Chapter 99: A Treasure Trove of Knowledge

The next morning, Owen got up early and rushed to the SWAT training ground. He had already obtained a temporary pass, allowing him free access.

Although he had performed well yesterday and earned everyone's recognition, in reality, his skills were only decent in shooting, and he had some connections in the CTU. In other areas, he still had a lot to learn.

But even though he arrived early, someone had beaten him to it. As soon as he stepped into the training ground, he heard a rhythmic burst of three gunshots.

Owen walked over and saw a familiar, striking figure in the distance—Monica, holding an AR-15 and firing methodically.

So it was her!

No wonder this woman's marksmanship was so exceptional. Seeing her dedication, it was clear she put in far more effort than most people. But what drove her to push herself so hard?

Watching her silhouette in the morning light, Owen suddenly recalled a popular saying from his past life: "She could easily rely on her looks but insists on relying on her skills."

This described her perfectly.

Not wanting to disturb her, Owen went to the locker room to change into his gear, then silently stood at the edge of the practice range, observing.

Monica had been shooting at stationary targets earlier, but now she was running a tactical drill. It was similar to their previous shooting competition, emphasizing speed, movement, and accuracy.

Owen discreetly activated his bullet-time ability, analyzing her every move frame by frame. That's right—he was secretly learning from her.

Even though he had won against Monica in their match, he knew the truth—his victory was due to cheating, while Monica had relied on pure skill. There was simply no comparison.

Through his enhanced vision, he studied every single movement—each time she fired, how she adjusted for recoil, her precise footwork, the length of each stride. Every detail had purpose, though some techniques were beyond his comprehension for now. He could only memorize them and figure them out later.

After a while, Monica reloaded and finally noticed Owen. But instead of acknowledging him, she continued training as if he didn't exist.

Owen wasn't offended—he had already noticed that Monica treated everyone like this. The only person she seemed to make exceptions for was Alyssa.

Since she had spotted him, it would be awkward to keep lurking. So, Owen picked a shooting lane and started practicing himself.

The result? Absolutely awful.

Without bullet-time, his shooting was a complete mess.

Monica, watching from the side, wore an odd expression. She couldn't understand—why was Owen, who clearly had incredible marksmanship, suddenly shooting like a rookie? Was he mocking her?

Unaware that he had unknowingly offended Monica again, Owen remained focused on his training.

And it was proving to be very effective. Many of Monica's subtle techniques hadn't stood out to him while watching, but when he tried them himself, he realized their value.

Using bullet-time, he could analyze every movement in detail, feeling the effects of each adjustment. In this way, one hour of practice for him was equivalent to an entire day for someone else.

Owen could feel himself improving every moment.

After more practice, other team members started arriving.

Mornings were usually designated for self-training—everyone was expected to work on their weak points, but there were no strict requirements. If someone chose not to train, no one would stop them.

Owen glanced around.

Alyssa was practicing hand-to-hand combat, but in a unique way. Instead of hitting a punching bag or sparring with a partner, she was throwing slow, precise punches and kicks, as if trying to feel each movement's mechanics.

Campbell was skipping rope.

Monica, of course, was still shooting. The ground around her was littered with spent shell casings, but no one seemed surprised. They were used to it.

A burly man named Maurice was lifting weights. He was the team's breacher—the one who carried the shield yesterday.

His job was one of the most dangerous, and he had to be incredibly strong. A regular person couldn't handle the burden—carrying a 50-pound ballistic shield, along with a full set of heavy armor and a protective helmet, was exhausting even when standing still.

Two other members were also training.

One was Nicholas, who was running laps.

The other was Coulson, another assault specialist, lifting weights like Maurice.

Suddenly—

"BOOM!"

An explosion echoed from another training area—no doubt, that was Thales practicing demolitions.

He was the team's explosives expert, responsible for breaching doors and barriers.

But being a breacher wasn't just about swinging a battering ram. A proper breacher needed extensive knowledge of chemistry—especially in explosives—since their job wasn't just to break doors but sometimes even walls.

If conventional entry methods didn't work, they had to resort to explosive breaching. Knowing how to choose the right charge and the correct amount of explosives was a crucial skill.

A breacher had to calculate the precise charge necessary to break through a barrier while avoiding unnecessary damage that could harm hostages or teammates.

Owen's eyes lit up.

"Hey, Thales! Think you could teach me some of that?"

He felt like he had stumbled into a treasure trove—every person here had a unique skill, and he wanted to learn them all.

"You wanna learn this? Sure, it's pretty simple... but in exchange, you gotta teach me your shooting techniques."

Yesterday, Owen's marksmanship had left a strong impression on everyone. Even those who hadn't been fond of him had put aside their grievances after fighting alongside him. Combat truly was the best way to build trust.

Owen agreed without hesitation. Even though his own shooting skills weren't great without bullet-time, that didn't stop him from teaching—after all, Monica's techniques were priceless.

He spent the entire morning learning from Thales, who held nothing back. He taught Owen how to use linear explosive charges, demonstrating vertical strips, diagonal strips, and T-shaped cuts.

Owen even got to try it himself.

It was an incredibly effective method—these pre-shaped explosives adhered to doors or walls, using concentrated shockwaves to breach openings. There were very few obstacles this technique couldn't handle.

But learning this was different—he couldn't cheat. It relied entirely on his understanding and intuition. By the end of the morning, he had grasped the basics, but the more advanced skills—such as precise charge calculations—would take much longer to master.

The afternoon was spent in team drills.

Owen was growing rapidly. With every training session, he learned something new. He was like a sponge, absorbing knowledge at an astonishing rate.

Alyssa, observing him, was conflicted.

Yesterday's mission had proven that Owen was a valuable shooter—his accuracy and battlefield awareness were at least on par with Monica. But SWAT wasn't just about individual skill—it was about teamwork.

And Owen's impulsiveness was a huge red flag.

Ignoring direct orders and ramming the enemy's vehicle without consulting anyone were major issues. Even though his plan had worked, it wasn't something she could encourage.

As a commander, Alyssa did not see Owen as a good team player.

But as a soldier?

She was shocked by his potential.

This guy learned way too fast.

He had unlimited room for growth.