"Welcome to Fort Moore, Olivia. Let me give you the schedule, and the location of the room you'll be staying in during your time here. I'll also give you my number so you can contact me directly if you have any questions."

"…Did she eat something wrong?"

"...Right now, I feel like I could defend the polar bear even if you punched a shark in the mouth."

"Why are you two acting like you're so bothered now? This is just… they're trying to get back at us in some way. It's not like it's the first time we're seeing this."

"This is exactly why I hate quick-witted youngest members."

Fort Moore, clear weather, 15 degrees Celsius. Many nonsensical words from Lorenatina.

Normally, sharks would do strange things no matter the situation or place, but receiving a 'request' from above and accepting it usually led to especially bizarre behavior. No need to explain what that was, since it had just been done.

Some might have forgotten, but let's mention it again: Olivia was nominally a regular observer, and at the same time… her follower count had exploded from 1.2 million to 4 million, still growing. She was a famous figure and had the opportunity to be here because of that.

And Lorenatina, as a fellow manifestor, had received a 'request' to accompany Olivia and explain many things during the sniper competition.

So that’s why she was acting all high and mighty, with an unidentifiable tone… learning from who knows where.

Of course, Olivia didn’t decline the request.

To be precise, she had to comply in certain situations—places with a lot of eyes around, where she had to act in a certain way. But it also helped that Lorenatina was more subdued compared to Logan.

However, despite being in an area without other people, Lorenatina kept acting this way, so it was natural that we had to vent our frustration with our fists.

"Ha, it’s fun. The upper-level people who spend their time sitting around and putting on airs send the guests away, and now they want to be all formal. Please, understand."

"Bullshit."

"Anyway, Logan, and the youngest… you’ll take a key. By the way, has Eugene been here before? I don’t know about Logan."

"Not really. The youngest will get instructions from me, so don’t worry. Just pick any empty bedroom and settle in, right?"

"You know it."

That was a bit of a random statement, but it was correct.

This was the farthest corner of Georgia, and I had dropped off in New York. The straight-line distance was over 1350 km, and the U.S. administrative power had fallen apart—how was I supposed to get to Fort Moore for training? Naturally, all curriculum learning happened in New York.

I didn’t mention it because Logan had been here before, and I was accompanying him.

"After you two take a room, come to Roosevelt Range. I need to guide Olivia to her room. If this idiot wanders off and gets caught by CCTV or someone else’s eyes, it’ll cause trouble for us."

"I’m sure you’ll handle it. See you later."

"Let’s go, idiot. Let’s enjoy the reunion."

"Can you stop calling me that damn nickname?"

As we continued talking, the group of four was now split exactly in half.

Logan began explaining.

"There are roughly two kinds of people roaming around here. Those who came from outside for training, and the instructors teaching those from outside. Their living quarters are different. The instructors live inside Fort Moore, but the trainees stay in barracks."

"So all the people here to shoot are from the second group? We’re heading to their area?"

"Exactly. Let’s just drop off our stuff first."

Outside, people and vehicles were already swarming.

Several security personnel blew their whistles, guiding sniper competition participants in an orderly fashion, handing out key cards for doors, and directing them to the barracks buildings.

Fortunately, Logan and I were able to enter a separate building designated for manifestors without any issues. We only had to exchange simple greetings with a security staff member at the entrance.

"Logan, and Eugene… we’ve confirmed your arrival. The vehicle to Roosevelt Range will be arriving in 5 minutes, so please make your way down."

"Got it."

Though we could have easily run the 2–3 km, there was no need to do so on the first day.

Taking the elevator, we arrived at a hallway filled with silence, and next to the room with Lorenatina’s name written on a crumpled paper was the room Logan and I would be using.

Some might expect us to have a late-night conversation, but since the shark was staying in that room, it wasn’t the time for a casual chat. We were outside participants, but the shark was an official judge.

That’s why it was rare for Lorenatina to sleep in that room, and even we didn’t sleep there often. Especially with the infiltration and fort neutralization mission planned for day 4, we’d be away for most of it.

Anyway, while I was thinking about this, a loud sound suddenly came from outside.

It was the honking of a horn.

"This crazy woman…"

"Let’s go. It’s only on the 3rd floor, should we jump out of the window?"

"…Yeah. That sounds better."

And so, as expected, that’s what happened.

We checked the floor, and once we confirmed no one was around, we jumped. The height was about 8 meters, but with the Icarus gear’s shield function applied to both Logan and me, we had no risk of injury.

The moment Lorenatina’s eyes widened as she saw us, Logan and I finally had our revenge on the shark.

The car door opened with a click, and Lorenatina added:

"Crazy people."

"Who else would do it?"

"Stop talking nonsense and get in the car, you idiots."

It was quite a thrilling conversation.

Within seconds, the car door closed, and the vehicles stacked along the road of Fort Moore passed by like a panorama. I heard that half of the 32 teams had already arrived, and seeing this mess, I wasn’t sure if I should call it good luck or bad.

Of course, Lorenatina wasn’t concerned about that.

It was just a simple 3 km drive, and within a few minutes, we got out of the car and headed toward Roosevelt Range, the shooting range.

The familiar smell of gunpowder and metal filled the building. Lorenatina led us quickly to the gun storage, and naturally, it was filled with hundreds of firearms. Today, we had to pick a few from this collection.

