Nathan turned the pistol slowly under the afternoon light, admiring the newly attached suppressor like someone appreciating a museum artifact he absolutely could not have afforded five minutes ago.
"Hohoho… how beautiful," he murmured reverently.
The matte-black cylinder extended the weapon's silhouette just enough to make it look undeniably cooler — sleeker and deadlier, with slightly more main-character aura.
I bet I look at least 37% more competent now… if not for this lame patient suit.
He mentally issued a command for the system to display the gun's description. A translucent blue panel unfolded in front of him.
—————————————
The Revenant — W/ Lv.2 Barrel, Lv.1 Suppressor
Firepower: 1.0
Optimal Combat Range: ~35 m (38 yd)
Bullet: 15 / 15
—————————————
Nathan blinked, then nodded slowly.
"So the suppressor increases the optimal range by an additional five meters at level one — it was thirty meters last time I checked. Interesting…"
He straightened instinctively, suddenly feeling like a professional operator instead of a guy who had nearly lost a fight against a wooden log earlier today.
"Alright," he declared confidently. "Let's get some practice done!"
At first, he hesitated to waste any bullet on training.
But it has to be done.
His expression tightened.
A single bullet cost two SC — that was the price for a single 9mm round the last time he checked the shop, and he doubted the market would change just to accommodate him.
He had fifteen rounds inside the pistol magazine, and another thirty in storage.
Two full reloads required thirty rounds.
Thirty rounds meant sixty SC.
Sixty SC meant twenty cubic meters of wood.
Twenty cubic meters meant several innocent trees — who had did absolutely nothing wrong to him — going down the drain.
Nathan placed a hand over his chest dramatically.
"I suddenly feel emotional attachment to ammunition…"
Still, he had never fired a real gun before. Even he knew blindly entering combat without practice was equivalent to volunteering for zombie lunch duty — or dinner, in this case.
"That's why I harvested extra wood," he reassured himself. "Even though I felt sorry for those trees, it's necessary preparation. Totally not intentional. I'm not a greedy capitalist."
He nodded, convincing himself with his own argument.
Even to his own ears, it sounded like complete nonsense.
But the decision had already been made.
Nathan summoned a small wooden cube from storage — about the size of a soccer ball, if a soccer ball was square shaped — and placed it at the far corner of the fortress wall.
A humble training target.
He walked to the opposite corner, putting roughly five meters between himself and the cube.
Not far. But not too close either.
His baby steps toward not dying.
Nathan inhaled deeply… then exhaled slowly.
He gripped the pistol with both hands, just like he had seen countless times in movies and video games. His arms extended, shoulders slightly stiff.
The suppressor pointed forward.
He raised the weapon slowly until it aligned with his eyesight.
Rear sight. Front sight. Wooden cube.
All lined up.
This is easy.
His hands trembled slightly.
O-okay… maybe not that easy.
The target remained perfectly still, displaying zero hostility — something Nathan appreciated greatly.
When everything looked aligned, he squeezed the trigger—
*Click…*
The dry mechanical sound echoed awkwardly inside the wooden fortress.
Nathan blinked.
"…Huh?"
He tried again.
*Click…*
…Again.
*Click. Click…*
Silence followed.
Nathan frowned deeply.
"Why?"
He lowered the pistol slightly, staring at it as if betrayal had just occurred.
"Is this thing broken?"
He examined the weapon — then froze.
Realization struck with devastating emotional damage.
"…Oh."
He slowly closed his eyes.
I'm an absolute genius in idiocy…
He mentally facepalmed so hard it almost felt physical.
"…I didn't chamber a round."
He grabbed the slide and pulled it back.
*Chk-clack.*
The sound was sharp, mechanical, and deeply satisfying.
When he released it, the slide snapped forward with authority.
Nathan sighed heavily.
"Who's stupid enough not to chamber a round before firing…?" He paused. "…Well. That's me."
Despite being completely alone, embarrassment crawled up his neck like wildfire.
He cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Can't help it," he muttered defensively to nobody in particular. "I've only fired guns in video games. None of them ask you to load the chamber manually — the character always does it for you."
He shook his head.
"Man… reality sucks."
Refocusing, Nathan raised the pistol again.
This time, he felt more aware — the weight in his hands, the balance of the weapon, the faint tension in his arms.
He aligned the sights once more.
The world narrowed.
Forest sounds faded as he poured all his focus into aiming. Even the wind felt quieter.
For a brief moment, existence reduced itself to three things: Him. His gun. His target.
His breathing slowed naturally.
Okay… steady…
ready…
When the sights aligned perfectly—
He pulled the trigger.
*BANG!!!!*
The explosion shattered the quiet clearing.
Nathan's brain stopped processing reality.
The recoil slammed backward far harder than expected. His grip failed instantly.
The pistol slipped from his hands, flipping backward before clattering onto the ground.
A sharp ringing filled his ears.
*NGIIIIIIIIING…*
For several seconds, Nathan simply stood there.
Frozen — eyes wide.
His soul felt temporarily disconnected from his body.
Eventually, his consciousness — apparently concerned about abandonment — dragged itself back online.
"…What in the actual hell just happened…?" he whispered dazedly.
The ringing continued mercilessly.
He blinked repeatedly, trying to reboot his senses.
Then he looked toward the target.
The wooden cube had shifted slightly. A small puncture marked one corner.
He had hit it… technically.
But at what cost?
His hearing felt muffled.
His hands trembled violently.
His dreams shattered as reality proved far less cinematic than expected.
Nathan swallowed.
"I—I…" he looked down at his trembling hands. "...I thought suppressors made guns quiet…"
Turns out—
Movies lied.
Video games lied.
Game forums lied.
Suppressors did not turn gunshots into polite whispers.
They turned explosions into slightly less aggressive explosions.
And recoil?
Apparently recoil was not a gentle cinematic nudge.
It was a personal level of disagreement between physics and his wrists.
"How… how do people make this look easy?" he muttered weakly.
The ringing intensified.
*NGIIIIIIIIING…*
Still wincing, Nathan bent down and picked up the pistol carefully, like it might scream again.
He inspected it.
Intact, and still cool-looking… but now significantly more terrifying.
"At this rate," he groaned, "my eardrums will explode before I even get the chance to shoot a zombie."
He exhaled deeply, shoulders sagging.
"…Suppressors suck."
He paused dramatically.
"…Reality sucks."