Lord-Campione
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New Dawn Chapter: 030
🕑 Added 2024-11-16 15:48:57 +0000 UTCNow that the Rage Room took off, and new personnel was hired to properly manage the place in his absence, Tysone found himself with a lot more free time in his hands. Saya was skilled at the administrative part of the business, and Mai was a huge promotion banner that attracted customers left and right.
All Tysone had to do was make an appearance or two to make sure everything was going smoothly.
With that taken care of, he could finally dedicate a bit of his newfound free time into improving himself. The list was as follows:
1 — Gym
2 — Marksmanship
3 — Self-defense
Instead of buying nice cars and clothes, he’d invest it all on himself. He had to discard the mentality of nouveau riche since it’d all be worthless in 2 years. Of course, there was always the possibility that instead of zombies, unicorns that shot rainbow beams would crawl out of the earth.
But that was just unlikely. He’d rather err on the side of caution. As such, his money was best spent in preparing for the worst case scenario. Even in the best case scenario, it would not be too farfetched to assume that if zombies didn’t show up, it’d be something similar instead.
This world was cursed, and it would happen. One way or another, everything would crumble apart. He had to be ready.
Even if it meant having to endure all kinds of pain.
…
Saya was frustrated, and that was putting it mildly. The growth of their business was going as predicted, and she unexpectedly found a surprising amount of enjoyment behind all of that careful planning, number crunching and financial balancing acts.
No, what frustrated her was Tysone, her partner. While they'd text back and forth about potential locations to open up another shop, they rarely met in person. The idiotic man was always busy with his training. It wasn't even as if he had abandoned the Rage Room, as their employees explicitly told her that he'd drop by frequently to oversee the operations, but his stay was never long enough for her to catch him.
And when she texted him, his responses were brief. "I'm at the shooting range." "Spending my day at the gym." Or simple. "Training." Like, seriously?
At times, she'd find herself imagining him all sweaty with his shirt off, muscles rippling in the sun.
No, she definitely was not fantasizing about the dumbass. Nuh-uh! Not a chance! She only missed seeing his stupid face from time to time. Not to mention that they should be brainstorming how to proceed further with the business expansion.
But she kind of missed sparring verbally with Tysone, their back-and-forth banter filling the space as they worked, with his casual yet witty remarks. Well, she couldn’t just simply admit that she actually enjoyed spending time with the guy.
Regardless of her feelings, whether they were real or not, he’d probably enjoy teasing her about it. Like, "Miss me, Saya?" and flex his muscles, as if she’d ever fall for something so shallow and arrogant!
What was it with guys and flexing anyway?
Saya grit her teeth in annoyance, her face warming at the mere thought of it.
"What's the point of hiring employees to manage our flagship store if you're busy playing hero elsewhere! You're supposed to be my partner, you stupid caveman!"
Saya tossed her phone aside onto her bed. Huffing in irritation, she got up from her chair and paced around her room, trying to calm herself down. Stupid Tysone... making her worry like this...
Ugh.
Her mind wandered to all the places he frequented: the gun ranges, gyms, etc.
If only he was a little lazier or more inclined to party or waste money, then maybe she wouldn't be so anxious. At least then he'd stay put and be easier to reach.
"Damn it all!"
She got dressed in a hurry; she decided she'd visit all the potential places he could be at. She figured she'd go over his place first, but she didn't know where he lived, so she had to figure out where he could be at the moment. Surely, she'd eventually meet up with him.
He'll see her coming whether he liked it or not.
…
The air was filled with the sound of gunshots echoing in rapid succession.
In a nondescript shooting range on the outskirts of town, Tysone stood tall and confident, his stance relaxed but focused. His eyes were sharp, scanning the paper targets lined up before him.
He held a gun in his hand, a Glock-17. A simple and effective weapon. It was easy to use, accurate, and had low recoil. In other words, perfect for someone who wanted to get a quick and easy feel of a pistol.
It was not exactly his first time shooting a gun, but doing it out of practice and doing out of survival instinct were two different things. He needed to make sure his aim was as true and steady as it could be.