Of course, that wasn’t the end.

"We’ll be filming the zeroing and shooting, and streaming it within the U.S. military, so don’t mind the military drone cameras floating around."

"If I hit the drone cam, do I get points?"

"You might lose some money with the fine, but there are no points for that. Anyway, pick the firearm you’re most comfortable with. I assume you’re going for something heavy anyway?"

"Of course."

If weight and portability weren’t an issue, of course, you’d go for something big and beautiful.

And so, among the firearms we chose, one was the Macmillan TAC-50, a .50 caliber bolt-action sniper rifle. Below that, the Barrett MRAD, Winchester Magnum M2030 ESR, and M110A1 designated marksman rifle.

We each needed two of the four types.

Meanwhile, Lorenatina handed over four papers and a pen to Logan and me.

"Write down all the accessories you need for the firearms. The roles of sniper and spotter will be randomly assigned, so it’s best to choose what fits your body."

"Thanks. The youngest will just stick with the LPVO… let’s cross-check later."

"Right."

In situations like this, my big data was incredibly useful.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure what worked best for my body, but I could remember all the attachments I’d frequently used. An infrared laser sight would be nice, but unfortunately, that wouldn’t be usable this time, except for the last mission.

I began writing down the necessary accessories: about 8–10 per firearm. I also included notes on adjustments like canting the sights and custom trigger pressure.

After packing the firearms back into the weapon case, Lorenatina taped the papers to the case and slid it into a rail against the wall. I heard the gunsmith would be working on them.

Around 30 minutes later, while chatting, the wall slid open, revealing eight perfectly customized firearms hanging on the wall.

It was time for zeroing, and this range had been expanded to cover distances of up to 1.55 km.

"Activating drone cam. After zeroing and adjusting, we’ll start the actual shooting. Be aware, there are no-entry zones and ricochet warnings nearby, so feel free to shoot now."

"...Can’t I do it too?"

"If there were no CCTV, I’d let you, but sadly not. Our little owl will just watch. You can ask questions later."

As the ammunition clips ejected with their deadly contents, we began the setup, targeting the targets set up 150 meters away.

It was my first streaming under the U.S. military label, not just my name.

"Here it comes."

"Didn’t expect it to start this early. Wasn’t it supposed to start in a few days?"

Only authorized devices could view the stream, a special type of broadcast that ordinary civilians couldn’t access.

Only those in high military positions or with at least 8 years of experience could watch.

The streaming began, available only to a select group of viewers—those in high military positions or those with a minimum of 8 years of experience, and it was strictly classified. The people watching were familiar with the intricacies of military operations, particularly the activities of Tier 1 special forces operators like those in JSOC.

"Logan, Eugene, Lorenatina… all JSOC members? I think I’ve seen one of them when I was managing the roster."

"They were all part of MWTR. More accurately, some of them were in the past, but yeah, the transmission seems to be going smoothly."

The people watching the stream and the ones who had to watch were different.

At least a quarter of the viewers had to watch—mainly from Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC) units. These people handled information that could never be publicly disclosed—such as personal details of Tier 1 operators, training content, and their locations.

Before the broadcast was officially launched, each operator’s details were confirmed and cross-checked to ensure everything was properly censored, and the drone cam was functioning correctly.

In the top right of the screen, dozens of green lights lit up, signaling that all the required procedures were functioning as planned.

From now on, unless there were unexpected checks, we could focus comfortably on the stream.

And despite all the differences in gender, race, skin color, and positions, everyone shared the same thought:

"I feel like I’m alive again."

"Those adjusting the stream must be nervously watching, huh?"

"That’s not our concern."

Correction.

It was only a small minority who weren’t focused on the broadcast. Most of the viewers were thrilled to see four EM-class manifestors all in one place. These were essential assets to the U.S., and if they knew Olivia’s past work, they’d understand just how important this moment was.

The total number of EM-class manifestors worldwide was roughly 15, with some undisclosed individuals possibly adding up to 17. These individuals had known each other for a long time and carried extremely valuable information in their minds—information that absolutely couldn’t be leaked.

It’s safe to say that any high-ranking officer was likely worried about something happening to those four, which led to excessive physical and network security.

This was a decision made by General Howard Ridgeway Spencer from Southern Command, though very few people knew that.

"I should go grab some food."

"What if the stream ends in 10 minutes?"

"Now that you mention it, damn it."

Regardless of the decisions made above, everyone who had some time off was just happy to handle unfinished tasks while watching the stream.

Most of the people who could watch or had to watch already knew who Eugene was. Some had even been following his career from when he started making a name in AP-ranked games.

But who watched the stream and when wasn’t all that important.

The content itself was similar to any other typical shooting video you'd find on the usual platforms, but as always, watching a celebrity show their skills was far more entertaining than watching any average person shoot a gun.

More jokes continued.

"Can’t we donate?"

"Not only is that function disabled, but if you donate, it’ll probably show who did it."

"As long as I don’t have to write a statement of regret, I’m fine."

In any case, Eugene’s progress was undoubtedly beneficial to the U.S., and his overwhelming content creation abilities and unique plays were captivating many people within the military.

There were no tails to follow, but at the same time, the presence of those tails was everywhere.

It was a fall evening filled with the sound of gunfire.