BIA Ch. 30

Third Day

Bang––!

A loud gunshot reverberated through the basement. Isaiah’s shoulders instinctively twitched. Although the soundproof walls, made of sound-absorbing material, absorbed most of the sound, his eardrums still felt as if they would explode.

“Don’t bend your arms.”

A reprimand came before he even had time to touch his ringing ears.

“You cannot use the Weaver stance^[1] in your current state. Without sufficient arm strength, the recoil could cause you to hit your head on the gun. Just extend both arms fully.”

Isaiah, following Bran’s instructions, extended both arms holding the pistol. After ensuring his wrist and the barrel were aligned, he pulled the trigger.

Baang––!

Another deafening gunshot echoed. Isaiah narrowed his eyes and leaned forward to check the score. However, the human-shaped paper target remained unmarked. The bullet had sailed completely over its head.

“That’s because you are leaning your upper body back. Bend further forward.”

“L-Like this?”

Isaiah leaned forward, still gripping the pistol.

“You’ve leaned too far. Just a little. Yes, that’s the position.”

“Isn’t this stance rather awkward…?”

“It’s correct. Shoot.”

Bran pressed a button, and the target whirred along a track. Isaiah sighed, tightening his grip on the pistol. He could only think, What on earth is this?

Last night, he had arrived at Bran’s house around two in the morning after leaving his apartment. The moment he got into the Bentley parked outside and saw Samuel in the driver’s seat, Isaiah realized Bran had never intended to have s3x with him.

Bran, unlike Chester, would not leisurely amuse himself while his driver waited with the engine running. That would require either a deplorable character or abysmal stamina and as far as Isaiah knew, Bran possessed neither. Or rather, he wanted to believe that.

Anyway, due to last night’s events, the first thing he had done this morning was diligently wash his face in the bathroom. He had shaved meticulously and brushed his teeth twice.

He had come downstairs, a mixture of excitement and nervousness, only to be greeted by Bran and his terrible coffee.

‘Where’s Vanessa?’

‘She’s not coming today. She comes every other day.’

‘Oh, really?’

He had feigned composure but his hand trembled around the mug. So nervous was he that he had forgotten to dilute the sludge-like coffee and had downed it in one gulp. Despite the lingering bitterness, he had forced himself to set the mug down calmly. Bran had looked surprised.

‘Would you like another cup?’

‘N-No, thank you. I’ve had enough.’

‘Really?’

Bran had raised an eyebrow and then leisurely sipped his own coffee. No, perhaps he had drunk it a little faster than yesterday.

Finally, setting down his empty cup, Bran had said.

‘Well then. Shall we go down to the basement?’

During that brief descent with Bran, Isaiah’s imagination had run wild. He could not help it; the space was unusual, stimulating all sorts of thoughts. The basement. The word itself held a particular connotation. Dark, violent, yet strangely comforting. Images sprang to mind: grotesque chairs, whips hanging on the walls, iron skewers heating in a fire…

‘Here we are.’

‘Huh?’

So… there was metal, yes. It wasn’t a skewer, more like a finely crafted chunk of metal. And on top of that, it hadn’t even been heated.

‘This is my private shooting range. I’m going to practice shooting here today.’

Bran opened the locker at the basement entrance and took out two pistols from the numerous ones inside—there seemed to be at least twenty—as he spoke.

‘You’re shooting live rounds…?’

‘Of course.’

It would certainly seem so. With bulletproof glass installed on both sides of the lane and spent casings scattered across the floor, it was clearly a live-fire shooting range.

‘Is this permitted?’

‘Of course not. Personal shooting ranges are illegal in Eloy.’

Bran retrieved several loaded magazines and closed the locker. He then handed one of the two pistols to Isaiah.

‘This gun…’

‘That’s right. It’s my Glock. Your M1911 isn’t suitable for practice.’

‘But wouldn’t it be better to practice with that? If I have to use that gun anyway…’

‘No, that’s impossible.’

Bran stated firmly.

‘I told you. It was completely customized to your specifications. Even if someone other than an expert practiced with it for a hundred days, they would have difficulty aiming. More importantly…’

Bran inserted one of the magazines he held into his pistol, racked the slide, and said,

‘Your pistol has no bullets.’

‘Oh, really? There were bullets in that gun on the bed earlier.’

‘Those seven rounds are all there are. And those need to be saved for emergencies.’

The emergency Bran referred to would likely be a situation where Isaiah Cole’s memories had returned and he needed the gun.

‘KTW handgun rounds haven’t been legally distributed for a long time. They were pulled from the market because they were deemed too brutal.’

‘Then…’

‘White Dove is probably manufacturing them independently for their own use. Or they might have stockpiled a large quantity before the ban and are using them sparingly. As I said, they’ve been banned for a long time, so they’re sold at a high price among those seeking them.’

‘Who would be looking for them?’

‘People in the same line of work, I suppose.’

This meant that to prevent the rounds from being sold at exorbitant prices to other assassins, the organization supplied a limited amount through an intermediary, only as needed.

‘There’s probably a designated location for exchanging bullets.’

But for now, since the location was unknown, they had no choice but to conserve their current ammunition.

‘Then… is there really any need to practice shooting? Unless I’m going to shoot in front of Chester…’

‘This isn’t for Chester’s benefit. It’s for yours.’

Bran spoke as he walked toward Lane 3, the closest to the basement entrance.

‘You still need to know how to protect yourself.’

‘…’

While Isaiah stared at him, momentarily speechless, Bran gestured for him to come over from his position in front of the booth.

‘Ah, yes.’

Isaiah quickly ran to the booth at Lane 3.

‘Now, stand here.’

Bran yielded the center spot in the booth to Isaiah.

‘Spread your legs shoulder-width apart. Good. Now load it.’

Isaiah accepted the magazine from Bran, inserted it into his pistol, and asked,

‘But, uh, where are the earplugs?’

‘Earplugs? Ah, you mean soundproof headsets.’

‘Yes, those.’

‘There aren’t any, obviously.’

Bran’s casual tone made Isaiah momentarily think he had misheard. When Isaiah, finally processing the words, asked what he meant, Bran responded with a look that suggested he should be asking the question.

‘This is my private range. Did you really think I would diligently use safety glasses and headsets every time I practice?’

‘That’s… not what I thought, but…’

‘And even if I had them, I wouldn’t have given them to you.’

‘What? Why?’

‘You need to get used to the sound of gunfire.’

‘That’s absurd…’

Isaiah muttered, bewildered.

‘There’s nothing absurd about it. The sound is only loud when someone else is shooting near you. The sound of your own shot isn’t that loud. You’ll adapt quickly.’

Bran, speaking calmly, said, “Oh, wait a moment,” and left for the locker where he had retrieved the guns. He returned with an old cap and placed it on Isaiah’s head.

‘Why this?’

‘Spent casings can fly toward your face.’

He explained that freshly ejected casings are extremely hot and can cause burns.

‘You don’t want a scar. Especially not on such a handsome face.’

…Such comments were irritating.

In any case, he was a man skilled at effortlessly playing with people’s emotions.

Well, in these uncertain times, it wasn’t unheard of for couples to have dates at shooting ranges. Correcting someone’s posture provided a natural opportunity for physical contact.

Adjusting the cap Bran had given him, Isaiah gripped the pistol in both hands, his heart filled with a nervous excitement.

That excitement shattered, along with the target, the moment he began to practice.