A week after the field trip incident—

"Today, we'll be conducting response training."

Instructor Samantha's voice echoed through the training hall.

The virtual arena behind her shimmered—capable of rendering jungles, blizzards, deserts, swamps, acid rain—anything one might encounter in real combat.

"You'll enter individually. Your score will be determined by how quickly you detect and respond to the appearing enemy targets. As you know, long-range fighters have the advantage in this test. For those lacking points…" Samantha's eyes swept the class, "…this is your chance to compensate."

Cadet Number 1: Kael Ardyn.

The murmurs began immediately.

"Damn. Close combat in this mode sucks…"

"If he gets an open field, he'll score gold again."

"If it were me in a swamp, I'd sink in five steps."

Soon enough—

Kael entered the simulation.

The landscape warped and shifted—

—into a swamp.

"Ugh—swamp terrain?"

"That's awful for sword users!"

"Hey—luck is part of skill!"

Sympathy rippled through the cadets.

Then:

[Beep!]

A target board materialized somewhere in the murky expanse.

To the observers behind the glass, the simulation highlighted it—glowing faintly.

But inside—Kael saw nothing. No glow. No hint. Just swamp and obscured vision.

Yet—

"Huh?! He found it already?!"

"What?!"

A burst of pure blue mana surged under Kael's feet.

His acceleration was instant—almost unnatural.

He sprinted lightly over the swamp like water-walking.

One clean slash—

CRACK!

Target destroyed.

[Number 1: Kael — 9.72 seconds]

Samantha nodded approvingly.

The class frowned and deflated.

'…No chance.'

'How do you beat that?'

'I can't even find the damn thing in ten seconds.'

Samantha cleared her throat.

Sharp tongue locked and loaded.

[Number 2: Drimus — 1 minute 37 seconds]

"One minute? If your opponent had been an archer, you'd have been sniped in the head a hundred times before you found the target!"

Drimus wilted.

[Number 3: Matthew — 3 minutes 8 seconds]

"Three minutes? Did you aim for three minutes because your number is 3? I'll be charitable and assume that's not the case."

Matthew turned purple with shame.

Cadet Number 7, an archer, was blessed with storm + jungle—supposedly ideal. Instead—

[Number 7: Low Veltia — 4 minutes 13 seconds]

Samantha didn't skip a beat.

"Four minutes is enough time for your opponent to take a snack break, finish it, and then defeat you."

Low Veltia looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.

The roasting was merciless.

"Number 14: Bordon."

"Yes!"

The moment the target appeared, Bordon activated his family's secret technique.

Frontkeeper.

"A-Amazing! A family secret art!"

"A mana sentinel—!"

A giant armored warrior formed from pure mana thundered into view, bulldozing the forest in its path, tearing trees and dirt apart in a wide sweep.

[Number 14: 25.31 seconds]

A solid time.

Bordon stepped out confidently—

Only to be manhandled right back in as Samantha grabbed his scruff and tossed him like luggage.

"Number 14?!"

"If you are from one of the Four Great Ducal Families, surely you understand the purpose of this test?"

Her voice was ice.

"The objective is to locate and eliminate an enemy hidden in hostile terrain. Not to become a rampaging idiot who erases the entire ecosystem!"

"I-I'm sorry!"

"Again."

Bordon took the test a second time—

More careful.

More focused.

[Number 14 (retry): 45.81 seconds]

He lost time—but Samantha nodded faintly.

Even so—

He still held the second fastest time of the class.

"Next, Number 23!"

As my number was called, a strange hush fell over Class A. Several students leaned forward unconsciously, and someone whispered my name—"Lucien!"—half incredulous, half curious.

I stepped into the virtual training chamber. In its inactive state, it resembled a compact, sterile cube with glowing white gridlines. The long walk to the center felt oddly isolating. Just standing there gave the sensation of being inside an endless box.

Then the simulation activated.

The world around me expanded, unfolding outward—trees sprouting from digital earth, vines spiraling up trunks, wind whipping through growing branches. Humid air settled in, and visibility dropped under sheets of heavy rain. Soon, I stood in a full jungle storm.

Wonderful.

A jungle with a storm. For a gunslinger.

'Teacher Samantha… you're definitely doing this on purpose.'

Close-combat cadets got swamps and deserts. Archers got open terrain. Ranged fighters got visibility. And I—the "gunman"—got a hellscape with weather interference, wind distortion, thunder noise, and obstructed sight lines.

'She's vicious.'

Thunder cracked overhead, followed by a rumble beneath my boots. I inhaled once and released the breath slowly.

'Fine. I'll show you.'

I closed my eyes.