His grip was firm, but his hands were relaxed, his fingers lightly touching the trigger, his eyes fixed on the targets. His stance was wide and balanced. His breathing steady.
"Focus, Ty. Steady. Breathe." He whispered to himself.
Without further inner drama, his finger squeezed the trigger. The Glock barked once, twice, three times, spitting hot lead at the target. When Tysone took in the sight of the torn target, he sighed in dismay.
Three shots, three hits. But none of them were where he had intended them to be. If that was a zombie right there, it'd still be alive and crawling towards him. He had to do better than this.
"Dammit. Again."
He reloaded the pistol. The smell of gunpowder filled his nose as he slid a fresh magazine into the gun. He chambered a round and raised his arm. His eyes narrowed, his finger tensed, and the Glock barked once more.
The shot hit the paper, but barely grazed the arm of the target. Tysone pulled the trigger two more times in quick succession. A lucky shot landed the bullet somewhere in the stomach area, while the other frayed the edges of the paper.
He fired another three shots. One went through the leg. The other grazed the side. The third missed entirely.
"Dammit!"
"Hey, buddy! Keep it down!" An older man, probably the owner of the range, called out from the next stall. He gave Tysone an annoyed look. "It's bad enough you're wasting your bullets. You don't need to be yelling, too."
Tysone grunted and lowered the gun. "Sorry." He muttered, then ejected the magazine from his gun and set it down on the bench in front of him. He took off his earmuffs, rubbed his ears, and closed his eyes for a moment, taking deep breaths.
The old man muttered a few more things before he approached, limping slightly. "You're a terrible shot." He observed. "You're also holding the gun like a hammer, not a gun. Hold the handle with a firm, but not too tight of a grip. Don't lock your wrists and keep them loose and flexible." The old man mimed holding a gun and Tysone picked up his gun and did as instructed. "Yeah, like that."
He continued. "And don't forget the stance. Keep your body relaxed, your legs apart, and your center of gravity low. You want to be able to absorb the recoil, not get knocked back by it." He gave Tysone an appraising look. "You got it?"
"Yeah, I think I got it." Tysone replied. "Are you an instructor?"
The old man chuckled. "Something like that." He held out his hand. "The name's Hiro, by the way. I've been coming to this range for years now. Seen a lot of people like you."
Tysone took a moment to stare at the proffered hands. Didn’t Japanese people bow most of the time? Perhaps sensing his intense gaze, Hiro explained. “You’re a foreigner, aren’t you? No way in hell you’re Japanese. Don’t they greet each other like this?”
“Yeah… we do.” Tysone took his hand and shook it. "Thanks, Hiro. I'm Tysone. I appreciate the tips." He gestured to the Glock on the bench. "I've always been fascinated by firearms. And I wanted to learn to use it properly. It's not like the movies or video games, huh?"
Hiro patted his shoulder, sighing. "No, kid, it's not. But you'll get the hang of it. Practice, practice, practice." He pointed at the targets on the wall. "See how your shots are spread out all over the place? That's because you're not aiming correctly. You need to focus on the front sight, not the target."
He tapped the front sight on the Glock, a small blade of metal sticking out from the barrel. "This is the most important thing on the gun. It's the only thing you should be looking at when you're shooting."
Tysone raised the gun again and looked down the sight. The old man was right; it was a lot easier to focus on the small blade of metal than the entire target. He wore his earmuffs and held the gun once more.
He tried to relax his arms, shoulders, and wrists. He steadied himself and took aim.
"Focus on the front sight. Don't be too hasty. Shoot when you're ready." Hiro instructed him.
"Right."
He pulled the trigger.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Tysone looked down and grinned. He had hit the target three times in a row, and he was getting closer to the center. His aim was still a bit wonky, but at least he was more consistent now.
"Not bad, kid." The old man nodded. "Keep at it, you'll get it eventually. But you need to put the time in, alright?"
"Thanks, man." Tysone replied, his eyes shining. "I owe you one."
Hiro shrugged. "No need to thank me, just buy me a drink someday." He chuckled, limping away from him and back to his station.
