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Shanks, Sterling, Benn Beckman, Yasopp, and Branchina arrived at the training ground that Yasopp had spent months setting up.
Wooden posts, rope swings, pop-up target platforms, and bullseyes painted across distant hills stretched out before them. The air smelled faintly of gunpowder and salt from the nearby sea, and the sound of distant waves clashing against the shore created a strangely peaceful rhythm beneath the tension crackling between the two competitors.
Benn Beckman stepped forward, shoulders squared, surveying the scene with the kind of calm precision that showed why he was the Vice Captain of the Red-Haired Pirates.
His eyes flicked between Sterling and Yasopp, narrowing slightly, as though calculating the exact trajectory each of them would take before even a bullet had left a barrel.
"Alright," Benn began, voice sharp and deliberate, cutting through the salty breeze, "this is a sniping competition and I'll be the judge. Points will be awarded for accuracy, speed, creativity, and how well you handle pressure. The person with the highest total at the end takes the win. Clear?"
Sterling scoffed, cracking his knuckles while his eyes gleamed with mischief. "Easy. I hope you're ready to eat my dust, Yasopp."
Yasopp didn't even blink. Instead, he leaned casually against his pistol, lips curling into a confident grin. "Hope you're ready to see how a real marksman works. Let's make it quick."
Shanks chuckled, folding his arms. "Oh, this is going to be fun. I hope you brought your A-game, Sterling-kun. I'd hate to see you get embarrassed in front of everyone."
Branchina's eyes narrowed slightly at Sterling, then softened as she shifted closer to Yasopp's side.
Her hand lightly rested on his shoulder as she leaned in, whispering, "Don't let him get to you, Yasopp. Show him why you're the best." Yasopp's smirk widened as he ruffled her hair slightly, giving her a wink. She returned the smile, fists clenched in quiet excitement.
Benn raised a hand to silence the chatter. "Listen up. I'm going to explain the rounds and how you score. You need to understand this fully before you take your positions." He motioned for the two snipers to step closer. Sterling and Yasopp stepped up, their eyes locked in that dangerous mix of respect and rivalry, studying each other like warriors about to clash in a duel.
"Round one," Benn said, pointing to the first platform, "is Basic Precision. The targets stay still and it's short to medium distance. Pistols only. Hitting the center gives you maximum points and a Miss? Minimal points. Simple."
Sterling raised an eyebrow. "Short to medium… sounds like my kind of warm-up."
Yasopp crossed his arms, shaking his head. "Warm-up? That's just testing basic aim. Don't waste time bragging, rookie."
Benn didn't flinch. "Round two is Speed Shooting. Targets will pop up randomly and you will have a limited time window to hit as many as you can. Points aren't just about speed, they're about accuracy too. Hit 5 in a row perfectly? Maximum points. Miss one? Points lost."
Branchina leaned spoke to Yasopp, "Keep your cool. Don't rush and wait for the right moment. Show him the patience that got you this far." Yasopp nodded, eyes narrowing slightly at Sterling, who had already assumed a half-crouched, ready stance.
"Round three," Benn continued, "is Moving Targets. Targets will swing or slide along ropes. Lead your shots and hit while in motion. Accuracy and timing will be heavily weighted. If you just fire wildly, you'll score nothing."
Sterling chuckled, tapping his rifle lightly. "Moving targets? Nothing I can't deal with."
Yasopp's lips curled into a sharp grin. "Don't talk too much. Your mouth might get in the way of your aim."
Sterling smiled. "You really are focused on me aren't you"
"Round four," Benn said, pointing to the distant hill with the tiny bullseye painted on it, "is Long-Range Shots. Extreme distance and you only get one shot. Miss, and points are lost. Hit dead center, maximum."
Everyone acknowledged.
Benn's gaze shifted slightly. "Round five is Trick Shots. Any creative or stylish shot counts, ricochet off walls, hit coins in mid-air, shoot through bottles, rings, whatever you can manage. Difficulty and style increase your points. Fail spectacularly, and I'll deduct for carelessness."
Sterling smirked. "Oh, you're going to love this. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve."
Yasopp rolled his eyes. "Don't get cocky. I've had more practice than you can imagine."
"Round six," Benn said, voice dropping slightly as he gestured toward the smoke-covered platforms, "is Combat Simulation. Targets will be partially hidden, behind cover, and there will be smoke, distractions, and time limits. Accuracy under pressure is key. Points for composure, precision, and adaptability. Make a mistake, and you're in trouble."
Shanks leaned over to Branchina, chuckling softly. "This is getting serious. Better keep cheering your husband; he's going to need it."
Branchina smirked back. "I'm not cheering, I'm giving moral support. Big difference." She made a mock salute to Yasopp, who grinned back.
Benn's tone deepened as he outlined the final challenge. "Round seven is The 'Impossible Shot.' A tiny target hidden at a difficult angle. You'll need perfect awareness, impeccable positioning, and understanding of angles. Miss it, no points. Hit it… maximum points. This is the round where skill, patience, and foresight matter more than speed."
Sterling whistled softly. "Now this is more like it."
Yasopp tilted his head. "Fine. Let's see who's really the better sniper."
Benn Beckman took a step back, arms crossed, eyes flicking between the two. "Each round has a maximum score. Whoever reaches a decisive point total first wins overall. You'll alternate shots. Remember, this isn't just about hitting targets, it's about outthinking your opponent, adjusting to conditions, and keeping cool under pressure. Understood?"
Sterling and Yasopp exchanged a glance. No words were spoken, but the tension between them said it all: this was going to be a real test of skill.
Shanks and Branchina moved to the sidelines, forming the perfect cheering section. Shanks leaned on the wooden railing of a raised platform. "Come on, Sterling. Show him what you're made of. Don't embarrass the crew!"
Branchina stomped her foot slightly and cupped her hands around her mouth. "Yasopp! Don't hold back! You've got this!" Yasopp flexed his fingers around his rifle, nodding slightly at her encouragement.
Benn Beckman clapped his hands once. "Alright then. Positions. Let's begin the first round."
Sterling and Yasopp moved into place, pistols ready, their bodies tense but controlled. The breeze ruffled their hair and clothes, the scent of gunpowder mixing with salt and earth. Both men took a deep breath, the world narrowing down to the next shot, the first battle of accuracy and pride about to commence.
And with that, the sniping competition officially began.