Chapter 153: Sniping Distance
"It's nothing," Natsume said, the voice of her male persona, Cointreau, smooth and unbothered. "I just need to check on the capabilities of our members from time to time. It gives me a better grasp of things for when we operate together in the future." She ran a hand over the unfamiliar contours of her disguised face, a casual smile playing on her lips. "As for this... I was wearing this face when I last encountered that FBI agent, Shuichi Akai. I have a hunch we'll be meeting again soon, and I'd rather he not mistake me for someone else when the time comes."
Of course, that was only half the truth. The real reason was far simpler: the fewer people in the organization who saw her true face, the better. There was little she could do about those who already had, though thankfully the number was small, and she had ways of ensuring their silence. Still, it was a risk best avoided from now on.
'Ah, the sacrifices I make,'she thought with a flicker of wry amusement.'Even my own face is off-limits. I hope my other self appreciates the effort.'
"Hmph." A cold, humorless laugh escaped Gin's lips. The sound was sharp, like ice cracking in the dead of winter. He didn't believe Cointreau's perfunctory excuse for a second. In his experience, Cointreau wasn't the type to alter his methods for such trivial matters. But he didn't press the issue; as long as the man knew what he was doing, the details were irrelevant.
While they spoke, the scene on the firing range below continued to unfold. Korn and Chianti, two of the organization's premier snipers, had pushed their effective range to 600 yards.
Now, Korn was attempting 650. He settled, breathed, and squeezed the trigger. The shot was a near miss, the bullet kicking up dust just beside the target.
Immediately after, Chianti lined up on the same target, her posture radiating confidence. She fired. She also missed.
"It seems 600 yards is their limit," Natsume observed, shaking her head with a soft 'tsk' of disappointment. "They can't even measure up to an undercover agent."
She sighed, a genuine note of weariness in the sound. If this was the standard for the organization's elite snipers, she truly worried for its future.
Gin ignored her mockery. It was, after all, the truth—Korn and Chianti were proving relatively useless today. His interest had shifted. "You haven't touched a sniper rifle in a long time, have you?" he asked, his voice a low drawl. "Since we have the time, why don't we have a competition?"
He was curious. Had Cointreau's skills atrophied after so long away from the scope?
"Huh?" Natsume feigned surprise at the sudden challenge. "Forget it. You know I'm better at close-quarters combat than I am at sniping. I only picked it up a few years ago, really." She had no genuine interest in showing off and waved off his proposal.
"If you agree to the match," Gin stated, his eyes fixed on her, "I'll owe you a favor."
The condition hung in the air, heavy with implication. It was rare for him to be this invested in anything, let alone a simple contest of skill. He could vaguely sense the undercurrents of Cointreau's recent activities, the subtle preparations for a larger gambit. He had to admit, with Cointreau's abilities, finding concrete evidence was nearly impossible if the man truly wished to hide his tracks.
However, Gin was certain of one thing: if Cointreau intended to make a significant move within the organization, he could not bypass him. Gin's allegiance would be crucial. He recalled the cryptic phone call after the incident at the Twilight Mansion, and his suspicions, already at fifty or sixty percent, solidified.
If Cointreau accepted this condition, that certainty would leap to ninety percent. The final ten was a margin of error Gin always afforded himself; he never dealt in absolutes. This wasn't just a competition; it was a probe, and he knew Cointreau was sharp enough to understand that.
Gin waited, his expression impassive, for the answer.
Natsume met his gaze, fully aware of the test being laid before her. She didn't respond immediately, letting the silence stretch.
Standing behind Gin, Vodka could feel the strange, charged atmosphere crackling between his boss and Cointreau. He held his breath, his shoulders tensed, not daring to make a sound.
"Alright," Natsume finally said, her voice breaking the tension. "I agree."
Vodka let out a silent, relieved sigh, his body relaxing.
Soon, the two of them descended to the firing line, taking the positions Korn and Chianti had just vacated. Chianti, initially annoyed at having her practice interrupted, immediately swallowed her complaints the moment she saw it was Gin.
Besides, her curiosity was piqued. She wanted to see Gin's true sniping distance for herself. She stepped aside, content to watch the match.
Her eyes drifted to the man standing beside Gin. She'd never seen him before. She shot an inquisitive look at Korn, who simply shook his head, indicating he didn't recognize him either. This only made Chianti more curious. Who was this man, daring enough to compete with Gin?
She sidled up to Vodka. "Hey, Vodka," she whispered, subtly gesturing with her eyes. "Who's that guy?"
"He's Cointreau," Vodka replied, his voice equally low.
Judging from the earlier conversation, Cointreau would be using this disguise for the foreseeable future. Since Gin hadn't ordered them to keep it a secret, telling Chianti and Korn his codename seemed harmless enough.
"So that's Cointreau," Chianti murmured, her eyes widening slightly. "He looks so young." She found it hard to believe that the organization's former head of European operations was standing right there, looking barely out of his twenties.
Korn, who had overheard, also showed a flicker of surprise.
While they whispered amongst themselves, Gin and Natsume had finished checking their rifles. They took their stances, the air around them shifting as they settled into a state of lethal focus.
"Let's start at 700 yards to save time," Natsume declared. The easy smile was gone from her face, replaced by a stern, focused mask as she cradled the weapon.
Gin offered no verbal reply, his silence a clear sign of agreement.
Up on the observation deck, Chianti curled her lip. "This Cointreau is a bit arrogant. Is he that confident in his sniping?" she muttered, annoyed. 'Starting at 700 yards, a hundred more than my own limit. He'd better not miss his first shot.'
But Cointreau had made the request for a reason. He barely seemed to take any time to aim. There was a sharp crack, and the first target, 700 yards distant, was instantly neutralized.
Next was Gin. Same distance. His movements were just as clean, just as decisive. He fired. A perfect bullseye.
The targets were moved back. 750 yards. 800. 850. They continued all the way to 1000 yards. Under the stunned and admiring gazes of the onlookers, Gin and Cointreau fired in turn, flawlessly taking down every target without a single miss.
Chianti could only sigh in awe. "As expected of Cointreau. You really can't judge a person by their appearance. Anyone who dares to compete with Gin is no ordinary person."
Even Korn's gaze was now filled with undisguised astonishment. He never expected that, besides Gin, there was another person in the organization whose skill could rival that of Rye, the traitor. A single question echoed in his mind: was Cointreau's ability even more formidable than Rye's?
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