, what kind of question is that?" Ma Zhaodi rolled his eyes at him. "How many gunfights and assassinations could possibly be aimed at me? I've only been in Gotham for a few days. What big shot could I have offended? Only one unlucky guy died at the scene, some Richard Daniel. Nobody else."
"Hm?" Drake's expression turned grave. "Who died?"
"Richard Daniel. Why?"
"Holy shit! The president of Gotham Bank was assassinated right after resigning!"
"Huh?"
Reading a little comic book and filling in a little plot. Updates have been slower, so please don't blame me.
Before you continue