Special Forces: From the very beginning, I can upgrade the entry

Chapter Eleven: A Hundred Paces, A Perfect Shot—Marksmanship Beyond Human Limits

The gunfire had ceased, leaving only the lingering scent of gunpowder hanging in the cold morning air.

“Unload!” came the sharp command from the supervising officers.

In perfect synchrony, the recruits moved. Magazines were ejected, chambers checked, bolts pulled back with a crisp metallic snap—an effortless sequence drilled into them through weeks of repetition.

“On your feet!”

A chorus of boots snapped together as the recruits rose in unison, standing at attention.

“Report the targets!”

The range officers, stationed at the distant shooting boards, began calling out the results.

“Target One—seventy-eight points!”

“Target Two—sixty-nine points!”

“Target Three—missed entirely!”

Laughter rippled through the recruits. A clean miss. Ten rounds fired, not a single one hitting the target—that took a special kind of “talent.” All eyes turned toward the unfortunate soldier standing at position three, who rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

“Target Four—eighty-one points.”

Chen Xiwa grinned, puffing up slightly. That was a solid score. He shot a glance at Zhuang Yan and Lin Yi, eager to see how they had performed.

“Target Five—seventy-one points!”

“Target Six—ninety-nine points!”

A murmur spread through the ranks. Ninety-nine was exceptional. Chen Xiwa’s jaw slackened as he turned to Zhuang Yan, who was licking his lips, smugness evident in his expression.

“That’s insane! Did you train for this?”

Zhuang Yan chuckled. “Used to be on my school’s shooting team.”

Chen Xiwa nodded in understanding. “Figures. That explains it!”

But before they could continue their whispered conversation, the next announcement stunned the entire range into silence.

“Target Seven—one hundred points.”

It was as if thunder had cracked overhead. Every recruit, every instructor, even the veteran soldiers turned their heads toward Lin Yi. Ten shots. Ten bullseyes. That wasn’t human. Even among trained marksmen, a perfect score in the first live-fire exercise was unheard of. A hundred-meter fixed target, ten rounds fired, all dead center. For reference, a passing score was between 60 to 68 points, 70 to 88 was good, and anything above 90 was considered excellent.

Zhuang Yan’s ninety-nine points had already surpassed most seasoned veterans—yet somehow, Lin Yi had achieved perfection. Sergeant Zheng Sanpao, usually an impenetrable wall of discipline, furrowed his brows deeply. He handed his binoculars to a nearby officer and strode toward the recruits, eyes fixed on Lin Yi and Zhuang Yan.

“Get me a sniper rifle,” he ordered. “Yes, Sergeant!” One of the range officers sprinted off to comply. Reaching into his pocket, Zheng Sanpao pulled out two coins and held them up between his fingers. His gaze flicked to Zhuang Yan.

“Can you hit this?”

Zhuang Yan’s confidence wavered for a fraction of a second. His lips pressed together as he studied the small, silver disc in Zheng Sanpao’s palm.

Before he could answer, Lin Yi spoke first.

“Yes,” he said simply.

The absolute certainty in his voice was chilling. Zheng Sanpao’s expression remained unreadable. He turned toward Chen Xiwa.

“Private, take these and pin them to the targets.”

Chen Xiwa hesitated before nodding. He hurried downrange, careful with every step as he placed the tiny coins on the wooden target board. By the time he jogged back, the sniper rifle had arrived.

“Report!” The range officer handed over the weapon with a crisp salute.

Zheng Sanpao accepted the rifle, its weight familiar in his hands. It was a Type 85 sniper rifle, a Chinese-designed version of the Soviet Dragunov SVD, typically used by border patrol units and infantry sharpshooters.

He passed the rifle to Zhuang Yan.

“This is your last chance to back out.”

Zhuang Yan straightened his shoulders. “I’ll do it.”

“If you miss, you owe me two hundred push-ups,” Zheng Sanpao added, voice flat.

Zhuang Yan didn’t flinch. He settled into position, steadying the 85-type sniper rifle against his shoulder. His breath slowed as he scanned the field, his left eye closing as his right locked onto the scope. A faint breeze rustled the grass near the target. Zhuang Yan adjusted instinctively, shifting the barrel ever so slightly to compensate. Hold your breath. Steady.

BANG!

The shot rang out, echoing across the field. The tiny coin vanished from the target board. A heartbeat later, the recruits erupted into cheers and applause. “Beautiful shot!” “That was insane!” Zhuang Yan grinned victoriously, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow. But Zheng Sanpao remained unimpressed.

“Not bad,” he said coolly, stepping forward. “But nothing special. Get up.”

Zhuang Yan stood, his breath still heavy from concentration.

Now, all eyes turned to Lin Yi. The atmosphere shifted. Even the veteran soldiers leaned forward slightly. Unlike Zhuang Yan, Lin Yi showed no sign of tension. He didn’t even glance at the sniper rifle on the ground. Instead, he lifted his chin toward a nearby range officer.

“Pass me a QBZ-95.”

A murmur ran through the soldiers. That was an assault rifle. Not a sniper rifle. The supervising officer hesitated and looked toward Zheng Sanpao for confirmation.

“Give it to him,” the sergeant said, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

The rifle was handed over. Lin Yi loaded a fresh magazine, and chambered a round. He didn’t lie down; he didn’t crouch; he didn’t even take aim properly. He simply raised the gun from a standing position and fired.

BANG!

One sharp, clean shot.

Silence.

Every head snapped toward the target. The second coin was gone. Not hit—obliterated. For several long seconds, no one spoke.

Then, a sharp, collective inhale rippled through the soldiers. This wasn’t just skilled marksmanship. This was something beyond comprehension. Zhuang Yan stood frozen. He had needed a sniper rifle, a scope, and perfect concentration to hit the first coin. Lin Yi had done it with a standard-issue assault rifle, in a split-second, while standing upright. This wasn’t human.

On the distant hillside, Battalion Commander Miao Yidao watched through his binoculars, his usually composed expression showing a rare flicker of disbelief. Beside him, Lieutenant Chen Guotao exhaled sharply.

“Commander… that’s not normal,” he muttered. Miao Yidao’s fingers tightened around the binoculars.

“I know,” he said.

A slow smile spread across his lips.

“This kid is the real deal.”