The target for this test was a magically engineered bird—an artificial construct designed to mimic one of the most difficult combat targets: tiny, fast, agile, and intelligent. Many assumed birds were easy targets until they watched this one move. It flew at a speed impossible to track by eye, slipping between currents and branches with almost playful ease. Any magic that wasn't instantaneous would miss. Fire off spells wildly and it would simply weave between them. Large-area magic took too long to cast and burned too much mana.

And I? I wasn't even a proper mage.

Yes. This was intentional. Samantha wanted to see me fail.

But she wasn't aware of everything I'd prepared.

I cocked the revolver's hammer the moment Samantha gave the signal.

At the same time, I triggered my mana circuits.

It felt as natural as breathing. Ever since achieving Mana Control Lv. 5, channeling mana through my body had become smoother, faster, cleaner. The circuits beneath my skin lit up internally—like glowing threads in a tapestry—spreading from my palms through my arms, chest, spine, and legs.

My senses expanded.

I'd been unable to master combat spells, so I had devoted myself entirely to auxiliary magic. It was efficient, it was quiet, and most importantly—it activated automatically when mana flowed.

Even without turning around, I could sense the cadets behind me. I could feel their curiosity, boredom, interest, skepticism—all of it drifting in the mana currents like faint ripples on water.

Ahead of me—in the storm, in the swirling air—there it was. The bird. Darting and twisting between raindrops, cutting through the wind, its wings fluttering at impossible speed.

This was pure analysis magic. Everything within a five-meter radius, even outside my line of sight, was mapped and fed directly into my brain. But sensing it wasn't enough—not for the speed this thing moved at.

So I pushed harder.

I burned mana recklessly, my MP dropping rapidly, trading raw energy for heightened awareness. In return, my perception sharpened beyond simple motion tracking.

I could detect the angle of each wingbeat, sense the air pressure carving around its body, feel the tiny surges of mana that fueled its propulsion. All of that data—every variable—was compiled into a predicted trajectory inside my mind.

I didn't look. I didn't aim with my eyes.

I aimed with my perception.

And then—without hesitation—I pulled the trigger.

The revolver fired.

BANG.

The sound of the gunshot almost lagged behind the action, lost in the storm. By the time the sound reached my ears, the bird had already fallen—spiraling down, wings limp.

There was a tiny thud as it hit the wet earth.

Silence inside the chamber.

And from outside—someone whispered, almost numb:

"…Is it over?"

*****

The moment Lucien's turn came, the classroom's mood shifted.

"Can Cadet Lucien actually pull it off?" Bordon whispered, eyes fixed on the simulation chamber.

Kael folded his arms, brow slightly furrowed. "Well… it's not impossible, but—"

He didn't finish.

Because the conditions were undeniably cruel.

Even Kael himself had been given a swamp—difficult, but workable.

But Lucien?

A jungle and storm for a firearm specialist.

That was outright sabotage.

"Elisha, what do you think?" Kael asked.

She wasn't even watching. Instead, she was calmly scribbling notes for an exam next week.

"If it were me," she said offhandedly, "I'd complete it in under thirty seconds."

Bordon's eyebrows lifted.

That was an amazingly confident statement.

So far, only two cadets had ever managed sub-one-minute times.

And only one—Kael—had reached sub-30 seconds.

Before anyone could mull it over, the signal sounded.

[Beep!]

The test began.

Kael, Bordon, and Elisha turned their eyes toward the training ground.

And the numbers onscreen blinked:

[3.45 seconds]

"…?!"

Chairs scraped as half the class instinctively stood.

The training jungle vanished—deactivated in an instant—and Lucien stepped out.

No one spoke.

Not even Instructor Samantha.

Only after a long pause did she finally open her mouth.

"…Excellent."

Not good.

Not well done.

Not acceptable.

Excellent.

Kael felt something cold run down his back.

If he had been the target, he might have managed to react to the shot—maybe even block or evade.

But only perhaps.

Only maybe.

And that was him—the protagonist.

He scanned the room.

How many cadets here… could withstand Lucien turning that gun on them with real killing intent?

One? Two?

Could he protect everyone?

Kael suddenly wasn't sure.

A small clatter snapped his attention downward.

A pen had fallen and rolled across the floor.

"Elisha?" he asked quietly.

She didn't answer.

In her mind, the past three seconds replayed on loop.

The moment the target appeared—

Lucien had already finished aiming.

The first shot cut down the environmental interference.The second obliterated the target cleanly.

And his gun-hand never even wavered.

Marksmanship at the level of a master.

But that wasn't the most terrifying part.

It was his detection.

"…That's impossible," Elisha murmured. "Even in my family, only my father can do that—and his instincts are considered nearly precognitive."

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