A few moments later, after some back-and-forth and a bit of skillful wordplay, Song managed to purchase both the Glock 19 and the Smith & Wesson for $875, thanks to a 30% discount.
After completing the payment, he checked his remaining balance.
[$2,373.67]
Awesome! Two guns for less than a thousand dollars, less than their original price. The power of persuasion sure is convenient.
A satisfied smile crept onto his face. This felt like a minor victory.
Of course, Song knew he didn't actually possess extraordinary charisma, at least not to the point where people would be lining up to do his bidding. It was simply the good grace of the shopkeeper that had worked in his favor.
He didn't fully understand how it happened, but the discount, one of 30 percent, was real.
Then a thought struck him: did gun stores even normally give out discounts?
As Song mulled over the situation, a slow realization settled in. Something about this was unusual. Still, his understanding of such matters was limited, making any firm conclusion impossible.
Noticing the crease of concern on his face, the shopkeeper offered a reassuring nod.
"You don't have to worry young man. I'm not planning on taking advantage of you if that's what you're thinking. Some people just don't know how to handle a proper negotiation, and I figured you deserved a fair deal."
Song tilted his head, narrowing his eyes slightly as he studied the man.
"Fair deal… huh? I suppose that's one way to put it."
The shopkeeper shrugged.
"Call it experience. I've been in this business long enough to recognize when someone knows what they're doing and when they don't. From the looks of it, you don't have much experience. Let me guess… you awakened not too long ago?"
Song's eyes widened in surprise.
"You could tell?"
The broad-shouldered man chuckled, a low, knowing sound.
"Of course I could. It's not every day you see an independent young Awakened. Not that they're unheard of, but most get snatched up by greedy clans before they can even stand on their own. And yet here you are, walking into a local gun store instead of chasing after those… what do they call them again? Magical objects?" He waved a hand dismissively, clearly uninterested. "Whatever the case, the fact that you came here tells me you're not tied to any Awakened clan. An independent Esper, it's a rare sight these days."
So much for a mysterious Esper. This fellow saw right through me but I guess that's inevitable.
Song frowned.
"If you knew that much… then why give me a thirty percent discount? Wouldn't that put you at a disadvantage?"
The shopkeeper leaned back against the counter, folding his thick arms across his chest. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Disadvantage? Maybe you're correct. But I've been around long enough to know when an investment is worth more than the coin I lose upfront. You're green, sure, but you've got a certain… scent. I can feel it. Perhaps you can call it the instincts of a business man."
He tapped a finger against the wooden counter,
"Besides, word travels fast in our world. Today you're a lone rookie buying your first guns. Tomorrow? Who knows. Maybe you'll be someone people craze about. If that happens, then this 'loss' of mine will turn into goodwill and goodwill pays off better than interest."
Song studied him quietly, trying to read between the lines. There was sincerity in the man's tone, but also something pragmatic. It wasn't charity.
No, no, no... what would anyone give away a 30% for free? Such a strange fellow did not exist.
It was... foresight, simply.
"You're betting on me, then?"
The man chuckled again.
"Betting? No. Just… preparing for possibilities. If I'm wrong, then all I lost was a few hundred dollars. But if I'm right, I'll have earned the trust of an Awakened who might one day make waves. That's worth more than a discount."
Song couldn't help but exhale through his nose. It was something between half a scoff and half a laugh.
"You talk like you're recruiting me."
The shopkeeper waved his hand dismissively.
"Don't get ahead of yourself. I'm no clan, and I've got no interest in such subscriptions. So take the deal, walk out of here with your guns, and remember that not everyone's looking to squeeze you dry."
For a moment, silence lingered between them. Then Song nodded slowly, gripping the handles of the two cases.
"…Fair enough."
The shopkeeper's smirk softened into a small smile.
"Good. Now get going before I change my mind and charge you extra."
The faint jingle of the doorbell echoed as Sonny stepped outside and immediately, sunlight spilling over him. The weight of the cases in his hands was heavy, but also reassuring.
