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Chapter 32: The Char Company
The holes in the target were all quite large.
Upon hearing the female police officer’s question, the range manager responsible for changing targets couldn’t help but pause slightly.
So, that kid didn’t just get lucky once—he hit the mark multiple times?
Disbelieving, he raised the binoculars hanging around his neck and took a closer look at the target. His eyes widened in shock, disbelief etched across his face.
Six hits on a 500-meter over-range target?
That young man had fired barely twenty shots at such an extreme distance—and managed to land nearly a third of them?
This… this isn’t the military, where precision shooting is their bread and butter. Sure, the Police Department can hold its own in hand-to-hand combat, but sharpshooters like this? Few and far between.
Out of the thirty thousand-plus officers across all the districts of the capital, how many could reliably hit an over-range target with any consistency? Maybe two hands’ worth—if that! And just how old was that kid? Could it be that he’d really been handling firearms since birth?
“?”
Watching the manager’s expression shift wildly, as if he’d just witnessed a terrier wrestling a mastiff into submission, the policewoman frowned deeply. She then explained calmly, “You don’t need to worry. I just saw his target and asked out of curiosity—I’m not looking to cause trouble.
“Practicing with something so dangerous isn’t exactly ideal, but as long as he doesn’t use it during official duties, it’s none of my business.”
“Ah? Oh, oh!” Barely catching what she said, the range manager snapped out of his daze. He suddenly remembered the conversation he’d had with his colleague earlier, and his dark face flushed red with embarrassment.
That young man had requested the 500-meter target because he was confident he could hit it. But they—two old-timers—had insisted he switch to the shorter range, dismissing him outright. They hadn’t even bothered to check the target afterward, assuming he wouldn’t hit a single shot. Now, thinking back, they felt utterly embarrassed.
Mumbling awkward apologies, the mortified manager shuffled off to change the target, while the policewoman took the opportunity to glance at the registration log near the entrance of the shooting range.
“The last person… Leon… Leon Lion?”
Seeing that familiar surname, her already furrowed brows knitted even tighter.
Lion… Why is it always someone from the Duke of Lionheart’s family?
---
Early the next morning, just as dawn began to break, the diligent worker Leon set off for work once again, braving the biting autumn winds.
It wasn’t that Leon particularly enjoyed waking up so early—it was simply that Veteran’s Alley, where he lived with his family, was about five or six kilometers away from the Cleansing Bureau’s municipal office. Walking there would take nearly an hour, leaving him no choice but to rise before the sun.
As for why he didn’t take public transportation, like the trolley cars or steam carriages… well, though they were technically “public,” their exorbitant fares—three copper coins per three kilometers—effectively priced out more than half the residents of the capital.
Leon, who earned over sixty thousand copper coins annually after joining the Cleansing Bureau, could afford these luxuries. However, buying “Gott” cigarettes for the black goat drained his pockets. With each pack costing three silver coins, it was enough to deplete his entire fieldwork allowance of two gold coins and leave him scraping by.
Walking an hour in the cold might have been tough, but compared to the pain of having no money, it was still the better option. Besides, walking wasn’t entirely without perks—at least he could enjoy a hot cup of coffee along the way.
“Boss, one strong coffee, two slices of thin bread.”
Hunched against the wind, Leon slipped into the coffee stall’s tent, carefully unwrapped his scarf, and sat down near the stove, seeking warmth.
After nodding to Leon, the coffee stall owner tightened his apron conspicuously while secretly sliding open the drawer holding the ham slices, letting the savory aroma waft out. With a smile, he asked, “Alright~ Butter? Want some ham slices added?”
“…” Staring at the sly grin on the coffee stall owner’s face, Leon hesitated.
Without butter, the coffee and bread would only cost half a copper coin. Adding butter would bring it to one copper coin, and adding ham slices would cost another.
The fare for a carriage ride to the Cleansing Bureau was only two copper coins. If he splurged on butter and ham, his five-kilometer walk would feel wasted.
But…
The warm, sweet scent of butter mingled with the rich aroma of sizzling ham fat, tempting him irresistibly. The word “no” grew heavy on his lips, refusing to escape.
“Well,” the seemingly kind-hearted but cunning stall owner chuckled, clearly seeing through Leon’s internal struggle. “It’s not as cold today as yesterday, and there aren’t many customers. I’ve made extra ham slices—I might not sell them all…”
He leaned in conspiratorially. “How about this: If you add ham today, I’ll charge you half a copper less. Consider it a discount for a loyal customer. Help me out, alright?”
“…”
“Add it! Make the butter thick!” Unable to resist the allure of fat, Leon patted his meager wallet and glanced at his thin arms before gritting his teeth and nodding firmly.
In three days, it would be payday at the Cleansing Bureau. After accounting for the money he owed the red-haired chief for drinks, he’d still have seven or eight gold coins left—not bad. What were two copper coins in the grand scheme of things?
Besides, after picking up the new anomaly from the chief today, he’d need to investigate the Waterworks Company. He likely wouldn’t make it back in time for the Police Department’s free lunch. If he didn’t eat well now, how would he have the energy for fieldwork?
“Alright~” Chuckling, the stall owner pulled out the last few slices of ham, drizzled them with homemade sauce, and placed them alongside the bread on the stone slab above the charcoal stove. Watching this, Leon felt a pang of guilt for indulging after years of frugality.
To ease his conscience, he looked away from the sizzling “copper coins” on the slab and struck up idle conversation with the owner. “What’s your name, boss?”
“Char, like the Char Department Store.”
Anyone running a street stall was naturally outgoing. The owner grinned and replied, “No need for formalities, just call me Old Char.”
Char Department Store… Char Company?
That name—it was the scoundrel company dumping sewage into the public water supply!
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