Chapter 1 - THE SILENT AIMThe arena held its breath. The silence was so absolute that you could hear the distant humming of the ventilation fans. Hundreds of spectators stood frozen, their eyes locked on the young janitor who had just picked up the reigning national champion’s high-precision competition rifle.
Emma’s mock smile vanished, replaced by an expression of sharp disbelief and rising rage. "Put that down right now, you crazy bitch!" Emma barked, taking a aggressive step forward. "Do you have any idea how much that rifle costs? That’s custom-built equipment for a champion, not trash for a floor-sweeper to touch!"
Sarah didn't flinch. She didn't yell. She didn't even look at Emma.
With smooth, astonishingly practiced movements, Sarah checked the chamber, disengaged the safety, and brought the heavy rifle up to her shoulder in one seamless motion. The posture was flawless—her stance was rock-solid, her breathing instantly slowed, and her posture reflected a level of technical perfection that only elite marksmen possessed.
The camera crews, sensing an unprecedented scandal, immediately trained their lenses on the scene. The live broadcast feed was still rolling, streaming to tens of thousands of viewers nationwide.
"Hey! Security!" Emma shouted, panic finally bleeding into her tone. "Get this lunatic out of here!"
Before the security guards could breach the barrier, BANG!
A thunderous crack echoed through the enclosed arena.
The crowd gasped in collective shock. Sarah hadn't aimed at Emma, nor had she aimed at the floor. She had trained the iron sights directly on the electronic target lane 50 meters away—the exact target Emma had just finished shooting on minutes earlier.
On the massive LED scoreboard suspended above the arena, the target camera zoomed in.
A single, perfectly centered hole appeared right in the middle of the bullseye. A 10.9—the highest possible score in precision shooting.
Emma froze, her jaw open. "A... a lucky shot. You just got lucky!"
Sarah didn't answer. BANG!
A second shot fired.
BANG!
A third.
BANG!
A fourth.
BANG!
A fifth.
Five shots in less than ten seconds. In precision rifle shooting, rapid fire was notoriously difficult, requiring superhuman recoil management and trigger discipline. When the high-definition cameras zoomed in on the electronic target, the entire stadium let out a unified scream of disbelief.
There weren't five holes on the paper. There was only one single hole—because every single bullet had passed through the exact same microscopic point as the first shot. A perfect sequence of five 10.9s.
The commentator’s microphone clicked on, his voice trembling: "Ladies and gentlemen... I... I don't know what we are witnessing right now. The janitor just executed a group shot tighter than the national record!"
Sarah lowered the rifle, engaged the safety mechanism with cold precision, and set it back on the stand without making a sound. She picked up her dustpan and broom, looked straight into Emma’s pale, trembling face, and spoke in a low, crystal-clear voice:
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"You shoot to win trophies, Emma. I used to shoot to stay alive."
Before anyone could comprehend her words, Sarah turned and walked calmly toward the staff exit, leaving behind a ruined champion and an arena erupting into utter chaos.
