Sonia's Prize Gun Voucher
Sonia, who topped the human boys' shooting contest in Punk City, was awarded a Colson Atelier Voucher.
"Whoa, scoring something this pricey. When are you gonna get your gun customized?"
"After we graduate from the orphanage?"
Amon nodded at Sonia's words. Colson Atelier was a luxury custom firearms company. Rifles made there were said to cost as much as their weight in gold—insanely expensive. Even by Punk City 3 standards, their guns were endgame exclusives you had to clear every piece of content to snag. Sonia had just won a free one-time custom job on a cheat-level weapon.
Nice start, Amon thought.
Whether she'd end up a merc, bodyguard, or soldier, it was clear Sonia was built for a gun-dependent life. Kicking off with an endgame-spec starter item? Gunfighters blew most of their income on gear upgrades, so her career was set to be a breeze.
And that place has solid after-service too... whatever.
Plus, their weapons were tough to craft but easy to maintain—perfect for her. As Amon eyed her enviously, Sonia fidgeted and held out the voucher.
"Um... if you want it, you can have it..."
Amon shook his head at her words.
"Nah. This one's yours."
He was jealous as a collector, sure, but not for the voucher itself. Even if he got one of their guns, it wouldn't be his main. Better for her to use it, he figured.
"Then I'll cover your back with this gun!"
Her words assumed he'd be living that gun life too. Amon gave a wry smile and nodded. He had no clue about his own path either—hacker route, swordsman, megacorp CEO, who knew? But in this brutal world, a sharpshooting ally was nothing to sneeze at. He gratefully accepted her cute vow.
Soon enough, the two headed to their next stop: the archery dojo, to test her aptitude with bows.
On the way, Amon pondered Sonia's talents.
That recoil control...
Her marksmanship was elite. But recoil mastery like that defied plain talent. Candidates flashed through his mind—the special abilities characters could pick from 1 to 3 at creation.
Implants are out.
No procedures on record. Rune tattoos or engravings? Nah. This was innate. Magic would've shown signs, so ruled out. Process of elimination pointed to Divine Power.
Yeah, has to be.
Amon couldn't sense Divine Power—that took training even in this world. But he had lore knowledge. Rule of thumb: if magic or science didn't explain it, bet on Divine Power. Headshot but you survive solo? Divine Power. Stuck in a ruin till you kiss someone? Divine Power. Unsolvable murder? Divine Power.
Sounded like he was a Divine Power evangelist, but this was objective fact, faith aside. Unknown phenomena? Divine Power. And don't let the name fool you—it wasn't always holy. Sure, miracles revived the dying with sacred light, but Entities ran on it too. It could turn a normal person into a raving cannibal overnight.
That's why folks call it Mystic Power these days.
Post-religious modern era preferred "Mystic Power." Amon's past life, low on faith, stuck to game terms like that. But after witnessing the Goddess and receiving her grace, his heart brimmed with belief. So he stubbornly used "Divine Power."
Mystic Power comes from Divine Power, after all.
Back on track: Sonia's recoil control screamed Divine Power. No implant, spell, or gene mod nullified recoil completely. Had to be.
Divine Power... like the Orphanage Director hinted?
He wasn't clueless. She'd dropped vague intel before.
—Listen well. You two have a special power the other kids don't. If someone ever wants it, decide carefully.
Details? "When you're older." Kids back then took it at face value, but now? Probably Divine Power. Donations spiked after—that screamed corporate image ops scouting them early. Her silence made sense given corp/gov sleaze. Secrecy benefited everyone.
She could've just tipped me off...
No hard feelings, though. He wasn't delusional; no one pegged an elementary kid as reincarnated. Even if she adored him, no reason to spill. Her call was solid.
Heck, housing a no-name orphan's gratitude enough.
Doubting her kindness was inhuman. Amon wrapped those thoughts, circling back to their Divine Powers. Thanking the Goddess's lavish gifts, excitement bubbled.
How's mine manifesting?
He itched to test it. His pace quickened naturally. Before he knew it, they were at the archery dojo.
Long story short: Amon had zero archery talent. Worse than guns, even.
"How do you score max 1 point shooting like that?"
"Don't sweat it. My limit was 2."
Sonia consoled his grumbling. Both bombed bows compared to guns—generously put. Cursed, even. The instructor soothed "first-timers happen," but the elf kid next door nailed 5+ on debut? Pure talent gap.
Bows are a no-go.
Amon slashed archery off his mental list. Sonia eyed him worriedly.
"You okay?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
Her concern puzzled him. No disappointment here—options galore left. Sword, spear, wire, throws, fists. Or hacking. Worst case, no talent? Still true-ending it.
Beat the final boss with a Dildo at zero talent stats.
Acting worked too. Zero worries. Seeing his genuine chill, Sonia relaxed.
They ditched archery regrets, hitting spots till late. Finally, they struck gold—not middling, legit strong talent.
Sword dojo ran Thanksgiving basics and spars. Newbies, they started fundamentals—think wuxia "Three Stances Swordplay"—then sparred.
That's when it popped off.
"Winner! Amon!"
The ref declared. Amon's blade tip halted precisely at his foe's solar plexus. Clean thrust. Undeniable.
Sonia racked undefeated too. Instructor first chalked it to luck, but as they steamrolled advanced trainees? Undeniable talent.
Monsters, both.
He pegged Amon's reads/predicts as mind-game mastery, Sonia's as freakish reflexes. Common for sword pros, but theirs crushed norms. And no implants? Pure flesh beating augmented dojomates?
Implants... what horrors would that birth?
Swordsmen in bullet/bomb hell got mods. Dojo kids packed them. Yet pure talent won. Blind to that? Quit teaching.
Must recruit 'em.
Snag pretty prodigies? Promo gold, worth double tuition. Investment.
Nah, excuses.
Lifelong swordsman pride screamed raise them. He pitched boldly.
"You two got real talent. Train free here?"
Sonia bounced excitedly beside Amon. He mulled cautiously.
This legit?
Recalling their show—beating modded kids barehanded? Tempting for sure. Sonia? Obvious prodigy. Him? Trickier.
Talent... or...?
His "swordplay" was mimicry: game boss patterns, corrupt enemy motions compiled into muscle memory. Big data replay. Parry overheads to vitals, dodge lows for counters. Familiar? Nailed. New? Stumbled. Talent or vet cheese? Unclear.
He decided.
"Sure, we'll do it."
Screw it. Play and see.
No talent? Bust. Yes? Win. Free anyway—he accepted.
Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays set. They left, fatigue hitting after city-hopping. Sun dipping, orphanage-bound.
Sonia spoke, backlit by sunset.
"Super productive day."
"Blessed, more like."
"Hehe. Found talents thanks to you. Thanks, Amon."
Unplanned, but Sonia reaped huge: gun talent, voucher, sword mentor. Peak day. For Amon? Bit iffy—no clear winner.
But no rush.
Life's not one day.
He wrapped up, eyeing tomorrow. Bus boarding—Sonia stopped him.
"One last thing before we go?"
She pointed: cosplay contest underway.
Amon checked time. End soon, still beat curfew.
Disguise aptitude too.
Perfect chance. He agreed eagerly. They headed in.
Till registration spiel, Amon was clueless.
"Wait—gender-swap cosplay?!"
"Yep. Boys as girls, girls as boys. Understand the other side—that's the vibe."
The clerk's sales smile hit Amon. Sonia sparkled; he clutched his forehead, dizzy.