Getting spoiled in a woman dominating world-Chapter 131: Shooting?

*thud*

The sound echoed through the Arena Six chamber as Brandon’s body hit the ground, and rolled across the floor before using the same force to curl and push himself up to stand.

His face contorted in pain and a low grunt escaped his lips as he rubbed his abdomen where Naevora’s latest punch had landed.

"Shit..." he breathed, blinking sweat out of his eyes.

"You damn musclehead... can you hold back a bit?"

Naevora just smiled "No, come at me again."

Brandon gritted his teeth and again lunched toward her.

His steps became fast, enhanced by the thin layer of ether coursing through his legs.

He twisted into a right hook aimed at her jaw, following it immediately with a spinning heel kick meant to disorient her.

Naevora’s eyes flicked toward his fist.

She didn’t move from her spot.

Her right arm shot up, parrying the hook with her forearm before fluidly ducking under his spinning kick.

As Brandon’s leg whistled through empty air, she shifted her weight and slammed her palm into his chest.

THUD!

It wasn’t a devastating strike, but it was perfectly placed, just under his sternum.

A rush of air was knocked from his lungs as his body lifted off the ground and skidded backward, landing in a heap.

Brandon stood up and charged once more, this time shifting his stance as he closed the distance.

He feinted a punch and dipped low, trying to sweep her legs out with a sudden sliding kick.

Naevora simply leapt.

She jumped above him, twisting mid-air and landing behind him.

Before Brandon could even spin around-

Her heel struck the back of his knee, sending him buckling.

As he fell, she grabbed his collar and threw him over her shoulder in a smooth arc.

His back slammed onto the floor, and the breath left his body in a painful gasp.

She walked to him, stretching her arms "You lack control of your center. Your footing collapses every time you over-extend. You forget that a battle of hand to hand combat is also a battle of rhythm."

Brandon coughed hard, curling on his side. "Can’t... exactly think about rhythm when you’re hitting me like a truck..."

Naevora just rolled her eyes and grabbed his collar to pull him up "Don’t be so over dramatic. Stand up..."

However, Brandon shook his head "No, you sit here and give me your lap."

She gave him a blank stare but then she sighed and sat on the floor.

With no hesitation, he scooted over and rested his head on her lap, sighing in bliss the moment his cheek touched the soft firmness of her thigh.

"This is my reward after getting beat like a drum."

Her lips twitched glancing at him as he looked so peaceful in her lap "How the hell do you still have the energy to joke after I threw you around like a ragdoll?"

"I’m not joking. This is healing." Brandon mumbled without opening his eyes.

"Your lap is a good place to take a rest."

"Tch." Naevora fought back a small smile, her fingers brushing through his damp hair. "I’ll shove you off if you start drooling."

They stayed like that for a while in peace.

Looking at him, she asked "Are you free next week?"

Brandon opened his eyes slowly, blinking up at her. "Next week?"

She nodded, fingers idly toying with a lock of his hair.

"Nope, exams."

Naevora gave a slow nod and her gaze squinted in thought "By the way, if you have time, take shooting practice in the Academy."

Brandon looked up at her "Hm?"

Naevora continued, "You’re getting stronger, no doubt. In a fight, you might have to deal with dozens of low-level aberrants at once and without wasting too much stamina. Guns can be practical."

She paused, looking at him. "You don’t always have to go full power. One or two handguns can clear out small threats while saving your energy for real enemies."

"So keep some guns with you and also train on them."

Hearing this, Brandon replied "I see, I will look into it."

Naevora gave a satisfied nod, her fingers still gently running through his hair. "Ask for Hollowpoint. She manages the range. Tell her I sent you."

Brandon raised an eyebrow "Hollowpoint?"

Naevora continued with a nod "She used to be a merc sniper. Don’t let her cute looks fool you... if she doesn’t like you, she might use you as a moving target."

"...Oh."

"She’ll like you, probably. You’re dumb enough to entertain her."

-_-

---

Brandon stood outside the Aegis Range Facility, a tall gunmetal-grey structure built into the west wing of the Academy campus.

He pushed the doors open and stepped inside.

The interior was vastly different from the other training arenas.

The entire structure was built for practicality... rows of long shooting alleys extended into the distance, with kinetic barriers at the far ends that absorbed bullets.

Ballistic drones hovered along rails, sometimes speeding up or zigzagging in unpredictable patterns to simulate evasive targets.

Overhead, small screen displays showed performance metrics and killzones in real-time.

A few students were already inside, wearing sound-dampening visors and firing pistols or ether rifles.

Brandon watched one of them strike four moving targets in a single draw.

’Damn...’

But his attention shifted as a loud clang echoed from the far end of the hall.

A tall woman was standing at the farthest booth, one foot on a table, polishing a sleek, long-barreled revolver that.

Her dark combat jacket hung open, revealing a tightly fitted tank top.

Her arms were lean and her neck bore faint scars... one running diagonally from her collarbone to behind her ear.

A line of black tattoos curled upward from her left jawline, almost like creeping vines that stopped just below her temple.

As she looked up, her silver eye glinted beneath her visor, and she spotted him instantly.

