'The shooting range?'
Even though he really wanted to go, Tony was doing his best to save his money.
If he hadn't bought the Beginner Firearm Proficiency, the shot he took at the chandelier might have accidentally hit the supervisor instead.
Tony knew he still had to learn, but getting better takes time.
Of course, there were faster ways.
[Intermediate Firearm Proficiency]
[Price: $5000]
[The user has a solid grasp of firearm handling, including reloading, aiming, and shooting with moderate precision. They can adapt to different firearm types, manage recoil, and perform under moderate stress.]
He looked at the system, then quietly exited.
'Actually, when I think about it, taking shortcuts just isn't my style.'
...
In the evening, Tonny was driving his beloved car down the street.
Philip gave him the address for the shooting range, but it was all the way in Burnley, which meant Tony had to drive a long way from the East End just to go practice shooting.
Burnley was part of the Otisburg, and it looked really nice—clean streets, tall buildings, and lots of fun places and clubs, but none of that mattered to him.
He didn't have much money, and even the fifty thousand dollars he had wouldn't go far in a place like this because everything was too expensive.
"That damn supervisor must be making a ton of money."
He said bitterly, "If I knew earlier, I should have just pissed him off to death back then. That would've been doing everyone a favor!"
However, Philip's name did come in handy.
The shooting range actually gave him a thirty percent discount. The fee wasn't too expensive, just a few dozen dollars a day.
He stayed there and practiced until it got dark, then went home.
...
"The car's actually been refurbished pretty well, and it drives comfortably, but with only beginner driving proficiency, I can barely keep control when pushing it to hundreds per hour. But driving home for over half an hour like this really sucks."
"Hey! Watch it, you poor bastard!"
Just as Tony slowed down and carefully drove over a puddle by the side of the road, a man walking with a woman on the sidewalk suddenly frowned and shouted at him, "Don't splash water on my clothes and shoes!"
Tony glanced over.
The man was wearing a fancy brown coat that looked expensive, and could see his crisp suit and his leather shoes on the street also seemed to be worth a pretty penny.
He realized he had slowed down a bit late and, indeed, splashed a few drops of mud near the man's shoes.
"Idiot."
He was blunt.
Then, Tony stuck out his middle finger at the man with his left hand then quickly hit the gas pedal.
The roar of the engine made the man instinctively shield the blonde woman beside him and quickly step aside.
They just barely avoided getting splashed by the water from the car tires.
"He's definitely one of those poor guys from the East End."
He cursed angrily, then turned to comfort the woman beside him, "Honey, are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
The blonde woman nestled in his arm, "Richard, what were you trying to say just now?"
The man gently stroked her hair and continued with what he had been about to say.
"Oh, I was saying, we're going to leave Gotham for a while and find a quiet little place in Paris. What do you think?"
The woman's eyes lit up with joy.
"Really? Paris in the fall—I can't even imagine how romantic that would be!"
"Richard!"
Tony got a little nervous for a second, but he thought about it for a moment and realized he didn't know anyone significant named Richard, so he went back to focusing on the road.
"Richard Daniel!"
The man turned around with a hint of confusion, "What is it? Who's there?"
"Bang!"
"Bang!"
"Bang!"
"Holy shit, not another shootout!"
Tony felt like he was about to explode.
He had been sent here to practice shooting because of a shootout, but his coach never mentioned that he'd have to deal with a real shootout after practice on the way home too.
He slammed on the gas and sped away like he was running for his life, glancing nervously in the rearview mirror at what was happening behind him.
A black car with a gun barrel sticking out, firing bursts of bullets. In just a few seconds, a burst of bullets hit the man who had been shouting.
Richard's face froze in shock and collapsed in a pool of blood. The black car sped away, disappearing down the street.
"See? That's why people say, 'If you act like a jerk, life will catch up to you.'"
He shook his head, "Next life, watch your mouth, and don't be such an asshole."
There was no point in thinking about saving the guy now.
Even if Tony had enough money and was willing to rush out and treat him immediately, it was probably already too late.
In the ten seconds it would take to get there, the man would already be completely gone.
The bullets hadn't hit the blonde woman with him. She was now hugging the man's bloody body and crying loudly.
It turned out the two really were a couple, and the woman truly cared deeply for Richard.
Unfortunately, bullets only obey physics, and only a bulletproof vest can stop bullets, but love can't.
Tony drove back to Drake's house.
Even though that idiot who made him pissed off was now dead, Tony didn't feel very good about it.
There's a part of him feeling sympathy for the poor blonde woman, and part of him thought the guy didn't really deserve to die.
What really bothered him was how strange and unlucky it all was because he just said one word with that man for a few seconds, and then the guy ended up getting shot.
What were the chances?
Now, the GCPD would definitely start an investigation, and Tony would have to go to the station and give a statement.
It's all because of a short, silly argument that lasted only a few seconds, and now his whole weekend day would be gone.
The only tiny bit of good news was that tomorrow wasn't a workday.
Otherwise, if giving a statement cost him a whole day of work, Tony would've cried over losing those few hundred asset points.
"Ugh... even after traveling to another world, I'm still stuck living like a corporate worker. This rotten world… this rotten Gotham."
After feeling totally fed up with everything, Tony opened the door, walked in, and quietly sat down at the table to eat his dinner.
Suddenly, he began to wonder how many people Batman might be hanging on the statue tonight.
"What's wrong, man?"
Drake, still standing at the doorway, noticed Tony's unusual expression and couldn't help but ask instinctively.
"It's nothing. I just ran into another shootout on the way home."
"You okay?"
"Hey, what kind of question is that?"
Tony rolled his eyes, "How many shootouts do you think are after me? I've only been in Gotham for a few days. What big shot could I have pissed off? It's only one unlucky guy named Richard Daniel or something that died at the scene and no one else."
"Huh?"
Drake's expression grew serious, "Who died?"
"Richard Daniel. What about it?"
"Damn, that's the man who just resigned as president of Gotham Bank, and now he's been assassinated!"
"What?!"