The girl in the baseball cap stood in front of Owen. He quickly noticed that she was stunning—her features were sharp and well-defined, with big, expressive eyes under the brim of her cap.
Her figure was just as impressive. A pair of tight jeans perfectly outlined her long, slender legs—a classic model-like physique.
As for her chest, it was hard to tell. She wore a light brown tactical vest, but her toned waist and round hips made it clear that she exercised regularly.
Owen clicked his tongue. How should he put it? The girl was undeniably beautiful, yet she didn't exude the usual sultry allure of most attractive women. Instead, she radiated an air of confidence and strength.
Yes, that was it—she had a commanding presence.
Had his mother's words come true? He had just come to the range for some shooting practice, and suddenly, a gorgeous woman was striking up a conversation. Owen glanced up at the sky. Was God actually throwing him a stroke of luck?
But the beauty's next words took him by surprise.
"A match."
"A match? In what?"
"Three-Gun."
Owen was speechless.
He knew about Three-Gun competitions—he had even watched quite a few before. It was one of the many disciplines within IPSC, where competitors had to engage targets using an assault rifle, a shotgun, and a handgun in rapid succession. The course was designed to mimic real-world scenarios, and scores were determined by accuracy and completion time.
But the idea of competing in Three-Gun made Owen hesitate.
He knew himself well.
Just now, he had basically cheated. His assault rifle and shotgun skills were average at best—and that was only because police officers routinely carried those weapons. Back in his old police unit, his patrol car had always been stocked with an assault rifle, while Carlos had handled the shotgun.
In a competition, however, things were different. He had just been lucky that his shooting earlier had gone smoothly, and it had drawn a crowd. Now, with so many people watching, he wanted to decline—but backing out now would be awkward.
"Owen, accept the challenge."
A familiar voice called out. Looking toward the crowd, Owen spotted an old acquaintance—Jeremy Pobec. He had worked with Jeremy back at the West Hollywood Police Department and hadn't expected to run into him here.
"Hey, Jamie..."
Everyone called Jeremy "Jamie," and after exchanging greetings, the guy kept pushing him.
"Come on, Steve. I haven't seen you in a while, and I didn't expect your shooting to improve this much. Just do it!"
Owen gave a wry smile. "Improve?" Hell no—I was using a cheat!
He had only just begun experimenting with bullet time, and now he was being pressured into showing it off in front of a crowd? Even as a time traveler, that felt a little too shameless.
Jamie then shot him a knowing wink. That's when Owen finally understood—Jamie wasn't pushing him to compete because of skill.
It was because of the girl.
Winning or losing didn't matter—what mattered was that she was a girl.
Between pride and a beautiful woman, Owen chose the latter without hesitation.
"Uh..."
Just as he was trying to come up with a polite excuse to decline, the baseball cap girl turned on her heel and walked off—without giving him a chance to refuse.
As she left, she tossed a final remark over her shoulder:
"I'll be waiting at the newly completed practice range. It's a fresh course, so it's fair for both of us."
What?!
She had left before he could even respond!
The crowd eagerly followed her to the practice range, including Jamie, who excitedly waved Owen over before heading off himself.
Now, Owen was completely trapped.
Watching the retreating figures, he struggled internally.
Should he go?
…Or should he go?
---
At the New Shooting Range
By the time Owen arrived, a sizable crowd had already gathered. With no way out, he swallowed his reluctance and walked in.
There was no choice—if he backed out now, he could forget showing his face in Los Angeles ever again. By tomorrow morning, Jamie would have spread the news of his cowardice all over West Hollywood.
The new range had a different layout from the one Owen had been practicing on. Unlike the previous course, which had complex obstacles like buildings and windows, this one was much simpler—just a few barriers, two lanes, and a variety of targets positioned at different distances.
It looked more like a speed shooting course, but it was perfectly suitable for Three-Gun competitions.
By the time Owen arrived, the girl in the baseball cap was already waiting at the entrance. These kinds of informal matches happened almost daily here, so a staff member quickly stepped forward to explain the rules.
Owen had only brought his rifle and pistol today, so to make things fair, neither competitor would use their own firearms. Instead, three guns were provided by range members:
- AR-15 (Assault Rifle)
- Remington M870 (Pump-Action Shotgun)
- Glock 17 (Handgun)
All three were factory standard, no modifications.
Before the match, both competitors were allowed to familiarize themselves with the guns and course layout.
Despite the usual Three-Gun format—where competitors moved between fixed stations—today's match had a small twist. Instead of placing firearms at separate locations, both the rifle and handgun would be carried from the start, while the shotgun was left at a designated area.
The baseball cap girl didn't hesitate. She immediately slung the AR-15 across her back, holstered the Glock 17, and began inspecting the course.
At this stage, speed didn't matter— they were only memorizing the course layout, target positions, and movement paths.
The course consisted of:
- 8 rifle targets (human-shaped)
- 6 handgun targets (human-shaped)
- 6 shotgun targets (3 human-shaped, 3 can targets)
The girl's shooting was impressive. Her movements were smooth, her shots precise, and she hit every target with ease.
The audience remained unfazed—clearly, she was a regular here. Everyone was familiar with her skill.
---
Owen followed suit, gearing up for the match.
To allow for quick weapon transitions, the AR-15 had a sling so that he could switch to his pistol without dropping the rifle.
Entering the course, he decided to use bullet time sparingly. He didn't want to overdo it—this was his first time attempting bullet time so frequently.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Shots rang out in rapid succession. Owen stuck to his usual double-tap method, running through the course sequence once.
But the audience's reaction was completely different this time.
Somehow, his early shots were precise and impressive, but toward the end, he started missing!
How was this possible?!
The spectators, who had just witnessed his previous god-tier marksmanship, were dumbfounded.
By the time Owen returned to the starting point, he could feel the stares. People were looking at him strangely—as if something was off.
Jamie, standing nearby, kept whispering to himself.
"This is all part of the strategy. Yeah… he's just trying to throw her off."
The range official checked with both competitors.
"Ready to start?"
"Of course."
"Of course."
"Who's going first?"
They both turned to look at each other.
Owen, ever the gentleman, took a step back and gestured for her to go first.
The girl didn't hesitate—she finished adjusting her gear and stepped up to the line.
Owen didn't mind. Shooting competitions didn't have a real first-move advantage.
As for pressure?
Please.
Owen had already faced way worse than this.
_________________________
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