"Ah," she muttered, standing upright and holstering the revolve. "You’re the brat Naevora sent."

Brandon nodded and walked close to her.

"She said you’d show up looking half-dead but still walking like you own the place. Guess you live up to expectations."

Eh? Brandon smiled dryly in his heart looking at her.

The woman looked at him thoughtfully "The only male ether in the world... I was wondering when I’d get to see the freak in the flesh."

Brandon resisted the urge to flinch. "...."

She let out a chuckle "Relax, boy. I like freaks."

Straightening up, she extended a gloved hand "I’m Hollowpoint. Head Instructor for Range and Ballistics. Naevora and I go way back... she told me to train you if you showed interest."

"I don’t waste my time on talentless wannabes, but she vouched for your... stubbornness."

Brandon took her hand and felt the strong grip.

With a dry smile, he spoke "Apparently being able to shoot things instead of punching them to death is a survival skill."

Hearing this, her eyes glinted in amusement "Cute. We’ll see if that cocky mouth still works after recoil dislocates your shoulder."

She turned and gestured for him to follow "Booth Nine. I’ll give you something gentle. Like a viper with a silencer."

He followed her, staring at the back of her jacket where a stitched emblem of a grinning skull coiled in bullets adorned the shoulders.

As they reached Booth Nine, she handed him a sleek matte-black pistol.

The grip was etched with anti-slip grip and the barrel had faint streaks of violet energy running along its length.

"This is the Lazara Mk.II. High-precision, semi-automatic sidearm. Rounds laced with trace ether... strong enough to pierce aberrant skulls, but light enough not to backfire on D-rank weaklings like you."

"Charming," Brandon muttered as he took the weapon, feeling its unexpected weight settle in his palm.

"Try it. Shoot those five targets downrange. Center mass."

He took a stance, feet shoulder-width apart, one hand supporting the other, and exhaled slowly.

Bang!

The first shot rang out and the recoil snapped his wrist slightly more than expected.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The other rounds followed, and the bullets hit... but only two struck near the center.

One hit the shoulder and the other completely missed.

"Tch." The woman crossed her arms.

"Your aim’s decent. Grip’s shit. Breath control’s trash. But at least you don’t blink when pulling the trigger."

He lowered the weapon, slightly surprised by her blunt review.

"Again," she muttered, walking behind him. "And this time, I’ll adjust your posture."

As she moved behind him, she casually reached around and kicked his left foot outward, slapped his back to straighten his spine, and grabbed his elbow.

"I’m not gonna hold your hand, but I will break your fingers if you keep squeezing the trigger like it owes you money."

-_- Brandon smiled dryly in his heart and gave a nod "Yeah..."

---

Meanwhile, on the far end of the Aegis Range Facility, separated by reinforced partitions and lined with a private target chamber reserved for high-ranking cadets or special guests, a figure stood motionless in front of a long-range booth.

A flowing grey coat hung loosely from her shoulders, sleeveless and clasped at the neck by a small, violet gem.

She stood before a reinforced sniper station, her fingers gently resting on a custom-built ether sniper laid out on a stand.

The weapon was nearly as long as she was tall.

The barrel was black and silver alloy, lined with fractal channels designed to harmonize with her ether’s signature.

It had quad-core stabilizers, a suppressor, and a scope that glowed with reactive targeting glyphs.

With a slow motion, she shouldered the weapon and leaned forward, cheek pressing against the curved stock.

Her gloved fingers tapped against the biometric plates, and the rifle hummed faintly.

Her right eye aligned with the scope, and a series of holographic overlays appeared before her... wind speed, target distance, gravitational shifts, even heartbeat resonance.

Target acquired: 750 meters. Simulated aberrant. Speed: 17 m/s. Irregular trajectory.

She exhaled.

Her breath misted slightly despite the stable climate control.

Not from the temperature, but from the raw ether density gathering around her as she calibrated the shot.

Then-

Bang.

The shot was nearly silent.

In the distance, the target head exploded, obliterated so cleanly that not even fragments scattered.

The automated system buzzed softly, registering a direct zero deviation hit.

Without lifting her head, she adjusted her grip, tapped the chamber switch, and aligned with the next target.

Bang.

Another flash. Another kill.

Six more shots followed, each separated by no more than four seconds and each of them landed with perfect lethal precision.

And when the final target crumbled she finally lifted her head.

"Still too slow," she murmured. "I should be able to shave another two seconds off."

She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small silver orb, a personal analyzer.

The orb hovered near her shoulder and blinked twice before a soothing feminine AI voice responded:

"Precision: 100%. Reaction time: 0.74 seconds average. Core efficiency: 93%. Mental strain: negligible. Emotional state:... measured. No anomaly detected."

"Run it again in five minutes," she instructed flatly. "Simulate wind disturbance and suppressor overheat next time."

"Yes, Agent Sehra."

She placed the sniper down and leaned back, rolling her shoulders slowly.

As she turned her gaze to the side, her violet eyes paused momentarily.

Through the half-glass barrier separating lanes, she noticed the young man standing a few booths down with Hollowpoint, awkwardly holding his sidearm while adjusting his grip.

’Oh...’