The cafeteria was as chaotic as ever. Trays clattered, students screamed about pop quizzes as if they'd just been betrayed by the universe itself, and the lunch lady continued her life's mission to annihilate taste buds with overcooked meatloaf.
Yan Xiyan sat in the far corner, head slightly bowed, picking apart her broccoli like it had wronged her family. She barely touched her food anymore. Not because she was dieting or anything silly like that. No, she was just hyperaware of everything. The squeak of shoes behind her, the cold press of eyes on her back. One could never be too careful. Especially not with Qiao Zeyan breathing down her neck like a detective trying to solve a murder before the next commercial break.
Across the table, her classmate Lin Meng threw down her chopsticks with theatrical despair. "Tell me why math exists. Go ahead, I'll wait."
Yan blinked, then replied dryly, "To weed out the weak."
"Oh wow," Lin deadpanned. "Who gave you the right to be poetic and depressing before I've had dessert?"
Yan's lips quirked just slightly. She liked Lin Meng. The girl had a talent for saying the exact opposite of what a normal person would, and sometimes that kind of chaos was comforting. Predictable in its unpredictability.
Lin leaned forward suddenly, eyes narrowing. "Wait… are you… smiling?"
"No."
"You are! Oh my god, is this it? Have you been body-snatched? Do I call the police or the exorcist?"
"I was thinking maybe a therapist."
"Too real, sniper girl. Too real."
Yan froze. Just for a second. It was the nickname. Lin had tossed it out months ago after watching her win a dart-throwing game at the school fair. At the time, it was a harmless joke. But now, every time someone called her that, it felt like fate was yanking at her chain.
She forced herself to relax. Laugh even. "Just focus on surviving math class. I'll take care of the rest."
"Sure thing, Miss Secret Assassin."
Yan rolled her eyes. She hoped Lin would never realize how close she was to the truth.
Back at the training facility, the atmosphere shifted like someone had changed channels.
Sergeant Zhang's voice cracked like a whip through the night air. "You think you can shoot without breathing? You think you can lie still with bugs crawling into your ears? Congratulations, you've officially arrived at hell's front porch."
Yan Xiyan was already lying prone, her cheek pressed to cold metal, the sniper rifle balanced against her shoulder like an old friend she wasn't quite sure she trusted yet.
Sergeant Zhang wasn't just a trainer, he was a storm bottled in boots. He barked like a drill sergeant and smiled like a retired demon. But he also knew how to push Yan until her muscles screamed and her mind turned diamond-sharp under pressure.
"Adjust your scope. Wind's changed." His voice was low now, more instructor than executioner.
Yan didn't answer. She just did it.
The target was nearly invisible a faint shimmer on the hill 300 meters away. One breath. Two.
Trigger squeezed.
Metal kissed metal. Bullseye.
Zhang whistled. "Finally. I was starting to wonder if you were actually awake under that deadpan face."
Yan sat up, wiped the sweat off her brow. "I'm always awake. Sleep is for civilians."
He laughed, an actual, honest-to-God laugh that startled a nearby cadet into dropping his water bottle.