Ryan, seated not far away, occasionally glanced at Ashley, then exchanged a look with Tristan. Not long ago, Ashley had been called to the front by the instructor to explain a tactical scenario. The instructor's intention had been to suppress the freshmen and dull their sharp edges. Instead, Ashley's performance was entirely unexpected. He was seasoned, like a commander with extensive battlefield experience, and showed no regard for rigid rules. In his rhythm, there was nothing but victory and defeat. His remarks even sparked a debate in the classroom, a direct clash between conservative doctrine and freeform strategy. It was something the instructor had not anticipated. Yet there was no denying Ashley's strength. His tactics were unconventional to the point of being unreadable, and precisely because of that, dangerously difficult to control. By now, everyone knew that Ashley was, in fact, a man. The Command Institute didn't accept female students. His file listed him as male, described as a man with a penchant for cross dressing. Since entering the Command Institute, he had stopped disguising himself altogether. The once full curves of his chest vanished overnight, replaced by a flat silhouette. The male students who had once coveted his looks no longer dared to entertain inappropriate thoughts. After learning Ashley's true gender, Ryan finally understood why Darius had instructed him to keep an eye on him. That man must have known all along. Tristan, too, developed a clear sense of hostility toward Ashley. There was something about Ashley's manner that reminded him of someone.Since awakening his special ability, Tristan's perception had grown far sharper. Among the opponents he had encountered, the conduct of Lance, leader of the Greywolf, bore an uncanny resemblance to Ashley's. But someone of Lance's stature would not stoop to disguising himself as a woman. Perhaps it was just a coincidence. Tristan frowned, staring ahead in silent thought. He wondered how the boss was doing now. Had she really gone to the Combat Institute? Meanwhile, at the Shooting Institute. "Next, Shirley Reed." The instructor's voice rang out across the range. Under countless gazes, a small figure stepped forward, a rifle nearly as tall as she was slung over her shoulder. She had a doll-like face and looked no more than 16, prompting whistles from several onlookers.She was simply too cute, almost irresistibly so. Even the instructor was momentarily moved, but quickly straightened his expression. Cute or not, accuracy was what mattered. Shirley stepped onto the range and greeted everyone politely, her voice sweet and cheerful. "Hello, Instructor. Hello, seniors. Please guide me." Even those who doubted her abilities could only force a smile and nod in response. "There are 100 moving targets and 200 stationary targets ahead. 90% accuracy is the passing mark. Ready?" the instructor announced. "Ready," Shirley replied with a nod and a smile. "Begin." All eyes fixed on Shirley, though few believed she would succeed. The task required firing more than 300 consecutive shots while maintaining intense focus over an extended period. It demanded exceptional eyesight, wrist strength, and arm endurance. Even upperclassmen found it exhausting. Shirley looked frail, all thin limbs. Ordinary people struggled just to hold a sniper rifle steady, and even male students who had trained here for over a year barely managed to pass. Most were simply here for the spectacle, eager to see the tiny girl's clumsy attempts. But in the next instant, Shirley removed the rifle from her shoulder and gripped it in her hands, and the aura around her changed completely. Her once sweet eyes sharpened like a hawk's, devoid of any childishness. She looked more like a demon clawing its way out of purgatory, radiating danger and barely restrained violence. She handled the rifle as if it were an extension of her own body. Her movements were so fast that before anyone could react, the weapon was already braced against her shoulder.Bang. Bang. Bang. Gunfire erupted in rapid succession, accompanied by shocked exclamations. "Another hit!" "All of them hit!" No one could believe their eyes. At this moment, there were only targets in Shirley's vision. There was no trace of warmth in her gaze, as if everything before her were already lifeless. Every bullet struck true. Even after sustained firing, she remained perfectly steady, like a hunter lying in wait in the depths of a jungle. The oppressive intensity sent chills down everyone's spine. Students with experience around snipers reacted instantly. She was a sniper. A veteran, god tier sniper. But who would believe that such a soft, adorable girl was the sniper once known as the Dark Reaper? In the end, Shirley hit every target using only 250 rounds, far below the 300 round limit. That meant she had altered trajectories multiple times, striking several targets with a single bullet. It was simply unbelievable. Shirley lowered her rifle, reasonably satisfied with her performance. She was a sniper by trade, and sniping was different from standard marksmanship. Thora had worried she might be disadvantaged and had drilled her intensively in conventional shooting techniques. Even the skill of hitting multiple targets with one bullet had been taught by Thora. That technique required extreme precision and could not be used to kill. It was perfect for training and conserving ammunition. As she calculated silently, Shirley thought that she should hurry and find Thora to show off. When the exercise ended, the instructor stood frozen for several seconds before finally managing to say, "N-next." Shirley set down her rifle and bowed politely. "Thank you, Instructor." As she left the shooting range, the students instinctively stepped aside. Shirley frowned. What's wrong with them? Am I really that scary? I'm clearly adorable. Hmph!