'How lucky.'
And yet, for some reason, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he'd just been swindled. Maybe it was just his imagination running wild.
Pushing the thought aside, Sonny hailed a taxi and leaned down to give the driver the address of his next destination.
† †
His next destination was the Awakened Association.
Moments later Song pushed through the front doors and approached the reception desk. He explained, briefly and without flourish, that he wanted to test his newly purchased firearms at a shooting range. The receptionist checked his Association ID, tapped a few keys, then smiled.
"Yes, we have a training range," she said. "You'll need a quick sign-off from Range Control. Go down the corridor, take the stairs to the lower level, and ask for Officer Park. He'll walk you through the safety briefing and book you a slot."
With directions in hand and the weight of the cases at his feet, Song nodded and headed toward the stairwell.
By the time he reached the lower level, the muted crack of gunfire echoed faintly through reinforced doors down the hall. A few Awakened in casual gear moved past him, but the young man did not give them notice.
Finding the marked office, he knocked once before stepping inside.
Behind a cluttered desk sat a broad-faced man in his forties, his short hair flecked with gray. He looked up from a clipboard, eyes narrowing briefly as they landed on the gun cases in Lu Song's hands.
"You must be the one the front desk sent down," the man said with an all business tone.
"Name?"
"Nightingale," he replied, placing his Association ID on the desk.
The officer glanced at it, then gave a small grunt of acknowledgment.
"Awakened Nightingale, is it? Very well. I'm Officer Park, Range Control. First time testing firearms here?"
"Yes."
"Good. Then you'll need the safety rundown. Doesn't matter if you've handled guns before, our rules are stricter than the average firing range. You'll follow them to the letter, understood?"
Song nodded.
Park pushed back his chair and stood, towering slightly over him. He gestured toward the heavy door at the end of the hall.
"Come on. I'll walk you through it. You'll be starting in Lane Six. We'll check your weapons, register them to your file, and make sure you know how to handle your weapon."
"That's alright. I understand the procedure."
"Hmm..."
Officer Park arched a brow at Sonny's confident reply, but he didn't comment. Instead, he led the way down the hall without delay.
When they reached the range, a security lock released with a heavy clack as Park swiped his badge. The reinforced door swung open, revealing a long corridor lined with separate shooting lanes.
Glancing around a little, Park nodded and turned his head to Song.
"You can set your gear on the table facing Lane Six."
Song obeyed, setting the Glock and the Smith & Wesson on the counter. Officer Park opened each case, inspected the firearms, then logged their serial numbers into the Association system and linked them to Sonny's ID.
When he finished, Park left Nightingale to prepare.
"It's simple. Take your time and begin when you're ready."
Nightingale nodded. He wanted to be read before he ever had to rely on the weapon. He unclipped the Glock's case and lifted the pistol out.
Pa!
He slid out the magazine and tipped the special monster rounds from the casing. Those advanced cartridges were engineered to pierce and disrupt Chaos Creatures and rogue Espers, too valuable and risky for casual practice. Carefully, he pushed them back into their box and set it aside.
Then he loaded the magazine with plain brass practice rounds, counting each cartridge as it slid home. He racked the slide once, the familiar 'click' resounding in the quiet lane, and checked the chamber as a precaution.
He exhaled and squared his shoulders, ready to begin.
Nightingale settled into a stance, both hands gripping the Glock as he raised it level. The paper target hung a little over ten meters downrange.
He didn't fire at once. Instead, a quiet thread of foreign knowledge slid into his mind like; the feel of the grip, how to cradle the gun before the snap, the correct posture, where to anchor his sight, and how the recoil would bite. It was not an invasive shove of memory, merely guidance.
So this was the Marksman Attribute, he thought, a small smile tugging at his lips interestingly.
He moved into the standard firing position, found his breath, and squeezed the trigger.
Bang!
The report cracked through the lane. His forearms stung from the kick, but the round punched cleanly through the paper.